Hello, Biscuit



Dogs on the road. For no reason, one of my sons aquired a catch-phrase for car dogs. A dog traveler would pass by in the back of a pick-up, or pant at us out the window at a stoplight, and my son would say, "Well, helllooo Biscuit." All dogs were Biscuit, the same way comman man is named John or Jane Doe. It was understood among us, and always funny.
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Jane Doe Arrives. A couple years ago, a cute little boxer arrived at our door. We didn't know where she came from, but she was wiggly, loving, and built like a midget horse. She wanted to come in. Her entire stump-tailed rump wagged, her mouth looked like she was smiling, and her ears were cocked like she was asking a silent question. "Can I come in?"
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In that instance, the right answer would be, "No, you need to go home to your people." I didn't give the right answer. She came in and gallopped around the house like an ADD bull in a china shop. Hilarious.
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Biscuit. I took her out on the front porch and sat down with her. I searched her tags for a number to call. To my surprise, the tag around her neck said, "Biscuit." So, just imagine the dog's reaction when minutes later, my son came out to see what was going on, and said, "Well, Hellloooo Biscuit." It was spontaneous boxer combustion.
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Neighbor Friends. Over the years, Biscuit has become a familiar visitor. She makes us laugh and we enjoy her family. Initially, they were apologetic and embarrassed when she'd escape. The first few times she appeared, we would call, and they would drive up get her. Now, when they see she's gone, they just drive up. It's an unspoken understanding. Once they went on vacation, and their house instructions included directions to our house in case Biscuit got out of the backyard.
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In order to curb the visits, I decided not to let Biscuit come in anymore. And, then, we didn't see her at all. Ever. I thought maybe she'd been given a new home. A couple weeks ago I saw her people at a high school meeting. Since it had been so long since she'd come for a dog visit, I actually asked if she was ok. Everybody chuckled. Yes. She was doing just fine.
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That little stretch of absence is over. Yesterday, I pulled up the driveway and found a wiggling mass of muscles happily waiting for us. It's like a doggie playdate. She runs around with our dog until they are both ready to pass out from exhaustion. The picture (above) was taken a few hours ago -- our second visit in two days. I had just poured a cup of coffee and had to smile when her round face was peering in at me from the porch window.


My first words this morning?

"Helllooo, Biscuit."

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