I don’t know how people get by without dogs. We have two, Buzzy, an American Eskimo Dog, and Croc, a mastiff mix. They shoulder a lot of responsibility around here. Below, they are pictured helping Bud in the shop.
Buzzy is on weed patrol.
Croc valiantly keeps the Fed Ex man at bay.
They are both checking to see whether this pillow should be on the floor.
Serving as area rugs. Notice the white fluff about halfway to the TV. Croc thoughtfully pulled it out of Buzzy’s tail and left it there for me, just in case I was looking for some.
They also keep the floors free of snacks at all times.
We just got back from camping on the Gulf Coast. We had fun and I learned a couple of things. First of all, if you think you might fall and bust your fanny, carry your extra glasses. I was standing behind the trailer trying to wave Bud in as he backed the trailer up and Buzzy wrapped me in his leash, plopping me flat on my keester. I fell flat, banging right on my glasses. I hadn’t gotten in Bud’s line of vision yet, so he thought I’d wandered off, as I am prone to do. He continued backing up, but fortunately I was able to get out of the way before he flattened me.
Although the fall did kill my glasses, I escaped. I was worried whether I would have a black eye, but luckily I didn’t. If I had, I would have to have blacked both Bud’s eyes or I would have been ashamed to be seen when we met friends later. I was able to get the frames replaced, using the same lenses. What a relief. I had dreaded trying to get by with just reading glasses till I could get new ones made. I will never go off without a spare again.
Buzzy had a fine time camping as always. We patrolled the camp several times a day. He got to meet new dogs, see an alligator, smell the Gulf, roll in some different flavors of mud, walk on the beach, and sleep in the camper. His favorite part of camping is sitting on the bench seat between us at meals. He doesn’t get a place at the table at home.
Mother and BuzzyMy son John lives to torment my mother. Buzzy, our American Eskimo Dog sheds incessantly, making up vacuum every day to stay ahead of him. One day my husband Bud noticed a big paper bag on the mantle stuff full of Buzzy’s combings, hair pulled from his brush, and hair swept from the floor. Amazed, Bud asked, “What in the world is this bag of dog hair doing up here?”
Mother chimed in, “Oh, that’s Buzzy’s hair I saved up for your sweater.”
This was the first Bud had heard of his dog hair sweater. He thought maybe Mother had finally come unhinged. “What dog hair sweater?”
“The one you’re going to get the woman at work to make for you out of Buzzy’s hair.” Mother thought Bud was losing it. “John told me to be careful to gather up all the hair I could find every time I came over so that woman you work with can spin it and make it into a sweater for you. How long do you think it will take to get enough?”
Poor Bud had to break her heart. “John’s been pulling your leg, again. There ain’t gonna be no dog hair sweater.”
My son, looking his best.
Photo of hair I brushed out of Buzzy this morning, pictured next to pint jar.
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.
On our recent trip, Buzzy had a great time visiting family. Lest I mislead you, I never claimed he was a brave dog. He ran from some house cats, but they were bob-tailed. In his defense, He’d never seen a bob-tailed cat and was unsure how dangerous they might prove to be. He walked into a swimming pool by accident, his first experience with one. He was an excellent swimmer, but had no idea how to get out. He seemed to enjoy his little swim.
His introduction to Aunt Beulah’s chickens was hysterical. He was waiting expectantly when she opened the door to the hen house. When Bonnie and Clyde strutted out, he set a new land-speed record for American Eskimo Dogs, if there wasn’t one before. I believe he would have passed up Greyhounds trying to escape those bobbling fowl, even though they showed no interest whatsoever in him.
We are back home now. I’ll keep you posted of his future adventures.
I am an excellent guest. We went to visit relatives this weekend, but I don’t ever expect to be invited back.
I pulled bathroom curtain loose while showering. When I called Bud to fix it, We had to get through the requisite question first. “Why did you pull it loose?”
“I was kicking at the toilet. I intended to break it and the mirror over the sink, but this is all I managed, for the moment. I am so disappointed in myself. Can you fix it anyway? I’ll get to the rest of it as soon as I can.”
Grudgingly, he put the window curtain back up.
Later, we made a little trip into town to pick up a few things at the grocery store. Buzzy, our dog, and Bud’s aunt had gotten quite friendly. She said he could stay with her since she was going to nap while we were gone. I was a little concerned how that might go. Hurrying back, I dreaded asking, “Did he do okay?”
“Did you see that movie, ‘Call of the Wild’?” As soon as you left, he howled about every thirty seconds the whole time you were gone.”
My dog Buzzy weighs twenty-five pounds. Twenty-five nipple-stomping,bladder-compressing, and according to some sources scrotum-squashing pounds. I don’t know how or why he does this, but if he catches one of us stretched out on the sofa, he makes a bee-line for our recumbent body, leaping on our tenderest portions joyously. I don’t know how he’s lived this long, except that by the time we’ve recovered, he’s moved on. He looks sweet, but he’s a killer.