Yes, this is a post about my wife's dog.
And here's a picture of her.
Okay, so the sharp eyes out there might have noticed something--that's not her. No, that's a big-arse cigar. A Puros Indios Double Magnum, if you're wondering. But it sort of looks like Penny. All you have to do is imagine that Double Magnum with long hair, a curled tail, white and copper coloured. More Papillion-ish and less...er...cigarish.
I had a lot of outside work to do today. Field work. I had two oak trees worth of branches to clean up, grass to cut under them, and a very ancient pecan tree surrounded in briars, poison ivy, wild grape, and other assorted nasty bushes that had to be cleaned. See, the brother's buddy finally moved his three bee skeps, and that meant I could get back to cleaning around my last three trees. I like my trees clean looking. Pruned. Natural, but artificial. Yeah.
But the wife is spending the weekend dog and house-sitting for her hairdresser, and I had Penny, the Princess dog, who turns her petite nose up at lower class 'dirt dogs.' And I had to work. And I felt bad about leaving her in the house for several hours.
So, I did what any red-blooded man in my situitation would do. Yup, I ate her.
No, I scooped her up in my arm, got all my tools, hooked up the trailer to the lawn tractor, sat down, fired her up, and headed out to the field, dog in my arm. Thank my lucky stars the neighbors didn't see it. I would never live it down. A he-man working in his yard, driving his huge lawn tractor with a trailer packed full of blades and choppers and chain saw, carrying a three and a half pound Papillion around, crooked in my arm like a Gucci bag. The things I do.
So, the fun began. I worked, and Penny, well, Penny became a dirt dog for the morning. Long forgotten was Friday's weekly bath brush fluff tumble dry perfume pedi etc. treatment. So much for the Eu de No Stinky Pooch, no need for the sharply-groomed fur, Mom. Time to get down and dirty. And she did. She ran, she rolled. She found stinky things to get into. She even drove off my brother's two dogs, the half Pug/half Beagle (a Puggle?) and the other one, a sort of greyish...uhm...dog. Stood them down like a four-foot high drill instructor barking down a whole platoon of new 7' tall recruits. And then proceeded to go wandering in grass so tall I thought for a moment there that she was pretending to be Papa Hemingway preparing to bag a particularly dangerous man-eating tiger.
I didn't get to try the return trip, however, which would have been a lot more interesting. No, not interesting, what's the word? "Filthy." That's it, filthy. I was covered head to toe in plant matter, dirt, wood chips, bits of thorns, angry wasps, poison ivy strands tied around my arms, bits of wild grape coming out of my mouth like some crazed Green Man, and I would have had to try and carry Penny back again. No thanx. Luckily the proper owner happened along, stopped her car, yelled at me "Where's the dog?" as though I might know, and after Penny got a little elevation to see where all the noise was coming from she bolted across the Back 40 like a, well, like a bolt from a crossbow, and was suddenly Miss Princess again. Trying to chew burrs, insects and wild animal droppings out of her hair.
They were bound for the MIL's house. Hope she doesn't mind the odd preying mantis and/or cockleburr in the house.