Jack, Clem, and them...

Although I already posted today, I just could not find a way to introduce the newest member of the Rocking PMH Ranch in my rant about big box retailers being the downfall of modern civility, so I decided to give you a bonus post for today….



Jack (left) and Clem (right) saying hello

Please allow me to introduce Jack, a one year old Black Lab (Possibly a mix, but we aren’t sure who the father was) that joined our family over the weekend.  We didn’t plan to get another dog…it just happened. Kinda like my 14 year old’s accidental destruction of household items. Her favorite saying is “I don’t mean to destroy things Daddy. It just happens”. Well, Jack happened a little like this...

 

Saturday was a beautiful Texas fall day at our place; the sun was shining, birds were singing,  the hens were laying cartons chock full of eggs and there we were, unable to enjoy any of it. Nope, we were stuck sitting in the truck waiting for my daughter to finish having theatre pictures made at a local park so we could then have the privilege of waiting two hours for her play practice to end.  We spent part of that time touring the country side looking at local farms and available acreage, then returned to the school to pick her up. Needless to say, our plan of running to town and getting some errands taken care of was shot. Luckily, play practice ended at 4PM so when she came out at 4:30, we finally headed to town. Since so much of the day was gone, we knew we weren’t going to get nearly as much accomplished as we had planned, but we had to get at least two things accomplished: buy feed for the chickens and stop by the Hobby Lobby for my bride. We like eggs, and the chickens refuse to lay eggs if we don’t feed them.  I’m not too good at math, but I can add feed + water = breakfast. We went to the local Tractor Supply to get the feed and that is where all of our plans came unraveled like a freshly knitted quilt in a kitten box. As we walked up to the store we saw several portable kennels with dogs in them. I am usually immune to “puppy dog” eyes, but my bride stopped at one cage that had a young black lab in it that reminded her of a dog she used to know. Same white blaze on its chest, same white specks on the front paws, same general size. In fact, this dog was so similar that she thought it might actually be the same dog. That is, until we found he had a feature that her female dog never managed to grow (I won’t go into what that feature is. If you can’t figure it out, you might need to re-visit high school biology, or at least health classes).

My mistake was placing my hand within reach of this devious creature’s tongue. As I knelt by his cage, he ever so gently licked my knuckles and went back to lying around. It was almost like he was saying “Look, I know you won’t save me from the needle. I forgive you”.  My daughter immediately began begging us to get him, and of course the lady from the AnimalShelter was no help whatsoever. She began telling us of this poor dog’s hard life and how all of the dogs out there were scheduled to be put down in the next few days as this was their final chance at adoption. She iced the proverbial cake when she told us that a woman and her 15 year old daughter had adopted him, but promptly returned him when he chewed up one of their boots. Now me, I was wondering why the lady's boots were in the back yard, but soon realized he was either an inside dog or she was really messy and just left her clothes outside.  And as a side note, it is my personal belief that her daughter is the luckiest kid on earth. I mean, had she thrown up on the mother’s outfit once they got home from the labor and delivery, Mom might have packed her right up and just taken that kid right back to the hospital. Either way, it was not the dog’s fault that boots taste so good. I mean really, the only difference in boot leather and a good steak is about 5 minutes and 100 degrees on a grill.

We finally left the portable death row and went inside Tractor Supply to what we had come for. Now I’m not saying I was distracted but I grabbed a 50 pound bag of Purina Layena chicken feed, and a 44 pound bag of dog food. My bride reminded me that we had just bought dog food, and then gave me the look. You know, the one where they think they know you better than you know yourself…and they just happen to be right. Of course I played it off like I had grabbed the wrong bag and when I got back from putting the dog food where it belonged she said, “You want that dog, don’t you”. I don’t know where she got an idea like that. We stood in the aisles of Tractor Supply like a couple of goofballs discussing the pros and cons of having another dog while the same two employees kept asking if we needed help with anything. My first thought was to invite them to join us in the decision making process and to honor us with a lengthy discussion on the responsibilities of care and maintenance involved in animal husbandry, but then I  looked really deep into the eyes of these individuals and realized that there was a perpetual “Huh?” there just waiting for the right opportunity to escape the lips.

I decided that there was no way my landlord (who, by the way, is probably the best landlord I have ever leased from) would allow another dog on the property since our current dog, Clementine the Bloodhound, is in the midst of a serious identity crisis and believes herself to be a large mole. I mean for Pete’s sake, we have a scale model of the Grand Canyon in our back yard that we fill in every few months only to find that she has re-excavated it a day later. I’m not prone to exaggeration, but I swear I looked into one of her yard-holes the other day and saw a man crawling out who had similar facial features to Bruce Lee. But I digress. 

I called the landlord anticipating that he would give me an “easy out” so I wouldn’t have to be a grown up and make a decision, and he very quickly gave me his answer. My family and I bought our chicken feed and left the store without having to even discuss the matter any further. We stopped outside and paid the animal shelter lady her adoption fee of $25, and loaded Jack into the truck. You see, my landlord said, yes, thus defeating my plan and making me responsible for the decision. Apparently my wife reads me better than I read myself (Duh). We took Jack home and introduced him to Clementine the Bloodhound and within a matter of minutes they were playing around like best friends.  It appears that although I wasn’t sure getting Jack was the right decision, it has made Clem happy, the kids happy, me happy, and yes, my beautiful bride happy as well.

 

In fact, I’m not entirely convinced she didn’t use some reverse psychology on me and this was her plan all along…..

 

Until next time....