I don't for one minute regret rescuing our sweet, rambunctious dog Juno. She would have starved to death on my mom's porch if the #1 son and I had not intervened. She has repaid us tenfold with her sunny disposition and unconditional love. I forgive her for her transgressions. The chickens she chased. The cats she tried to chew on. The eggs she eats before The Pony gathers them. The poop on the brick sidewalk when she was sore from her special operation. For the most part, her pluses outweigh her minuses.
We have a special bond. She waits for me on the side porch, the breezeway area that connects the Mansion with the garage. From this raised platform, she leans her head on my chest, her nose against my neck. Waiting for me to hug her. It started when she was a tiny pup. I picked her up and held her close. She remembers. I don't care what dog experts say about dogs not having a sense of time, or a memory of routine. She knows that when I come through the garage door, I will join in our daily lovefest.
Sometimes, Juno gets carried away. Like that time she jammed her wet doggy nose inside my mouth in a frenzy of affection. So I'm wary now. She can only hold herself motionless for short periods. I can sense when she gets antsy, and the hug is over.
Today, I foresaw the old nose-in-the-mouth trick again. And I don't mean my nose in her mouth. Unfortunately, our lovefest had happened sooner than I was prepared. I was barely out of the garage. When Juno pulled her nose away from my neck, and jabbed at my mouth area with her snout, I was ready. I yanked my head back and to the left. No doggy snot for my tasting pleasure today.
I rammed my temple into the corner of a shelf against the garage wall. I'm lucky I didn't knock myself out. Both boys were at summer school. I would have laid on the sidewalk from noon until three. But I'm sure my loyal Juno would have kept me company. Probably by laying on my chest.
She's a good dog.