The other day, I was walking Maggie and Mandie on our daily route through the neighborhood. Now, people acquire dogs for a lot of reasons. They're man's best friend, a robber's worst enemy....I originally got my girls to fill some need to have something to love and care for. I never anticipated the comic relief they would give to me. As we walked down the street at our usual stop-and-go gait, Mandie paused for the fiftieth time. She sniffed the grass, pivoted a few times--- once left, twice right---and then curled her butt up underneath her until she resembled a hedgehog. This is the dance. The poop dance.
The problem is, my girls have doggie ADD. A good dump requires focus, meditation if you will. But at the slightest bark off in the distance, Maggie and Mandie are railing in a chaotic bark-at-the-wind style. "Where is it coming from?" They seem to say frantically. "I don't know but we must sound the alarms until we nail the sucker!" This is what took place in the middle of her crap, disrupting the ritual. Mandie continued to pooh but pivoted in a full circle as she did so, all while raising her head to the sky and barking out in protest of the mysterious culprit.
When she finished, she walked away from what resulted as a miniature turd Stonehenge. Staring at this sculpture in amazement, I found myself almost proud. I never have a camera when I need one! My dog is an artist! Mandie continued to bark in her broken record, medium tempo as she kicked back her legs, spraying Turdhenge with a grass storm. Meanwhile Maggie inspected Turdhenge, obviously for its authenticity, and then we moved on down the road.
When we got back to the house, Chris was making dinner. The girls raced into the house to check on his progress. He was making spaghetti. As the girls begged and danced around his feet, he reached into the pot and pulled out two wiggly noodles. He placed the sticky pasta in their hair on the sides of their heads.
Both of them furiously threw their heads to the side trying to grab the noodle dangling off their ears. And each time the noodle flung simultaneously in the same direction. Looking like two dogs with the same nervous tick, they persistently chased the noodle that swung towards their face and then away, just out of reach of their mouths. As we hollered in laughter at this ridiculous display, the two continued to chase their prey.
Eventually, Mandie, the one who would be thrilled to be fed 24 hours intravenously, got wise and decided to go after Maggie's noodle. She waited for it to swing toward her and then she snapped at it like a crocodile. Once she caught it, she began to tug at it, jerking Maggie's head to the side. By this time the noodle was wrapped up in Maggie's hair and it looked like Mandie might take her ear along with her noodle. Chris was on the floor. When Maggie got over the shock of what was happening to her head, she realized that this strategy was much more effective and she went after Mandie's noodle. The two of them were intertwined like two mating eagles, tugging and nibbling on each other's heads. They turned slowly, choreographing their moves so that each could get substantial bits of the furry pasta.
Finally, the episode was over and the noodles were sufficiently retreived from their heads. Chris and I filled our plates and went off to battle the ravenous beasts as we guarded our dinner. Art, dinner and a show all in one evening. Who knew we would be leading such rich lives?
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