Protecting Coconut

A couple of disclaimers-

  1. I am not a pet person. I shy away from cumbersome responsibility, i.e. domestic animals and acquired people.
  2. I am not an overpriced handbag person. I do not purchase them but I do own one. It was given to me as a gift, for my 50th birthday. I am inordinately fond of it. I can’t help it. I didn’t buy it. It’s not my fault. It is pink (well, fuschia) patent leather.

Coconut has been staying with us for 3 weeks, she’ll be here for another 2 weeks.

I love Coconut. She whines like a little kid. She like things a certain way. She has been a very naughty, bad dog a couple of times since she’s been here. She snores like an old man. She taught me how to bark and chase her around the living room.

When I go to the bank and the post office, I have to leave her at home in her kennel. She doesn’t like to be left home alone. I tell her, “It’s 2:30 now, I’ll be back by 4. That’s only an hour and a half.” I’d like to take her with me but she’s not allowed to enter the buildings. If I left her outside, someone might steal her and the Red Haired Philosopher would never forgive me.

Today was a beautiful day. I decided to take Coconut to the bank with me and use the drive up, which is also a walk up, to transact my business. We made it down the street without seeing anyone. Coconut is, oddly, afraid of children. There are some adorable, enthusiastic kids on this street, who just don’t understand why Coconut is so nervous and temperamental.

We walked down Hippy Hill around the big curve, past the chickens, down the steep hill, across the bridge, up the hill, and past the courthouse without incident. She sniffed and snuffled her way at least a mile and didn’t tire at all.

We were walking along, minding our own business, when we were AMBUSHED and very nearly attacked. Two most unpleasant, unfriendly dogs came at us from nowhere, growling and barking and chasing poor little Coconut all around my legs. Those dogs were big, mean, bully dogs.

I didn’t give it a second thought. I swung my overpriced pink (well, fuschia) patent leather hand bag at those terrorist, hater dogs while I yelled, “NO!”

We were in peril. I picked Coconut right up and held her like a baby. I put her little head in the crook of my neck and covered her up while I yelled at those cowardly, oversized, bloodthirsty beasts.

People stopped on the side of the street because they could see we were in grave danger. I thanked them for coming to our aid. I carried Coconut to safety then we called my husband. He came to take us straight to the dairy barn for a plain hamburger and a doggie dish of vanilla because we were TRAUMATIZED.


About elroyjones

Married, no children, responsibly self-directed, living happily.
This entry was posted in Friends & Family and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to Protecting Coconut

  1. gkinnard says:

    Loved it! Glad you two are alright!

  2. John says:

    Glad that you, Coconut and The Bag (meaning the purse, not you) are all ok!

  3. I like it! Good job of writing and protecting. HF

  4. Doug says:

    Coconut got lucky…and you’re a deal

  5. Peggy says:

    OH MY GOD!!!! You are NOT “one of those people”. YOU ARE NOT! I can just see all this now. Dear lord, I CRINGE. I CRINGE. O&D, why did you simply not just put her in your oversized pink (fushia) bag? xoxoxoxo

    • elroyjones says:

      She’s too big for the bag and the big dogs were growling and barking, she was so afraid. All I could imagine was them getting her, like the German shepherd got the poodle, by the throat shaking the life right out of her.

      • Peggy says:

        I can see it. I can see it all now . . .

      • elroyjones says:

        She was so scared. It’s odd because Layla the boxer dawg comes here to visit and she plays; they run all over the place.

        Today, she was invited in to the bank and she was so nervous that she ran between my legs and practically leapt into my arms, then she hid her face from the women, who just wanted to pat her.

      • Peggy says:

        Oh, poor little girl. Lola is like that. But, she is feral.

      • elroyjones says:

        I think she endured abuse when she was with the paternal faction, while the Red Haired Philosopher was in FLA. She is afraid of the broom and she is afraid of magazines and newspapers. I think the stepmother did it.

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