Some people say my dog is unusual looking but always cute. He's a Piebald Dachshund. To be more specific, he looks like a Springer Spaniel with a dachshund body. And his personality is a combination of spaniel and dachshund, as well. He has the sweetness of a spaniel, but the independence and stubbornness of a dachshund.
For example, when he was only a puppy he gave me a lesson in pretending to listen and doing exactly what he wanted to do. I was lecturing my dog about not eating his dinner due to his love of dog cookies. He cocked his head gave me a long look, and then ran into another room, where his crate was located. He dug in the corners of this crate, where he found two dog cookies. He at both of them infront of me, then turned to look at me as if to say "now, what were you saying about no more dog cookies?"
Humphrey is very clear about his likes and dislikes. He loves women and other dogs. he hats loud noise, thunder and "Dancing With the Stars." Being a fan of the above mentioned show, it's not out of the question for me to institute a routine called "Dancing With the Dogs" while watching the show. This routine consists of twirling and dipping my dog to the music. Needless to say, he hates it, and he lets me know in no uncertain terms!
One night in particular stands out. Right after a Tuesday night elemination, I put some Motown on the CD player and danced around the room. Humphrey, clearly fed up with the situation, hauled furry booty to the bedroom and hid under the bed. My dog refused to come out, despite my promises not to dance with him. Only when I turned off the music and put up my CD player did he come out of hiding. And then he only stuck his head out from under the bed to make sure it wasn't a trick. Since that episode, Humphrey has kept a watchful eye on me, and places himself safely under the living room table, beyond my reach. No more "Dancing With the Dogs!"
Friday, February 8, 2013
When I was in elementary school, my mother had a pale pink Cadillac. She loved that car like no other. Dirt did not touch that car, inside or out. Mama made sure it was spotless. The Cadillac was kept in perfect working order with periodic maintenance. No one drove that car except Mama. It was off limits even to my father and, especially, my brother Larry.
My teenage brother wanted to drive that car in the worst way. He longed to take it out on the open road and see how fast it would go. Mama would have none of it, knowing how teenage boys were about cars; almost as dangerous as they were with teenage girls. That car was Mama’s baby and Larry wasn’t going to get his grubby hands on it.
My brother finally convinced Mama to let him drive the car to the local theater to see James Dean in Giant. The problem was that Giant was showing in Vicksburg, forty miles to the west. Larry did just what he promised Mama he wouldn’t do—he took her pink Cadillac out of town, and to make matters worse, he took four friends with him. To add insult to injury, those boys were smoking smelly cigars in Mama’s Cadillac.
Larry thought he had gotten away with his sneaky behavior when a cow in the middle of the road changed everything. Mama’s pink Cadillac and the cow made contact. Both the Cadillac and the cow suffered irreparable injuries. Luckily, no one in the car was hurt…correction; upset stomachs prevailed when everyone swallowed their cigars.
Mam knew something was up when a local highway patrolman brought Larry home. You could hear Mama screaming throughout the entire house. My father was afraid the neighbors would hear the obscenities she was turning the air blue with. He tried to calm her down. But once she realized Larry was okay, she threatened to make him not okay. “I’m going to kill him…oh, my beautiful car!” she hollered. Over and over she screamed, “I’m going to kill him!”
Finally, Mama calmed down, but she never forgot her pink Cadillac. And it was a long, long time before she forgave Larry for the demise of “Pinky.”