Monday, November 18, 2013

I Fear The Two Of Them Cannot Be Left Alone

I was distracted today, coming up the driveway after school. I had to count downed trees (3), scan for missing chickens (0), make sure Ann the black shepherd was not the missing canine advertised on a homemade Found: Black Dog sign taped to the mailboxes (she wasn't), fold in T-Hoe's side mirrors (done), and pilot that LSUV through the garage door opened by The Pony with the remote on the passenger side sun visor.

I said pilot that LSUV through the garage door opened by The Pony.

That's when saw it. The ugly reared head of bullying.

My sweet, sweet Juno had galloped from the porch, around the side of the garage, and straight to the brown metal garage door. She occasionally runs in, you know, to sample a bite of Meow Mix from the giant roaster pan filled for the cats. She's just testing it, I'm sure. In case it might be bad for those feline fleabags. Juno is selfless like that.

So there she was, my spirited lithe silky black feathery-furred doggie, nosing under the door as it rose...AND THEN IT CAME CLANKING DOWN! Nearly severed the rubbery proboscis from her soft, soft muzzle. Juno scooted back, a hurt look on her nearly-human face. If I was a pet psychic, I would swear Juno was saying, in one soulful gaze, "Mommy why Juno no snack Mommy mad at Juno Juno love Mommy sorry Juno go to porch." Yeah. Juno speaks to me somewhat like a recent arrivee at Ellis Island in the early 1900s. That's why I'm not a pet psychic.

The Pony laughed. Maniacally, some might say.

"What are you doing? You nearly cut her nose off! That's cruel! It's okay, Junie, my little Sasquatch. The Pony is just messin' with you. He didn't mean it. Mommy didn't do that."

"I really didn't mean to. I didn't think it was opening, so I hit it again. And it came down. I can't help it her nose was under there."

"Exactly! Her NOSE was under there! What am I supposed to chew on if you sever her nose?"

"Her tail."

"Huh? No way! I can't believe you did that!"

"Look. She's fine."

Nobody knows what nightmares will invade Juno's sweet cedar sleep tonight. Nobody.


Sioux Roslawski said...

Juno is psychologically scarred. She is going to have to go to a pet psychiatrist.

And The Pony will have to foot (or hoof) the bill...

Kathy's Klothesline said...

Seems that no one loves Juno like you love Juno!! I hate it when they look at you accusingly!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Money means nothing to The Pony. The problem will be finding a pet psychiatrist in Hillmomba. They're scarcer than hens' teeth.

And with her luck, once Juno found one, that psych would notice a whitish discoloration on her upper lip.

I need to set up a circle of pointy stakes to keep the green-eyed monster at bay.