Problems in the End Zone

This is a story written for friends that ended up being crafted into a chapter for The Book of Barkley.  It still makes me laugh but I thought it might be more fun for all of you with some photos of Barkley. The other little dog with Barkley pictured below is G-Dog, who belonged to someone I know personally and professionally, who was a regular playdate with Barkley. She too was a great dog and is sorely missed. 

From The Book of Barkley - Love and Life Through the Eyes of a Labrador Retriever

Problems in the End Zone

There aren't many dogs in my little neighborhood of the crash pad.  There's a large dog in a home behind me that has what is either a great lumbering dog or a Shetland pony which I only see when I am out the door before 5 am., the owner walking him on a lead out into the mist.  A couple doors down is a little yappy dog  of mixed heritage that looks like a big Twinkie with legs. The owners just let it out to do it's business sans leash and sometimes it wanders around the neighborhood, though it knows to stay out of the street.  Barkley mostly ignores her and they have a relationship of distrust and mutual avoidance except when there's a camera out, much like many Hollywood marriages.

Barkley IS the king of the block, however, this morning he's simply sleeping on the twin bed in my office after an interesting night of "guess what I ate".

He rarely gets people food as it tends to upset his stomach. The occasional little piece of plain roast chicken, bits of cheddar, frozen peas (he loves them, nibbling them from your bare fingers like little ball bearings). But he's not particular. I've seen him chew on my old slipper, a lemon and Styrofoam packing peanuts, all with the same gusto. But he'll seek out the smallest crumb if left unattended.
Last night he snagged something off the counter when I was out of the room briefly, licking his lips as I returned  while my piece of pizza looked clearly disturbed and rather lacking in sausage.  Later, I caught him in the garbage looking for more (once they've had a taste).

But spicy or greasy food and Barkley have never seen eye to eye.  He did pretty well though other than a couple delicate sage scented burps and one episode where he came in while I was taking my bath.

I had my camera with me as I was hoping to get a shot of him trying to steel my socks, like he did the night before. But instead, he just sat down with this LOOK on his face

"OMG Mom, what's that SMELL!  He then turns around and looks at his butt as if it was suddenly possessed.

No, Barkley, you can't put Vicks Vaporub in your nostrils.
 That's Mommy's Vicks.

Well that emptied me out of the tub faster than realizing NCIS starts in 30 seconds. A quick spray of air freshener and an open window and he settled down for the night after leaving a quick calling card on the tree by the garage for the neighbor dog.

I knew the night wasn't going to go as planned when I woke up after midnight and realized I'd not closed the garage door. The back door into the crash pad is heavy and well secured, but I've got a bike and a few tools in the garage I wouldn't want stolen.

With only the hall light on, I stepped out into the garage, only to have some furred creature rush out at me from under the truck.

Holy *(#*!!!!

Seeing just a soundless flash of fur and tooth, my foot instinctively went out in a kick, catching the creature under the rib cage with the top of my slipper and punting it OUT the garage door like some sort of overtime field goal. Georgia against UT couldn't have done any better!

At which point I heard "YIP!    YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP YIP"

Oh, crap, I just dropped kicked the neighbors yappy dog. How am I going to explain THAT? I look out, the dogs not out there injured, he headed straight back towards home, the garage door being up a foot or two for him to go in and out.  I'll go see to him in the morning to make sure he's OK and explain what happened. My pulse is still racing like Speed Racer.

Back to bed where I tossed and turned, heart still racing, hoping the rest of the night and weekend would go better.

All was well until about 4, when Barkley stuck his nose in my face (and not to say hello). "I gotta go! I gotta go!"   I know that panting and that dance and it means NOW.  I threw on something over my jammies and headed out the garage with him. He made a beeline for the corner of the property, 82 pounds of muscle pulling me like a Nantucket sleigh ride through the dark, realizing I'm standing out there in a tiny Victoria's Secret polka dot number covered with a day glo yellow first responders coat. Somewhere there's probably a calender composed of women in outfits like that, but it was not a look I wanted my neighbors to see. (Officer, not only did she drop kick our dog but she goes around dressed like the Village People but half naked).

Barkley wasn't kidding. He didn't just have to GO. . . .

Remember the Darwin Award where the guy allegedly attached a JATO bottle to the back of a car and it launched him into a cliff?

There are certain circumstances when there is not much difference between a JATO assisted 1967 Chevy Impala, and a Labrador retriever digestive tract.

Just saying

Once emptied, he seemed OK , drank some water and just went back to sleep. At least HE could get back to sleep.

In the morning, I checked on him while I was making some corn muffins for breakfast.   He still wasn't too perky.

Mom, I think I'd feel better if you made me a bacon omelet.

By late morning, the bat phone was still quiet, a half priced book finished, and the little yappy dog was happily running around in it's front yard none the worse for wear, though it was steering quite clear of my driveway. Barkley also ate some breakfast and wanted to play with his toy without any further detonation. Hooray!

I think this calls for a little celebration. So after lunch, Barkley and I took a little road trip, not too far, as I have to be ready to go to work if needed, but for one of his favorite treats..

Barkley huddles with some frozen yogurt and all is well in the world.