This week I got to go to an ackshull ranch, with ackshull COWS, to innerview ranch dogs (an adopted brothers) Maxwell Galuska (a 4½-years-old mini-Yorkie), an Cookie Sexton (a 6-years-old terrier mixture), an Woof was it fun! The house was way at the end of a long fence road, an, even buhfore me an my assistant got to the door, this Very Liddle Silky Hair-ball came bouncing out to greet us, followed closely by a coupla frenly humans.
“Hello! You’re The Bonz, right? You look jus like your pick-shur in the PAY-per. I’m Maxwell. I’m Boss of the House! Cookie’s around here somewhere. This is my Dad Andrew, he’s a music man, in charge of lotsa music an arts atta big church; an this is Cookie’s Dad, Sean. I call him Mr. Sexton. He’s the boss of all the COWS, an also an ARR-dist, an also he writes something called POMES.”
“Great to meet you all! Cool Kibbles place you have!”
“It’s The Best!” Maxwell agreed. “Me an Cookie are Super Lucky Poocheroos. So come’on in! HEY, COOKIE, come meet The Bonz!”
A good-lookin’ middle-size pooch with frenly brown eyes trotted over for the Wag-an-Sniff.
“Hey, hey, it’s The Bonz! I’m Cookie, an this is my Mom, Sharon, she’s an ARR-dist. So, havva seat! Relax! Wouldja like a water?”
“No thanks, I’m good. Can’t wait to hear your tails. Who’s gonna start?”
“I’ll go first,” said Cookie. “See, when it was time to adopt another ranch pooch (Mom an Dad had Sammy for a long time in people years; he’s in Dog Heaven now), Mom wanted to adopt me soon as she saw me, but another lady had already called dibs. I was bummed cuz, you know how it is, Bonz, us pooches pretty much KNOW, soon as we spot our Furever Mom or Dad.”
I nodded.
“So anyway, I went home with this other lady. She was super nice an all but she had another pooch, a lady pooch, an, well, I guess I’m sorta a Dog About Town an I fell caboose-over-teakettle for her but, let’s just say, it didn’t work out. So the lady un-adopted me an Mom scooped me up an I ended up with my Furever Famly after all!”
“Everything happens for a reason,” I commented.
“So now I’m a ranch dog. I love helpin’ Dad with the COWS. Very important stuff!”
“Hey, Bonz,” Maxwell interjected, “you should see Cookie sometimes. He gets so excited he starts zippin’ around, twirlin’, walkin’ sideways, like those liddle crab dudes. It’s hilarious.
Gramma Sharon an Mr. Sexton call him Mr. Wiggles. He makes everybody laugh!”
“I guess, on occasion, I DO get a liddle over-excited,” agreed Cookie. “It’s a gift.”
“OK, my turn!” said Maxwell. “I started out with Dad as a City Dog. He’d always had small dogs an his most recent one had gone to Dog Heaven, so he found a breeder in Sara-soda an drove over to check out the recent litter, which was mine. He plopped down on the floor with all of us. You can imagine all the adorable-ness! My sibs were nice an puh-lite an quiet. But not ME. I bounced around with Dad an it didn’t take long for him to ree-lize I was The Dog!! I’m still pretty ram-BUNK-shus, I guess, although I prefer callin’ it Enthusiastic. Like, I may have nabbed a pacifier from a nearby baby and Dad had to get ’em a new one. But it was just that once. He says I always know when somebody doesn’t want me to have something, an make it my mission to nab it.
“Or, when anybody tries to make the bed, I grab the covers an rearrange ’em a few times. I also dig,dig,dig in the pillows like us Yorkies usta dig in the ground for RO-dunts. (Yorkies were bred to hunt RO-dunts, ya know.) It’s an IN-stink, an we’re Super Good at it. Like, I can pick up the scent of the occasional mouse an follow its trail, then Miss Sharon sets out a live trap with peanut butter an relocates whoever’s in it. Also, sometimes I swipe napkins.
You wanna know my theory?”
“Absolutely!”
“WELL, see, the breeder where Dad got me was in Port Charlotte which usta be full of PIE-rats. So I figure I’m probly from a long line of PIE-rat pooches cuz I offen have the urge to nab stuff.”
“You CAN be a bit of a pain in the kazoo,” Cookie noted, turning to me. “We first met when him an Mr. Andrew came out to the ranch for a weekend visit. We hit it off right from the start, an now we’re BFFs!!”
“We love roamin’ free through the pastures and woods, chasin’ squirrels an rah-butts, the wind in our ears, a zillion smells to smell! Woof, this is The Life! So I’m not a City Dog anymore,” Maxwell declared with great exuberance. “I’m a Ranch Dog!! The cows mostly ignore me cuz I’m so liddle. They probly think I’m a buncha weeds or a bird or something.
But they get nervous around Cookie.”
“True,” agreed Cookie. “Also, we are Very Good Watchdogs. An we always know when our humans are feeling bad, an we do our best to comfort them, which usually involves snuggling. Plus, since Maxwell is duhlishus morsel size, it’s my solemn duty as his Big Brother to look after him so an eagle, or coyote or bobcat doesn’t grab him.”
“Woof!” I blurted, quickly changing the subject. “Do you do much travelin’?”
“Me an Dad sometimes go back to Sara-soda to visit Gramma Christine an Papa Tony, which is always Crispy Biscuits,” Maxwell replied. “I get ALL the attention, an Gramma Christine always fixes us the Best Homemade Breakfast Ever: scram-bly eggs an CHIGGEN!”
I couldn’t buh-leeve an hour had passed. Headin home, I was picturin’ Maxwell an Cookie runnin’ across the fields, kings of all they survey. Except the cows. An lookin’ forward to restin’ in my speshull chair with my lovely evening dish of yoghurt.
Till next time,
