As Mother and I were out and about the other day, she spied a toddler with magnificently braided hair. No child of two could have ever sprouted a head of hair like that. Mother was enchanted, unaware of the fashion options available to folks nowadays. She made a beeline for the child, even lifting a braid to examine it. I was worried it might come off in her hand. The whole time she was praising the beauty of the child and the hair to high heaven. The child’s parents, confused by this display from a frail octagenerian, fortunately didn’t attack Mother in defense of thei child, while I stood behind Mother, twirling my finger around my ears and crossing my eyes to indicate she was demented. Catching my sign, they friendlied up to Mother while rescuing the child and her hairdo. It was just another day out with Morher!
Our life with Annie, our surly, farting Dalmatian was complicated by her partner in crime, Greg, the ever-present kid from across the street. I use ever-present in the strictest sense. Greg’s mom worked nights. In a casual relationship never addressed by any of us, Greg made a beeline to our house as soon as he got home every day, hit the pantry for a snack, and let Annie out of prison. Greg was well known for investigating our premises, keeping himself abreast of what all that was going on at our house, while he dawdled about, picking things up, questioning, “What’s this? When did you get this?” We’d chat about his day. Afterwards, he and Annie would go off on a ramble, since we lived in a rural neighborhood with many large wooded areas. They were a common sight, known all over the neighborhood.
At any rate, one afternoon he…
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I got my daughter a Dalmatian for her thirteenth birthday. I do believe that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. For about a day and a half, Annie was sweet. As soon as she got her bearings,she became a hyperactive, maniacal buzz saw, plundering and eviscerating everything in her path from shoes to the rag top on my husband’s MG, but that’s a story for another post.
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