Thursday, September 20, 2007

When dogs cry

I have not eaten for two days--not since papa carried Queenie to the car. She was very sick. The ranch has been operating without our Chief Executive Watchdog.

Until now, Queenie instructed me on what I could and could not do. At 2 1/2 dog years old (about 23 human years), I have much to learn from Queenie's 15 dog years (or 73 human years). (Us canines age 10.5 human years the first 2 years of our life. At 3, we start aging 4 human years per dog year.)

Recently, I heard Queenie's dog tags jingling. I jumped up and ran to welcome her back. But, it was just papa with her collar & tags in his hands.

I've been sleeping in places Queenie used to stay, so I can be ready when she returns. Humans say dogs have short memories, but they are wrong. My memories of Queenie give me courage to face days without her. The love between us cannot be disguised by her bossing me and my teasing her.

That is the way it is with dogs--there must be a leader. For now, I am acting CEW -- watching over the ranch, and Thelma & Louise.

Queenie and I will be together again someday soon; dog time passes quickly.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Oh my Gawd-dah!

Is it safe? There's a life-changing event that may just take away another of my 9-lives. Don't turn on the light! Thelma & Louise may find me.

When we were first introduced, Thelma politely said, "Hello."

"It's a good thing we rescued her," Papa said.

Mama mentioned, "No telling what would have happened to her, because of her deafness."

("Aha! A rescue," I thought.)

Louise, was equally as cordial and proper with her canine etiquette of "Hello; glad to meet you."

"Awwwwe," Mama said. "They're little angels."

"It's amazing how well-behaved they are," Papa agreed.

(I agreed in thought, "They are sweet little thangs.")

Then when when mama & papa left the room:

Please call an exorcist.

Above, Louise stealthily munches on papa's corral cleaning shoes, while Thelma distracts papa with a smile and wagging stub. "OUCH!" Papa exclaims. Louise vaporizes, leaving me the "dog of interest" at the scene of the crime.

Here they add a nice frayed touch to this expensive Navajo rug:

"Yip, yip, squeak, squeak," puppy for "Goo goo, dah dah." I told them, "I am not your father; but your mother is over there..." and point my nose in Queenie's direction. Queenie snarls out the pet door.

Where have all the flowers gone? One flower bed down, nine to go.

So many places to dig; so little time. Below, I sense a ground breaking about to take place:

My indestructible toys became destructible.

This is one of the run-in-my-sleep nightmares. Please wake me up!