What can you give Mom when you don't have opposable thumbs or money to buy flowers? And who wants flowers, anyway, since they don't taste good? First I thought of giving her a day without chewing on the bed, but kind of forgot.
Or I could share my favorite antler chew, but it got slobbery.
Can you blame a guy for wanting to clean his teeth?
Oh yeah, the gift thing. Well, moms like treats just as much as the rest of us. I got hold of a package of delicious liver treats. If I'd do just about anything for one of those, wouldn't she? I had to check by smell that I had the right stuff.
Oops. I guess that wasn't such a good idea.
At last resort, there's just me, unadorned.
She said I'm more than enough. Is that a compliment?
Mom says my black nose is fading and she's sad about it 'cause she loves the big black plastic look of an Airedale nose. She has never seen an Airedale nose fade like that before, so she researched dog noses and found out that the cause is---
no cause at all.
It just happens. All I care about is that the sniffer works as well as ever and I am certainly no less handsome than usual. I mean, is that a noble face or what? Don't I look like a dog that'll say, "Bark, BARK, Sherry's down the well," if she falls into a hole in the ground (while carrying a steak dinner)?
A leisurely walk on a perfect spring evening when the air is still and perfumed with blossoms before they've released the pollen that makes me sneeze. Lilacs, apple trees, rhododendrons, azaleas all in bloom. The dog stops and sniffs; I wait patiently. Onward we stroll, enjoying the peace.
He barfs in a driveway. While I'm fumbling with a handful of bags (eeewww, I'd rather pick up a nice, solid poop) and pulling Miro away from the pile, a cat saunters into the road as a car approaches. The cat ignores the car, which slows. Miro's head lifts; he freezes, watching the cat. The car finally has room to pass, leaving the cat on the other side of the street. Dog and cat stare at each other. I really need to clean up this pile of barf before the homeowner sees us and complains. Cat arches and hisses. Dog dances and bucks. Plastic bags in one hand, leash in the other, I'm trying to haul Miro away without him slithering out of his halti collar.
Three bags later--do you know how hard it is to clean up a pile of barf with plastic bags and no water?--we're marching toward home, Miro glancing back at the cat who still watches us like the sheriff running the hero out of town.