Wednesday, June 3, 2009

June 3, 2009 - Yep, That's Where I'm Going

Thought on the afterlife - I know where I'm going...and my handbasket is packed and ready. I know I'm going there, because that's what happens to people who laugh at old, blind dogs, even if the dog in question doesn't catch them at it.

You must understand - George has, at best, a love-hate relationship with most objects in the kitchen. The refrigerator sometimes threatens to take his dish, and apparently the stove looks at him funny from time to time. They must, for he frequently attacks them furiously for no reason obvious to us non-dog types or, for that matter, to the other canine residents of the Shady Rest, who look on in tolerant bewilderment. The appliances don't seem to talk smack to them, but perhaps George has communication skills we can only imagine.

Let me explain - on the kitchen wall opposite the sink and stove stands a very narrow book case. The upper shelves hold cookbooks, but the bottom shelf holds a Longaberger basket. In this basket is where the potatoes and onions live as they await their culinary fate. Normally, any bagged potatoes are removed from the bag and placed in the basket, but this time I was in a hurry and just set the bag in the basket to deal with later. This left the top of the bag flopping over the edge of the basket.

Tonight during dinner, George managed to scoot his bowl over by the bookcase. This put him within range of the bag top and it brushed against his cheek. ATTACK! Furious that something was that close to his bowl, he commenced barking, growling, snapping, determined to fight it off. I think that's about the time I bought my ticket and boarded that bus. He gets this serious look on his handsome, gray face and I just started to giggle. He glared in the direction of the bag, still growling furiously. Cj attempted to negotiate a peace. "George." Fierce barking and another snap. Now the bag top is draped over his head, clearly counterattacking. This brings on an enraged snarling growl. "GEOrge." A deep growl. "GEORGE!" Grumble, grumble. "It's okay, George. You scared off the potato bag." He shakes all over and stomps away, satisfied with his least until he smacks head-first into the refrigerator. ::Sigh:: Maybe that's why he doesn't like the fridge.

Yep. Just another day at the Shady Rest. Y'all take care now.

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