March 29, 2013
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The Daily Report
Annie is outside eating crocus blooms: or eating bees, it’s hard to tell from here. According to the back fence thermometer it is 60 degrees outside, which may be a little optimistic, but whatever it is, it’s Annieweather. Also Rileyweather, but he is much more tolerant of the cold than she is. Annie has a minimum of dog hairs. In fact, there are parts of Annie that have no dog hairs at all. She’s a forty-pound purse dog.
Annie and I have had the garage fight twice today. We store our trash, our recycling, the cranberry juice and my gourds in the garage. Well, okay, we also keep the car out there. The easiest way to get included in any ‘go’ adventure is to be in the garage when the car is about to leave, so whenever the garage door opens, out runs Annie. Also, because she lacks faith, she does not dash back into the house on command, sensing that bad, bad trickery might be involved.
Because Annie has minimal hairs, it would be dog cruelty to leave her in the cold garage for any length of time. This is ignoring things like antifreeze leaks, insecticides and salt licks. We have a dog rescue organization here in town that offers cash money to neighbors willing to turn people in for dog cruelty.
When Annie dashes out into the garage and then says, no, no, Cheryl, I’m not coming inside–I’m going to stay out here for a while, hey, what’s this delicious green stuff? Cheryl wants to beat her with a broom.
“Go ahead–eat antifreeze, for all I care.”
We don’t have any free-flowing antifreeze in our garage, but you catch my drift.
When she first came to live with us, everything we did was like opening the garage door to grab a bottle of cranberry juice, only to have Annie dance out into the garage and play ‘chase me’ around and around the car. In fact, when we first got her she was terrified of the car: it took me 35 minutes to get her into the car the first time. This was after Riley said, Hey–it’s a go day! and jumped into the back seat, panting with enthusiasm. Unlike Riley, she’s never said, Oh, look, the front door’s open–I think I’ll run to Canada… Although, to be painfully honest, those adventures are actually preferable to standing two and a half feet away from a dog I can’t catch. When Riley bolts off down the street I am more focused on FINDING him than I am on how (&*%(&*($_)$#(*7 frustrating this bull-headed runt of a dog can be…
Anyway. I called her. She wouldn’t come. I called her cheerfully. She laughed: Trick. I shut the door.
I walked away.
Silence.
Silence.
Woof!
Cheryl–somebody left me out here in the garage…
I accidentally shut Riley in the garage once and he stayed out there quietly until people started coming to the house and he had to bark their arrival. (It was also better dog weather in the garage that day.)
Both dogs have come inside now. Riley is piled up on the couch, resting, and…I’m not sure where Annie is. The trash is not rattling. No dogs are outside barking. (Well, if they are they’re not mine.)
She’s napping on the living room couch. She can’t nap out here with us because Riley owns the couch. No: you can’t share. I don’t share my couch. Oldest Child.
They came inside because the backyard neighbors (once Princess’ proud owners) have a new dog who may/may not be named ‘Deuce’. Deuce is a medium-sized dog, possibly still a puppy, of obscure breeding background (I saw him once for thirteen second at the top of the baby’s slide.) Deuce and his human mom are out in the back yard practicing ‘sit’. This so infuriated Annie she had to rage outside and insult his heritage on both sides of his family, which caused Cheryl to rage outside and order both dogs into the house and slam shut the dog door.
So a foreign dog and his human are doing no one know what in the neighbor’s back yard, NO ONE KNOWS OR CARES and there is nothing to be done but the taking of a nap.
Nancy will hear about this, when she gets home.
Annie just trotted out there, poked me with her nose, and then trotted back into the living room and threw herself in a heap on the couch.
She moved, Cheryl. That woman I like to bark at and you won’t let me any more–she moved.
Just so you know.
