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.
At eighteen months, Annie’s hormones kicked in. Overnight, she was transformed into a nasty-tempered, sullen,farting, bitch, such a blessed relief. One day she was sitting between Bud and Mother farting up a storm. Bud and Mother each kept looking accusingly at the other, thinking surely they would eventually do the decent thing and excuse themselves.
Deciding to take her show on the road one morning, Annie decided the best thing for her to do was to tunnel under our neighbor’s back fence to pay him a call. Brian wasn’t in the yard, so she trotted into the house looking for him. He was deep in thought, sitting on the toilet, enjoying some quality time. Inspired by his wise example, Annie squatted and produced a fine example of her own. Though I didn’t see the actual event, I did get to hear about it in great detail.My daughter once had a fat, farting, sullen Dalmatian named Annie who liked only two things in this world. The kid across the street named Greg and anything with wheels: riding mower, wagon, wheel barrow, cars…..We’d often look out and see Annie sitting on the seat of the riding mower. I do believe if we’d left the keys in she would have cranked it. She’d even try to sit perched ridiculously on top of the push mower. If we left a car door open, she’d go flying in, hopping in the driver’s seat, perched behind the wheel. When she did make a car trip, we had to restrain her to keep her in the back.
Annie and the MG
My husband bought a red MG Midget with a rag top. Can you guess where this is headed? Annie fell in love with it, thinking it was just her size. It was in really good condition, except for a dime-sized snag in the rag top just over the driver’s seat. Bud normally parked it in the garage, but he carelessly left it in the drive one night. When he came out the next morning, Annie was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. She wouldn’t look to the right or the left. She had wanted to get in that car so badly, she’d climbed on top and fallen through the ragtop. I heard him shrieking and wondered what catastrophe had taken place. He tore the door open trying to get at her. She ripped by him, making a beeline for the protection of her fiberglass igloo doghouse that she had never even stuck a toe in before that day. Bud kicked at her(I hope the statute of limitations has run out on cruelty to animals)but she made it in before he connected. He got a huge bruise on his shin from kicking the doghouse. She never did get to drive.
My lovely, kind-hearted niece, pictured above, brought her little rescue dog, Penny,over to meet me. Penny had been tossed out near a creek by some evil person, apparently in hopes she’d be picked up. Hannah left her food and water, since Penny was too fearful to be approached, baited a trap with wieners, and caught her. She was underweight, starving, and sick when Hannah got her to a vet, but is now recovering. In fact, she is recovering so well, she chased my dog Buzzy out of his food, drank his water, and bossed him around. I think it was good for him to see how a hungry dog eats. After Hannah had Penny home a couple of days, she’s dug out under fences, dominated their bigger dogs, and generally taken over. I think she may have run the place at some old grannie’s house. She shows all the signs of being the spoiled darling the kids pitched out when Granny died. I expect to see her drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, listening to gospel music, and playing video poker next time I go to visit Hannah. Seriously, I don’t know how people who abandon animal can sleep at night. I guess they don’t know about Karma.
Mother makes use of my cozy guest room frequently Last night she awoke me complaining the bed was crawling with ants. Sure enough, she had half-a-dozen bites. We shook out her nightgown, treated her bites, made her a new bed down on the sofa in the living room, but I felt just terrible about it. I’ve always made a point to keep the room just to her tastes, freshly aired and dusted, with nice linens, and a handmade quilt. Having her jarred from sleep by ant bites was horrible. When I got her settled, I turned the covers back and found dozens of big and small black ants, moving in trails across the expanse of the covers. I sprayed the bed and floor with insect killer before I went back to bed.
This morning when I went in to strip the bed, I found the source of the problem. When I opened the door late yesterday to ready Mother’s bed, Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog came along to help. He frequently hides treats. Delighted to find new territory, he retrieved an old piece of cornbread he’d apparently just dug up from its hiding place in the yard. Unbeknownst to us, he slipped it up under the pillow in preparation for Mother’s visit. It attracted ants beautifully. The bed was fully loaded for Mother.
Tracing a life through stories of death. Sometimes funny, sometimes not.
Cancer Messed with the Wrong Hellion
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