Fips Lets it Be Known....

There hadn’t been a day I did not think of Fips...and Rosco too. In fact, Wednesday night, after turning under the covers. I had an attack of separation anxiety. First thing Thursday morning I called Gene. Everything was OK, he said. Fips had adopted Phyllis and Rosco had adopted him, and all four doggies were getting along, although Rosco had snapped at Patches when Patches had gotten too pushy. I was relieved. Still I missed my doggies.

It was already nine in the evening by the time I got home on Sunday. It was not too late to call. Gene said the dogs were still fine. I made arrangement to pick them up Monday morning between ten and eleven.

It was a bright sunny morning, warm but not hot, as I drove over the winding hills to Riviera on the Lake, the fuzzy ones in mind as an anticipated presence.

I parked in front of the house and walked down, past the fenced porch and doggie gate to the front door, and knocked. Gene opened, as I expected the doggies to leap up and come running over to me all commotioned and waggy-tailed. Not a chance.

Fips was sitting several yards away and looking straight at the door. For a half second he started to leap up but then sat back down where he was, as Rosco trotted over, dubiously happy but far from ecstatic. I went over to pet Fips, but he was unimpressed. In fact he ducked away.

Awwww Fipsie..... c’mon.....

Nope.

The look in Fips’s eyes was an unmistkably frosty, “And where the hell have you been.” But it makes me love him all the more. How can you not love a dog that holds a grudge?

I handed Gene the token presents I had brought and we sat down in the living to talk room over some coffee. Fips held his distance, keeping present but making a point of being aloof. Rosco, came over, though, and I sat on the floor with my back against the couch, petting his head and neck.

Oh .... OK

After about half an hour, Fips ambled over, still not without an air of Having Cause, but with an evidently greater desire for being fondled.

When at last I stood up, the doggies sensed it was time to go. They ran to the door and ran again up hill impatiently waiting for me to lift them into the Jeep. “Looks like they’re anxious to get home,” Gene said. I thanked him once again for all he and Phyllis had done.

-o0o-

Et Post: It would take about two weeks before Fips got over his separation trauma. He kept an eye on my motions and looked at me with a combination of anxiety and reproach whenever it looked like I was getting ready to go outside. Eventually, with extra doses of everything, things got back to normal.

o6/08/08