|Not So Innocent Anne|
Dog Camp was up early at 5:30 AM, with all dogs dancing the ‘I gotta pee” jig at the back door. AnnBanan was first in line, but the brakes were immediately applied when the door opened to a cold, winter rain pouring down outside. Hesitantly they descended the deck stairs in search of the perfect spot to relieve their full bladders, with Anne leading the pack. I closed the door as it was definitely my turn in the loo. In just several minutes, the familiar scratching at the door alerted me that they were finished, and ready to come back inside. All dogs, except? Well, you guessed it, Anne. Often times she is the lagger, so the door was closed and breakfast was started.
Looking out the back window whenever I walked by, and wondering what was taking her so long. She's not particularly fond of the rain. I turned on the front deck light and looked out into the dark for any movement of her blonde wigglebutt scurrying down the driveway. Deciding she will be here when she’s ready, I continued my morning routine of getting dressed, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, and preparing the much sought after doggie eggs. Occasionally I would go to the door and open the treat jar to play a familiar song out into the darkness: “who let the dogs out.” If she is within hearing range, that always gets her running home, but not today. Where could she be in this weather? Probably up to no good, but there is always the remote possibility that she ran into a coyote or a mama moose. Not a thought we like to entertain at dog camp, but a nagging worry, nonetheless.
Since it has almost been an hour, I grab my vest and run to the car. . . in the rain. Driving the neighborhood, resisting taking the noisy treat jar this early as the houses are still dark, and the street is completely silent—no movement anywhere. Okay, so where the hell is she? Back home, I continue the morning routine, opening the front door to shake the kibble around in a metal bowl. Still nothing; this is an exasperating drill that we do at least once every other month. I don’t know where she goes, or what she does in the dark, but it causes me major anxiety until she shows up at the back door.
The dogs are now ready to eat with RockDog and DoDog going to the bathroom, as they are the chowhounds and will gulp their food, and then search for any dog bowl that is not empty. They are required to eat alone so the other dogs can enjoy their meals. Anne is in this club, but she is now obviously missing breakfast. I put my vest back on to cruise the neighborhood again—the neighbors across the street have just pulled out of their driveway so if she is anywhere near their house, she will be running home in fear of being busted at whatever it is she is doing. It’s now close to 7 AM so it should be okay to sound the treat jar from Sooby the Subaru.
|RockDog Wants the Real Story|
Running out the door, I almost trip over a rain-drenched wigglebutt looking up at me wondering, “What?” as she runs inside. I’m shocked, relieved, and pissed off, in that order. “Where have you been, Anne?” Her ears are pulled back, her chocolate-brown eyes bigger than normal, and her thick coat is plastered to her body. She is dripping with rain, as she rolls over to show me her belly—a submissive move to hopefully get her out of the trouble she knows she’s in. She’s a smart one, and really, I am so relieved that I do what she wants, reach down and scratch her tummy. I know, I know. . . rewarding her bad behavior.
I let the dogs out of the bathroom so I can grab a towel to dry her off. But her interest is on the breakfast she is now due, and she looks at me inquisitively with “where’s mine?” written all over her face. Before she gets it, I pick her up to smell her breath for any evidence of eating something gross out in the wild. But, she’s all clear—no weird smells in her mouth, or on her coat. It’s a good thing, because having to bathe her before my coffee would have definitely put me over the edge.
|Exhausted and Sated|
Who knows where the hell she goes, or what she does, but we are delighted that she has once again returned home. She scarfed down her breakfast, and is now asleep on her favorite couch pillow. I’m ready for a yoga class to center myself. Anne is indeed my muse. She is always up to something that has me wondering, worried, then pissed off—and I write about it. Her tilted head with the curly cocker crown, and her adorable little face, make it difficult to be angry. One look at her, and I’m over it. And yes, she definitely has my number, and she knows it. Silly Girl!