Friday, March 26, 2004
We had dinner at the Goods' last night. A lovely meal of meatloaf. They have a jack russell terrier named Molly. Our beagle, Top, is almost 10 years old. Molly is one year old. A trip to the Goods' is always a traumatic experience for Top. You know the way dogs act when they get out of the car and realize that they are at the vet's office? That is nothing to what Topper does when she realizes that we are at the Goods' house. She first tries to run in the other direction until the leash won't give. Then she plants her little feet and won't budge. We usually have to pick her up and take her inside, where Molly promptly greets her with lots of jumping and chasing and little puppy kisses. Top tries to be strong, but always ends up screaming. Not barking, SCREAMING. Molly interprets the screams as Top having a great time and doubles her efforts of "playing" with Top. At first opportunity, Top runs upstairs to hide under the Goods' bed until she hears us shake the leash and say, "Let's go bye bye!" That's not entirely true. Top comes back downstairs during dinner, when she can put their differences aside and share the table scraps with Molly and help Molly lick the dishes in the dishwasher. There's nothing like a good meal to bring enemies together!
