Rescued

     Dixie snores. Loudly. And wants to sleep on my bed. Preferably in my bed, under the covers, with her head on my shoulder, only that flat, damp nose showing.

    She's a rescue dog, so I let her that first night, poor thing. That's how I thought of her--"poor thing" with a noticeable limp, and an ability to purr like a cat when you pet her.

    Okay, the dog doesn't have that inner motor that cats perfected eons ago. Her purr is more of a moan, a grumbly, smoothed out moan of contentment, bordering on happiness. How can I resist happiness?

    So, I let her sleep with me. She's a rescue dog, right? And this is me being noble, kind, compassionate--all those qualities I admire and aspire to. A pet lover. A dog lover, aka a good person.

    She's my first dog--probably destined to be my only dog ever, but nobody ever mentioned slobber to me when extolling the virtues of their "best friend." Or snoring. Who knew that dogs snored? Or peeing in the middle of the night, whining until I get up--well, I'm awake anyway because of the snoring--so I get up and let her out

    I made a list, ready to show it to anybody who asks how Dixie is doing. (NO, I didn't name her that--she was already named when I got her. I tried changing it to Ethel, but she only comes when I holler "Dixie.")

    Well, I suppose having a dog named Dixie isn't the worst thing. Too cute for my taste, but I've never been accused of being cute, so I can get over that...and she is really very,  very...attractive...for a canine.  

    Yes. Okay. I like Dixie, but I won't be one of those dog owners who go on and on about their dog all the time so stop me after I tell you what she did just this morning....she was so cute, adorable really, when....