Gregg was downstairs, cooking.
Outside, it was snowing.
"Hey, Jean," I heard a definite inquiry as Gregg's voice drifted up the stairs.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Uh." I heard as he prepared to continue, and then, "Oh, you bad dog."
I got up from my sewing machine and started for the stairs.
"You are such a bad dog," I heard on my way down.
"You are a bad, bad dog." Gregg was walking away from Ray who was reclining like a pasha except he was licking the carpet in front of him. Pasha's don't normally do that.
"Uh oh," I said, "What did he get?"
I went to get paper towels to dab at the wet spot on the carpet. Returning with a whole roll, I pushed the dog face away from the spot and tried to clean it only to meet with dog nose. I pushed his nose away. Ray resisted. I hauled him to his feet and shooed him away, then saw the trail of butter flecking the carpet where Ray had dropped the stick two or three times on the way to his dining area. I cleaned the trail, knowing exactly which spots needed it the most by the dog nose that kept returning to the scene of his crime.
"So what did you want?" I asked Gregg, thinking of his summons as I started up the stairs to return to my sewing.
"Well, I knew I had left a stick of butter on the counter, but it wasn't there..." replied Gregg.
Ten minutes later, the bored blind hound and his favorite cat were playing hide and seek outside in the snow. It's an easy game for the cat. Not quite so easy for the dog.
|Where the heck is she?|
|Maybe she's over by the grill...|
|Nope. Doesn't seem to be here.|
|Maybe she went out the gate...|
|Wait. What was that? I think I heard something.|
|I think it was over by the fence|
|Juno? Are you there?|
|Yeah, dog. I'm here|