I didn’t meet Mama Dog (indoor version).  It was more of a realization that the rumpled fur rug under the dining table was indeed a dog.

You don't tell her where she may or may not sleep, she tell you

You don’t tell her where she may or may not sleep, she tells you

The story behind Mama Dog is still a mystery to me.  All I know is that she’s an old lady with achey joints and zero tolerance for nonsense (with her idea of nonsense being my mere existence).  She lived in the house with us but you’d be hard pressed to find her any place else except sound asleep under the dining room table.  And she’s no tiny dog so her mass really spread out, blocking all of us from comfortably setting our feet down on the floor.  Mama Dog don’t care.  You want to put your feet down?  Too bad for you.  Go sit somewhere else.

Like I said, all you have to do is look under the dining table.

Like I said, all you have to do is look under the dining table for a massive inert pile of black fur.

And the gas!  Sweet Jesus in a manger did she ever have fits of gas.  And was so very evil and deliberate in the way she’d handle it.  We’d all be sitting around the table; each person individually immersed in their iPhones, iPod and whatnot.  But slowly a malevolent odor would begin to seep through the dining room.  It was so insidious, one by one, we’d each notice the scent and try to be nonchalant about seeking the source of the stench.  Ever so quietly everyone checked their feet and scrubs to make sure it wasn’t them emitting the noxious cloud.  Yet careful to not let anyone know you were aware of the scent.  Because no matter how old you are or what part of the world you’re in, he who hath smelt it, be thine own who dealt it.  And so it is written.

While her joints and polite social graces may be failing her, her ears are still crystal clear.  Without saying a word or making any noise at all, you could start walking towards the beach and she would come running.  No matter how much she didn’t care for you, she’d put that all aside for a little beach time.

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On my last day working at the clinic, I walked across the street to have one last lagoon decompress.  To my delight, Mama Dog came sauntering up, sat down and leaned on me.  We sat there in the sand for a bit just soaking in the sun and watching the waves.  Here was this tough old lady that doesn’t share affection willingly and she sought me out for a bit of a cuddle.  Of course I had forgotten my camera.

Without so much as a “later, gator”, Mama abruptly got up and headed home.  Back at the house she returned to her usual way of ignoring me.  Still, deep down inside, I think she may have, sorta kinda liked me just the tiniest bit.

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