This time, however, because of recent rabbit and cougar sightings, I was leashed at all times and forbidden from walking into the state forest land beyond the lawn. And that wasn’t even the worst part: Smokey, the Aussie puppy who somehow moved in when I wasn’t looking, had gotten bigger and more invasive than he was the last time we stayed out there. He wasted no time in sticking his nose in my face (and other body parts). The first thing that came to mind was, “Schatzi, I miss you!” It’s a lot more fun fooling around with a puppy I can dominate.
Still, the good points about the latest stay more than outweighed Smokey’s antics: There was lots of grilling, which meant more meaty plates to lick. I pretty much ate like a pig, several times able to scarf up food from the bowls of Smokey, Pumpkin and the puffy black cat, Mr. Fuzz. And that cute little Pumpkin still does whatever I tell her to. Although I felt sorry for her whenever Smokey tried to harass her, I came to see where that the feisty little dog could take care of herself. She showed she knows the value of a low growl.
The best part was taking Smokey and Pumpkin with us on our afternoon walks and having to drive to the Preston-Snoqualmie Trail to do it. Heather decided she didn’t want all three of us dogs in the back seat, so I got to sit in the front seat, restoring the True World Order I had enjoyed originally but have been deprived of in recent years, relegated to the back seat inside a padded sling and attached to clothesline harness, all in the name of safety and proper pet etiquette. A pox on safety and etiquette, I say!
I got to sit in front for the whole week, alternating between dozing in Mike’s lap and sitting up to stare out the front windshield to see what fast-food or ice cream places were passing, although there were not many in this neck of the woods.
Beyond regaining the front seat (I have already been warned that this special privilege will not continue on our impending road trip), the other highlight of the week was luring the increasingly social Mr. Fuzz downstairs and getting a brief chance to sniff his butt. Big surprise: He smelled like a cat.
I must have pissed him off, though, because the next day when I was asleep in my camp chair in the kitchen after supper, Mr. Fuzz snuck downstairs, creeped into the kitchen behind the large center island and leaped at me in a full frontal attack. Luckily, his claws only grazed my fabric chair, and when I let out my patented chasing-squirrels bark, he hightailed it back upstairs, where he belongs. I wasn’t about to let him sniff my butt.