I suppose it was only a matter of time, you know, before he rebelled. He wasn’t an Alpha, and-especially since his brother’s death three years ago, he has always been good, and I mean-perfect. Yada, yada, yada-everyone’s dog is perfect, I know-I admit it, I am biased, but his loyalty and mild manner were taken for granted, as if he was one dimensional, and honey let me tell you, he is multi-dimensional. He is locally famous, as my husband takes him to breakfast with the big wigs, his friends, or anyone who will join him at 6:00 a.m. Arrrgghh. I haven’t seen 5:30 a.m. in eons, let alone 6:00, but everybody has his or her preferences. 🙂
The only time our beloved canine and poop head extraordinaire gets feisty, as a matter of fact, is when there is snow upon the ground, at least a few inches. Mother nature blessed us with a foot of “onion” snow, and I watched, ecstatically, from our kitchen, then living room. I have always loved snow, everything about snow was and is appealing to me. Is there anything more lovely than a soft, lazy falling of flakes so intricate, so inspiring in that not a one is like another?
So, even though it was 20 degrees with the wind chill; despite the fact that I am still having some lymph node discomfort; and in spite of the fact that I was only one person and had never attempted this before-in the history of me-I got out in that gorgeous white precipitation and I was a goner. The big problem when I was a kid was that I didn’t have the patience to make a snow ball, let alone a snowman. I was always going at warp speed, even as a child.
So, I broke the work down in four twenty minute segments. What started out as wild entertainment, began to hurt my lower back in places I didn’t know I owned. The ball of snow took on a momentum of its own, and I ended up deciding to make a boy and a girl-as I had two heavy bottoms, and I couldn’t lift either.
The fourth time out, I brought accessories. I was only finished with the male statue, and I had a lovely scarf, carrots for the nose, old buttons for the eyes, and I painstakingly tooth picked my husband’s hunting cap to the top. He wasn’t perfect, but I loved him and I could hardly wait to surprise my husband.
About an hour ago, I let Jesse out. He was pretty insistent, and I thought he had to relieve his bladder. I am in the laundry room and have my eye right on him. I open the door to let him in. No Jesse. I call his name out loud, twice……No Jesse. As I walk through the house it hits me. NO!!!!!!!!! I run for the window and look at poor Jude (I named him, of course) laying in a pile of smashed snow and stepped on trinkets. What. The. Bloody. Hell.
And here’s the thing-it was my fault. I spent too much time, wouldn’t let him near it while I worked, even oohed and ahed over him-excluding the dog who does everything with his mother. And, to be honest, after I told him to go think about what he had done, I stepped into the mud room and grabbed a towel-to muffle the sounds of my laughter~