No Politics Allowed.

Every now and then I need a reality check, to write about something other than politics. Something random yet inspiring; a feel-good story to put a grin on some gloomy gusses out there. Hope it works for you.

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My goofy black mostly-lab, Holly Huckleberry, has got to be one of the smartest canines ever. She plays me like a fiddle. She flunked puppy school, probably due to her DAD (Doggie Attention Disobedience). All she ever wants to do is fetch, fetch, fetch and run, run, run.

When Holly was two years old, I took her to Ocean Shores. It was November and the beach was deserted. I released Holly's leash and she took off at a dead run. She looked exactly like one of those old Disney cartoons - back legs overtaking front legs (what I call the butt-tuck run) and pink tongue flying out the corner of her mouth, seemingly trailing three feet behind her.

Holly ran around me and in front of me. I never saw a dog have so much fun! I stopped walking and looked behind me - there were three perfect circles one on top of the other, figure eight style, fashioned out of dog paw tracks, embedded in the wet sand. When I turned back around, there was Holly sitting in front of me laughing.

Holly is an excellent athlete. She can jump vertically from a sit position up to six feet - and does so on a regular basis at the back door if she wants to come in, or greet a visitor. She has cracked up many a guest with her antics. It really is pretty funny - my neighbor has dubbed her Tigger".

Miss Huckleberry is also a fantastic pitcher. She can aim and toss better than Randy Johnson. When I'm sitting on the deck out back Holly will slick up her ball with as much saliva as she possibly can, dunk it in her pool for good measure, then toss the slimed ball directly on to my lap. Of course, she sucks me in every time because I'm going to react by saying "Eww!" and flicking the ball away, right? Well, to Holly that constitutes a "tip-off" and the game must commence. Being a retriever, she won't give up until she finds the toy, so the only way to get her to stop is to fake her out with a bogus throw of the ball and run away while she's looking for it. Sounds kinda mean, but believe me - it's necessary. I'm afraid that if I didn't force Holly to rest, she'd literally run herself to death.

One day I was burning in my backyard pit, and Holly ran right up and threw her favorite baby smack-dab into the fire, then stood back and laughed at me. Of course she got me again - I couldn't let her baby burn up! So I fished it out of the fire just like she expected me to. Dang - I hate it when my dog gets the best of me!

I recently bought a memory-foam topper for my bed, hoping to get some relief for my back. Holly quickly learned - like within minutes - that if she got on the bed before me, she could rule the bed and get away with sleeping sideways and there was little I could do about it. Now that I think about it, all my kids do that. Amazing how a six pound cat can become ten if it wants to, and a sixty-five pound dog can become a hundred. If the furry little brats don't want to move they won't. I've spent many a night - okay, nearly every night - wedged between the girls; Holly to my right stretched out width-wise... Teo at my head, kneading and purring and sticking her wet nose and tickly whiskers in my ear... Emmy perched atop me, making like a snapping turtle if I dare touch her or God forbid, turn over. Ungrateful little thing, Emmy. But that's a different story.

(to be continued...)