It’s Wednesday, and I’m just now showing up. Shame on me.
The Fates have intervened, and are now Showing Me a Thing or Two.
The Daughter’s dawgs had settled down to the point where we tolerated each other. For months now, I was still scolding Bailey and calling her a tramp.
Recently, I called a truce. I told the dawgs their job was to guard the Castle Walls, and protect us from marauders, Visigoths, and the occasional Mongol.
As I’d let them back inside, I’d put them back inside their kennels, give them a treat, thank them, and say we were able to put off getting alligators for the moat, because of their efforts.
Bailey called off the truce. Deep in her doggy-heart, she’s a rabble rouser. This morning, she worried the gate enough that she was able to squeeze her chubby body through. The big dawg, Ciroc, is a homebody, but Bailey can get him stirred up enough that he wants to follow her.
I expect to see him at the front door at any minute, saying, “Hey, there are no Mongols out here! What’s a Mongol?”
Bailey was, is, and shall ever be, a little tramp who wants to run with the half-wild strays, eat garbage, and drink from the gutter.
That tramp!
~VOW
