“No. We already have a dog. One is enough,” I said. Once, twice, a quadrillion times.
It wasn’t even the kids asking anymore. It was Ronald, my hubby dearest. I thought of suggesting he go get himself a fish if he needed a new pet, but then I knew I would be the one crying and humming “Amazing Grace” when it came time to flush it down the toilet upon its final journey to The-Great-Ocean-In-The-Sky. For at least an entire year, I managed to stay true to my convictions, maintaining that “Jazzie and I don’t need company.”
Yet, here I sit, almost three years later with Lucy lying across my feet, snoring like a two hundred pound truck driver with sleep apnea. Not a surprise, really. Succumbing to constant nagging discussions on the subject is how Jazzie had soared into our lives over thirteen years ago—also on the wings of multiple fingers crossing hearts— all promising to pitch in and feed, walk, play and bathe her. For the most part, it worked, unless of course she’d taken a fine roll on some dead rodent, in wild animal poop (deer being her favorite), or out upon the field after a local farmer had just fertilized it with fresh dung—pig, cow, or a mixture of the two (no preference here)—then bath time was my responsibility. Oh, but I digress—
We bought Lucy for my daughter. Well, that was the excuse at the time.
And, you can see now, why I caved.
Lucy turned out to be a quirky little puppy. This became clearly evident with her choices in places to sit, thereby earning her the name Lucy Goosey:
But then, even after The Goose had grown some, and came to live with us in Germany when Elyse had a very busy semester, she continued to find odd places to sit, like—
BUT, the most unusual place we ever found her sleeping was here:
Now, when Lucy’s not barking at flies on the wall, or at me to take her out for a walk, which I’m not complaining about, because then, in addition to getting any much needed exercise, I’m also exposed to the beauty of our new California surroundings—
Fantastic, right? Ah yes, well—as I was saying, when The Goose is not
Then she’s doing other goofy things, like eating rocks:
And now—the segue complete—to Lucy Goosey’s adventure one chill and blustery day—twenty-four hours spent at the Tamalpais Pet Hospital, which resulted in the removal of:
One laparoscopically removed, two shot from their intestinal constraints on the waves of an enema—diamonds in the
I still wonder sometimes—had they been given more time to submit to the pressure of Lucy’s devilish and intense innards,
Would those rocks have turned into glistening precious stones?
Then at least I could have used them to pay the Vet bill!
What crazy things have your
pests pets done lately?