Revenge: an opportunity to retaliate or gain satisfaction. Big Boy and I have extracted every bit of satisfaction that we could get over the past week. Tried to make Slick Missy's life miserable, yes, Sirree Bob. Tried to get back for every thump, being tied up for hours on end, cheap dog food, and benign neglect; we have a list a mile long.
Slick Missy sawed tree limbs; raked; mowed; huffed and puffed. I don't know what's going on with her hair--it's getting might knotty. It's a good thing that she ran out of gas. The damned fool would've collapsed in the heat. We're chained in shady spots and my child's favorite place is behind the forsythia bushes. He gets caught in there and Missy has to get him out--says that he is wrecking her place. Of course, being behind the bushes serves two purposes: keeps him cool and he sees you before you see him. He's also learning to keep his mouth shut until he knows who is coming around the barn/shed/garage.
Slick Missy came out to check our water supply and, lo and behold, Big Boy met her at the back door. She finally realized that he had broken his leash. I mean that boy snapped it clean in two. He should have been on that heavy chain instead of me. Now, she has to move my chain over to his spot. I'm free, Big Boy is free, and we're off to the races. Around the yard we go at full speed, circle the barn, and back again. She's bent over Big Boy's stake trying to unravel the broken leash. Oops! Her face just happens to get in the way as I come barreling along. Right into her eye and nose. That was a satisfying hit, let me tell you. I took a few more laps before I decided to check on her. She looked so pitiful, standing there holding her head. Kept talking about she was going to have a black eye and that it was a good thing that she didn't have her glasses on. We didn't say a word.
The next morning she went to work, wearing those "I'm so cute" glasses. No black eye. Was she ever in for a shock when she came home at lunch to check our water. Leaving to go back to work, she spied a pair of frames next to me. We had waited to bring them out for her to see. That's right. I won't say who knocked out the lenses but they were over in my child's area. Between the two of us, we had a grand time chewing on those glasses--her good pair. How did we get the glasses, you ask? She had pushed them on top of her head while she was bent over. After my mega hit, she forgot all about them. She thought that she'd misplaced them somewhere in the house. A new pair of peepers is in order. Gotcha!
I took the opportunity to take a walk the other night while she was thumping on Big Boy. She left me outside all night. Big Boy said that she locked him up with some whining contraption on the porch that wouldn't stop, no matter how much he barked. So, since it wouldn't stop whining, he slept across the back door. Taking my walk felt so good that I decided to try it again the next night. And she left me out again. But I got her good the next morning. Let her think I'd been secured. Laid there nice and easy as you please. When she came out to leave for work--I was gone. Didn't go far; came up the driveway as she was getting in the car. Made her late. Gotcha!
Big Boy met her at the car that evening. Tore his collar. That boy is just too bad. Don't know why she thought a make-shift collar would hold that boy. The next morning, as she pulled off, he followed her down the driveway. Made her late. Gotcha!
I took my turn and met her when she came home for lunch. Managed to get out of the brand new chain she bought for me. I was grinning from ear to ear. She just stood there and shook her head. You'd think she would be happy that we try to meet her when she gets out of the car, wouldn't you?
Now we're on a hunger strike. That's right. We DO NOT like that cheap dog food she hauled in the other night. I won't touch mine unless she sweetens the pot. The birds are having a field day; a free buffet, if you will. I had to school my child (he was eating his and mine) so Big Boy just dumped his into a hole. We can show her better than we can tell her.
It's time to sign off. It's been good hollering at you.
Your friend, Cindy.
No comments:
Post a Comment