Muffin Saga Part II & Alex and My Nose-hose

The Muffin Saga, Part II

This is the second part of the story of my relationship with my dog, Muffin, which was begun on January 17^th.

It didn’t take long for Muffin and I to become friends. She still maintained her anxiety when adult males were around, but somehow removed me from that category. Perhaps that was because she so often saw me in my liturgical robes, apparel that even some humans have confused with a woman’s dress.

Baseball caps were another matter. She remained terrified of them. One day six weeks or so after Muffin became a member of our family, I left the parsonage to play a round or two of golf. I owned a baseball cap that displayed the logo of the golf club where I was to play and, not thinking about Muffin’s aversion, wore in out the door. Muffin was playing in the fenced in yard of the parsonage and church, so I called her to go inside. By now she came to me when I called her name; however, as soon as she saw the baseball cap on my head, she stopped and literally backed up.

It was then that I remembered the cap, took it off, and placed it on top of my golf bag, which I had leaned against the house beside the front door. Muffin then came to me; I petted her, and opened the door to the house. But Muffin wouldn’t go through the door. She walked around the porch but avoided the doorway.

It took me a few seconds to understand her behavior: the baseball cap sitting atop my golf bag could possibly be interpreted by Muffin as a person wearing the dreaded cap standing beside the door. I removed the cap from atop the golf bag and Muffin happily entered the house.

I shall continue The Muffin Saga for as long as it takes to tell the story.

Alex and My Nose-Hose

Finally I am beginning to feel comfortable walking around dragging fifty feet of plastic hose dangling from my nose. There are a few minor problems, such as when the hose gets caught on the edge of a piece of furniture, halting my forward movement, and requiring me to backtrack and release the hose from whatever has snared it.

Of course, the snare isn’t always furniture. Sometimes it’s a cat sitting on the hose, trapping it with his paws/claws, and worse, biting it with his teeth. That is when I say (sometimes yell): “Alex, let go. That’s my nose hose!” Surprisingly, Alex generally does let go—at least until I and the hose begin moving again.

Speaking of Alex, he’s not completely pleased with my writing The Muffin Saga and has commented on it in his blog.

It’s cold here and has been for several days. Alex hasn’t been outside to play since Monday. Still, he has to check the outside temperature several times a day. To “check the outside temperature,” the furball demands that I open the door and he sits in the doorway for several minutes until he decides it’s too cold to go out. The above photograph is of Alex at 5:15 this morning checking the temperature (which was 24 F). He didn’t go outside.