who's at the door?
Our dear friend Laurie from Minnesooooooota is arriving tonight for her annual visit. She is bringing her famous thirteen year old, Spats (the most titled whippet ever with something like twenty-eight or a million and thirty titles), and Sam I Am's brother Rivet, and Lindy Loo's sister Simmer. (At one point I considered naming Lindy Loo Sizzle, so we would have had Simmer and Sizzle.) Lindy Loo decided to celebrate the upcoming visit by coming into season. Oh joy oh rapture! Oh great timing. Oh $h!t.
Twelve whippets in one house with a bitch in season. Well, the only intact boy in the whole group is Lindy Loo's future arranged-marriage husband, Swede William. Being an eighteen month old with raging hormones, Swede William isn't so very choosy in just whom the object of his affections needs be. That said, he is the lowest dog on the totem pole here, and daren't go beyond a wishful sniff of any of the dog butts in this house. No sirree. One time he took a notion to romanticize Mama Pajama and she took a notion to perform a Swede William nose-ectomy, without anesthesia.
I fear that Swede William will labor under the delusion that our little guest Simmer will fit deliciously into the category of "any port in a storm." I do not believe that Simmer's stud muffin Rivet (muffins or no) will take kindly to this whimsy. I also fear that Rivet, only recently departed of his muffins, will take a shine to Swede William, in the Brokeback Mountain sense of the word, since Swede William's nose has been attached to Lindy Loo's Tinkle Can for four days, thus inheriting much of her ambrosial bouquet. I gave him a bath. Of course, Rivet will most definitely take a shine to Lindy Loo, in a decidedly un-Brokeback Mountain sense of the word, so why worry about Swede William?
Then there is the Fun Police, Delia, who follows a strict zero tolerance policy on any hanky panky in her house. Period. You get a silly sexy face on your doggy self, head up, tail up and wagging a rumba, one eyebrow jauntily cocked (or anything else), and Delia appears magically from where ever in a zoom blink, all hackles and teeth, to tell you "Oh no you don't!" Not on her watch. Not going to happen.
I will confess, dear readers, a tendency to worry. I brood. I distress over things which have not happened, and probably never will. I dwell in It-Could-Happen Land. Most likely the dozen will be model canine citizens. The humporama I dread will never materialize. It will be wonderful to see Laurie and her sweet dogs, and we have so many fun things planned. The weather promises to be disappointingly horrid. (What did I ever do to anger the weather gods so?) But it won't dampen the fun of the visit one bit. And, as Laurie generously mentioned, anything Western Kentucky can throw at us has to be better than Minneapolis.
Come back for updates and photos.
Hug your hounds