So yesterday I hung around all day, never lifting anything heavier than a beer bottle. It's one of those back things where everything's fine until you turn just the right way, and then all of a sudden your spine is the only thing in the universe, but this morning I was feeling some better. I put off shit-shoveling yesterday, so this morning I had to do it and had better hurry, because it was pretty clear there would be morning rain. This morning I sopped up and slogged to the manure pile with five heaping wagon-loads of lovely filth, all mixed with mud from the preceding rains. Stopped, only a little over half done, when it started to rain. Went home, let the dogs out of Gitmo before they drowned - because it never seems to occur to either of them that the same roofs sheltering them from the sun might also work for rain. LB instantly shifted into overdrive, ran for the wash ignoring my calls, and I haven't seen him since. Back smarting like it was on fire, wanting nothing but a chair, I didn't exactly chase him.
He'll be back. And then I shall kick him.
"Free Roger" petition
7 hours ago
5 comments:
You must be particularly miffed at LB since I am assuming that kicking isn't one of your strong points.
I never really kick him. I just think about kicking him. It gives me solace while I wait for him to come back, so that I can praise him for coming back.
Thats the thing isn't it Joel. We are always told you have to appear happy and praise them when they finally come back or do what you ask of them. Theory being that will come back because it is such an enjoyable experience or them. But I have to admit sometimes, just sometimes mind you, I think these rules were made up by dogs.
My yorkie can make me wait for ever, barking her fool head off braodcasting she is a snack for the coyotes out behind our house and we have to be HAPPY and THRILLED and PRAISE them for finally doing what we want in their own sweet time......
I have come to the conclusion that I am owned by a pair of silly tiny dogs, in my case, with the brain size of a pistachio nut...what does that say about us?
I only had the urge to kick my old dog once... when he came in at 5 AM after getting away from me... having rolled in horse shit. I don't have a tub, so washing him in the shower was no fun. Too cold to hose him off outdoors - though I contemplated it.
Anyway, as things happen, I'd be happy to see him coming toward me covered in shit again. But I never will. I had to put him down on June 4th... after 19 years of faithful, if occasionally frustrating companionship and love.
Shit and all, he was one damned good dog. I'll always miss him. Sometimes the shit just doesn't matter in the long run.
RIP Rascal.
"Sometimes the shit just doesn't matter in the long run."
I liked that.
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