Thursday, September 09, 2004

Adventures with dog

Clementine the coonhound and I had a bad night's sleep. That is, I had the bad night and she was forced to share it by virtue of our occasional sleeping-in-the-bed dispensation. Consequently, she's a little stranger than usual this morning.

All the same, I was surprised not to see her when I exited the bathroom after morning ablutions and a little courageous tub-scrubbing (note to husband: be impressed). She usually occupies the good chair throughout shower-time and manages to pose as The Perfect Dog in time for my entrance. The coonhound for the coonhound calendars; the Gloria Swanson of canines. "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Purina."

But she wasn't there. Nope, she was off in the office, prancing around and making big friends. I didn't even have to look hard to know what the object of her affection was. It was going to be a cricket.

I haven't figured out too many things about living in Missouri farm country (other than the difference between Holsteins and Herefords), but I've figured out that nature is going to go mad and overproduce one or two creatures every season, mostly six-legged ones. In spring, we had ants. In fall, it'll be Box Elder bugs. This summer, we had black crickets on the menu. As the featured special, they made sure to show up wherever possible. I've learned to shake out the morning paper before I bring it into the house to get rid of a couple looking for an opportunity to spoon.

And now some misbegotten cricket had wandered into hound's way. And she was doing the Big Dance of Greeting, leading the cricket to remember it had left the water on at home. But no! When the Big Dance of Greeting doesn't produce good results, the sport of "Are You Tasty?" is never far behind.

They are never tasty. I've solemnly informed Clementine many times that if she were this finicky of an eater in the wild, she would be SO dead. But for now, Clem's alive and the cricket is dead. I could've tried to intervene in the proceedings, but I arrived on the scene too late, and CPR is out of the question with my eyesight. So just another victim of her mad canine affection, then.

This has nothing to do with Orthodoxy, of course. Just a vital update on things.


Blogger John said...

Grace, your thoughts are received like a bare-bottomed baby out of the bathtub! Your method of describing daily occurrences has an eerie resemblance to that of my grandmother, who was a mixture of Jane Mansfield and Studs Terkel.

Thank you.

This has nothing to do with Orthodoxy either, just a blessing.

September 10, 2004 at 10:47 AM  
Blogger Grace said...

Thanks for the good words! And now I think I'll meditate on the idea of a mixture between Jayne Mansfield and Studs Terkel.

September 10, 2004 at 11:00 AM  

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