My rancher
granddad frequently made reference to a “dog’s life” as he booted Ole Pup from
in front of the screen door on the back porch, “Lazy hound dog! What a dog’s
life!”
Granddad
got Old Pup to follow him closely to chase snakes, where they (and Mutt Neely) were
the only ones to ranch, up on Comanche Peak, near Granbury, Texas, back before
there was a resort lake, retirement homes, or a nuclear power plant…. Back when
the peak was covered with Caliche rock, scrub Mesquites, Cedars and was miles
from town.
Again, when
Granddad would stomp past Ole Pup and thump him on the ear to wake him up, point
to that beat-up old ’54 Ford pickup as he was getting ready to go to the
pasture to feed the sheep.
While at
the sheep pen, drenched from sweat in that Texas one-hundred plus baking sun, Granddad
would yank that half-chewed unlit cigar from his mouth and give a shrill
whistle, wave his sweat-stained wide-brim straw hat in a circle and mumble
under his breath, “What a dog’s life!” Ole
Pup would uncoil from the front seat of the pickup truck, slink down to the
ground, stretch his legs and trot off to circle the sheep to bring in the ones
that had strayed too far away from the flock.
Then as Granddad
would wind down the day by re-lighting his soggy half-smoked cigar, head to HIS
faded brown plaid overstuffed chair, and would give a yank on Ole Pup’s collar
to drag him down onto the floor.
As a youngster,
I never knew just what he was referring to, “Dog’s life!” However, I’m beginning to understand what Granddad
was talking about now that we host our three oldest grandkids and their three
small dogs that live inside the house and sleep on the sofa; sleep on the love
seat; sleep on the overstuffed club chair; sleep on the wicker chest in front
of the living room window, and often sleep on our dining chairs. When you sit
down to visit or watch TV, inevitably one of the little ones reclaims their
title of “Lap Dog!” Within two minutes
she’s snuggling & snoring! Then
there’s Gentle George, our 23 year-old grandson’s Cinnamon Lab that sleeps on
the patio, right outside and up against the back door. Without fail, when I go to my computer in the
office, George ambles to the door, unwinds three circles, relaxes and slips off
into “a dog’s life!” 