life on the funny farm

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Sunday Social - Sunny

Next one down on my siggy line...

Wife of Fred for 23 years
Mom of:
Patrick (16)
James (16)
Rosie (13)
Julie (13)
Daniel (12)
My children around the world:
Milly in Taiwan
Eun Hae in South Korea
Felice in Hong Kong
Nadya in Germany
Obrin in New York
And our critters Blue, Sunny, Annabelle, Fiona, Sophie and Cindy-Lou; Mamfy, Mali and Punkin; Nick; Frog 1 and Horny Toad; Charlie and Dizzy; Minnie and Alice; Elfie, Frex, Crope, Tibbit and Ozzy; Genevieve, Pippin and Finnegan; and a dozen or so chooks.

I'd like to ask God why He allows
hunger, poverty, and injustice
in the world,but I'd be afraid
He'd ask me the same thing ...

Is Sunny.

Sunny is our infamous yellow Lab. She is Patrick's "Baby Dog".

We picked her out on a farm about five years ago. Well. More like she picked us out. I had a black Lab in mind. Never did care for the yellows. But all these pups were squirming and rolling all around us, and after a bit they lost interest and ran off in pursuit of something more interesting like a bug. All except this one. She stayed right by us, following us everywhere. And after a few minutes, we got the hint and scooped her up, paid the man and brought her home.

She was tail-waggin' hell the first year or so of her life. She ate everything. She chewed up hundreds of dollars worth of pool pumps and hoses. She ate the siding on our house.

She was lethal when she first learned to swim in the pool with the kids. In her enthusiasm to swim over near them, she'd generally end up scratching the bejesus out of their backs and shoulders. Kids learned to put their hands out when they saw her coming and yell, "Space, Sunny, SPACE!" and she'd veer off to the side at the last minute.

When she was about four, she developed an enormous hematoma in one of her ears and ended up needing surgery. That was fun. Nearly two years later the thing is still draining and smelling like death warmed over. We take her back to the vet now and again, each time more hopeful than the last that they will be able to give us a cure-all, each time just as disappointed as the time before. You can smell her across the room. We clean it, we ply her with ointments and drops and pills, but she will forevermore be stinky.

Every night she faithfully follows Patrick up the stairs and sleeps on the foot of his bed. She is completely devoted to him. They play this hide and seek game where we have her sit in another room while he hides, and then we ask her, "Sunny, where's Patrick? Find Patrick!" Then she goes absolutely berserk looking for him everywhere. She whines, she runs, she pants, she sticks her head out the dog door and looks left and right, then back in to run around looking in every nook and cranny till she finds him. When she does, and she always does, she dissloves into a puddle of wiggly happiness.

Fat, happy, wiggly, stinky.....


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