Even I’ve heard of The Fox Trot. But today I witnessed a variation on that old standby that nearly stopped me in my tracks. There we were…The Mommy, Dad and Moi..taking an early morning stroll down Mountain Road. It was business as usual: My Humanoids were moseying along, I had my snout to the road, and all was well with the world. But then The Mommy had a rapid and immediate, full body character change. She transformed before my very eyes, each pronounced step a loud and perplexing STOMP, STOMP, STOMP. I confess, I am not much of a Huntress (though I try, I really do try!).Then I saw it: a large red fox coming right toward us. I almost leapt up into Dad’s arms, but I managed to summon my courage and let out a little aaargh, you know, just to show that fox who he was dealing with. But I have to say, with every STOMP of The Mommy’s Fox Trot, I think he knew who was …and is…boss. Confrontation averted. That fox did his own rapid response trot into the brush and we saw neither hide nor hair of him for the rest of our morning walk. The Fox Stomp. You just never know what skills you’ll need up here.
Life is good…
You are probably thinking that I’ve changed professions. But, no worries on that count. I remain your faithful canine concierge. No, the beguiling title of this little post is yet another adoring nod to The Mommy who is forever gathering my Fine Furry Friends so that our lovely guests don’t take a tumble. Like me, they are fun-loving and four-legged–the FFF’s I mean, not the guests! And while I have been known on occasion to stuff myself, I am alas, not stuffed. My FFF’s are dubiously referred to as my “babies.” I should explain…
It all started with Fifi. My daddy taught me how to rough-house with that sweet thing. We sent her out for repair more than once and finally replaced her (boo-hoo) with Fi-Two, or, Fi-Too, as, at last glance, she is still hanging on. My FFF’s are a veritable menagerie of the animal kingdom, stuffed, that is. There’s Angus, a small gray elephant to whom my daddy has given the moniker “Anguish.” There’s Mini Me, who, you may have guessed, looks just like me. There’s Mister Woof, who, truth be told, wants to look like me, and then there’s Mr. Horsey (as described) and George, otherwise known as “Curious.” There was Honey Poo Bear, but he met a speedy and untimely demise during an overly-aggressive play date. I admit that corralling my FFF’s can be quite the housekeeping challenge, but then again, where would I be without them? You know what they say about all work and no play…
I must have been sleeping. It’s suddenly March and I can’t wait for a fresh offering of spring sniffs. But I do admit that I am a bit confused, or at least bemused. The Mommy has become fond of saying that “her tiara is askew.” Huh? But when I pay attention and observe with all of my senses, I know that what she is really saying is that she is profoundly human. And that for me, is more than enough. The crows, however, think otherwise. If she doesn’t dole out their daily portion by 6:15 a.m., they are in a tither. I am not one to judge, but I do think that they could take a few lessons in patience from yours truly.
Much has been said about fame and fortune hovering just a hair’s breath away. Not that it matters to moi, but that’s what I hear. And as you know, I am a very good listener. Well, there She was, The Mommy, venturing out for an under-the-radar, incognito, devil-may -dare, much-belated but no- less- celebrated Birthday lunch with my Auntie Marianne, and what does she discover? That I am all the rage at the Black Rabbit, Kendra Chapman’s unpretentiously chic bistro in the village of Salsibury, just minutes from ye old inn. My blog was the buzz of the bar. (Try saying that three times while under the influence.) And speaking of which, in addition to being a good listener, I am also a realistic, so I acknowledge that the libations in abundance may have fueled the spirited chatter. But here’s what I know for certain: fortune is ultimately fleeting: you won’t, under any circumstances, take it with you. Fame is fickle and inherently suspect. But heartfelt appreciation? Now that’s something to blog about.
p.s. Just the sound of that arugula, beet and cheese flat bread brings out the omnivore in me.
I know, I know…and I do confess: I slept through the holidays. Having just roused myself from a long December nap, I want to wish every one of you a fabulous new year. As for me, I plan to follow the fine example I set for myself in 2012: live, love, see the good, accept the rest. Hmmm…on second thought, squirrels excluded; I too have my limitations. But I’m working on it. Aren’t you?
Just up from a nap and thought I’d check in.
In case I haven’t mentioned it, I am primarily a carnivore. In fact, I get my own roasted chicken to work my way through every week! In a pinch, some leftover salmon will do as a snack; I’m really not that fussy.
The sniffs that have been coming out of the kitchen lately aren’t exactly my cup of tea, but our wonderful guests seem very pleased. The Mommy is concocting mulled cider with orange, clove and cinnamon sticks. And her famous granola now sports a touch of almond extract and a hint of nutmeg. The Daddy has been flipping some pumpkin pancakes and ye old inn is the pure essence of fall olfactory heaven.
As for me, I’ll pass on the seasonal fare and opt for the chicken. To each, her own….