~ Dad Steps In It (No…Not That) ~
Well, I’m coming in with this column a wee bit past deadline. It’s just I couldn’t stop laughing when I thought about what I was going to write about, and of course Hazel would hear me and snort and chuckle too.
It’s rare for us to see Dad’s deer-in-the-headlights look because of us-on-four. We even got a few stammers out of him as his mind desperately sought to get the rusty drawer open marked “E” for excuses.
We’ve seen this look before on Dad’s face several times, but not because of us. Pack Mom has powers that we-on-four do not possess. Enough said.
Keira started it all with a simple question in between bites of breakfast, which caught Hazel’s and my attention—though we kept on eating away, but only for a second longer. Then we stopped.
Keira’s question (directed at Hazel and me) was, “How come you guys always vote down my ideas?”
What made us stop eating was, at first thought, we knew it had been a couple of months since Keira had piped up with an idea for us to mull over.
I shot a glance at Hazel, and she confirmed my suspicion by briefly looking up at Dad and returning to her kibble.
As sheriff of the pack, I felt it was time to begin an investigation. Dad, who was standing nearby waiting for us to finish breakfast, shifted nervously as I raised up and sat next to my half-empty bowl and looked directly at him.
“Why the long face, Tuck?” The old joke between Dad and me sounded liked a diversion tactic this time.
I just kept staring up at Dad, refusing to budge from the matter at hand. Hazel and Keira came near my opposite flank from Dad, not sure whether I was distracted enough that they could empty my bowl without reprisal. Fat chance.
Back to Dad who, with a shallow sigh, confessed to acting as proxy on behalf of Hazel and me.
You see, unlike Hazel and me, Keira likes to follow Mom or Dad all over the property and through the house for extended periods of time. She’s curious about everything they do, whereas Hazel and I have seen it all and would rather just do our outdoor business, then lay in the sun.
Apparently, during Keira’s rounds with the two-leggeds, she’s been coming up with a steady steam of ideas of things for us to do together, and Dad has been pretending to go ask the seniors (Hazel and me), then coming back to tell her that we had said no. Multiple times, mind you.
As Dad was explained all this to us, it did no go over well with me or Hazel. As rambunctious and impractical as Keira’s ideas can be, we might have missed out on some honest-to-goodness fun. With Mom and Dad so busy in the lead up to WOOFStock, we’d felt a bit neglected as of late. Some levity and impromptu outbursts might have done our hearts good.
As sheriff of this pack, and with the authority vested in me, and based on Dad’s own testimony, it was my judgment that a remedy was in order.
Negotiations began, and Dad relented to a settlement. Keira was to list the last three ideas she could remember, and if Hazel and I would have voted yes to at least two of them, then her next idea would be greenlighted without a vote.
Here were her ideas:
- Cover the backyard with whipped cream, and throw whipped cream balls so that we could play chase and catch.
- Give us all a ride in the white car instead of the truck. (This particular car has the feel of being in a boat on the lake, but has velour seats that holds stubbornly to dog hair.)
- Have Dad put peanut butter on his shoes, then let us try to catch him out side in the backyard.
When Dad heard Keira recite her list, he put his head in his hands for a moment, then with a deeper sigh, asked Hazel and me for a verdict on what would have been our votes.
We conferred in the hallway and decided to graciously nix one idea, and vote yes on two. That way, Dad could say it was close. Since we both understood that you really can’t make a whipped-cream ball, and we were pretty sure a backyard covered in cream would probably lead to all of us having to endure scrubbies afterwards, we chose no on that one.
We returned to the living room to announce our verdict of voting yes on two of three. Dad, with visible trepidation, turned to Keira for the pronouncement of her latest brainstorm.
“Muzzle-Teers!”
Collective puzzlement floated through the room (not unusual with this bunch). Keira, miffed at the lack of excitement shown for her idea, tried again.
“Muzzle-Teers! The Three Muzzle-Teers, we’re going to do a play!”
Dad mumbled something about, “Not swords again”, while Hazel and I wagged enthusiastically for Keira (even though we weren’t sure what a muzzle-teer was). Dad got up and opened the patio door so we could take our excitement, and victory, outside.
Keira spun like a top and barked out, “Dalmation, I’m Dalmation!” (Read: d’Artagnan).
“…and you, Tuck, will be Pathos. And Hazel, Porthole. And Dad, you will be Error Miss!” (Read: Athos, Porthos, Aramis)
Dad muttered below his breath, “What could go wrong?”
I trotted past Dad to do my business and said, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
I didn’t give him time to answer me. I think he got off easy this time—after all, he could’ve been running around with peanut butter on his shoes.
~Tucker Oso ~
