So sayeth The Pony. And so sayeth Hick. Though Hick did not sayeth it in so many words, just in snide little comments interspersed with my glowing tales of Juno's latest brilliant acts.
I might have mentioned once or twice how Juno greets me on the side porch every evening when we get home from school, and how we have an intense reunion, a two-legged/four-legged lovefest, where I hug her and whisper sweet nothings while she lays her head on my shoulder or upper chest, and gazes into my eyes with her almost-human amber orbs.
Last week, Juno, in mid-lovefest, GROWLED at Ann the simple-minded black german shepherd with the muddy brown eyes that signify nobody's home. Ann was merely shouldering her way in front of me for a pat, all the while whining in her anxious way, which seems to be a standard warning that the sky is falling. The Pony was just around the corner, unlocking the kitchen door. But he came back. "We tried to TELL you Juno is evil. You've created a monster!"
Well. I beg to differ. My sweet, sweet Juno? A monster? I think not. She just wanted me all to herself. There's not enough love to go around. And Ann is always stealing Juno's special house on the back porch mere feet from the kitchen door, where treats can be tossed directly inside to prevent sharing.
Since we moved the cat feeding roasting pan of kibble out of the garage and onto a shelf on the side porch, Juno has been discombobulated. She used to love running under the garage door and
Well. I feel a little bit guilty. Juno is a black silky ball of energy. She burns a lot of calories. Unlike Ann, the matronly would-be bonbon eater. So after our lovefest, I have started reaching up into the cat roaster and giving Juno a handful of cat kibble. If I forget, Juno looks at me. Turns her head to the cat roaster shelf. Looks at me again. Walks to the shelf and puts her nose up against it. Looks back at me. Expectantly.
I think Juno may dream of cheating on me with the cat kibble.