You wanna give me a hint?

This morning while M was reading the comics, he just about nosed his coffee. (Ouch!) I jumped down off the couch and went over to see what had tickled his funny bone. It was this:

I swear I'll never understand humans. What's so hilarious about a dog having to go outside and pee?

Penny for your thoughts.

I'm not the first dog that Mike and Jeannie have had in their family. In 1977, when they lived in Dahlonega, GA, they adopted an AKC-registered Irish setter named Lady Jennifer O'Tara--Jenny for short. Jenny was about a year old when she came to live with them. I guess in a sense they "rescued" her, because her first and second owners didn't want her. The first one said she was too rambunctious for the small apartment he lived in. The second took her for a while, but then decided he'd rather have a German shepherd, which would be a lot easier to train. They both said Jenny was something of an airhead.

Many humans think that while Irish setters are beautiful, loyal, and friendly dogs, they aren't exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. Others say they're very smart, but hardheaded. Speaking of heads, most of them have a small bump at the base of their skulls. Some people call it an "intelligence bump," and others say yeah, cuz that's where they keep their tiny brains. And then the first ones say au contraire, it's a target so their dumb humans will know where to scratch. I don't guess you're ever gonna get a consensus on how bright and trainable Irish setters are or are not. It all depends on who you ask. By the way, a lot of golden retrievers have those intelligence bumps, too.

That reminds me: What do you call a blonde with a high IQ? Answer: a golden retriever! But I digress . . .

So M and J became Jenny's third owners. But right away there was a communications problem in the household, because they already had a daughter named Jenny. So whenever there was a Jenny who needed yelling at, M or J would say, "Jenny!" and two heads would pop up instead of one. It got very confusing, and they soon decided their new pup needed a new name. Then they noticed that the dog's coat was dark red and shiny like a brand new copper penny and that Penny rhymes with Jenny--and wah-LAH! From then on, Jenny-the-dog was Penny, and Jenny-the-human stayed Jenny, and people could be sure they were yelling at the right individual.

By now you're probably dying to see what Penny, nee Lady Jennifer O'Tara, looked like. I think you'll agree that she was a bit foxy. Here she is with Jenny, when Jenny was just four years old:

And here's Penny with Jenny's older sister, Bonnie, at a dog show the following year:

One more picture from the early days--one that makes me green with envy. I have always wanted to stretch out in front of a blazing fireplace. Maybe next winter . . .

And then Penny did what most domesticated creatures do if they're lucky enough to have loving homes where they are well cared for. She grew old. Here she is with Jenny again, this time at Christmas in 1987, at the house in Florida where I live now. Look at the wisdom in that sweet gray face:

These other pictures were all taken that same year, just months before Penny died. Here she is with Bonnie:

And with Jeannie:

And with Mike:

There's a framed enlargement of that one hanging on the wall in J's office. I know they all still miss her.

Bonnie was a high school senior in the spring of that year and took a class in photography, where she learned to develop black and white film and print her own pictures. I'll close this tribute with one that she made into a poster:

1976 - 1988

I was just doing my job!

If M and J didn't want me to move the roast pork au jus from the kitchen counter to the floor last night, they could have said so. But noooo! Instead they left me alone in there to draw my own conclusions. Did they forget that food relocation is a big part of who I am? Oh--and get this--rather than scoop up the pieces and eat them, which was apparently against something called the five-second rule, they had hot dogs. So of course that became my fault, too. I swear I haven't heard such negativity since a week ago, when I assumed that one of their grilled Cuban sandwiches was mine.

Property rights are a real puzzle. I had another head-scratching moment this morning, when I got into a disagreement with Arlo about who owned the toad that was in our living room. After much discussion it turned out that M owns it and thinks he should keep it outside.

Let sleeping dogs write!

Contrary to human mythology, when a dog wiggles his feet in his sleep, he's not always chasing a rabbit. I for one have never chased a rabbit in my life, either awake or asleep. I did a little nocturnal high-stepping last night, but it's because I was having a bad dream. I don't have them much anymore--just every now and then. M and J tell me that I sometimes wag my tail in my sleep, and I guess that's a sign that I'm taking to my new life pretty well.

But last night's dream was a little disturbing. Something positive did come from it, though. When I woke up this morning, I wrote down another poem! See how this grabs:

Rain

Sleeping in the rain
Is a pain
In the butt
For a mutt
With little choice.
An angry voice
Assaults my ear:
"Hey, you, get outta here!
Too bad you're all wet--
Now get
Your stinky hide outta my front yard!
I know life's hard.
It's a bitch--no offense."
(None taken.)

I awaken
Somewhat shaken
And struggle to my feet,
Then head for a place across the street
Where the rain-soaked grass looks just as green
And hopefully the humans are a little less mean.
As I slink down the long and winding drive,
To show my friend that I'm still alive,
I decide to leave a gift--I squat for a minute.
Maybe tomorrow he'll step right in it.

Gettin' there, huh?

Breakfast at Ginger's

When I first saw this title, I thought it might be my Cousin Ginger from Ft. Knox. But it's a different one--a pretty pampered one from the looks of it! (Thanks, Grandma Grace, for bringing it to my attention!)