Yard Dogs of Barabon

Dec 8, 2016 | 5 comments

chl-brian-pix“I’m disgusted,” sighed Spotcito.

“What up?” asked Roverito.

“No more biting the gringos!” chimed in Fidoandro.

“Yeah, it sucks, huh?” exclaimed Bowzerez.

chl brian col logo“I mean, what the hell! Our master beats us with a stick if we don’t scare the crap out of ‘em and bark ‘em up real good. I’m not goin’ to all that trouble without gettin’ me a little taste of some gringo hide.” complained Spotcito.

“Well, I should’a known not to tear his pants. I mean, like I was really goin’ to start chowin’ down on some spoiled meat that gringo kept throwin’ at me from that stinkin’ zip-bag. Sheezzz! Besides, his butt was enough for you and me both plus Bowzerez and Fidoandro! I just got a little of it anyway…” said Roverito.

“Quit yappin’ so blasted loud, we’re gonna’ get another beatin’! Just lay still and rest while I start figurin’ how to bust out’a these shiny new chains,” was all Spotcito had to bark.

“Do you remember last year when that Girl Scout den mother brought all those girl scouts out here to the river? Ha-ha! They were eating down at Doña Rosito’s when I decided to give ‘em a little entertainment,” quiped Bowzerez.

“You’re a sick dog and that was gross. Cleaning yourself with your tongue while you laid down by the cuy pit was no more than disgusting nastiness. Then when the owner kicked you, you jumped up on their table on the way out the door and snatched that half a chicken off the platter! You’ve got way too much dog swagger and that’s putting pressure on the whole canine community here in Barabon!” yipped Fidoandro.

“But, Roverito has been biting the gringos and all I do is give ‘em a show!” complained Bowzerez who, in his sadness at receiving a comeuppance, allowed his tail to get between his legs.

Daisyletta trotted up.

“What’s up fellas?” she queried, carefully watching them examine her freshly washed coat and pink ribbons from the corners of their eyes.

“We’re a little miffed this morning. There is more and more pressure not to bite or disturb the gringos who come here to walk in our neighborhood, here along the Yanuncay,” ruffed Spotcito. The others quickly accented their agreement with his barks by a unified wagging of tails.

“Well, it’s really no big deal fellas. You guys are just trouble makers and take an immature approach to your position here in the community. Whining isn’t very becoming of you full-grown curs. I’m ashamed of all of you; like most males, you should just grow up! All that licking, growling and biting is making trouble” admonished Daisyletta, keeping a firm gaze on all of them.

“Oh well now, that’s some big talk coming from the likes of a traitor like you!” spouted Bowzerez and Fidoandro at the same moment. “I remember when you tried to defect from Barabon with that ‘stretcher’ of a classified ad in CuencaHighLife,” stated Roverito with a smug grin painted across his jowls.

The others also recalled the incident and begin to growl at Daisyletta. Their memories came rushing in as Roverito barked on.

“I’m not remembering any ad at all,” barked Daisyletta sheepdogishly. “You are all hallucinating!” she yipped in the most convincing dog-speak possible. Even then, she knew they had her.

“Yeah, yeah,” “Whatever”, “Oh, come on” and other barks and yips came swiftly, denouncing any of her attempt to cast herself in a favorable light. They had gained access to her private emails and also her records of contribution to the “Good Times for Gringos Foundation.” She hadn’t meant to be a bad dog, a bad girl, when she snuck that ad in a few months back. And, besides the attempted defection, she had embarrassed the other girl dogs in the community by the contents of her published ad. It demeaned other female dogs in general. She had used the poorest of judgement in extolling the virtues of her being available as a simple, sexual object in her inflamed desires to leave the home she had always known.

“Female seeks male companionship, ethnicity unimportant,” was the wording that had begun the ad. “Picnics will have me eating out of your hand,” it went on to say. “I’ll be at the front door with my tail in motion everyday when you come home,” the ad had invited.

As she recalled the ad, Daisyetta began to sink into a Blue-Dog funk about her antics to find a wealthy gringo master, hopefully one in the Palermo Building off Ordonez Lasso. She had heard that was a very upscale kennel with lots of high quality snacks beginning with prime rib and going down the list through Tournedos Marchand du Vin. Even the lowly grass fed cow burgers that her fellow Barabon canines relished a bite of when their luck was high, well, she’d be glad to nibble those too when the really great fare wasn’t in her dish.

“Rub me the right way and I’ll follow you anywhere,” the words had said. “I’m a really good looking girl and I love to play games,” the ad trailed on. “I want to ride in your pick-up truck all day until I’m tired, then lie by your feet in front of the fire wearing only what nature has given me,” the ad finished up.

It had been pretty bad when the mails started coming in to her masters MAC. He had caught on right away and she had been tied up, tied up, if you can believe that and her paw keyboard removed from her doghouse and placed on a high shelf in the kitchen. There had been right over 730 mails, each from a different male gringo more than willing and all claiming the financial ability to care for her, to fawn over her, to equip her with the accessories of the social life she deserved as a mixed Labrador from Azogues!

About that time, Daisyletta knew her charades had ended. The jig was up, she had been found out, discovered! The fellas were growling, circling her up kind’a like Rowdy Yates circling up the herd on Rawhide. Then, she heard the sound of hiking boots and trekking poles pounding their stacatto beat on the dirt road right up from where they were all padding around in the shade of a big eucalyptus tree.

At the same moment, Spotcito defeated the mechanism of shiny new chains that were encumbering he and Roverito. The taste of re-found freedom was simply too much to contain when Daisyletta made her announcement.

“Gringos, let’s go!” Daisyletta yapped out from the depths of her pink throat. She and the others broke into a terrible cacophony of growling, barking and yapping as fuzzy paws got them underway. The gringos took off like scalded cats, the one with the floppy hat tossing rancid meat over his shoulder from a small zip-lock. The bag literally swam in the horrible and noxious odor of putrid meat! However, the pack wasn’t enticed by his offerings They kept coming! The tallest gringo shouted loudly at the dogs, his green walking stick flying out of his pack as he ran. The one with the shades and the black bandana just kept shouting at the menacing mob, “Do you want some? Do you want some?” He didn’t seem to be offering them anything and turned and faced the dogs while he shouted, waving a huge black and white camera.

As spittle flew from five barking and growling jaws, Daisyletta knew she had again defused the topic of her attempted defection. A little gringo diversion was all it had taken this time; she had used their presence to get the pack off her tail. Paws pounding hard on the rock strewn dirt road, the others didn’t notice what she saw. The fellas began to nip the gringos who had holed up by a locked gate, securing the crossing of a covered bridge along the Yanuncay. Even in the excitement, she hadn’t missed that full sized pick-up truck turning onto the road up ahead, right past them and the gringos.

Daisyletta brought all her strength to bear, the white-faced children in the backseat of the truck yelled words of encouragement to her from their open windows as the trucks driver, a gringo daddy, began to accelerate. She closed the gap, leaping into the back of the truck next to a muddy four-wheeler. The children reached through the small window leading to the bed of the pick-up trying to pat her as Daisyletta nuzzled their hands, testing for any good offering of Tournedos Marchand de Vin. The yapping of the others quickly faded into the distance as Daisyletta traveled on to what would presumably be her new gringo home, hopefully on Ordonez Lasso. Her thoughts drifted to the delightful odor of Prime Rib, rising from the imagined gold-plated bowl at her new digs…

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