new raspberry; �HATES technological I am sick to death of erectile dysfunction, pass the tampons please |
Dirty Secrets # 2 Dirty Secrets for a Saturday Afternoon I have a foul dog. Don�t get me wrong. Since converting to being primarily a dog-person as opposed to a cat-person, the sun rises and sets on my Maverick---the smartest Border collie in Kansas. But she got her name for a reason. She�s headstrong and willful. Knows all her basic commands and will even obey them---in her own sweet friggin� time. She will boldly go where no dog has gone before. Her favorite pastime is to run back and forth in the drainage tubes that run under the driveway (they let the stream pass unimpeded instead of having the stream wash out our driveway). The tubes are just big enough for her to stand upright in and she just thinks she�s the coolest thing when she�s spelunking. She has no fear of the local wildlife having two kills to her credit, a squirrel and a raccoon. She broke her leg last year chasing a squirrel and it only made her hate them more. Today I was out playing with the video mode on my new digital camera. I was taking some shots of the dogs as they romped in the yard. Things were pretty peaceful until the wild turkeys came along. The grass in the field by the barns is pretty tall so none of us knew the turkeys were there and they couldn�t see us. That is until I tossed a ball into the field and Maverick went to retrieve it. Once the turkeys were discovered, both dogs gave chase and the turkeys did what turkeys do when they are under attack, they immediately dump everything from their bowels and take flight. Dallas the retriever, dumb but loyal, gives chase but Maverick is still as death and right before my very eyes she drops to the ground and begins that �Oh-happy-dog-I�ve-found-something-dead-to-roll-in� roll. Now if your only experience with turkeys is a Butterball for the holidays, let me share something with you. Turkey poop is the most foul-smelling object on the planet earth. Skunk does not even come close to the nostril assaulting, acrid aroma of turkey poop that is now smeared on two thirds of a bushy Border collie. I have smelled this on her before. Only now do I discover the source of this odiferous aroma. Of course being Maverick, the commands STOP and COME are optional; to be heeded in her own time frame, not mine. So if I give my dog a Native American name, I guess it would have to be �Rolls in Turkey Turds�. btw...I've been off at my writer's retreat in Michigan, hence the lack of updates, but I promise more to come, and soon
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secrets pondering: Why the right wingers who want to keep the government out of their business insist on putting the government in my bedroom laughing about: It gets lost in translation crying about: bad habits: smoking totally ballistic about: amen sister: someone else�s take on childlessness regular reads: cactustree must see tv: |