She's Had More Than Her Share Of Golden Tickets

I am concerned for my sweet, sweet Juno. Yes. I know you're all worried when I'm worried. Juno is Hillmomba's dog. It takes a mythical utopia to raise a pup, you know.

Nothing is wrong with Juno's health. Yet. I finally shamed Farmer H into getting a bag of cedar shavings to fill her kitchen-door dog house again. He complains that she just digs it out in front of our door, even though he declared last winter that he'd solved the problem by nailing a four-inch-high threshold across the bottom (heh, heh, I said bottom) of her entrance. So Juno is toasty in her wooden home with actual insulation and a black-shingled roof, which catches the sun from sunrise until around noon, and is protected from the wind on two sides by The Pony's bedroom and our kitchen, the wind which never swirls the way of her entrance.

No, it's Juno's behavior that concerns me. She seems to be a bit...how you say...what's that term...um...spoiled! How this happened to my sweet, sweet Juno I cannot fathom. One day she's a tiny slip of a canine, leaning her head on my shoulder, receiving hugs and a bit of cat kibble every now and then...and the next she's a growling inhuman battering ram, shoulder-slamming all creatures who would yearn for a token pat from Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's work-worn hands. I can understand why Juno growls low in her throat from the time she starts eating until the time she is safely back in her high-rent dog house. After all, since she was a starving pup rescued from my mom, the other animals have crowded around her as she ate. Seems that two dogs and five cats purely crave half a can of wet puppy food. But we kept them back. No food was stolen. And that growl from the tiny hank of fur was precious. Now, not so much.

Today I cut up some leftover pot roast. I scraped two hunks into Juno's food pan around on the back porch outside the laundry room, overlooking the pool. I also gave her all the juice on her dry dog food that was still in the pan. And a generous helping of carrots and potatoes soaked in meat drippings. Ann's pan got a single hunk of roast, and some carrots and potatoes. That's because Ann is a sturdy gal. And not as active as Juno.

What did my sweet, sweet Juno do? She ran to Ann's pan and started wolfing down the beef. While growling. I called her over to her own pan. Ann was nowhere in sight. I went back inside, but even in the kitchen, I could hear Juno growling as she ate. The Pony and Farmer H returned from bowling, and The Pony grabbed a box with leftover pizza I had set out of Frig, and went to the door. "Here, Juno!" He tossed it out onto the porch.

"Wait! I was saving that until tonight! Juno is full! She ate a lot of roast and potatoes."

"So THAT is what's wrong with her."

Farmer H went out on his way to the BARn. "She's GREEDY! You should have given it to Ann."

"But Mom always says to give it to Juno!"

Ahem. There are no secrets around this Mansion. About three hours later, as I sat tapping, near to napping, tap tap tapping on my keyboard more...The Pony trotted down the steps to my dark basement lair.

"I don't know what Juno has in the front yard, but it has a leg. At first I thought she was eating a chicken, but then I saw how long it was. I think it's a deer leg."

Sweet, sweet Juno. Fast becoming a combination of Violet Beauregard and Augustus Gloop.