Remember Monkee, the little wiry guy that inspired my For Good post? It is certainly quite the Happy Tail. Once upon a time I had a neat, tidy house, just my year-old dog, Blue, and myself. Blue and I were both slowing down and had a nice, comfortable existence. It was easy breezy. I decided it was time that Blue needed company during the day, a new buddy to replace his pal Duke, who died from cancer a year or so ago.
I started researching rescue dogs. I absolutely no way, no how, wanted to deal with a puppy and all that confusion. I wanted a mature 2 to 5 year old that was young enough to play, but past that puppy nonsense. One small problem: I was in Omaha. Monkee was in Memphis. Oh well! I offered to give Monkee a home if there was some way that he and I could be brought together without too much stress on him, the folks at Dogs 2nd Chance, or myself. It was meant to be. I no longer have a neat, tidy house.
A veritable cyclone of long legged, sloppy tongued fur has totally disrupted my life. Blue is in therapy. My shoes are either missing in action or have gnawed edges. I am gently reminded two or three times a night by paws slapping my mattress that it is time to go out. I am a wreck. But a funny thing! I laugh daily at this goofy clown who has been renamed Memphis. Yes, he flies around the house like a Wizard of Oz monkey. Yes, he ate a decorative couch pillow last night. Yes, he likes to wait until I have settled into my recliner before he flings himself into my lap.
Yesterday, he attempted to jump into my lap from behind and over the back of the recliner tipping the recliner and me over to where I was staring at the ceiling, my feet in the air, with slobbery dog licking and chewing on me.
I believe he thinks my chin whiskers are some kind of furry rodent that needs some sort of tormenting or eradicating. All good puppies finally run out of steam. As I write this, both my dogs, young Memphis and old Blue, lie snoring at my feet.
