Due to my foul mood, I've released a pre-written post early. When life sucks, better find something to laugh about. I imagine that it's very telling the funniest thing in my life at the moment is my dog. Mind you, I'm not laughing at him, but every single time the subject of dog farts comes up, people laugh. Go for it. Maybe it's contagious. The laughing, I mean. Not the other.
I've been getting things ready for our small group of guests. Okay. Two of 'em. But they're special guests, so I'd like things to be nice. So I'm doing the extra. Suddenly I notice that the dog has some especially noxious gas. Deadly. So I throw a quick comment to Buck that really, I'd like to see him get over that little problem before we get our company.
Then I stop to think. It's been awhile since I've noticed that he doesn't have gas. A long time. Our preacher once commented about our dog: "When they tell you that dog has gas, believe 'em. He does. Even worse, he follows you where ever you go, so you've got to worry about whether people are thinking it's you or not." We laughed when Gary said this, but really, somewhere along the line, I guess this has become a chronic condition with Buck. I start to worry a little bit. You don't worry so much about your old farting dog when, say, your sister visits. Your sister has owned Festus, the decrepit but beloved beagle who began to smell a bit 'off' as she got older. So, like, if my close family comes, you don't mind so much about 'Farty-the-Friendly'. I mean, these are the sort of people that understand that you can't just set a dog outside because he's gotten farty in his old age. But this visit is different. This is my daughter's friend. We want to make a good impression. And this is my ex-father-in-law, the one who sees my ex's perfect wife, who keeps a perfect house and has 'Angel' the white poofy dog who probably does not fart. I study my loyal and good dog. My big stinky friend. He snores gently from his bed, and if on cue, he farts an audible fart.
You know, people, it is what it is. I love my dog. I found him as a stray a few years back, and he is a dog that I know would lay down his life for me. Well. I'm pretty sure, anyways. He's old. He moves a bit slower. He's got Arthur Itis. But, in his day, he was fiercely protective, and was saving me from Tim on a regular basis. I was in no actual danger, mind you. Tim just gets amorous sometimes, and announces that fact with strange groaning noises and quick grabbing motions. This upset the dog to no end. But like they always say, had this been an actual emergency, well, by golly, the dog was on it. So when the good Lord drops a dog like that off in your lap, well, you don't just abandon him in his old age because he's gotten rancid. No. It would be like dropping off a relative with Alzheimers along a busy highway because he's inconvenient, or like leaving your spouse because he's lost his (her?) hair. No. Life is about more than that. Anyone that can't see that isn't worth the time it takes to prepare for their visit.
Still, though, I call to ask Tim to pick up some Bean-o on his way home from work. When I hang up the phone, I also pray. I'll let you know how this all works out.