Rusty? Is That You?

A few blogs back I wrote about Andy the horse and Rusty the dog and how they lived together - and my guilt about Rusty and how she was treated by us troglodytes. For once I was one. A troglodyte, that is.

Not long after I wrote that blog, I was hanging out with our dog Amy. Now Amy has always acted like she’s MY dog - when she isn’t being Bernadette’s sister, which is most of the time (they are joined at the hip for sure). Amy will actually leave her sister’s side to go into the barn with me, or walk separately from the other two when we have them all on leashes (I get one, Glenn gets two - it just seems fair, those two girls together pretty much yank me off my feet). 

So there I am, hanging with Ames/Amy/Puppy. She kept looking at me, like “Well? Well? Do you get it? Do. You. Get. It?” Amy has quite the penetrating stare, and this was her stare on steroids.

I’m in a human suit. I can be really dense. Like the time it took me three days to figure out LiLi the horse was the reincarnation of IsIs the cat - d’oh! 

So I’m all “Aw, Amy, look how cute you are. Why are you looking at me like that? What are you trying to tell me??” Other questions of that ilk sprang to my lips.

Then I get a picture of a rust-colored dog, kind of like a Golden Retriever only darker, and I’m thinking this dog looks really familiar. 

Amy in the red, giving us “the look” - Bernadette in background.

If Amy could tap her toes like an impatient human in heavy duty shoes, she would do so. She can’t, though, so she continues to give me that look, and now it’s got a little bit of an edge to it, like “Humans! In my next life I’m coming back as a mosquito. I might not live long, but I’ll be really annoying.”

Suddenly, after about a century of this staring thing from Amy, the synapses connect.

”Rusty?”

”Eureka!” I hear her shout, and she stops staring and starts wagging her rear end really, really, hard.

Holy cats. Rusty is giving me another chance! What I ever did to deserve this I’ll never know, but since then Amy has been like a shadow, and I’m spending a lot more time letting her know how precious and special she is. She’s learned how to retrieve a ball, she cavorts, she sighs with contentment. I am very very lucky that this little being has chosen to return and make herself known, and my plan is that she will have a far better life with me this time around.

Except for being on the bed. She gives me sad eyes and looks sooooo hopeful. Not happening. Ever.