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It will shed some sequential insight into these three very unusual and
quirky dogs and precludes my repetition of description in the story.
For those of you already acquainted with Foofer, Sasha and Muscles,
please
venture forth.
Seems as though I get roped into dog sitting several times a year.
Not that I care, mind you, but it does take a toll on my marriage.
Two of my closest hunting companions are Iggy and Munch. These guys are
literally the salt of the earth.
If they have any flaws, in my mind at least, it is but one.
They like to golf.
Lord knows why ,...because they both suck at the sport, but they have a
ritual of going once a year.
Usually to some place warm and usually for a few days.
And, as in past years, they have become to depend on me for their
canine
supervision.
They both arrived at my house close to dark. By the looks of the straw
hats,
aloha shirts, black socks and sandals, I was confident I was their last
stop
before the airport.
Iggy yanked Fooferdog's gargantuan carcass out of the truck bed and
said, "I
hate to leave him here with you in this shape, but here is his
medicated
salve for that nasty oozing butt lesion and here are his pills. Two a
day,
morning and night."
Wonderful, I thought,.. daily applications of butt salve, does it get
any
better?
"Also, those pills make him sick and very thirsty, so keep him watered
up
good."
Oh great, I thought, huge mounded puddles of chunky dog barf were
obviously
in store for the weekend.
"Sorry he smells so bad, seems he found somethin' to roll in."
"Thanks" Iggy added.
Munch opened the back door and Sasha leaped out of the truck.
I could tell that she had every turd on the yard mapped out in her mind
before her feet even hit the ground.
In the corner of my eye I could see Muscles on the dashboard of the
truck.
He was wound up tighter than a spring. Muscles loves me and my kids. I
suspect he too knew that this was going to be a vacation for him as
well.
Munch sheepishly grinned at me and said, "Keep an eye on Sasha, she's
due
to be in heat any day."
Munch jumped back in the truck, Iggy fired that diesel up and the
window
rolled down and Munch said , "You be good Muscles" and he handed him to
me
by the scuff of the neck."
Jack Russell's are the easiest dogs in the world to hold for some
reason.
And in a shot he poured out of my arms and hit the ground.
"We'll see ya in a few days" they said to me.
"Have a good time Golfing.. Dorks!" I replied.
I watched that big dually pickup drive away and was at once alone. I
turned
to survey my new brood only to find a reeking Chessie standing by my
side, a
Springer vacuuming up turds with a reckless abandon and a three legged
Jack
Russell Terrier, lustfully pogo sticking the little ceramic garden
gnome
near my front stoop.
But I was happy just having them there.
That's when my wife pulled in the drive.
She stopped, took one look at Muscles, rolled down the window and said,
"You
didn't tell me you were dog sitting this weekend,.THAT,.. is a
disgusting
little dog."
OOOPS! Note to self: remember to tell her the next time. Men get into
trouble for the stupidest reasons sometimes.
I looked down at Foofer and his wrist thick tail was thumping against
my
leg.
I have always been in awe of him. A Chessie, he is an absolute giant of
the
breed. A massive prehistoric canine of sorts. He loves to retrieve huge
pieces of firewood and I have seen him break thick skim ice to fetch
cripples. His ferocity and power is unmatched and I have witnessed him
savagely dismantle and practically disembowel a pair of Rottweillers
that he
felt got too close to my daughter.
He also has a lamb like touch when it comes to children and the people
he
knows.
Sasha is a sweetie but for that toxic turd breath and Muscles,.. well,.
Muscles is just a hopeless lovable three legged pervert.
As I snuck in the back door with all three in tow I was confronted
aggressively by my wife.
"Just where do you think they're going?" She demanded. "And WHAT IS
THAT
SMELL?"
"Don't worry honey, I'll give Foofer a bath, besides they are gonna
sleep in
my den." I said as I tried to squeeze by her.
She blocked my further advance.
"You can give that dog a bath outside, NOT in this house and I suggest
you
do it NOW or the four of you can sleep in the garage."
I hate getting scolded.
Have you ever tried to give a waterdog a bath? It can take hours and
I'm not
sure who is bathing who. The other two jumped into the fray and at
least I
had three clean dogs to take back in the house.
My second attempt to sneak into MY home was again a strip search and
interrogation process. Only this time with conditions.
"Listen Mister" she said, "I didn't want those dogs left unsupervised
in
this house, Got it? Another thing, I'm going out with the girls tonight
and
you are in charge of dinner for the kids, GOT IT? OH and your son
really
wants to go to that school dance and I heard the tickets are sold out,
but I
pulled some strings and managed to get him a ticket. You have to go to
the
rectory and talk directly with Sister Mary Ellen. She said she would
hold a
ticket for him, GOT IT?"
"Got it sweetie" I replied and the dogs followed me with tails tucked.
Somehow they sensed that they were the object of her wrath as well. We
parked ourselves in the den that night.
Foofer laid in his usual spot in front of the fire, Sasha curled up on
my
leather recliner and Muscles had his way with one of my sheepskin
shearling
slippers.
I rose early the next morning and eased into my den to find my
daughter,
Sarah, sound asleep with her blanket on Foofers enormous heaving chest.
Muscles, obviously exhausted from a marathon of slipper lovemaking was
laying on his back with all three legs in the air, having those little
convulsive doggie dreams.
You know, the ones where they whimper and their legs twitch. Most
likely a
dream about his next victim.
Sasha was staring at me with that, "If you don't let me outside NOW I'm
gonna hose this whole room down now" look.
I fed the kids breakfast, gave Foofer his usual nine cups, Sasha her
two and
Muscles was content to finish Sarah's pancakes and bacon.
We had some errands to run and I was trying to win back some brownie
points
and soothe my wife's temper down.
It was a brisk morning and my daughter dressed Muscles in one of those
ridiculous little doggie sweaters that had the words "CHICK MAGNET"
embroidered on the back. And a tiny little spiked collar.
I loaded the dogs in the truck and headed to the rectory to pick up the
dance ticket.
Our local catholic church is a huge gray granite structure. It has a
very
gothic, ominous and foreboding presence to it. In the rear is the
rectory.
The rectory is ruled by an iron fisted Nun named Sister Mary Ellen. She
is a
significantly older woman, near retirement age I suspect.
She is loved by most of the kids and feared by all. I had a healthy
dose of
respect for her too.
I parked in the lot and the dogs bailed out too.
My Tundra was new and had a leather package and the idea of leaving
those
three savages in the truck made me cringe.
I thought of putting a lead on Foofer but that is akin to tethering a
T-Rex.
I knocked on the rectory door and the maintenance guy, Ed, told me that
Sister Mary Ellen was in the chapel and pointed to the side entrance.
I walked across the lot and knocked on the door. Sister Mary Ellen
greeted
me and I inquired about my son's ticket.
She was a very pious woman. Typical of a woman that has given her life
to
the church. She was short and very thin and wore the typical garb of a
working nun, the black skirt and frock, rimmed glasses, the black shoes
and
those "very loose around the ankle" nylon stockings. I noticed that.
Apparently, it had also caught Muscles' amorous eye as well.
"I have your ticket but I am trying to move a piece of furniture in the
foyer right now" she said.
"Can I help you sister?' I inquired.
"That would be very kind of you." She replied.
"Oh.. wait Sister, I can't come in I have my dogs with me."
"Nonsense" she replied, "We are all God's creatures."
Not wanting to debate a Nun, I added, "NO Sister, these are not God's
creatures,. Mephistopheles maybe, Beelzebub possibly, most likely Satan
himself spawned these dogs but they are NOT God's creatures, trust me"
She just looked at me and smiled and said "Well bring them into the
Lord's
house anyway then."
We all filed in the church and I was just finishing moving a large
piece of
furniture in the chapel foyer when I heard a loud slurping noise.
And Foofer was missing.
SLURPSLURPSLURPGACK SLURPSLURPGLUGLUSLURP
Kinda like the sound a dog makes when he drinks out of the toilet.
SLURPSLURPSLURPGACK.
And my eyes shot up the aisle to the alter where, to my absolute
horror,
Foofer was standing on his two huge rear legs drinking out of the
Baptismal
vessel.
"Oh dear" I heard her say.
"FOOFER!" I screamed simultaneously running up the aisle, "STOP IT!"
"DOWN!"
"Oh I'm so sorry Sister!" I spoke loudly.
"BAD DOG!" I scolded him as she approached me.
"Not to worry" she said reassuringly.
Muscles, obviously aroused by all the commotion, seized the moment,
latched
on with all three legs and started to take full advantage of that ankle
with
those loose fitting nylon stockings.
Wearing that ridiculous sweater.
"Oh dear!" I heard.. "Certainly is an affectionate little thing isn't
he?"
she said staring at me with that "please help me" look.
"MUSCLES STOP IT!" I barked .
"OH, I AM SO, SO SORRY SISTER". I was mortified.
But he didn't stop so I tried to flip him off with my foot, missed him
and
ran the toe of my boot right into Sister Mary Ellen's skinny little
shin.
She doubled over and in one of those nanosecond mental horror replays I
realized that I had just kicked an elderly, ankle humped Nun in the
shin. In
church.
"OH MY GOD SISTER I AM SO SORRY ARE YOU OK?"
SLURPSLURPSLURP. "GODAMIT FOOFER STOP IT!" I screamed and to my instant
horror realized I had just sworn in front of an elderly, ankle humped,
shin-kicked Nun. In church.
"Oh dear" I remember her saying.
I knew at that second I was going straight to hell, you know, the "Do
not
pass GO, do not collect $200, go directly to Hell" deal. It was just a
matter of time.
"OH NO, are you OK SISTER? I AM SOOO SORRY!" I pleaded as I helped her
to
stand straight up again.
"Not to worry", she replied, but I could tell she was in a lot of pain,
"They are frisky little things 'eh?" she added almost in shock and
disbelief.
Just as I thought it couldn't get any worse, she bent down to show her
forgiveness to the dogs for their sins.
"I wouldn't do that Sister.." I pleaded.
But not in time.
Sasha, whose very breath alone could guard the Gates of Hades, met her
face
to face and gave Sister one of those toxic dog turd smells like
Lucifer's
morning breath wet sloppy dog kisses that made her go rigid, staggered
her
and dropped her to her skinny little knees.
OH NO! I remember thinking as I witnessed this nightmare, I might have
just
killed an elderly, ankle humped, sworn at, shin-kicked Nun. In church.
God
help me.
"Oh Dear" was the last thing I can recall hearing in the fog of that
nightmarish exchange.
I went to confession this morning.
I was relieved that I was not struck dead by a bolt of lightening when
I
crossed the threshold to that gray granite building.
I was as nervous as a Bishop in a Brothel, fearing I may run face to
face
into Sister Mary Ellen.
I caught Sister Mary Ellen whispering something to our Priest as she
glared
at me over those wire rim glasses.
Please, pray for those wretched heathen canines.
Please, pray for me.
I don't want to go to Hell.
I am quite sure there are no grouse there.
I'm hoping to be able to make grouse camp this year.
I mean, how long can it actually take to say five thousand Hail Mary's
and
ten thousand Our father's?
~M~
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