Sunday, September 1, 2013

Bleach's Pet

I fear that my rescue-pup-now-adolescent-doggie Juno and I are growing apart.

Several mornings last week, she did not run along the porch for petting as The Pony and I headed off to school. And when we returned home, she did not always run to the garage door, sneak in for a mouthful of Meow Mix, stop the garage door from closing as her getaway trot tripped the sensor, and magically appear on the porch for a hug. I know that her black borador fur is a warm coat for this sweltering weather. I don't begrudge her more time in the hollowed-out dust bowl under The Pony's truck beside the garage.

We used to be so close. Twice-a-day sweet nothings. Fur pressed to flesh. Loving gazes from her amber eyes to my hazel. Juno actively jockeying for position, physically broadcasting that no fleabags need aspire to the stroke of Val's palm, so that Tank the beagle and Ann the shepherd had to hang back from the porch edge, lest they be shouldered into the sidewalk abyss.

On Thursday, Juno lay on the porch and watched me come out of the garage and up the steps! She made no move to receiver her lovin'. And ANN WAS CLOSER TO ME THAN SHE WAS!

I ran the past week through my mind. Had I upset her sweet, sweet nature? Ignored her advances? Shunned her unknowingly? No. I had not. It was her, not me.

Last night at 11:30, I stepped out the basement door to pour out the life fluid of D'Hummi, the dehumidifier. And there was Juno! She was shoulder high, laying on the deck of Poolio, in the corner formed by the railing. She turned to look over her shoulder at me. I could almost hear her saying...

You know when George Costanza thought he had a heart attack, and was laying in that hospital bed, and said that Jerry should just kill him now, so Jerry pushed a pillow onto his face just as Elaine came through the door, and said fakely, "Elaine! What are YOU doing here?"

Yeah. I could hear Juno's doggy brain telepathing such a question to me. "Val! What are YOU doing here?"

She trotted down the pool deck steps and came across the flat rocks to me in the alcove by the basement door. Of course I petted her. Leaned over to hug her as best I could. Then I told her it was almost midnight. That I needed to pour a bit of bleach into D'Hummi's gullet to keep him fresh. So she should go back to bed. I'd see her in the morning. Juno leaned against my leg. I stroked her silky side. Then I grabbed the bleach jug and twisted off the cap. Juno stuck her head up under my shirt to put her wet nose on my belly. She likes to do that when my hands are busy. Like when I'm tossing stale bread to the chickens off the front porch.

I think we're besties again.


  1. Sometimes they just have a bad day.

  2. It sounds like you're back on her good side. Perhaps you need to cement your place in her heart by an extra treat or two.

    Now what would Juno consider an extra special treat?

  3. I hope Juno is just suffering from the heat and there isn't anything wrong medically. I don't recall you telling us how old Juno is.

  4. Nothing like a cold dog nose on your belly or some other such tender area to let you know they think you're something special.

    No D'Hummi here. We're always super crispy and often emitting that smoky flavor. When we shut ourselves in from the arctic blasts that come down from Alberta we crank on the steamer so we don't dry up like mummies from our forced air furnace and fireplaces.

  5. Sometimes they like to teach us lessons for our indiscretions. Right now she is thinking "that learned her".

  6. joeh,
    Yeah. Fighting the rush hour traffic to the food pan, the stress to keep up when running with the big dogs, defending the territory from invaders. How silly of me to assume that she lolls in the shade of a Ford Ranger all day. I am shocked that she hasn't gone on strike for more respect and better working conditions.

    Juno is partial to stale breadsticks from Pizza Hut. And Meow Mix.

    Juno is just turning two years old. Still a young 'un. Maybe that's what the problem is. As a doggy 14-year-old adolescent, she still craves my love, yet struggles to separate from me to find her place in the world. Nah! I think it's just too hot.

    Juno also likes poking her nose into a thigh or buttock to herd people in her chosen direction. Namely, away from the door to the house.

    We have the best of both worlds. In the winter, I have been known to put a stockpot full of water on the stove to simmer some humidity back into the electric-furnace air. Thank goodness we don't have the forest fires or the arctic blasts. But in the throes of 90% humidity, I might be willing to trade.

    You must be some kind of dog-whispering psychic. That's exactly the self-satisfied look she has on her face.