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For the past week, the old man has been paying an awful lot of attention to getting things sparkling clean. First, the yard – which was offset by our leaf extravaganza – was cleared, and further focus was paid to the inside. Dusty hair balls, which were fun to paw at, were removed from under the sofa and the bed. The higher places were attended to by our more agile neighbor Christy. In the meantime, Buck and I were able to play a few games of catch-me-if-you-can in the back yard. Therefore, we pretty much just stayed out of our owners’ mad-cleaning festival. Even Izzy and Debbie had stopped by to help by putting up some new decorations, adding to the fun and making me a little more curious about the situation. Then it occurred to me – I do believe there is something fishy going on. But this has nothing to do with fish. No, it is something familiar…something to do with a lot of food if I remember correctly. While my belly is always kept in top shape and filled to capacity, there was always that one time of the year in which everyone seemed to really lay on the gravy. Of course, to add to the suspicion, our new neighbors showed up as well. Marty rushed through the doggy door and almost rolled down the steps. Still a young pup, he was un-dexterously entertaining. Time and a little training will set him on all four paws perfectly. But in the meantime, he does show a strangely attractive perspective of what it was like to be a puppy. However, what astounded me was Sampson’s arrival. While Marty’s appearance was somewhat expected after a few play-dates, Sampson has always remained rather distant and spends most of his time sleeping. But not today apparently. “I brought Sampson!” Marty chirped and bounded around with his little nubby-tail wiggling happily. “I’ve been telling him about all our adventures and he wanted to come see for himself!” I turned, and turned, and then turned some more, trying to keep the excited pup in view while he spoke. Every three words, he had to stop and take a breath, providing us with the chance to adjust ourselves to a better listening position. Sampson, who was moving rather slowly out the back door (he was far too big to squeeze through my doggy door) was studying us carefully. So, we figured we’d all take a moment to formally introduce ourselves. Each sniffed, though there was no need to shake (that seems to be reserved for the two-legged companions). Then we started talking. “What is all this?” Sampson bellowed. “Why is everyone in the same den? It’s just not right. We need privacy regularly. It’s good for the health.” Izzy looked at me oddly, “Is this old dog for real?” “Of course I am real,” Sampson affirmed, “how else could I be talking to you?” “Well,” I interrupted, “Izzy is a little cuckoo, and he hears strange barking sometimes.” “Rocky!” Izzy pawed my ear, “You promised you’d never tell.” “Quit joking around guys and check it out!” Buck howled. “Debbie put some pies out on the ledge, and I bet one’s for me!” “Now that’s just plain ridiculous!” Izzy bounded over Buck and rushed for the open window, the very source of that delicious scent. “All of Debbie’s pies are for me and me only.” But, that didn’t stop everyone from perching outside of the window to get a better scent of what was going on inside. And despite Izzy’s long body and legs, even he couldn’t seem to get an equal view of what Sampson could spot standing on all four. “That is a delicious smell.” Sampson said calmly, but with a selective hint of excitement. “What is it?” “Pup-kin pie!” Marty chirped. “Blueberries!” Izzy howled. “Pecans!” I added to the list. “Bacon!” Buck cried out. “Bacon?” We all stared in strange wonder. “Hey, sounds good to me.” Buck shrugged, to which we all nodded in agreement. “Do you want one?” Sampson said with a sly look in his eyes. But he didn’t have to wait for any of us to say a thing. He knew that we couldn’t resist such sweets and treats. Despite his previous slow entrance, he hopped up and nudged the edge of a pie pan with his nose, slipping it off the edge. It crashed down, splatting on the patio. The sound of the pie pan hitting the floor gave us away. Debbie peeked over and accused us with her eyes when she spotted her pie. It was a mess, but we would clean it up, leaving nothing to waste. I think she knew that because all she did was shrug and roll her eyes. Then everyone jumped in for a taste…even Sampson, for which our bellies are at this moment very thankful for.
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