Unbagging the Cats 1

Unbagging the Cats 1

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Thumping the Shark

Mid-morning, I like to wander out on the front porch and survey the kingdom that Hick built. I grab some stale bread or cereal, supper leftovers, and/or refrigerator refuse, and walk to the side of my wraparound porch that faces the goat pen and the barn. The minute I step out, the chickens flock to me. Some are so bold as to jump up on the porch. Others sway from foot to foot below, demanding a handout. I enjoy leaning over the rail, tossing treats, contemplating the day. Until my thoughts are rudely interrupted.

Cue the Jaws theme.

They always strike without warning. The pointy noses of Juno and Ann. Stabbing. Poking. Jabbing. Thigh, calf, knee. They are not particular. It's like an attack by a couple Great Whites. Only more playful. I imagine them ramming my soon-to-be carcass to-and-fro just under the ocean surface in a spirited game of cartilaginous fish Val-leyball. One moment I'm peacefully drifting in my tractor-tire inner-tube, bobbing in the sun, not a care in the world. And the next, I'm thrashing to escape the pointy snouts that threaten to rip the ample flesh from my osteoporitic old bones.

I suppose it's a herding instinct. Ann is, after all, a german shepherd. We haven't really figured out Juno yet. I'm betting on border collie/black lab. (Or borador, a new word I just learned from The Google when I looked up pictures of dogs that look like my Juno). Those canines like to come up behind me and poke away. Never in inappropriate places. They're true ladies.

When I toss snacks to the chickens, I have to provide for the pups. Especially Juno. She will stand behind me, or more often wedge her way between me and the porch rail, gazing up at me hopefully. NewMommygonnagiveJunosnack? I can see in her clear hazel eyes that's what she's thinking. I toss bits to her, mainly to keep her on the porch. But that's usually futile. She will leave a scrap of pork steak to jump off the porch and glide through the grass to scarf up the chicken treats. Dry white bread. Cinnamon. Toast. Crunch. Slaw. That's right. Juno will scatter the chickens to lap up expired slaw rather than sit on the porch and have meat. Crazy dog. Ann eats what's given her, then goes to another section of the porch to lay down.

If, by a miracle, I can keep Juno on the porch, which is most often accomplished by The Pony stroking her skull constantly, she still stays hyper. Many a time we toss her a scrap, and she whacks her head on the porch rail, or my leg, or the corner of the house. She's overeager, and inattentive to inanimate objects.

And heavens to Betsy, beware the moment we turn to walk back toward the door! Poor Juno thumped her noggin good on a wrought-iron chair the other day. I swear I heard it ring like a bell. She needs a very special helmet to protect her brains from scrambling. You'd think most of the sense has been knocked out of her already.

Maybe that's why she's so happy all the time.

From the internet, and not my dog, but...This is what she looks like, except with clear hazel eyes, longer ears, longer hair, and one tiny patch of white on her chest. But the smile is the same. I need to get a recent photo of my rescued daughter!


Stephen Hayes said...

Just like children, our pets have unique personalities.

Sioux said...

You blew it. You named that dog the same name as that quirky movie starring Ellen Paige and written by a former stripper, Diablo Cody.

Juno can't help but be odd...

Leenie said...

I think you may have come up with a whole niche market--safety helmets for dogs (or they may already be out there in gobs and I've never looked). The perfect accessory for pooch owners who need yet another excuse to squander money on their fuzzy kids.

If I had a house in the Backwoods with room for chickens I would most certainly be befriending a borador or a four-legged shepherd of some kind.

Val said...

Thank goodness my pet does not have the personalities of my children!

The boys named the dog. She was supposed to be called "Titan" when they thought she was a boy. They have a mythology thing going on. And a misguided sense of gender, apparently, though to The Pony's credit, he did not see Juno until we picked her up to bring her home.

I think we also need Memory Foam dog beds. Color-coordinated to the helmets, of course.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I swear that Juno is either the sister or cousin of Toni Louise. Toni Louise will dance for a treat. I am thinking that she needs a little tutu to wear for her performance. She is as enthusiastic as ever, but has stopped sniffing my eyeballs, thank goodness!

Val said...

I agree about Toni Louise. Their faces and ears look the same. I hope Juno does not develop the eyeball-sniffing behavior.