Ok, I’m a city dog. I lived in a tall apartment building up North. Spent my life there, using elevators, meeting friends daily at the Park, inviting guests for social hours during COVID when our parents couldn’t socialize with each other. My frozen raw food was delivered. Peanut butter Kongs were always in the freezer and I loved the maintenance guys, they were way cool and let me jump on them to say hello.
Now I’m out in the country on a temporary basis, at least I hope it’s temporary. I’ve always been a wash ”n wear kind of gal and Mom brought along the shower attachment so I still have bi-weekly baths with my hole-y towels (I get to “kill” the dog towels after each bath, my reward) so no change there, but dogs are treated differently in the country. First off, some get dumped on others, thrown out car windows to fend for themselves. We got one of those the first week we were here, and she’s had a tough time of it.
But more about the newly-named Sara the Rescue Dog later. This is about me and country folk making fun of my Mom for having a spoiled princess. Like when the tractor mechanic saw the setup in Mom’s Acura (not exactly a farm vehicle). There’s a cargo net behind the back seat, an extra large 4″ thick orthopedic bed, and a tie-down so I can wear a harness and not be thrown if the car brakes suddenly. Oh, and two fans directed my way, thanks to the car battery. Too much? He got a kick out of that one. So did the guy who inspected the car so Mom could renew her drivers’ license here.
I brought a winter coat and a raincoat, plus Mutt-Luks in case it snows, which it may do this week. Mom bought the rescue dog a coat the other day but she can’t wear it yet. Sara was abused and abandoned until she found the home of my Grandma M and Grandpa J. She’s always afraid of being hit, and when she came she didn’t even know how to chase a tennis ball, just thought it was going to be thrown at her. Sad tale, she hasn’t told me much about it.
Three weeks ago my folks had to drive all the way to Dallas to get her spayed. My folks were told that the local vet couldn’t get her in for three months and she was in heat with regular visits from the neighbor’s dog so it had to be done asap.
As soon as she was about healed from the spay, she was brutally attacked by another dog in the neighborhood and is still recovering. It’s freezing outside, down to the teens at night. Sara hates crates and leashes and relishes being an outdoor dog with all the freedoms that entails, so she’s usually the outdoor patrol and I bark at intruders from inside depending on which bedroom I’ve taken as my own for the day. Why my own bedroom, where I arrange the covers as I deem fit? I’m the Principessa!
So now Sara’s using my huge crate in the pantry across a breezeway, with a space heater, the crate filled with towels and wee wee pads so she can convalesce. Her rear leg is twice its normal size and she’s on antibiotics and epsom salt baths to draw out the poison from the puncture wounds.
I miss my new friend. We had a great time chasing each other around the yard and through the garden. I have to be on a generous zip line now because once Sara and that cad (her one-night-stand boyfriend) led me out onto the State highway where trucks were zooming by at 70 mph. My folks didn’t like that much so I’m now stuck in the back yard but it’s no fun without Sara playing fetch and tug.
I don’t care much that the locals make fun of me and my folks for being so citified. When we get back to civilization, maybe I’ll write more about it. Mom thinks I’m a pretty good writer. [only pretty good? I said excellent and you edited it, Dee, watch it or I’ll eat your sock]
Oh, the funniest thing is that Sara can’t walk on the leg yet so needs to be supported to go outside. The only coat Mom could find with a handle for support was the bright orange swim vest from my one (thank God) swimming lesson! The other day it was sunny and warm so my folks moved the crate outside, and there was Sara, prone, wearing a new collar and tag, and sporting a bright orange life vest on Christmas week! Imagine if the tractor mechanic saw that, Grandma and Grandpa would never hear the end of it!
I’ll let Dee write tomorrow. She says Happy New Year and she’ll come up with something good for all y’all to read. Thanks for your kind attention to my regal pronouncements. Lulu, the Country Princess
Cooking with Dee 