A very short story.
Here in the black hole just outside Harmony Grove lies a pond.
Most every one of the thirty-three summers that our family has lived here, we have been witness to prehistoric type gals in shells, wandering around looking for places to dig holes and bury their eggs.
This natural part of life always brought out the worst in the three generation of dogs who also resided here.
In the beginning, there was Leonard. Lenny Penny was a crazy ass yellow lab from hell who enjoyed terrorizing most anyone, including giant turtles gnashing their teeth on one end and shooting out eggs on the other, while my sweet Sven and I added to the chaos trying to get close enough to grab a hold of his collar and drag him away from what should have been a beautiful part of nature, but instead always turned into a lot of screaming and yelling before we all ended up in the hospital.
The next decade belonged to our sweet Dakota Jones. Sweetie Pie was a gentle souled Labrador, golden retriever and Irish mix, complete with freckles on his snout. All one hundred and four pounds of him came to us very well trained. He had exquisite manners. Except when it came to coming when he was called. And turtles.
I once woke up to pee in the night and realized that it was not an army helmet, but a turtle sitting there on my bedroom floor in front of the dresser.
"Sven!" I had screamed.
Dakota not only harassed mothers giving birth, he accidentally killed a few painted turtles by carrying them around and cracking their shells. He was known in his day for all the stuffed animals and tennis balls he could jam in his mouth at one time. His record was seven. That is why sometimes turtles went unnoticed in there.
Last but not least came our newest dearly departed, Hunter Bunter. Puppy Dog, the guy with the gift of a booming voice, sent more than one startled turtle back to the pond not only deaf, but vowed to celibacy for the rest of her life so as not to ever have to venture away from the safety of her murky shores again.
This is why I was in shock the other day.
There we were, my sweet Sven and I heading out on a walk, not even to the secret path to the path, when.
"Uh-oh," I said.
All those horrible scenes from the past flashed before me.
Slowly we turned around.
There, sitting on the little table on the deck was the devil in a black tux, staring right at us.
An ancient looking young female on the ground in front of our feet seemed grumpy.
"Do not post those pictures," she snapped at me.
Tuna watched the entire show with complete indifference and let her be.
Hang on a second. My sister is interrupting.
"What's that Louisa?"
Oh.
She said, that Tuna is not a dog. And something about me being an idiot.
"Well, he doesn't know he is not a dog!"
While it is true that Tuna's lack of interest was probably due to the turtle's lack of movement, large teeth and pissy attitude. I did not want to miss this rare opportunity to tell you what a good boy Tuna was.
