So my parents have come and gone. We did lots of eating out, shopping, and TV-watching (though we didn’t go to the movies at all) while they were here.
The best part of it all is that my father was a working MACHINE, and he and Fred got a bunch of stuff done – trees cut down, the areas around some of the big trees cleared, and – my favorite – the fence around the back yard put up. My father keeps saying he’ll be back in the Fall, and given how much he really likes the hard work that he and Fred did, I don’t doubt that he will.
Fred went from “I think your parents are kidding about buying the house next door!” to “I think your Dad should buy the house next door so he can come over and help me with stuff!” My father said several times that they should buy the house as a winter home – but really, it ended up costing too much for them to seriously consider it.
I think I mentioned that they were going to bring their dog – Benji – with them, and I was concerned about how the cats would react.
Let me repeat: I was concerned about the cats.
What I should have been concerned about, apparently, is that Mister Boogers and Maxi and Newt – especially Maxi – would kick Benji’s butt every time he looked at them funny. Sometimes it was understandable, as in the first time Benji went running toward Maxi and Newt and they felt threatened, so immediately unleashed the Paws of Doom and had him spinning in circles yelping.
(I didn’t see it myself, but apparently it was quite the sight to behold.)
Sometimes Benji would be minding his own business and a cat would decide he needed his butt kicked, such as the time we were all on the cement pad eating dinner. Maxi and Newt always join us when we eat outside, and my parents brought Benji outside because – well, why not? He’s a good dog, he (mostly) behaves himself, why shouldn’t he get to hang out with us?
Anyway, Maxi and Newt were over by us, and Benji was over by my parents. Maxi decided Benji needed some discipline, so she puffed up and showed him what was what.
By day three, poor Benji wouldn’t walk by any of the cats on his own. And he’s such a good dog that he didn’t even dream of going after any of the cats. I only saw him bare his teeth once, and that was while he was eating, and Mister Boogers began vigorously sniffing his (Benji’s) butt You can’t really blame a guy for not liking to have his butt sniffed while he’s trying to eat.
So as much as Benji is a good dog and behaved himself and didn’t pee in the house (my big concern, but he’s not prone to that, I guess), I came to the conclusion, for the umpteenth time, that I am SO not a dog person. He’s a sweet dog, but I just don’t like having a dog around.
It’s with no small sense of irony that I report that late last week, a beagle (or beagle mix) dog showed up on our front porch and has been hanging around ever since. She and Benji had a good time (and Benji didn’t let the fact that he’s been fixed slow him down at ALL. If y’know what I MEAN.) and I tried my best to talk my parents into bringing her home. My mother might have gone for it, but my father wasn’t up for it at all, and in the end they left without her.
The lady two doors down is interested in keeping her, but she has no way to contain her (interesting fact about beagles – they don’t like to be fenced in, and they have got some LUNGS on them). I don’t know if the dog was a dropoff, or if she ran off from her home – she’s wearing a blue collar, but no tags – and doesn’t know how to get back or what. Fred’s under instructions to call and place ads in the local papers; hopefully that’ll bring a tearful owner thrilled to be reunited with little Trixiebelle.
She’s a sweet dog and I don’t mind having her around, but it annoys me when we go for our nightly walk and Maxi and Newt don’t accompany us because the dog’s with us. I mean, they’ve kicked her butt, too, and she avoids them and all, but they don’t go out of their way to hang out with her in the vicinity, and I really like having them follow us around.
For the time being, I guess we’ll feed her (she’s been eating cat food on the front porch, but I dug out the bag of dog food left over from when we had Jake and filled a bowl for her), but that dog is NOT coming in my house, and once the gates are up in the back yard, I’m not allowing her in the back yard. And the first one of you idiots who’s all “Oh Robyn, just ADMIT IT! You have a dog!”, I’m going to hunt you down and kick you in the knee. I don’t have a dog, I don’t want a dog, I’m not a dog person, and I won’t feel bad about it.
However, if anyone out there’s interested in taking her, BY ALL MEANS let me know. She’s good with other dogs, she’s not aggressive, she’s pretty submissive in fact, and she’s a sweetie pie. I’d drive at least a couple of hours to bring her to a good home.
She likes to roam, though. She’d probably be happiest on a farm or in a pretty rural area. She has no street smarts – she’s not completely up on the idea of staying out of the road, though I think Benji taught her the basic idea of it – so a heavily trafficked area might not be the best idea for her. Beagles are supposed to be good hunters, aren’t they? Well, she might be a good hunter, but she doesn’t know squat about fetching a stick.
You know you want her.
Miz Poo: “I don’t see why that damn dog gets to go outside and we can’t. UNFAIR.”
Mister Boogers: *fume* “Ah hets dawgs.”
2006: No entry.
2005: They’re little playing machines.