The Dog Days of Winter

The hair stood up straight on his back, as of this moment, he knew, life for him, would never be the same. Buddy meets Chloe; he had to ask himself, can life be compatible, between a Golden Doodle and a Bichon Frise? Of course, the short answer is no, not likely. She was such a bitch, with her golden hair waving in the breeze; she cunningly and mercilessly went straight for his bone.
Even the smallest dog has his pride and sometimes, what they lack in stature, is more than made up for, in stealth. Buddy, seeing his opportunity, dashed for his bone and shot underneath Chloe, heading straight for his sanctuary, the window seat. Chloe quickly spun around, then slid her elbows on a chest next to the window and said “You’re kidding—right?” For a moment, Buddy had mistakenly believed, that because it is difficult for him, to jump to the window, that difficulty, somehow must be shared, by everyone and every thing. Looking up, to Chloe’s laughing eyes, he thought, he may have to reconsider, his assumptions. Have we not, all been there?
It took mere nanoseconds, for Chloe to retrieve Bud’s Bone, then amble slowly, to a piled up rug. The rug had been straight this morning, but with two dogs gaining purchase on it, it was now piled hazardously, in the corner. Bud, his head between his paws, looked longingly, after his bone. Chloe pushed the bone in the air and stood nonchalantly with her back to Buddy and chewed. Then some dark thought, sparkled Buds eye, as he slipped from his perch and tiptoed lightly across the floor. It was surprise piggy back ride, which made her drop his bone and refocus her attention, on another bone that had come into contention.
Chloe would have none of it, and for all that I could perceive, must have engaged in a Ninja back flip, for she now had Buddy on his back, missionary position and was barking loudly “Who’s your mama?” Meekly, and almost apologetically, Buddy discretely slithered back to his window seat. Poor Bud, he learned what all males inevitably learn: Be she asleep, unconscious or dead to the world… try to surprise a women like that and you will end up, with your legs, tied neatly in a bow behind your neck.
Parry and thrust, parry and thrust the dogs spent the best of the morning fencing for position. Fearing the loss of most of my furniture in the process, I turned the dogs outside. Gaining new space, the spastic snowball and super-comet, inched their combat up another notch. Their legs were a blur in the background of snow and every turn sent a shower of grass and dirt into the air. Mid afternoon they had barely slowed down. Fearing exposure in this arctic weather, I thought, I might better, let them back into the house. It took no more than a half hour, for them to deposit the throw rugs, back on the sides of the furniture. The rest of the afternoon was exhausting, straitening rugs, picking up litter and sending the dogs back into the elements. But just as soon as we thought this day would never end Sally’s truck turned into our driveway. After they left, Bud lay in the window with glazed eyes, staring down the road, thinking, you know, maybe compatibility is possible… and such was my first day as a dog-sitter.