The Car Game

Seeing all the posts about The Car Game has got me thinking: What kind of car would I be? Something rugged and durable? Something sleek and fast? Expensive, sure. Common, no. But let's start with my roomies.

Glynn would have to be a classy little Ford Mustang convertible. It's cute, fun, easy to handle just like Glynn, and it would be perfect for someone who likes their ears flapping in the breeze while they cruise down the road.

Cap would be a old classic -- the 1909 Model T Ford itself (putt-putt). Antique, very sturdy and reliable, but he doesn't accelerate or brake quickly. Kinda explains the occasional body-slam he does when he's bouncing around.

And then there's me. I'd have to be something unique, eye-catching and smart, like a DeLorean! Yep, they just don't make 'em like me anymore, that's for sure!

This has been a fun exercise. If you haven't been tagged yet for The Car Game, consider yourself tagged by me and jump right in. What kind of car are you?

~ Tell

The Taming of the Roo

First let me say in my defense, a dog's gotta do what a dog's gotta do.

Mom likes to keep a flock of laying hens around, mainly for the eggs but also for pest control. They eat bugs, you know. Our last rooster was appropriately named The Big Bad. We don't know what kind of rooster he was, just came with the other chicks. Maybe The Big Bad's foul mood was because he was originally supposed to be a hen. Anyway, he became quite a menace with his stalking and flogging. There's nothing more startling to a dog minding his own business than to suddenly be whapped in the hineybowl by a flurry of feathers.

Sometime last year, The Big Bad disappeared right off the farm. I suspect a chicken hawk, but no one knows for sure. For awhile, we had no crowing in the morning, no sneak attacks upon my nether regions, no archnemesis for me to keep track of. All was peace and quiet.

Then Mom brought home another rooster. This one is a young one, not quite in his prime yet, but I can already see the little wheels turning in his head. He keeps a beady eye on me and the other two dogs, glaring and plotting. He sounds the alarm if we get too close to his girls. He wakes me up at five in the morning. Ugh!

So, as I said, it had to be done. Oh, Ozzie the rooster could have prevented the whole thing by staying in the chicken pen where he belongs. But no, he has to fly over the fence every day and enter MY domain, teasing me with his long, gorgeous, flowing feather duster of a tail, so...

All Mom found was a pile of feathers. That, and a very disgruntled Ozzie sporting a bare bottom.

That's ol' Ozwinkle on the left. See, now his tail is even shorter than the hens (hee hee).

I hope Ozzie remembers this little lesson, and doesn't pick up the same bad habits as The Big Bad once showed. Dogs are to be respected, not used as sparing partners. After all, those spurs could poke someone's eye out.

~Tell

Happy Gotchas!

A couple of friends have asked about Cap and Glynn, and I realized I have been remiss in not introducing them. My two compadres say I'm hogging the blogging, so I'll tell how they came to live with us.

Glynn was found in the Tulsa dog pound. When her time was up, a nice rescue group got her and put her picture on Petfinder. The Family couldn't resist that face, so they filled out forms, got interviewed, had references checked, on and on until we were told to come and get her. Then a terrible snow storm came and the roads were closed for several days. Mom kept calling and asking them to hold onto that sweet girl, she would pick her up as soon as she could drive over there. It was hard to wait, knowing I had a little sis coming to live with us. Like waiting for Christmas!

Glynn was not very socialized, and she still cringes when someone reaches for her. I don't think she got a lot of cuddles before. She also had a long caesarean scar on her tummy, with stitches still in it. Her teeth were in bad shape. Poor girl, we think she may have come from a breeding kennel, but can't imagine how she ended up in a city pound so soon after having puppies. Where were the puppies, anyway? So many mysteries. Glynn won't talk about that time, she's just happy to be here with us now. She's like my little shadow, following me around. You should see the smile on her face when she's being ornery. Her favorite game is to nip me in the bum when we play to make me run faster. It works.

Cap's tale is a sad one. Dad saw him in the back of an animal control officer's truck. He was going to be put down because he was in such bad shape. The poor fellow only weighed 13 pounds, just skin and bones. His eyes were so infected they were bleeding. He's an older dog, so he was shaking when he stood up and wagged his tail. The animal control officer is a friend and he said we could have him if we wanted him, because he didn't think Cap would survive the cold night at the pound's kennel. Well, he didn't have to make that offer twice! Our vet warned us that he was so malnourished he might not survive, but Mom and Dad think every wire fox terrier is special and deserves a chance. After all, there's not that many of us around.

It was touch and go for almost a month, but My Family says it was worth all the trouble and expense. Cap is a whopping 23 pounds now, a bit on the chubby side. He really is a gentleman and has good manners except for being a bit grumbly over me poking my snoot in his dinner dish to see what he's eating. I guess he's afraid the chow might run out and he would get hungry again. No chance of that, I tell him. Have you seen the way we stock the pantry here?

As for me, I came from a nice breeder and was the last puppy in a litter of eight to be sold. The last one picked, My Boy says, but I feel like the pick of the litter anyway. After all, I have my own boy to spend time with, so life is pretty good all around.

So those are our Happy Gotcha stories. Maybe some of you have gotcha stories to share, too?

~ Tell