Thursday, May 5, 2016


Picture it--a gorgeous summer-like evening.  Perfect for a late mowing.  The soaker hose is giving the perennials next to the fence a much needed drink.  And then the flash of white.  With a lot of black.  Have you met our new labradoodle puppy?  Actually, he's probably 16 months old, but oh, is he a puppy.  Like any youngster, mud is a significant attraction.  So too is the dog next door.  The fence between the two properties provides an excellent demarcation, keeping Gus the Schnauzer in his yard and Teddy in ours.  Actually, what it did was keep Gus at home and Teddy at home giving them reason to run up and down the fence line.  Gus?  Carefree!  Teddy?  Happy as a pig in mud--and twice as dirty.  Mud up his legs.  Mud on his stomach (you should see how low to the ground he gets when he's a running fool!).  And after all that running, a drink was in order--from a puddle of mud!  I'm upset.  Who was the idiot that let the dog out to run through the mud?  In fact, when my lovely bride comes out, I ask her that question.  I omit the idiot part, but I'm pretty sure I implied it.  She informs me she didn't let him out.  Well, I know I didn't, and he's a bright dog, but doesn't yet know how to open the door.  Then the truth.  When I went out to mow, Teddy was upstairs.  Apparently, I didn't shut the door as I went outside.  The idiot was I!  And try as hard as I could to blame anyone else, there it was.  The two of us managed to clean him up.  One of us pounded my chest and wailed "mea culpa" vociferously.  Actually, I did say I was sorry for blaming her.  But oh, the frustration of self realization of stupidity!

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