Somebody needs to jerk a knot in my sweet, sweet Juno's tail. She's getting a little too big for her britches. I, of course, bear no responsibility for her actions.
Lately, when I come to the side porch to pet her after school, my sweet, sweet Juno is...how you say...rambunctious. Okay. Not so much rambunctious as jealously hyperactive. She will not stand still and let me pet Ann, the poor dimwitted black german shepherd. My sweet, sweet Juno seems to think it's all about her!
Oh, I try to trick her by trapping her muzzle next to my neck, laying my arm over her shoulders, and secretly patting Ann on the head. But my sweet, sweet Juno is too smart for that. She yanks her head back and sidles against Ann, shoving her out of reach, all the while whining with excitement and anticipaaaation of her handful of cat kibble. Several times, my sweet, sweet Juno has thrown her head back and clipped my chin with her snout. Sometimes she points her head at the white-spotted black roaster pan and leans the whole side of her body against me so I am incapacitated in petting either dog, and can only grab the kibble with my left hand, while clinging to my purse and bubba cup of water with my right.
The next-to-last straw was last week, when I had grabbed the handful of cat kibble intended for my sweet, sweet Juno, and was in the process of putting it down on the porch boards at the feet of that second suit-of-armor metal guy that Farmer H got at the auction for The Pony. Just as I was beginning to open my fingers to drop the kibble, my sweet, sweet Juno bobbed her greedy head down to partake of that delicacy. Her mouth knocked my hand onto the porch, where, for some Not-Heavenish reason, we have a strip of asphalt roofing shingle laying cattywompus on the boards.
My middle finger first knuckle was scraped raw by my sweet, sweet Juno's antics.
I might have to cut her snack rations.
I'm sure that wasn't Juno's fault. You were too slow. You need to speed up. You also need to grow a few extra hands so two of your hands can pet Juno while--at the same time--you're getting a handful of catfood for her.
ReplyDeleteTake care of it at once.
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteI'm a woman, not a starfish, Madam! I will not be growing new arms any time soon. I might, however, look into hiring some assistants in order to speed up the doling out of cat kibble.
Toni Louise possesses that jealous spirit, too. She is the dog of He Who, though. She lays in his lap in the evening sprawled out in a very un-lady-like way and enjoys the belly scratching he gives only to her. The other three dogs and the cat prefer my attention, but she will bully her way in front of them. They have got to be litter-mates!
ReplyDeleteKathy,
ReplyDeleteThey DO resemble each other. Separated at birth, perhaps.