Yesterday was my Dearly Beloved’s birthday and I’d planned to write something eloquent and mushy. Alas. . . .
The Birthday Boy had been anxious to get back to the beach-house-not-on-the-beach and had asked Good Egg Son to come down for a Father/Son golf weekend. I volunteered to take care of the dogs–our Miss Piggy and granddog Stella, an energetic Weimaraner. How hard can it be to sit around and knit or read with two dogs at your feet, right?
Simple, indeed… until time for Miss Piggy’s poop walk. I needed to take both dogs at the same time, fearing that Stella would shred the door if left behind, not to mention that she has a bark that can dislodge roof shingles two streets away and she isn’t afraid to use it.
I put them on retractable leashes, thinking they’d be easier to handle that way. Before we reached the end of the block it became apparent that I’d been wrong about that. Miss Piggy pooped quickly and did a U-turn, ready to head home.
Stella wanted to run to Connecticut.
Quickly, the two of them entangled me in their retractable leashes, pulling in opposite directions as I stood hog-tied in the middle of the street. I was having minimal success in freeing myself until a couple of our neighbors drove up and, after they got their laughter under control, got out and unraveled me.
One walked Miss Piggy back to the house so that I could continue walking Stella, while the other took the poop bag and drove home with it dangling out her car window. She said, by way of explanation, “That’s what friends do for each other.”
I should make a note of that.
I soon realized that I should have held on to the poop bag and given the neighbor Stella’s leash to hang out the window and drive her around for exercise, for I was doing little but restraining her. She dragged me around the neighborhood as I yelled, “Stel-l-l-l-a!!!” in a poor but entirely unintended imitation of Marlon Brando.
When she jumped into a mud puddle, I worried about letting those muddy paws back inside the house, but Stella solved the problem herself by jerking me to the other side of the street and jumping into the lake there. I held on and eventually won that round without having to go in after her. Mud problem solved.
It was I who came home panting. Stella was practically moonwalking around me in boredom as I flopped in a chair and picked up my computer to write sweet sentiments.
I gave up on trying to write, but did manage, even with Stella glued to my side, to bake a cake… an Olive Oil Citrus Cake I found in a cookbook. Greater love hath no wife than to zest an orange, a lemon, and a grapefruit for her husband’s birthday cake. But the fabulous dates stuffed with gorgonzola and pine nuts that Good Egg Son whipped up may have been the hit of the evening.
It was a delightful day! The Birthday Boy took the dogs for a walk himself and summed up the experience quite succinctly:
“It’s like walking Eeyore and Tigger.”