Drool At Twenty Paces

Watched my grandson’s dog recently. He’s a mixed-breed mutt, like all of our dogs have been. Except he has jowls like those of a bull dog. With those jowls come the consequences of drooling. Drooling and headshaking are the worst.

My dog, Max is not perfect, but he’s not capable of propelling blobs of drool across the room. Gideon, my grandson’s dog, is very good-natured. Perhaps, with a little too much separation anxiety. I’m sure that would subside were he to visit more often. As it is now–it’s only once a year.

In our family there are mutts of all sizes, from large to small. Max is somewhere in the middle. Bogart, out youngest daughter’s dog, recently emigrated to Australia.

We like all the family dogs, grand-dogs.  Even, the newest four-year-old addition, Gideon.

The Past Week Summarized

Their visit started with a harrowing drive through unfamiliar territory in driving rainstorms.  Most of the week–with the exception of Thursday morning–weather was perfect.  Discussion topics were myriad and any mean-spirited implications were in jest.

  • The $5000 mutt, changes to last will and testament being considered.
  • Trip to veterinarian by the 18th, before warranty ran out.  Since when did pets come with warranties?
  • New dog couldn’t be left alone–even on bathroom trips.
  • Kennel cough contagious to other dog.  Trip to vet–another $75.00.
  • Sibling rivalries–new dog problems were, alleged to be, all my fault.  Who was most popular in high school?
  • Childhood recollections: Playing in pig slop.  Mother’s cooking.  Favorite teachers? Who was most mischievous?
  • Discussed children, grandchildren–no great-grandchildren at this point.
  • Activities: Walked the new pier.  Visited Ft. Morgan historic site.  Toured scenic Bon Secour, Magnolia Springs.  Spent time at Dauphin Island beach and Sea Lab.  Visited National Naval Aviation Museum and Pensacola’s old town.  Stopped for ice cream–rainstorm struck while waiting under canopy.  Dined at favorite local restaurants. Bought pecans at a pecan farm.  Shopped for antiques and souvenirs.  Exchanged pleasantries and promises to visit each other in near future.





They were dogs–not just any dogs.  But, rather were, our two furry children, Max and Maggie.  They couldn’t vocalize words, so they expressed their discomposure by whimpering.

Something was up this morning and they sensed it.  Whenever suitcases are carried out to the car–somebody is going somewhere.  In this case, it was my wife–one of their pet parents.

They’ve moped around all day.  I have too, because it’s been a rainy, yucky, day.  We got our morning walk in, when the sun shone briefly this morning.  They need to be outside wrestling, with each other in the backyard; so they won’t keep me awake tonight.  Good–they’re chasing each other through the house.  Now, to play referee.

Oddly enough, my wife is gone for a week, to do dog sitting for our daughter’s three dogs.  It was too far and inconvenient for the rest of us to go along.  So, I’m batching it for a few days.  Not really dog sitting for me–because Max and Maggie will help keep me company.

I found the term “Batching it” rather odd when I was younger.  It seemed archaic, and of my father’s generation.  Another favorite expression of his, was “much obliged.”  The only other place I ever heard “much obliged” was on the Andy Griffith Show.  I guess that’s pretty good company.