That's No Walking Stick

When I came back from town last Monday, Jack and Copper Jack were strolling around the top of Bone-of-Contention Hill. I figured maybe they'd followed Hick on the tractor, and ranged down there following a scent. I put my window down and told Jack to get home. I didn't see either dog in my rear-view mirror. But coming up the driveway, I saw Juno dashing across the front yard, coming from Shackytown Boulevard towards the house. She's always the first to greet me.

I was ever-vigilant around my Sweet, Sweet Juno. Knowing that she had been cracking open an armadillo's shell scant hours earlier, like she was having a creekside lobster feast. I was a bit put off by her unbridled joy at my return. Uh huh. I put the kibosh on her intended lovefest. Having had her moist black rubbery nose jammed into my open mouth previously, I was in no mood for a repeat. Lips that touch (possibly leprous) armadillos will never touch mine.

Poor, poor Juno. She stood on the side porch, between the stair rail and the metal chair that I use to put grocery bags on. The chair that Hick moves every time he BBQs on Gassy G, and refuses to return to its rightful place. The area where Juno stood is usually claimed by Jack. He fits right through that gap, while Juno generally detours around the chair, to lean her head over the sidewalk and be the first to greet me as I come out the people-door of the garage.

I suppose my standoffishness yelling, "NO! JUNO!" as I came out of the garage made her think twice. Juno still loves me, though! She stood, wagging her bushy tail eagerly, awaiting a pat and kind word, with an open-mouthed doggy smile on her lips.

CLANG CLANG CLANG!!!

What in the Not-Heaven? Why was I hearing a clanging noise? It was synchronized with Juno's tail wags. She's hit things before with her tail, but the sound is more muffled. This sounded like a bare bone slamming into the metal legs of the chair.

As I stood, puzzled, Juno saw her opening. She ducked her head and strolled toward me. It was almost as if she was embarrassed. Still clanging.

That's when I noticed that Juno's tail was twice its normal length. How was that even possible? While trying to fend off her eager face, I saw the problem. Juno's tail was drooping under the weight of a long stick. It was tangled in her feathery tail fur. TANGLED!

Of course I tried to remove it. Juno was shy, due no doubt to me rebuffing her attempts at our lovefest, and instead holding the back of her neck with my right hand, and trying to rip a thorny stick from her tail with my left. She made several feinting moves to run back through the chair/rail gap, but I had a good hold on her. Almost as good as that stick. I finally had to speak harshly to her, which makes her sit down and hang her head. Then I used both hands, one on her tail, the other on the stick, until I ripped it loose.

Look at the size of that monster:

Oh, it may not look so menacing in that view. But here's why I had to rip out a few hairs to wrest it loose from Sweet, Sweet Juno's feathery tail:

I got a few of those thorns embedded in my left ring finger for my trouble, but they pulled out easy enough. I had to rescue my Sweet, Sweet Juno from its clutches. Can you imagine her roaming the neighborhood, wagging that thing? She would have been a laughingstock to the other livestock.