By LUELLA DOW
Contributor
“My dog ate it!”
Brother, you don't know how true that is.
My Labrador puppy, Barkley, and her brother, Brady, have never passed up a chance to eat anything. Plastic is fine.
Crunchy wood is delightful. Labels off containers are supper fun because they take a little longer. And don't forget the oil measuring stick on my new brush cutter. After the pups had sampled it, they thought it would make a nice yard ornament.
I might mention the old blanket we gave them to snuggle under when they were babies and the weather was still cold.
It was a pink blanket, all in one piece (as blankets usually are). Now it is a dozen or so rags scattered here and there to brighten up the yard. You don't know what fun can be had by a game of tug-of-war.
The puppies' biggest conquest came a few days ago, after I browsed through the Farmer's Market in Cheney. There she was, the lady who makes barbecue sauce like no other. I've bought it from her and immediately got another bottle as I passed her table.
Home again, I left the rear passenger door open on my car while I unloaded sundry items. Unfortunately, as sometimes happens, I was distracted by something in the house and didn't get back to the car until I looked through the kitchen window and noticed the door still open.
Yep, Barkley and Brady were inside taking inventory of the contents. By the way, they are not car dogs. I have never invited them to ride with me. And now, I never will!
Outside, on the ground, I spied a brown and white mess composed of plastic bag, bottle material and something squishy beside the car. I recognized it.
My barbecue sauce! In a soft, feminine, non-intrusive voice – no that's not right. What I said was, “Out!” which works well with delinquents. The aforementioned delinquents scrambled out of the car. They took another lick or two at the mess by my feet and didn't even burp.
Since they weren't quite human I couldn't expect the pups to clean up their own trash. I disposed of what had been the bottle of barbecue sauce, which now hardly covered the palm of my hand.
Being conscientious, as well as furious, I occasionally watched the dogs for signs of paralysis, vomiting, prolapsed tongue, insatiable thirst. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I thought to myself, “Well, at least you could have a little tummy ache to show me you're sorry.”
I supposed I should be thankful to them for pilfering my barbecue sauce. After all, I've seen them chasing crawly bugs with their noses, munching on worms, even a mouse, and who knows what else I didn't see. They saved me money. No parasite medicine for these two, they just cleaned out their whole digestive tracts with a few slurps.
And as for us, well, when what you've bought is stolen, you do without. Until – now let's see, where did that lady say she was going next…
Luella Dow is a local author and can be reached at lotsaplots@aol.com.
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