C Doo Dah's Chitter Chat: Tumbleweeds in the Kitchen <$BlogMetaDatCa$>

Friday, February 24, 2006

Tumbleweeds in the Kitchen

Of late, I have had tumbleweeds in my kitchen. Now, mind you, these arent the kind that used to be a plant. These are hairball-tumbleweeds, 100% created by THE one and ONLY slut-puppy, Ruby.

So, during these warm-then cold-then warm days, I sweep the kitchen, like, three times a freekin day because of shedding. Elmer insists the dog stay in the house. She was really a sickly pup when we got her, and had to be nursed to health indoors, so, there she stayed.

I swore, when Harvey was chomped in the neck, Elmer wanted to keep it in the house too. I almost thought I'd a hafta kill the old coot, but, he pays the mortgage, and the rooster ended up staying on the porch, in a blanket in a box, until we had ta put him down. (sniffle)

The weather is back up into the 50s and 60s, so, after a tough cleaning this weekend, the dog has been banished to the back porch for the daytime. I do allow her to come in and sleep in her kennel at night, well, selfishly 'cause I had done had enuf of the freekin rooster wakin me up at all hours, and if'n the dog had seen a deer, 'coon or even a shadow, well, you get the picture WOOF WOOF WOOF. Naw, I like my sleepin too much.

Now, if'n you take her out like normal, she runs and plays and jumps, , , , perty much loves the heck out of being outdoors, because after all, LABS ARE OUTDOOR DOGS (as I keep tellin Elmer, Ellie and John-boy). But this spoiled shiot, whined and cried ALL FREEKIN DAY LONG yesterday. Scratched at the back door. Woofed in a weeine dog kinda way. Bugged the TAR outta me.

When she came in last night, she STILL sulked and tried to make me feel terrible. Note the picture, thats all she did, was pout. You'da think she'd be grateful or something. Well, I kept telling her she couldnt come into the kitchen, and the possum stew smelled awfully good, I 'spose.

Well, this morning, I woke John-boy and Ellie to head to school and leave me in peace. John-boy takes the dog out the kennel, takes it out for her business, and brings her in. I said NUH UH get that dog OUTSIDE. I watched out the window as John-boy hooks the line to the dog, she had this hang dog kinda look on her face, all teary and shiot. I mean, what da heck is the difference in sleeping on the kitchen floor and sleeping on the porch? All that dogs do is sleep.

My heart bleeds for her, as I sit inside and sip my coffee in my rocker, and watch her out the window. I almost want to let her in. The I see the corn broom leaning against the corner, look at the clean floor, and I sip my coffee some more, and divert my eyes to the meadow.



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