Sometimes I write an introduction to my stories and sometimes I don’t. It depends. Well, this is one of those times I think I should explain things. I just want you to know what you are about to read is true. I may have embellished the part about Andrew’s interaction with the female a bit. (I felt sorry for the old guy.) But everything else is as it happened.
Danny and Cinnamon
By now most of you should know me, but for those few who don’t, I’m Danny the Dog, and every once in a while, I chronicle my exploits here on Mr. Ape’s site. Today I want to tell you of my morning walk of a few days ago. I always take my human with me when I go for my walks. He needs the exercise. His name is Andrew.
On this particular morning, I was feeling pretty feisty. I barked at a few cars as they went by, did some good sniffing, and was enjoying myself to no end. We were headed to the neighborhood park where I can revel in the many scents. Usually it’s just dog scents, but every once in a while I get a whiff of a wild animal, mostly raccoons, and that’s a lot of fun. I drag Andrew all over the place as I follow their scent. We usually end up at a tree and I get up on my hind legs and try to climb it. But I’m not a very good tree climber, so I bark at Andrew to go up and chase the raccoon down for me. But he never does; I don’t think he can climb trees any better than moi. But I’m getting away from my story.
So, we’re walking down the street minding our own business when this female human jogs right past us. Because she didn’t stop to tell me what a cute doggie I was, I barked at her a couple of times. I would have chased after her and bit her if Andrew hadn’t had me on that damn, insidious leash of his. You see, I’m used to females of the human species stopping to tell me what a cutie I am. I tell you, I was highly insulted, but I got over it quickly because just then I picked up a good scent off to the side.
A few minutes later, we got to the park, and whom did we see but the female runner. And she was headed right towards us. I was getting ready to let out with a loud bark when she stopped, bent down, and said, “What a little cutie, what’s your name?”
Now, I have to tell you about Andrew. He’s not very good around females. I think it’s because they always make a fuss over me and ignore him. Anyway, the female is waiting for an answer and Andrew is tongue-tied. Finally, he tells her my name and she rubs the top of my head. So I decided not to bite her.
She then told Andrew that she lived with a dog by the name of Cinnamon and that she would like to introduce her to Yours Truly. For a minute, I thought Andrew was going to say something stupid like we had to go home or something like that. Then I would have had to bite him. But he came through and told her we would be honored to meet Cinnamon. So the female invited us to her house for something called coffee.
I guess coffee is just another word for dog biscuits because that is what I was given when we got there. Then we went out to the back yard and I met Cinnamon. As we got to know each other, Andrew and the female sat on the porch.
Now we go over there every day. I play with Cinnamon and Andrew plays with the female. But humans don’t know how to play. They just sit there and drink a brown liquid as they watch us cavort around the yard. I tried to tell Andrew that there are great smells in Cinnamon’s yard, but he doesn’t seem to care. For twelve years, I’ve been trying to educate him on the finer things in life, but he just doesn’t get it.
Cinnamon has this thing for cats. I don’t mean as any normal dog would have a thing for cats—like you and me. She likes them! And I don’t mean for breakfast. I know . . . I didn’t believe it either until I beheld a mind-boggling sight with my own eyes.
I must admit, there was a time in my younger days that I hung around with cats. Well, they were actually kittens. Andrew brought home a kitten one day and before you knew it, the damn thing was grown and had a litter of six meowing little terrors, and shortly after the kittens were weaned, the mother disappeared.
Guess who took over looking after the little monsters? I got no peace during the day because they would follow me around everywhere I went . . . in the yard or in house. In those days, we lived in a house with a doggie-door, so I could come and go as I pleased. At night, the kittens would crowd me. One of them, Blackie, slept on my neck every night! But eventually they grew up and started doing whatever it is that cats do and I went back to being a dog, not a surrogate mother.
What I am about to tell you is 100% true, I swear it on Lassie’s grave. I was over at Cinnamon’s house and we were in the yard sniffing around. At least I was. Cinnamon had her nose in the air and it was twitching a mile a minute. I gave a sniff or two, but didn’t detect anything of interest, so I went back to a fascinating scent over in the corner of the yard.
When I next looked up, Cinnamon was gone. The yard was fenced in, so I thought maybe she went into the house. But it was funny that I didn’t hear her human come and get her. I must have been engrossed more than I thought with the scent I was following—I think it was raccoon. My human was in the house also, but I have him trained well enough by now that he lets me pursue my delights without too much interference from him.
I’m scampering around the yard, running hither and yond. Sniffing at this and that when who do I see outside on the street but Cinnamon! She trotted over to the far corner, got down on her belly, squeeze under the fence, and came back into the yard.
She had a kitten in her mouth! At first, I thought the thing was dead, but Cinnamon held her gingerly and the little monster didn’t seem to mind being in a dog’s mouth. Then Cinnamon did an extraordinary thing. She gently put the feline on the grass and put her big paw on it to hold it in place.
I was thinking, How nice, a present for me. But she disabused me of that notion right quick by licking the damn little thing. She was cleaning it! Just then, Andrew and Cinnamon’s human (her name is Maggie) came outside. They had been in there doing what humans do when there is one female and one male involved and they are alone. I don’t even like to think about it.
Maggie walked up and said, “Oh no, not again!” She turned to Andrew and said, “She did this a few months ago; she has this thing for kittens. She wants to adopt them. The cat you saw in the house, Roscoe, she brought home. I walked the neighborhood trying to find out where he belonged, but I never did.”
The upshot of the whole story is that Maggie never did find out where Cinnamon snatched the latest kitten from, whose name is now Fuzzy. Sometimes Andrew and I go over there and spend the night. These are the sleeping arrangements: Cinnamon sleeps curled up around Fuzzy and Roscoe, Andrew and Maggie sleep together, and me, the intrepid watchdog, I don’t sleep (well, not too much), I keep an eye out for marauding raccoons and opossums. You never know.
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