Читать книгу From the Dog's Mouth - Wavecrest Imprint - Страница 12

Here’s a too-hot-to-handle saga of another trip to the Dog Park. Dada loves the fact that we dogs can do our business quicker and better when we smell other dogs. Anyway, I was sniffing and working myself up to potty, thrilling mon père with every whiff. All of a sudden I spotted this canine babe with chestnut skin and a tail wagging a million miles a minute with excitement at seeing me. I ran to her like a good ole boy from Powderly, Alabama, chasing a southern slut in a twirl skirt. Her name is Grace.

Wouldn’t you know it? My Daddy knew hers, a chef named Alan. It seems that Alan’s restaurant Fork in the Road recently closed. Fork in the Road was where Daddy and Scott took clients for their graduation dinners. Mister G is real picky about restaurants. His measuring stick for a great restaurant is Highlands Bar and Grill in Birmingham and Picholine in New York. He’s been known to drop a few bucks for rack of lamb at Rene’s in Tlaquepaque in Sedona. Yummy, yum, yum.

Grace was a Rhodesian Ridgeback, all of eight weeks old. She was frisky and she ran from me —and of course, I caught her every time and rolled her over and checked her area code. I had my paws all over her. What a honey. Already, I was in love. She may be too young for me, you say? Keep your two-legged opinions to yourself. When I come to the Dog Park it is open season for all bitches and me. Daddy asked Alan if Grace could come over to our yard for a play date. I’ll show her a play date. She’ll soon know that I may be neutered but I am still all man and then some.

I don’t know a Rhodesian Ridgeback from a Heinz 57 variety slum dog. But I do know that whatever Grace’s tendencies, I’ll lick ‘em and like ‘em as long as they are hers. When we came home, Daddy looked up Rhodesian Ridgeback on the internet and here is what it said: “Red wheaten in color, ferocious in the hunt but at home she is calm, gentle, obedient and a good dog. They grow to be 60 to 80 pounds.” Holy Toledo, Nellie. She is going to be a big one. Daddy always liked bigger women just like Tom Cruise. What I loved about the description is “ferocious in the hunt,” especially if she is hunting for me. I think I dig ferocious. Fur will fly!

Speaking of bitches, I have been putting the thought in Daddy’s head to get another Wire Fox Terrier, but a girly girl. He and his friends go to dinner and to movies. Ever so often they fly off to New York and hunt old digs in Egypt and go to the French Open in Paris. He’s been bitching a lot lately about his Southern-based airline. Although he’s a million-miler on this bucket of bolts, he is thinking of switching to another airline. I can tell him, but he won’t listen: they are all crummy. They have too many hidden fees. Always late. All these hot air balloons will soon stuff so many people in smaller spaces that the obesity rate in the world had better fall or it will not be a pretty picture in the boxcars in the back. Anyway, his travel schedule may not allow for a sister act for me. Pity, I say.