That Sheba . . .

Every family has its stories, and mine is no different, but there is one that I am asked by my nephew to repeat at our family gatherings so often that I thought I would share it with you here.

First I have to set the stage. This was during the Spring/Summer of the "flight from Fresno" in the early 1980's, when my brother lost his business and had to  move back home for awhile until he got his footing. So he and my sister-in-law, and their two dogs (Candy, a Bull-Mastiff, and Ming, a Maltese) moved in.

I had moved back home the year  before, and then I was diagnosed with MS. Once that happened my dad had another bedroom/bathroom built onto the first floor of the house, just off the living room to make the house wheelchair accessible for me. This way there was an extra room upstairs which became our guest-room; still, my SIL often just slept on the sofa downstairs.


My Dad was always an early riser, as was my SIL. The rest of us are night owls and usually slept in, but I often woke up early to the smell of Folgers and bacon and the noises of their early morning banter in the next room.

After their shared breakfast, my dad usually did the "poop patrol" in the back yard as we now had three dogs in the house;  this was their morning ritual.
One day dad after he was done Dad came came back inside; poured himself a cup of coffee and sat back down at the dining room table with my SIL. There was a long silence. Then this (the spaces are pregnant pauses):

[quietly, in his gruff voice]  "That Sheba (our black Lab). . . she-e-e-'s  a walker.










Candy . . .  Damn    ... what a shovel-ful!!

and Ming . . . I nearly had to get my binoculars out to find her little pellets.











I heard that Kalapaca's dog would poop in one spot, poop on top of it the next day, and so on until it reached his ass, then start another pile right next to it.



















heh heh    I remember the time that Bo ate a Lucky Strike pack!


On that note, Good Night,