The further adventures of Sophie, Butch and Ann

As it is a Saturday, and I don’t have to work I was able to sleep in until 7 a.m.. Pretty good for me. Saturday morning traffic is light on our road so we aren’t bothered much by passing cars as we take our walk. Shotgun blasts once again mar the peace of the day. I think the waterfowl season is over so they must be shooting at pheasants. Sophie tries to roll in some animal poop but I’m quick enough to pull her out of the way. There have been a couple of times when I wasn’t quick enough and she then becomes affectionately known as “shithead.”

The sun finally breaks over the cloud bank in the east; a remnant of last nights storms. It produces long shadows across the combined soybean field and reveals a gaggle of geese grazing on leftover beans. They are not moving much so Sophie doesn’t see them. Back home, I sit in a lawn chair for awhile enjoying the 46 degree air. I can see my breath, an omen of things to come. The dried corn in the field behind my house makes a loud rustling sound in the breeze. As I look into the corn I swear I can see a face or a small hand reaching. Shades of Stephen King; the result of reading too many horror novels. My hands are cold, we’re going in.

Once inside, Sophie want’s to play and I don’t. So I smear peanut butter on a plastic bone toy for her and she’s sedated for half an hour. After that she wants to play rough with Ann, my wife. Ann grew up in a family of wrestlers and repeatedly takes Sophie down and pins her. It only seems to make her want to rough house more, and an 80 lb dog is a formidable opponent. Ann easily handles herself. Well, this is Saturday morning at Casa Armstrong.

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