The mornings around here are half joy of the new day - and half absolute horror, fear, and dread. I get up early. Usually really early. Much earlier than my neighbors. 25 years in construction has developed a habit I suppose. I stand in front of the door every morning, my hands shaking slightly, not knowing what kind of morning it will be. Some morning are quite pleasant. The dogs, themselves still groggy, will meander out into the yard and - like a teenage girl - quite dramatically grouse about the difficult effort I have forced upon them by making them get out of bed and take a piss. Sometimes I even get these half sleepy eyed stares of hate and disgust - usually from Ranger. (though Papa Stanley is pretty darn good at the evil glare as well). I like those mornings. ...but there are other mornings. Mornings that are so thoroughly exasperated by wild and driven dogs like Elsa. Dogs who, at the mere distant glimpse of the quickly vanishing fuzzy tail of critter-dom half a block away, go absolutely ape shit....and thus - these follow our pack mate off the cliff idiot hounds ALL join in (even if they have no idea what they are joining in on). On these morning my neighbors hate me. These mornings my blood pressure sky rockets. I would LOVE to have mornings where I could wake up, have a smoke and thin my murky blood with a bit of coffee before having to go through all this. I would love love love that. But oh no - not in my house. It is either bark our fools heads of at critters we have not even a remote possibility of catching - or bark our fool heads off because dad has been awake for almost 2 whole minutes and I have not eaten yet (Ranger!). This morning as I opened the door I saw it - the quick flash of a furry tail disappearing from my peripheral vision as it bounded across the fence. My heart plummeted through my chest and smashed into my toes so hard I actually stumbled a bit. Here we go - Elsa lunged forward, digging her nails into the deck with this horrible tearing sound and flew off across the yard so fast I wondered why there was not smoke. There is always smoke in the cartoons - and this was about the be as horrible as any episode of Tom and Jerry. Elsa thundered through the yard and slammed her bulk against the tree. I was frantically and quite poorly scrambling to find the remote for her E collar. Oh yeah - around me neck. Good place for it. ...and as she threw head head back and her lips parted to bay the bay to the hound gods - as the other dogs, some of them stopping mid pee stream, tensed and watched her with anxious wild eyes - as my heart thudded wildly in my chest as I endured visions of animal control knocking on my door---- I pushed the button on her collar and gave her a warning beep. ...and she turned and looked at me, got down of the tree and - while apparently quite sad and feeling very dejected - trotted back across the yard to the door ---and stood there with her pleading eyes saying Well, I might as well eat then. I was so happy I could have cried.
Posted on: Tue, 05 Aug 2014 13:27:35 +0000
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