Courage is fear that has said its prayers. ~American proverb
I Monkey here.
I’ll bet you all were wondering when I’d get around to stealing Mama’s blog again and telling you the interesting things I’ve been doing.
No, not Mama’s pretty poetry posts and artsy pictures of flowers and such.
The real interesting things.
Like what happened the other day.
The sky was getting dark. Not nighttime dark; stormy weather dark.
Clouds were racing overhead, the wind was kicking up, and I Monkey started feeling my skin prickle.
You know, when change is in the air.
Well, maybe you don’t know. I’m not sure humans feel weather the way we dogs do.
Anyway, Mama looked out the window to the back yard and shouted, “There it is! That snake! He’s slithering around my flowers!”
What’s a snake? I Monkey am intrigued.
Gramma said, “Oh no! Go kill it! We can’t have that thing coming inside!”
Kill it? I guess a snake is no good. But if Mama’s after something, I want to be right there with her.
I’m always up for excitement, you see, and this situation was building nicely.
Then Mama said something about needing to “corral the dog” before she went out.
Uh-oh, that didn’t sound good.
And, before I could blink, why, she’d fenced me off inside and slipped out the door without me.
Hey, Mama, wait up!
Worst of all, I couldn’t see where she went or what she was doing, and that made me nervous as a cat. All I could do was listen, and I’m telling you, the sounds weren’t pretty.
First, I heard Mama’s feet stomp across the yard. Then she picked up a weapon (the hoe, I learned later). Then I heard a series of Thuds along with Mama breathing heavy and ordering, “Die!” followed by some words that nice mamas shouldn’t say.
Then I heard Mama’s feet pound across the yard again, followed by the sound of the water hose being turned on, and water streaming across the patio. Then it was quiet for a bit before Mama came back inside.
She was wearing a big grin and announced, “Got him!”
Doggone it, Mama, if there’s any “getting” to be done in this house, you know I Monkey expect to be in on the fun. But she compounded my misery by refusing to let me out and saying, “We have to let the wet get dry first.”
Wet? Dry? Who gives a hoot, Mama? If there’s an intruder in my yard, I want a piece of him.
So now you know why Mama’s in the doghouse as far as I’m concerned. She might be a warrior, but she’s sneaky and selfish with the fun.
Huh. No cookies for her tonight!