Thursday, September 25, 2014

It's not the size of the dog in the fight...

But the size of the fight in the dog. Supposedly.

A few years ago my family and I were staying at a Bed and Breakfast that was pet friendly. We had our dachshund, Louie, with us. Louie was a sweet boy and preferred snuggling against an ample breast (ahem... Momma) over interacting with other dogs. Actually, he preferred snuggling against an ample breast over pretty much anything. In fact, when my parents took him to the dog park he looked at them like "what the hell am I suppose to do here and with those other animals?" and then proceeded to get into my mom's lap. Oh, Louie.

Given his kind demeanor, we were all a little surprised when Louie got territorial at the Bed and Breakfast when a local dog came to check us out. The dog was a decent sized mutt who probably weighed at least 2.5 or 3 times more than Louie. He was friendly and clearly knew his lay of the land because we had seen him wandering through the property and checking the perimeter throughout our stay. His owner's contact information was displayed clearly on his collar which was also indicative of his rolling stone, playboy lifestyle. The owner's information apparently trumped the dog's name because that piece of information was not included around his neck. So we only had one way to refer to the dog: as Mason D.

So when Mason D. came to get our feedback on our stay and discuss what type of yelp review we would be leaving, Louie got a little offended. He let Mason D. know his opinion by immediately marking the sapling he was standing by. Mason D., trained in hospitality, tried to ignore his gesture but couldn't let it go. Before he took off for the next guests, he left his mark on the tree and shot Louie a look.

Louie quickly calculated his options and decided he was no longer the ample breast loving dachshund of his days past. He was going to man up and let this dog know there was a new sheriff in Bed and Breakfast town. He stared at Mason D. as he lifted his leg on the tree and wrote over the scent. Louie let out a few grumbles as he ineffectively kicked dirt and grass over his reclaimed sapling with his back feet. "Hmph," Louie said as he proudly turned away and looked at us.

Well, Mason D. was not going to be trumped. He was a bigger dog with a bigger bladder and immediately marked the tree again. At this point the sapling yelled out "OK yall- I've been watered enough" but the dogs didn't seem to care. The 'grumble, pee, kick' volley was maintained for a few more rounds until Mason D. had enough. He had other guests to greet and other spots to claim and had no more time for Louie's foolishness. He put it in reverse, squatted, and straightened his tail. The beleaguered sapling looked up and moaned "OH SHI...." and spluttered as Mason D. proudly left his solid mark. He didn't even give Louie one last glance as he trotted away from the feces covered tree. He had studied his opponent and found Louie's weakness--- height. There was no way Louie could get the range on the tree like Mason D. could. Louie, defeated, turned to us with sad eyes. He looked at each of us and then brightened up when he got to my mom. Maybe a life of resting on ample breast wasn't so bad after all....

 In memory of Louie...

May he always have an ample breast on which to lay his head.

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