Tales of Ella the Circus Dog
2006-02-01 10:35 PM
Rodeo Dogs.
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I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe I will have my teeth wrapped around a chewy, gnaaaw, gnaaaw, and Poodle trots by with her bow-legged self, and I must bite her back leg. I can’t help myself. If Poodle is in one of her moods, she will turn and gra-ow gra-ow and that sets me off. And I must stand on my hind legs and put my front paws on Poodle’s toy apricot back and walk along beside her as she trots down the long hall. And that sets her off. She gra-ow gra-ows again and just like that, we are rodeo dogs, galloping through the dusty arena, slinging cow pies and horse apples and digging deep, bucking and snorting and thundering like buffalo stampeding over a cliff. We run through Labrador’s legs and under her stomach, and she doesn’t even feel us. Down the long hallway and under the bed, out from the other side, barking and neighing until the People laugh and laugh and laugh we get distracted. Water. Water. Cool, clear water.
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