Wednesday, January 28, 2015

The day didn’t start any earlier than any other, 0430 or so, it just didn’t start well.

Dog poked his nose in my ear and licked pre-sunup and well before I’d have set an  alarm for, so that was normal. I grumped my way to wakefulness, talking trash as to his non-existent pedigree and calling his mother forsaken and unrepentant (and other things), 

None of that fazed him, having heard it all before, I know.

Still, I made the sacrifice and let him out the door on the double long lead I trust him on. And headed for the coffee pot. An hour later, well after normal feeding time, and given the clock he has in his head, I became concerned.

Out to the door. No dog. Pulled on the cable and it came back with the ring in the hasp. No collar, no dog.

Pre-dawn, I lay back my head and bellowed. He appeared. No collar.

He ate what I fed him, which was raw hamburger and I had coffee; waiting for the dawn.

It came and I went; outside looking for that collar. I found it, just about where he’d hit the end of the lead if he was after the big black cat. The leather was torn at the buckle. Damn it all.

I waited for eight, when the Co-Op opened and off I went. They didn’t have a collar, but the new branch, forever more to be called #7 because that’s it’s designator in the computer system, did have a number of collars. I was off, again.

Sixteen miles. One way. I wasn’t looking to get out of any work, so resented the trip  – #7 is in the same town I grocery shop and I hadn’t wanted to go up there until after the 1st of the month.

But, Hey, Gas is cheap. Which is more that can be said about two day old chicks I’m thinking of buying this year – three bucks a chick.

Anyhow, I got up there and we had to climb stairs. Two flights. Nothing up there suited me, I thought, and so we came back down. Down had some cheap collars. So, we went back up stairs.

I still wasn’t satisfied and asked if anyone else had collars for pets there in town and after some dithering the man said he thought not and the closest would be another thirty- nine miles that-a-way.

My dog now has a girly pink two inch wide collar with sharpened studs like Spike the Biker Dog might wear.

I’ve thought about it, and concluded if Dog doesn’t complain about it, I won’t be embarrassed by him wearing it.

Although, I will admit I won’t brag or call attention to him either.


From  the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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