Can you hear the dulcid tones of the voice-over actor telling you about how a mild mannered, family dog went to the Dark Side, one night? Yeah? Me, too. I hear voices... I digress.
I was happily ensconsed in my Woman Cave last night, having done all of my dinner chores, settling in for a nice evening of spinning. Trixie would come and go, during the evening, checking in on me and sometimes acting out the pantomime; I need to go outside, Mama. Up and down and just plain restless, which I attributed to no Big Walk yesterday.
It had to be about 9 pm when she sauntered in for a regular skritch and I noticed some sort of odd material on her face and coat. My mind started running things but nothing came to me, immediately, and so I got up, asking her pointedly, "what did you do?". No destrucion in the living room. No destruction in the laundry room. No destruction in the hallway to our bedroom and then, there it was... I apologize for not whipping out my camera but I was too taken aback by the scene. Here was our bedroom floor, covered in FEATHERS. Tank was lying on his bed, looking at me, as though to say, "don't look at me, *I* had nothing to do with it". It was all that I could do, to keep a straight, stern face, telling Trixie that this was BAD and that this was NO. She gave me this look:
I swear, it took me back to the evening when Lauren and her clever friend, Jenny, were in her room, crank calling people. I KNEW that I should not laugh. I knew that it was WRONG but it was really hilarious.
The feathers and ruined little fancy shmancy pillow are tied up in a neat bundle, in the garbage can and the floor has been vacuumed. Needless to say, TODAY, we took those dogs for a nice long run in the woods, until their tongues were lolling out of the sides of their mouths.
Trixie really is a good dog. She is still a big puppy and is just happy, all of the time, running straight up dirt walls and bounding down to the pathway, over and over and over. Tank seems content to be on a leash now, watching her wear herself out. He has been on pain meds and this Tuesday, we take him for his knockout drops and big x-ray, to see if he does need surgery. He seems to know his limitations, these days, unless SOMEONE wants to romp. I guess that any surgery will hold, until we come back from our trip and Stitches West. Then, I can stay home and keep him quiet (yeah, right). He looks a bit like Sad Sack, don't you think?
One last bit of stuff about Trixie; she loves the cats, to pieces. Remarkably, they think that she is a nice goofball and allow her to come up in their faces, nudging and nibbling, while they lick her nose. It is her gentle nature that is so great and perhaps it is in the genetic code of a Farm Dog to gently herd her "friends".
Here's to a beautiful weekend with a visit from our buddies, Brenda and Milt, who need to come up here and taste some liquid siphoned out of barrels. Barrel Tasting Weekend, baby. Nothing like Futures to look forward to, with friends.