This past weekend my friend Mike asked me whether or not I’d like to take care of his dog, Ladybug, while he and his wife went off on a short trip.
“No problem,” I said. “Bring her over.”
I’ve know Ladybug — a small, fluffy terrier — since the day Mike got her about six years ago. Although Ladybug is spoiled rotten, has never learned how to traverse stairs, and refuses to eat normal dog food, she is the cutest and most well-mannered dog I’ve ever met. I have “dog-sat” for Ladybug on several occasions and enjoyed every minute of it.
Ladybug showed up at my front door early Friday morning, wearing a fuzzy, candy-striped, red and white sweater-thing. Her short legs poked through the bottom like hairy sausages. Mike handed me her leash and a small bag of doggie groceries. It was very cold.
“See ya,” I waved, as Mike climbed into his truck and Ladybug huffed a pathetic good-bye.
“Come on, Bug,” I coaxed her towards my front door. “Oh, I forgot…” I mumbled, stooping down to pick her up. Her tail wagged all the way up my foyer steps.
Inside, I slipped off her doggie-sweater and unfastened her leash. She shrugged off the change in habitat with a complimentary body shake. Then she hopped up on my reading chair and made herself at home.
Later, when it was time to take her for a walk, I stooped down to put her sweater back on. After several minutes Ladybug was no closer to being dressed than when I started: the art of pushing four fluttering doggie-legs through four puckered sweater-holes eluded me. Whenever it seemed I was on the right track, she rolled over and pleaded for me to scratch her belly. Eventually we compromised on a two-front-legs and a furry-head-loosely-stuffed through the turtleneck hole arrangement. Then I opened the back door and carried her down the steps.
Tropical sunshine and a gentle breeze greeted us. It was perhaps 70 degrees. Laughing, I stripped off Ladybug’s sweater. She leaped gleefully into the back yard, launching herself into a pile of crisp leaves and the season’s last day of warm doggie weather.
Nothing better than the company of a good dog!
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Sounds like you were wrestling with two squirming children – or an obstinate woman – rolled into one adorable dog.
There are plenty of leaves up here in Canada and my black Labrador Retriever Chester is in dog heaven sniffing whatever he senses is buried in the leaves.
What do dogs imagine is lurking in those piles of golden leafage?
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I love the word picture you painted. I can just see all that happening.
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