Finally got together with my bros Frank and Stanley. As regular readers may recall, the boys and I found out we share the same animal hospital (Elliott Bay), although under the new Obama health care plan we have different primary care physicians. The guys live with Tiffany and Andrew over on Queen Anne Hill, the next neighorhood to our east.
We met in the middle, at Magnolia Park on the south side of Magnolia, overlooking Elliott Bay. Typically hoity-toity Magnolia, it’s a very old school kind of park (after all, it’s part of the original Olmsted park plan for Seattle), with defined paths and lots of green lawn. It was a great spot for resuming my wrasslin’ matches with the guys. We didn’t even need to sniff each other’s butts to recognize each other immediately, and then the guys and ran around like banshees (that’s Mom’s name, after all!).
We must have caused quite a noisy ruckus, however, because after we had been there about 45 minutes one of the park neighbors blew us in to 911. At least that’s what I assumed happened when a truck from Seattle Animal Control (the kind that looks like a small tank and is used to pick up road kill) quietly pulled up on the path nearby. The two officials inside promptly reminded us that even three wild and crazy, 11-week-old dachshund puppies are required to be on leashes. Since none of us has yet learned a damn thing about correct leash walking, it took us about 30 seconds or so to get wound up into one tangled mess. Those Animal Controllers stuck around for a while, just to make sure we were going to remain in 100 percent compliance, so what had already been a fun party broke up early. I didn’t even have a chance to share any biscuits with the boys, let alone a libation or two.
Until those killjoys spoiled it, however, my homeys and I were having one hell of a time. Clearly, I have some long-held (well, from four weeks ago) issues with Frank (remember F for furry) and Stan (remember S for smooth) that have yet to be fully resolved. Just typical brother-sister things–who’s going to be the boss. Each of the guys already outweighs me by more than two pounds, but I’m a lot quicker than they are. In fact, it’s still pretty easy for me to kick Frank around the block (not only does Frankie look the most like Mom, but he’s a sensitive mama’s boy in more ways than one). But that Stash, well, he shoulda been a bulldog. Once he fully grows into those paws, he’ll be smashing me around like an NFL defensive end sacking a quarterback. That’s why I had to sneak up and bite his ass a few times, just so he gets the message that I can sting when I need to. He better not forget it, that’s all I’m saying.
It was great to see them again. I’m sure we’ll be getting together again…certainly at the graduation ceremony for our upcoming puppy kindergarten classes, if not before. No doubt who the valedictorian will be.