Costume parties bring me down.
See my face? That tiny frown?
Halloween’s just not my night.
See my hair? I’m quite a fright!
My terrier Tucker is tenacious in getting what he wants.
He’s also territorial.
Take this morning for example.
The canine clan and I were enjoying the cool morning breeze on the porch when I went into the kitchen to grab a refill of coffee.
I first stopped to move a few magnets on the refrigerator to accommodate my latest art acquisition.
It’s a cheery brightly colored portrait of a brown pup created by a little six year old friend of mine.
I’d left it on my writing desk out on the porch.
When I returned there with my coffee, I saw Tuck had grabbed my blanket and the new picture was up on the loveseat next to him.
Maybe the breeze had carried the art over in his direction.
Though my eleven year senior boy is still quite an athlete and counter surfs with the best of then.
When I tried to take away the picture, Tuck let our a gentle, guttural growl.
“All right, you can keep it for now but don’t let it get dog eared,” I told him. “And I get the blanket.”
I took his snoring as an acceptance of my compromise.
And soon this senior was softly snoring away as well.
I was awake before the sailors, but still was running behind the joggers early this Mother’s Day.
Navigating through a thick grove of sweet smelling crab apple trees, I happily joined up with an enthusiastic flock of goslings. They were busily paying homage to their own mother by showing off their newly acquired honking skills at a holiday brunch.
They seemed particularly thrilled that there was plenty of lakeside seating as well as a wide selection of green grass and clover for their culinary pleasure.
I’d already celebrated with my own daughter and grandkids at a busy playground picnic yesterday.
The scene today appeared to be a peaceful one, with my 4 legged boy Rex and I soon enjoying a warm ham and gruyere croissant bought from a trendy patisserie nearby.
Rex slowly licked the cheese and grease off my fingers while he lovingly looked up at me. He then gave me one of those ‘sure is better than kibble’ kind of looks.
He is quite a connoisseur after all.
Then suddenly the entertainment began.
Though we didn’t know there was going to be any.
A newly assembled choir of goslings was crying at the top of their beaks and running right towards us.
They’d flatly rejected nature’s finely prepared platter of fresh greens.
It seems this young flock is particularly fond of French pastries, as is their dear mother.
Shouting “ooh la la” to no one in particular Rex and I trotted off after the runners for cover, leaving our own brunch far behind.
Eventually, we did find solace at a McDonald’s up the road.
And my boy Rex was happy once again, as of course we ordered greasy French fries as a substitute.