Doogie And Me

[Note: I want to thank Bornfool for his Flash Fiction contest. The response to my little story encourages me to believe that I may eventually realize my dream, having some creative fiction published. Thanks to those who read my story and gave me that encouragement.]

Checking my sitemeter statistics, I've been finding something odd. A number of foreign visitors, particularly from Arabic speaking countries, have found my blog by Google searching the word, "Doog." Doog is short for Doogie, our half poodle, half Japanese Chin dog.

I'm not sure why the interest in the habits of our 13-year-old snaggletoothed mutt, but I thought--okay, why not. Haven't done a blog on our dog in a while and dog antics are a hit lately with the success of the me-and-my-dog best seller Marlee and Me.

It is funny how after a decade, our dog has become accustomed to our habits. When my wife and I were packed to go on our weekend trip to the Smokies a couple weeks ago, Doogie was one sad pup. He knew he wasn't going this trip. Didn't even have to ask by looking at us with those "can't I come?" puppy dog eyes. If we weren't packing a doggie bag with treats, a chew toy, his leash and dog food, that meant no dogs allowed. He'd have to stay behind with one of his brothers.

Sometimes Doogie's a little too smart for his own good. If Wendy and I spend more than twenty consecutive minutes picking up the house, Doogie goes to his perch at the front window to see who's coming. Smart aleck.

Yet other times, he's not that smart. If he sees a dog walking out front of our house, he goes nutzoid until we let him out back into our fenced-in backyard. Doogie's never figured out that if a dog is walking out front, chances are that Doog's not going to see him out back too. Laws of physics are difficult for canines to grasp.

I did let Doogie run out the front door once, to scare off some pesky squirrels that were raiding the birdfeeder outside my kitchen window. The chase was on.

Later, I thought to myself that sending Doogie racing after some squirrels at his age was probably like sending my 80-year-old grandmother out to chop a cord of wood for our fireplace.

And the squirrels loved it. The next day, they were at the feeder again, chattering as they sat at the feeder looking at me through the kitchen window.

"Send him out. He's it! He's it!" they seemed to say. Poor Doog. No respect from the local animal population.

P.S. I added a picture of Doogie per your requests. It's the same picture I published of him in a blog way back in 2005, but I don't have anything more recent in digital.