---The Goosecapade---By Kristine Kibbee
PrefaceWarning-- The following account is based on true events and is not suitable for the faint of heart. Names have not been altered to protect the innocent. Perhaps in being exposed, those involved might learn a lesson!Prologue
A French Bulldog (known by all true fanciers as “frenchie’) is a peculiar creature. Physically speaking, his features are exaggerated and bulbous. Taken by his parts, one might even regard him as ugly. And yet an impish personality manages to smooth what might have been a bug-eyed space creature into something cute, cuddly and oddly loveable.
There are a range of personality traits amongst frenchies. Females tend to be more demure and males more outgoing. The breed is characteristically goofy and prone to clownish behavior, yet I am utterly convinced that my frenchie, Dewey, is the most mischievous creature the breed has thus produced.
The Adventure
As I have occasion to do on fair days, I had spirited Dewey and his much better-behaved sister, Moxy, into the car for an ever-exciting “go bye-bye” trip. Despite four years of my chiding against it, Dewey had already crept into the front seat of my car by the time I’d made my way around to the driver’s side door. He was looking innocent yet secretly smug as I got in and ordered him to the back.
Just as any dog worth his salt, a frenchie can smell a familiar haunt hundreds of yards away. Possibly because he’d peed on so many bushes there, Dewey could smell Lake Sacajawea from even further. By the time I’d maneuvered into my favorite parking spot, he and Moxy were already foaming with anticipation. A greyhound could not have bolted from the gates faster than they erupted from the passenger side door of my Mustang.
“And, they’re off!” I announced, watching with motherly delight as the pups raced towards the water. Dewey had mounted such speed in just a few strides that his back legs were extending well beyond his front, and he began to resemble a jack rabbit. I stifled a giggle and jogged behind them. “Wait for me!”
It was a balmy day, and the pungent smell of duck poo had the frenchies in a tizzy. After a few good laps along the waterline Moxy’s enthusiasm had chilled, but Dewey was still going strong. An image of the Energizer bunny sidled through my mind as Dewey made his third foray from our dusty walking trail towards the lake. As I traded exasperated looks with Moxy, an abrupt motion tugged at the corner of my eye. Dewey, who had been in full gallop, was now still as a statue, ridges of hair prickling up his back.
Not ten feet ahead, an alarmed goose fixed its beetle-like eyes on my mischievous boy. I’m quite certain that Dewey had never seen a goose up close before and wasn’t sure what to make of the snowy behemoth. That feathered beach ball certainly could not be a bird…after all…it was larger than he!
Dewey sized up the goose, as it did him. The goose began a slow swagger, rocking sideways and back on its wide, webbed feet. Dewey was utterly motionless. It appeared that the buxom bird had bested him. But what was that…a chink in the feathery armor….a fleeting moment of weakness from the goose as it glanced momentarily towards the water, searching for an escape route?
Boom! They were off! The goose was waddling for his life with Dewey in hot pursuit. There wasn’t much ground between the two, but jack-rabbit Dewey covered it in an instant. Only seconds passed before the pair was approaching an aggregate pier, framed by double-decker 2x4’s. The goose leapt for freedom, leapt for his life, leapt for his native habitat-into the lake. And perhaps, had Dewey been able to see what lay beyond, he may not have followed.
“Splash! Plunk!”
I was racing for the pier before the spray from their impact had even doused the shoreline. As I approached I could see the goose gliding merrily away, looking superior and satisfied. Dewey was no where in sight.
Those of you who are familiar with French Bulldogs, or any bully breed for that matter, may be well aware of their inability to swim. A larger-than-average head and frightfully hefty chest pair with spindly back legs to create a critter that is more brick-like than buoyant. As one might expect, I caught only a fleeting glimpse of Dewey’s golden, apple-shaped head as it sank into the dark, watery depths of Lake Sacajawea.
“Ah, darn!” – And I was in the water, groping feverishly through lumps of slimy lake-weed and lily pads, desperately searching for Dewey. On my third swipe I managed to loop his collar with my index finger. I slung him onto the dock with one ginger toss.
Recent rains made navigating the nearest bank a slippery endeavor but I was breathlessly rushing towards my precious little man in just seconds, already mentally reciting the proverbs of Pet CPR class. I prepared for the worst, sliding to his side like a baseball player into home plate, primed to clamp my lips around his cold, slimy nose. Tears welled in my eyes as I bent low over his small body and inched close to his face, praying to feel the spray from his snotty little nose exhaling onto my cheek.
“Dewey?”
Dewey’s eyelids popped open like freshly fired slingshots; his honey-brown eyes twinkling brightly back at me. He looked puzzled by my expression and leapt to his feet with one energetic motion. As I achingly rose to stand, Dewey bounded ahead of me with gusto. By the time the three of us had covered the two soggy miles back to my car, the warm June sun had dried Dewey nicely. He looked entirely pleased as I lifted both frenchies into the back seat of the Mustang. By the time I drug my saturated self around to the driver’s side door, Dewey was already in the front seat.
The End
Until the next (mis)adventure!
Story posted by:
Georgia Butterfield
Best Friends Network team
with permission from the author
Photos supplied by:
Kristine Kibbee