You know that saying, "The sun even shines on a dog's a$$ some days," which means the same, I think, as the fact that even a broken clock is right twice a day? Let the record show that Farmer H did a good deed yesterday. And the sun shone on my sweet, sweet Juno's a$$.
Farmer H pittered and puttered around the front yard, the back yard, the side yard, and the BARn yard. It was a beautiful, if windy, day of 66 degrees. Even The Pony wore shorts to The Devil's Playground instead of his slacks and droopy zip-front hoodie. I had him throwing bread to the chickens, and chicken bones to Juno. Yes, I know they are allegedly bad for dogs, but that must be for little yippy dogs, as robust canines like our mutts, barely out of their wolf evolution, have been chomping on avian skeletry for eons.
Around 2:00, when it was time for his second lunch, Farmer H came in the front door. After taking five minutes of key-wiggling to unlock it, of course. We normally use the kitchen door, and The Pony must have re-locked the front one after dishing out his treats to the animals. Farmer H is wont to leave the knob-turny lock unlocked, and use the deadbolt. So it took him at least four combinations of locking and unlocking to get in. Surely you don't think I jumped up from his La-Z-Boy to allow him entrance. He was in the doghouse. AND it was Sunday. Like Garfield hates Mondays, Mrs. HM is not a fan of Sundays. They're like Christmas to Ebenezer Scrooge. Like kryptonite to Superman. Like realtors to Aunt Josephine in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events.
"I just put it in the oven five minutes ago. It will be another ten."
"Okay. I'm going to take bloomo to the cabin. He's been wanting to go all day." Let the record show that Farmer H is not known for his flawless enunciation.
"WHO? Who is here? WHO wants to go to the cabin?"
"Juno. Every time I start up the Gator, she runs over that way. But I've just been going around the yard. I'm going to make a trip down to the cabin for her."
Let the record show that Farmer H thinks Juno is a spoiled brat. That he always favored poor dumb Ann over Juno. And he always favored Grizzly over Ann before he died. So now that we have only one dog left, Farmer H is softening.
I saw him get on the Gator. Juno did not come running when he started it up. That's unheard of. When Ann was here, the two of them would leap off the porch, barking up a storm, racing and shouldering each other ahead of that Gator, looking back to make sure Farmer H was still coming. Farmer H drove over toward the garage, calling Juno's name. He came back through the front yard and dipped down into the side yard. Juno appeared and off they went.
Even Farmer H is not an a$$ every day.