This morning as I sat in Farmer H's La-Z-Boy, delaying my trip to The Devil's Playground, I saw my sweet, sweet Juno on the front porch. She had been laying under the living room window, and stood up to look inside. Of course I talked to her. Told her what a good dog she was. She wriggled with pleasure. Paced a couple of times, then turned around and laid down again.
Not five minutes later, my attention was drawn from Mysteries of the Museum to my front window. There was Juno, barreling at the speed of a racing Greyhound through the front yard/field. There was no mistaking her slim figure, glossy black coat, and feathered tail, even at that fast clip. She definitely did not look like a beagle. And she definitely did not look like Ann the stocky mostly-black shepherd/lab.
The SHOCKING part of this sighting was the giant blue-headed tom turkey running along with my sweet, sweet Juno. Who knew that turkeys love to run? Fast. And right in front of their doggy playmates! The duo did not reappear after a trip all the way to the gravel road, and what I assumed to be a loop to the left around the main sinkhole and into the BARn field, soon to culminate with the home stretch past the goat and chicken pens and into the front yard again.
I stepped out onto the porch and shouted, "Juno! Bad dog!" Just on general principle. Not that she was doing anything wrong. It was a race between friends, I'm sure. Ann wound around my legs, all nervous as is her temperament. I patted her on the side and assured her I had no interest in her today. She took it as a compliment. Tank laid in the front yard, licking himself.
Juno must have won The Great Turkey Canine Challenge, because she came rocketing across the yard and up the porch steps. Frolicked side to side, leapt above my waist, wiggled and waggled and poked her nose up my shirt onto my bare belly, whimpered with excitement. I shunned her. She had, after all, heard me yell, "Bad dog!" No need to make her think that meant she was being rewarded with my presence. She looked into my eyes. I gave her the stink-eye. That's what my students call it when I'm displeased. Juno sat down at my feet. Very still. And continued to gaze into my eyes.
She was sorry, you see. Sorry for getting caught. Admitting she has a problem is the first step. I stroked her head, which meant she twisted and took my fingers between her front teeth. She likes to do that. When she's not busy poking her sharp nose into my hamstrings and calves to steer me where she wants me to go. She turned her attention to wrestling with Ann, so I went back inside and gathered up The Pony for our shopping trip.
When we returned home to the garage, The Pony was not yet ready to hop out of T-Hoe. "That's okay. I'll start carrying the stuff to the porch. You can get it when you're done in a few minutes." I think he was typing on his laptop. Or eating. It's hard to tell when he insists on riding in the seat behind me.
"Wait! Juno might get into the bags!"
"What are you talking about? You know she won't do that. She'll be too busy eating the cat food to restore the energy she expended chasing the turkey this morning."
True colors. They sometimes bring a tear to the eye.