Ahh Yes, Those Were The Days

My canine-pooch fell in love this weekend. Right before my eyes, which is the cruelest of all tricks of the mother-son variety. How can a woman who has cared for, fed, bathed, walked, picked-up poo for her son just sit back and watch him turn his affection towards a scraggly, two-bit dog-whore on the other side of the fence? Oh the inhumanity!

Ralph wanders back and forth along the back fence, whimpering and pining to be close to this little feisty monsteress who mimics his actions mirror-like. To re-assert the once-first-place in my dog's heart, I spent the afternoon outside on the new! lawn chair. Only two times did Ralph attempt to lick my forearms.

"Oh hi Mom." he said, as his eyes wandered to the back fence.

Oh hi Mom, here is a patronizing lick. Is what I felt.

It was just last summer, that the boy couldn't stand a minute away from me. Never did he leave his post at the back door where he could see me cook, or talk on the phone, or dance in the reflection of the French doors. If I went outside to take the garbage out, he'd have to lick every crevice of my neck before I was allowed back inside.

But not no more.

Occasionally, his intense flirting would cause Ralph to go dry. He'd dash to his water bowl and drink of its wet goodness as though it were his last. For a full sixty seconds, my son would lap that water in, his head buried in the bowl. Then, like a soldier girded for war, a dripping Ralph would march back to the fence where his dramatic wooing would continue.

Finally, in a desperate attempt to escape his captured heart, Ralph started to dig his way out of our fenced lawn. The little bitch (what? that is what they are called, legally) encouraged him on in his dramatic plight. Her fuzziness bounced up and down with every manly stroke of Ralph's digging to freedom.

I became dizzy and somewhat disoriented. I ran to the arms of another man. It was all I could do.

"Ralph is digging!" I tattled to Chup.

Chup puts digging up there with stealing and not honoring your parents, and other such Great Commandments. Instantly he was outside putting a kabosh (with a shovel in hand) on The Romantic Escape Episode Part One.

(No love story is complete without a disgruntled father with a shovel.)

During dinner we kept the door open so that Ralph's every action was being monitored.

"I just don't get it!" I sighed to Chup. "I mean, aren't sons supposed to fall in love with women that are like their own mothers?"

"Yup." Chup says biting down on a fat piece of garlic chicken.

"Then I don't get it! Why did he go for a short, yappy thing?" I exclaimed.

Then, me again,
"Don't answer that."

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