Month: March 2010

This morning was cloudy and spritzy, and the gate was still closed at the park.  I took the dogs off the leash and let them scamper.  The Eno was high on its banks from the rain, rushing, clay-red.  Violet took off, and I didn’t know where she had gotten to until I heard sound like a bunch of sixth graders trying out their oboes in band class for the first time.

I traipsed through the brush to the riverbank and watched Violet’s black head chugging through the current, a V ripping its way behind her and a flock of geese scattered ten yards in front of her.  Soon she and her prey were gone around the river’s bend, so I wended my way back to the path and walked downstream.

About this time last year, maybe a little later, Violet and Boone and I had been hiking and stopped to splash in a pond.  A lonely goose honked his way across its diameter.  Violet could not resist the siren call of a goose.  In she dove.  Every time she would get close, the goose would crank himself up and alight on the water forty yards away.  But my stubborn girl kept after him.  Boonie didn’t like to swim, so he ran around the water’s edge hoping one or both of them would come ashore.  I followed him at a saunter.  Ten minutes later, Boone and I both sat down in the grass.  Ten minutes after that, I took Boone, walked into the woods, and hid behind a tree, hoping Violet would follow her pack.

No way.  She kept paddling.  I worried she might get exhausted, a cramp, I don’t know.  Would I be able to get to her and pull her out of the water?  This was a big pond, and I’m no champion swimmer.

After a straight forty minutes of doggy-paddling, she finally gave up and came to shore, her chest heaving, her eyes on fire.

So back to this morning, I walked along the path calling Violet’s name.  Redford sprinted, stopped, listened, looked, sprinted.  I prayed she hadn’t gotten too fixated, the roaring river hadn’t taken her a mile downstream, the banks had offered her a foot-hold to climb out.

I crossed a bridge.  A tinkling, a blur of black.  She trotted through the brambles toward us.

Redford gave her effusive kisses on the mouth.  I let his kisses speak for both of us.

The other day, my BOYFRIEND bought Redford and Violet these gigantoid pressed raw hides, which were awesome, as they kept them busy for the better part of an hour one night.  So when I went to the pet store, I picked up a couple more. Even gargantuan-er ones. Beef-basted!

Redford started making love to his on Tuesday night and kept at it when I turned in for the night.  I could hear him scraping away at the thing as I dozed off.  Normally, I would’ve taken it away from him prior to bed, but I had been out late at the Carolina game and couldn’t put together a coherent thought before zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

A few hours later….

Me: (sensing Redford’s face in my face) Redford.

Redford: Ohai!

Me: It’s 1:00am.

Redford: Yeah.

(beat)

Me: What?!

Redford: You know doze big rah hides you got fer me and Vylit?

Me: Yes.

Redford: I like dem!

Me: And you wanted to wake me up to tell me that.

Redford: Yes.

Me: OK, thank you.

(beat)

Me: I got it.

(beat)

Me: You can go to bed now.

Redford: You know doze big rah hides you got fer me and Vylit?

Me: Yes?

Redford: Can we get moar of doze?

Me: You’re not even half way done with the one you have!

Redford: (blink)

Me: Yes, OK, fine.  I’ll get more.

Redford: K. Gnight!