The WWTs didn’t walk the day before Thanksgiving. Speaking of Thanksgiving, it wasn’t my favorite day since my masters left me locked in the house with their son Maverick’s dog, Chigurh, and his buddy, Townes, while they went to lunch at Maverick's brother's house. They didn’t even bring us leftover turkey since that wasn’t on the menu. (Instead, the hosts served Cornish game hens they had won at a tennis tournament.)
Things got better the next day, however, when they took us up to the country place in Tarpley. Now the food wasn’t any better (just the usual dry dog stuff), but the scene--and scents--definitely were. We took an extended walk up and down Hondo creek, which is filled bank to bank, and I was lucky enough to find a bone of who-knows-what wild dead thing to gnaw on.
Back home, Townes, Chigurh and I lounged on the front porch, which is now completely screened in, and barked at passing dogs. I expect that’s why the white squirrel that’s been visiting the yard most mornings has been making itself scarce. My mistress thinks it only comes in the early morning because the light hurts its albino eyes when the sun comes out. Whatever. I’m really tired of hearing her rave about it. Aren’t I enough of a wonder to hold her attention?
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