Thoughts of Therapy

I must have shamed both of you as neither of you have responded to my
last entry into our journal. I guess you two have been scrubbing
and washing. Some folks find that therapeutic. Some folks just feel
better if their houses pass the white glove test. I feel better if I
have a dog's chin to scratch.

Didcha see the article on the Fayette Front Page about the therapy
dog who was deployed with his unit to Iraq? It was in the All About
Animals Column. I loved it and it just further confirms how much I
like seeing the positive side of life. That dog reminded me of a
couple of my dogs who were pretty good at giving therapy themselves.

On the days when I am feeling blue and under the weather and just
have to lie about all snuggled into my bed, I usually have company.
Git your minds out of the gutter. I mean, while I lie there, I hear
the thundering of the paws as they race down the hall, take a flying
leap, and land their 60 pounds of therapy on the bed, usually on my
feet. I've gotten real good at pulling my feet up whenever I hear
that sound. Saves me from having to explain to the doctor why my
foot is broken. Anyway, my own therapeutic love bug will cuddle up
next to me and keep me warm. My little therapeutic love bug will
fall asleep, and then grumble when I try to move his dead weight
over. He has a tendency to snuggle up so close that I get shoved off
the bed. And trying to get him to move over is a job way too big for
me to handle!

When I was younger, we had another therapeutic dog named Jane. Jane
was a smiler- at least that is what we told all of our guests who saw
her flashing teeth as they came into our yard. Of course, she was
smiling. She wouldn't hurt a flea. Of course, the same can't be
said for Santa.

One evening, Santa came by to see the shut-in who lived next door.
There Santa was, just trying to spread some Christmas cheer in the
neighborhood. Well, Jane had been over next door to get her daily
rations of homemade cornbread. Our neighbor just loved Jane so much
that she invited the dog in every day to have fresh cornbread.

Anyway, here comes Santa into the yard. Here comes Jane. Only this
time she is not smiling. No, she is bearing her teeth, growling,
barking and starting to snap at Santa's knees. Santa quickly called
her by name as he knew her, but to no avail. She was intent on
keeping the man with the red suit out of that yard. That was her job
and she was gonna do it. Nope, no one, and she meant no one, was
gonna take her portion of her beloved fresh cornbread!

She did a great job of keeping Santa out-- until he removed the
beard--- and she recognized him.

Yep, Santa's helper that night was my daddy. Yep, the man who paid
for her food. The man who gave her shelter. The man who never wore a
Santa suit around the outside of our house again.

Hope you gals finish your cleaning soon. I'm getting lonely sitting
here on the front porch all by myself. Guess I'll have to call my
dog to come give me some therapy.

Miss Etta