Bush-butts and two-leggers

By Peppermint Patti

JOTR Columnist

Don’t tell me about it, Sophie. I’ve got a pair of them myself, I know precisely how they are.

They’re what you call youmens.

What THEY call youmens.

I call em two-leggers.

Short for two-legged walkers.

A strike against them already.

I mean, how do they balance on just two pegs?

Four-legging’s the only way: Faster, closer to the ground, safer.

Know what I mean, Sophie?

They say they came from apes, and it sure does show.

Dog, I tell you, breaking in a new two-legger is no picnic, as you know very well.

Story of my life.

Maybe yours are smarter than mine, I don’t know.

Don’t get a brain till they’re twenty-two.

Wait! Wait! Hold that thought, Sophie!

Hear em?

Bush-butts!

Dog!

Stay where you are, Sophie, this is my side. That fence’ll be the death of you.

Just wait, I’ll be back.

Okay, sneeze, whew, here I am. Arrogant buggers, those bush-tushies, don’t know their proper place, which is up a tree, any tree, and stay there.

Sent em packin.

Hear em yellin?

Wait, gotta sniff that bird feeder.

Just as I thought, old flare-tail’s been at it.

Thinks it’s a joke.

Next time, I’ll nab one.

Almost had one, once, sunk my teeth into its butt plume.

Can you believe the nerve? It turned and showed me its teeth.

Bravery in a rodent is just plain dumb.

Hate to think what I’d of done if my female two-legger hadn’t bounded up with a piece of fake bacon.

Lost my concentration.

I know, you’re a biggie, what the two-leggers call a Labado Retreater. 

Me, I’m a faux bichon, white fluff-ball straight from the pound.

Wait a minute. You see that? What’s the male two-legger doing out here? Doesn’t he know this yard is mine?

Come on! Inside!

Makes me sneeze.

Now I gotta go sniff where he was, make sure he didn’t foul my scent.

Guess I better pee on a couple places.

Gotta reinforce my authority.

You know, I keep the place safe for two-leggers.

Oh no! He’s headed for the woodpile. Doesn’t he know? Danger! I chased a raccoon in there. It’s biding its time, but the male two-legger is gonna buy trouble, just watch.

Cracks me up, Sophie. Both my two-leggers really adore me. Kids love me. Everybody thinks I’m so kind, and I am. I am!

But dog, I’d sure love to nail one of those bushie-assed tree moles.

Bagged a mouse once, but before I could swallow, they scooped it up.

Flushed it down the well they pee in.

Can you believe that? A mouse down a pee well?

I’ll never drink from that one again.

What’d you say? How many times I been to the vet?

Who cares?

Where’d you hear that?

You READ about it?

Come on, Sophie, don’t put me on, I’m not fresh out of the kennel.

Okay, whatever it takes.

Right, it was brown, hard and sweet. Chawgolad. Or something.

Dog, I’d give a bag of bacon treats to know where they hid the sweets.

Answer what question?

Emergully woom?

I’m not being coy.

Okay, let’s just say that doc’s got my number.

Want me to bark the count? Okay, watch my tail, count the wags.

 I know what the two-leggers say. I’m a VERY expensive dog, getting more so.

The more they pay, the more they love me. Go figure.

Gotta scoot, Sophie–raccoon up a tree!