Marie. What a sweet name. Conjures up a nice Catholic dog. Ave Maria. Maybe with some yummy dog treats for me. Hail Mary all full of grace. Probably homemade this a.m. Possibly wrapped in bacon. A pup in a blanket. I was drooling. Now I know not to judge a dog by her name! First off, at a glance, I thought she was a raccoon, then a fox, then maybe a dog. I was confused. I was trying to suss it all out. Was she a cross breed, a daccoon, like a zorse, a confounded mutt or just more mixed up than me? Then she went for the jugular. She lunged. (Hey, this is my house.) I was caught off guard. My back was to the wall. Thank God she is small. She was Cujo. She was Cain. I was off balance. What a mane! Repeat. Last weekend it was a dachshund. She snapped. Teeth like a crocodile. She caught air. My throat was safe. Momentarily. What is it with these small dogs? Then Eileen stepped in and made a peace offering. Some cheese. Cujo fled. Marie emerged. She did tricks for cheese. I could have pounced. I thought of pinning her to the ground, but the smell of cheese made me forget. And I sat, like a good pup, in hopes of a taste. She apologized. Then she sang an off-key version of, “I ain’t nothing but a hound dog,” which was a sight to see and a little hard on the ears.
Ella had my back. You know how she likes to referee.
What a dog won’t do for a treat. I am a gracious host.
Marie, aka Cujo, takes a beautiful photo.
Stella, her sister, is remarkable. She is blind.
we are famous. And you are a fabulous photographer. Thank you so much for appreciating these mutts who make my life whole! Eileen