Cat Person

All things at high speed except....

This morning I was wondering why the Good Lord, in his infinite wisdom, made me a dog person. Normally I am quite happy being a dog person. I like dogs. They tend to like me.

However.....

While the head cat person in the family slept soundly, kitty cats snuggled around her, I shivered miserably in the rain waiting for my dog.

Flannel shirt over my head, shoulders hunched, dripping,and muttering, cold, unhappy, getting cranky real fast, with a cute little doggy at the end of a drooping leash....waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting. 

Of course he's is a bird dog too. Not that Jack Russell Terriers are noted for such, but this one finds birds entrancing. He's my dog. Of course he does.

This was not a help this morning.

"Nope, not here...
nor here.....
Not here either......."

First, just as he settled tentatively into that tell-tale hunch, a Carolina Wren yodeled from the honey locust. Normally this is one of my favorite sounds. But loud. There is a thriving pair visiting the feeders every day and I enjoy them so much.

Except....today..... not so much. The pup instantly stopped what he was almost doing and  froze into a point, listening intently to the bird.

Which sang, and sang, and sang. "Glad you are so happy with the rain and all, but do you wanna shut up a minute?' I thought to myself.

Eventually the mutt grew bored  or accustomed or whatever and settled down to tend to business....again...

And CHEEP!!! a House Sparrow, also known around here as a %$@&** Sassenach, chirped about three feet behind him. He shot skyward, swapped ends, and turned his attention to that bird.

And then he spotted the flock under the feeders. Bark, bark, barkbarkbarkbark.

'Enough of this', I muttered. 'This is why they invented newspapers.'

So I hauled him away from his storm of invective and the Lord's storm of precipitation and went inside to get busy on my own newspaper job. I was finishing up the Farm Side, which hopefully contains more palatable information than his newspaper jobs.

Although someone, somewhere, is no doubt using the editorial page where my prose resides, as a puppy paper.....or maybe to line a litter box. 



***Hey Alan, mine is all in and done, so if you get bored......

"Steal Clementines, you ask?"
"Why, thanks, yes I will."