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This is not for Wimps

August 21st, 2006

Today started off pleasantly enough.   Casey and I awoke to the sounds of giggles and baby talk over the monitor ~ Kenny was in great spirits, and so happy to see Casey walk in to his room that he squealed   and danced on his little feet.   In fact, Kenny was a model kid all day.   No tantrums, no fussies… he even took a nap for over an hour.

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No.   Today was all about Dudley.

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To be fair, Dudley spent most of the weekend with a cone over his head.   He got bitten by something or other last weekend, and due to his obssession with licking every inch of his body for hours on end, the vet feared infection and prescribed several hundred dollars worth of antibiotics along with an large opaque cone to strap around Dudley’s head to keep his 2 foot tongue away from the offending wound.   So the poor puppy is a little out of sorts, and more than a little ticked off at us for going through with the vet’s recommendation.

But there was no cone on his head today, so I have to assume he was in full grasp of his mental capacities.

We had a fantastic morning walk.   Kenny was in the backpack, and we named each thing we passed on our two-mile jaunt.   (I realized that our neighborhood has 5 to 1, trucks to cars.   Hm.. I wonder if that is indicative of anything?   But Kenny did learn to say “Trak!” within the first quarter mile.)     When we got home, I let Dudley off his leash, and Kenny and I went inside to play.   I noticed that he was out there for an unusual amount of time, but given the fact that he was restricted for much of the weekend, I figured that a little outdoor romping must be doing him some good.

I forget sometimes who I am dealing with.

Dudley came racing in the dog door at breakneck speed moments later, and, oh my gracious, he smelled like the foulest garbage heap you can imagine.   He sprinted right up into my face and the odor seeping from his drooling tongue was worse than rotten fish and spoiled meat.   He turned smartly around and crashed back through the door, elated to be in the midst of adventure.   I scooped Kenny up and we followed him, and that’s when I saw, at the end of our boat ramp, a very large, half-eaten carcass of what looked like a beached whale.  

On closer inspection, it turned out to be a whole, 7-pound butterball turkey, gizards and all, which must have flown some trash coop in search of wide open spaces.   Who knows where it came from, but there was no way I was picking it up.   I grabbed Dudley by the scruff, hauled him inside, Kenny still on my hip, and got him on his leash, got Kenny into the backpack, grabbed a rake, and marched back to the ramp.   The slimy caracss floated gently back and forth, taunting us by its very audacity to remain on the moss-covered concrete.   I realized that traversing down the ramp would be too dangerous with Kenny on my back (it’s not like I could leave him alone inside), so I went to the garage and found a 10 foot pole.   We waded into the water, Dudley barking like an angry manatee on the shore, and pushed the offending butterball over into my neighbor’s bulkhead, close enough to her crabpots to at least do some good ecologically.

Ah, but if that were the end of this tail!   I mean, tale.

The rest of the day with Dudley was just Chaos.   First off, he smelled awful.   And given that he loves to lick poor little Kenny, and Kenny is constantly egging him on by sticking his face into Dudley’s tongue-range, I knew I was going to be in for it.

I forced Dudley to eat an apple, nature’s toothbrush, right?   Then kept him on a leash on “his” chair in a down stay.

Apparently Kenny thought that Dudley looked a little bored, and decided to read him a book:

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I take it Dudley is not as keen on Noah and the Ark as Kenny is…

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After lunch, he decided that Dudley still looked a little hungry, so he showed him where to find some extra tidbits:

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“Mommy, Dudley is eating my secret stash of Cheerios!”

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I’m already exhausted, just remembering the number of times I catapulted overtop the couch to either separate Kenny and Dudley (can you get salmonilla from Dog Breath?), or pry something of Kenny’s out of Dudley’s mouth.   It’s not even all Dudley’s fault.   Kenny loves Dudley so much, he follows him around, hugs him at every opportunity, and always wants to share everything with him.

Thank goodness Casey and I have a night out tomorrow night.   My poor, long-suffering Mommy will have the task of babysitting Dudley tomorrow.   Did I just write that?   I meant Kenny, but we all know who is more work around here.

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(gratuitous picture of Casey and I on our date night last week… I couldn’t resist… see, we’re cute, too!)

 

 

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