A recent home visit from Brody the older, wiser greyhound:
It’s been a disturbing situation around here. Mom and Dad are loving on this pesky pup as if he’s actually adorable. He’s annoying. As in having reached the highest order of annoyance. Kid needs a medal. A heavy medal to slow him down a bit.
First, the people are in awe over how tall this guy is. Hmph. Only a year old and taller than me. And the whippersnapper saunters around like height gives him rank. Umm. No. Get a clue, son, you’re low man around here. I earned my gray face.
Anyway, just when I’m running low on hope, Mom and Dad start chatting about another couple coming to take a look at young Mr. Talkstoomuch, aka Bandit. He’d better pour on some charm and get himself adopted.
They showed up and it’s all hello’s and welcome – till the dummy jumps on them. I gave him a hip bump on our way into the family room – a reminder to behave.
My sister Boo and I escort the people into the family room, putting on the ‘retired and content’ faces while Tall Boy does the ‘aren’t I so very loveable’ routine.
Did it well, actually. Hope springs in my puppy-plagued heart.
Boo and I even cooperated when we got shut out of walk time so the visitors could take Mr. Manic on a test-drive, er walk. Anything to make this adoption go. Not that we don’t like him – Bandit’s pretty okay in short, measured doses. Like medicine.
There’s people talk about the walk, the stubborn pup, and fences. I’m all for fences. I’m all for anything that will get this boy out of my toy box. Have I mentioned he unstuffs every toy? He needs a hobby – in a permanent home.
There’s more people talk about love, cuteness, training, energy…blah blah blah. No point in really listening when things are going so well. Then it’s bye-bye time and Boo and I escort the folks to the door.
I’ve done this more than a few times through the years, so I wasn’t all that surprised when the farewells were prolonged and wistful. And the way Mr. Talkstoomuch cried when they left brought a tear to my own eye.
A tear of joy!
Mom must’ve agreed with me, because her eyes filled and she hugged Dad and told that pesky pup stories about how great his forever home would be.
~Brody, the eldest and wisest of the greyhounds.
