So it's been a while since I've made an entry, for that I apologize. I've had a pretty serious bout of writer's block where it came to this blog. My main sources of inspiration for these entries, my dog ,the Dude and my son, Ricardo Shilley-Shalley have been behaving themselves for the last few weeks.
But, as a part of our celebrations for the 4th of July, we took the dogs and the kids to my in-law's ranch in rural Montana. The ranch is a pretty quiet place these days. My in-laws have retired from full-on ranching, so now they only have 5-6 cattle and a couple of old horses that they adopted from other ranches when it came time to put them out to pasture. The ranch is a nice place to take the kids when they really need to unplug.
And boy do they need to unplug more often.
I live in Montana. It's a great place, full of wide open spaces, few crowds, and short bouts of pleasant weather. But despite our natural rural habitat, my children have become shockingly whiny about all things outdoors.
While this totally proves they have my genes, it can be a bit much to handle. Every bug that nears them leads to a hysterical fit and any mud that they come across leads to a crying jag. I don't know where they got that particular reaction, because both of their parents grew up spending a whole lot of time playing outdoors. (Though my mother would surely declare that I would only do so when forced out of the house by her.)
The Dude, however, had the time of his tiny little life. Half Chihuahua and half Pomeranian, a big dog he is not. When he stands on his hind legs, Dude can almost reach my knee, he's that small. In his mind, however, Dude is the proud descendant of the mighty wolf. He is just as fierce as a rottweiler, and don't you forget it.
This attitude of Dude's has gotten him into trouble several times now. When he comes face to face with larger doggos, his mouth tends to write checks his body cant cash. There was one memorable night when I was taking him out one last time before bed, and I didn't have Dude on a leash. (foolishly I thought 'how much trouble can he get into, he's so tiny) This particular night as was walking, a nearby door opened, and out came a black lab whose head was larger than Dude's entire body. Fearing Dude might do something rash, I moved to pick up Dude, only to find that he was already halfway toward this new dog, yipping like mad. Dude did not realize how foolhardy his actions were until he was inside Rocco's mouth. (I assume the lab's name was Rocco based on the screams from the young woman now trying to save Dude's life) I remember plainly seeing when the realization hit on Dude's face (about seven inches from Rocco's mouth) when he finally realized that he is not, in fact, the great ancient wolf or a Rottweiler.
Dude had another bout of these illusions of grandeur at the farm, and surprisingly, he came away from this one unscathed. My in-laws have sold their herd, and are retired from ranching. They still keep a few cows around as pets, though. One of the kid's favorite things to do at the ranch is visit the cow pen and pet the huge docile animals.
The second we opened the door at the cow pen, Dude shot out of the car like a bullet. The 6 pound chihuahua had it in his mind that he was going to round up 6 half-ton heifers. Dude yipped out his mighty warcry as his mother screamed bloody murder. She was concerned, you see, because much much much larger dogs than this one had received injuries from these cows. One misstep and Dude would be squished like a grape tomato.
Would you believe they ran? Not only did they run, but they ran like the devil was on their heels, for surely this must be some demonic rodent of unusual size we had set upon them. Dude had chased them around the pen three times before he finally heeded the frantic calls from Princess Consuela. He positively strutted back to us, chest puffed out proudly.
And then he rolled in a fresh cow pie.
