I conspired with The Mom to sneak a column in place of the one The Dad (aka Willis Webb, aka mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent aka The Kolyumnist) usually writes for Texas community newspapers.
The Mom sends out the columns, and she and I both are, well, smarter than The Dad.
You may note that “The” is part of everyone’s title in the Webb household.
In addition to The Parents (The Mom and The Dad), there’s The Boy (their son Weston), The Sweetie (Weston’s main squeeze, Heather) and The Puppy…that’s me. Yeah, I know, I’m nearly seven (that’s almost 49 in human years). But, you understand, I have to humor them. ‘
Dad’s easy. I knew that the minute I saw him.
They lived in Central Texas on the banks of the Lampasas River.
How I found them was fortuitous (I have The Dad’s dictionary).
This “turkey” who owned me and my doggie mom and siblings, decided there were too many puppies around his household and drove me out in the country and dumped me on this road just about 50 feet from the river. I guess the turkey thought I’d jump in and drown. Hmmph, fat chance!
I looked around and saw this house and a man out in the yard using a weedeater. And, I could see The Sucker stamped right on his forehead.
So, I took my little three-month-old body up to his gate, stuck my pink tongue out of my whitemustached mouth and wagged my black-gray tail with the white tip.
The Sucker, er, uh, The Dad took me into the house to meet The Mom and he announced with his big ol’ grin: “Look what I found at our gate.”
The Mom was absolutely great from Day One. I got water and food and a little brushing because my hair (yep, not fur) was full of burrs, weeds and such.
I later found out that The Mom’s little 14-yearold blonde dog, Dolly, had wandered off somewhere to prepare for that Great Kennel in the Sky. The Mom was lonesome for critter company, so I was an answered prayer.
Mom was absolutely great from Day One. Although I knew The Dad liked dogs and would be kind, he’d been raised in a no-dogs-in-the-house rule issued by his mother. I destroyed that order, but more about that later.
I had to stay outside on the porch and in the fenced yard for a few days, but ultimately The Mom prevailed (she always does with The Dad, but not me) and I got to come in a great deal of the time.
Then, The Dad decided — with a little gentle persuasion from The Mom — I could be a “house dog.”
But, he had to draw another line in the sand: “No dogs on the furniture.”
Well, Mom and I worked on him on that and after one snuggly session with me in his lap on the sofa, he threw up his paws, er, hands, and said, “Okay, y’all win (meaning The Puppy and The Mom).”
Next came the contest for sleeping rights in the big king-sized bed of The Mom and The Dad. Well, long story short, I now sleep every night at the foot-end of the mattress, often using the calf of Dad’s leg as a pillow.
The Dad keeps mumbling something about The Life of Riley?
Oh, and the Dad’s now late mom — when he took me there for my first visit to Mamaw’s house (formerly verboten for dogs), I went in and as I lay on her sofa, my head in her lap, she fed me her famous homemade “tea cakes” (giant vanilla cookies).
The Mom and The Dad were in awe. I haven’t had a real problem since.
WILLIS WEBB is a retired community newspaper publisher of more than 55 years experience. He can be reached by email at email@example.com.