The wind howls and swirls in circular motion in a certain Southern state as the Hurricane continues to make her presence felt. In positive ways of course. The Hurricane attempts to teach her room-mate Odie various ways of navigating around a meticulously dog proofed palatial country estate much to the chagrin of the Nose and Dr. B’Hine.
Such an idyllic setting for this charming home. Five acres nestled by a bubbling creek in horse country. Nothing to disturb a magnificent fall evening dinner on the back deck. Except the incessant barking of 100 lbs of guard dog protecting the family from evil neighbors on all sides, the lawn mower, the mail man, that aggravating cat staring down from the top of the fence. The one distraction to this hard-wired behavior is food arriving from the kitchen along with wafting scents caught by the huge schnozz of the Giant Schnauzer. All barking ceases as the Hurricane prances toward the latched gate leading to the deck. The family digs in to the feast. The Hurricane salivates. She wants some too. Her mind instantly shifts to break and entry mode. The steps leading to the gate prevent her from jumping over. The rose bushes are too flimsy for her to climb upon and gain entry. That leaves the gate itself. She’ll try the usual way first-forced entry. A few body bumps but the gate stays put. The Hurricane must draw in to herself, gain her composure and think. This is a job requiring finesse, not brawn or physical prowess. Ahh- she has it. Her trusty mustache. So practical, however, so used to relying on sheer strength, rarely is this trick of evolution called in to play. She licks each side as if to sharpen like a knife. The mustache will now be used like opposable thumbs- she was just given an all access pass. She approaches the gate and in a second- lifts the latch with her mustache. She’s in and to the table before the kids notice. She’s tall- higher than all countertops. She’s surveyed the area on an earlier reconnaissance mission and heads for the easiest target- the 5 year old. In the blink of an eye, the 5 year old’s food disappears from her plate before the Nose has time to react. During the ensuing chaos, she gets more from another plate before the Nose is on her. The Hurricane chuckles to herself, licking her mustache, as she is chased in to the house. Odie is standing in the yard looking around, “When did the gate get opened?”
Sometimes Odie can grate on a dog’s nerves. When the Hurricane has had enough, she’ll play with Odie until the poor dog is so worn out a kennel nap is required. When Odie retires to her kennel, the Hurricane shuts the door. Odie is such a simpleton. She doesn’t know she can push the door open. Only the Nose can rescue her now. It could be hours. The Hurricane throws her head back and laughs. This time, it’s Odie’s turn to laugh last. The 5 yr old has put a leash on the Hurricane so they can walk endlessly around the house and perhaps conduct some “training” exercises. “Sit, sit, sit, sit, sit, sit, sit, sit, down, down, down, down……”
Thanksgiving: Dr. B’Hine bought a technical innovation in the turkey frying department. For those of us suffering from the challenges of heart disease, diabetes or inability to push away from the table, this deep fryer allows one to eat your heart out since it zaps the turkey with heart healthy infrared rays instead of artery clogging peanut oil. The turkey was delicious. The Hurricane put her big schnozz to work deciphering where the fat went. Ahh- somewhere along the bottom of the fryer.
The Hurricane has to be clever in order to get the turkey drippings. Odie sits close by in moral dog support, although unaware of the objective, she of late has been negligent in her dog duties as sidekick the results of which have been positive for the Hurricane and negative for her. This time she is going to enjoy the spoils. Another job requiring ingenuity and acumen- the Hurricane’s specialty. The tray at the bottom which contains said congealed turkey fat is safely tucked underneath the entire apparatus of the fryer inside a drawer. She ponders the question- how to pull out the drawer?Sniff, nudge, gently push, apply pressure with beard and thumbs/mustache. POP- imagine that. It’s one of the drawers that a small nudge and it pops right open. Open mouth and pull the rest of the way. Begin to hurriedly devour the lard. Every dog for himself. Poor Odie is on the wrong side of the drawer but maybe something will fall out.
The Nose notices unusual activity outside. “INSIDE!” She sternly commands. They both lick faster.