If you clicked on my blog tonight with the hope of reading a well thought out, soulfully written post filled with wisdom and life lessons ... wait a sec ... you do realize you're reading my blog, right? While I may have written a post or two here and there that may have come close to meeting those lofty expectations ... and I would like to hope the possibility exists that I may write another one or two in my lifetime ... I feel the need to assure you that tonight's post is most definitely not one of them. Nope, tonight's post isn't about anything substantial or wise or astounding or insightful ... tonight's post is about a certain wiener dog named Oliver.
For those of you who don't know Ollie's story, his last stop before taking up residence with Julie and me was in prison. That's right ... my sweet little wiener dog is an ex-con. I wish I could in good conscience tell you that Mr. Oliver was arrested for robbing a bank or impersonating Lassie or being a dapper international jewel thief, but alas those would all be untrue and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't tell you the truth. While it is true that Ollie did time in the big house, his stay in the pen was due to a marvelous group of people who rescued him from a very abusive house. And yes, house is the correct word ... there is no way on earth I will ever call the place Ollie was rescued from a home. A home is a place where love lives, not a building where a horrible person thinks it's okay to put a little dog's face into the fire and burn him. No way, no how will I ever call that despicable place a home. The folks from Safe Harbor Prison Dogs quite literally saved my little Ollie boy's life ... he was one sick and injured wiener dog when they rescued him and placed him in the care of a prisoner who nursed him back to health. Once the dogs in the prison program get well, Safe Harbor helps them find good and loving homes ... not houses, but homes.
I have no idea if Ollie's odd pooping behavior was something he picked up during his time in prison or if it's something he has done since birth. I do know, however, that I've had lots of dogs over the years and I've never had one that barked when he or she pooped. Until Oliver, that is ... that crazy dog barks when he poops like he's making some sort of grand declaration to the world that he's the best pooper in all the land. But get this ... Ollie barks when he poops in our yard but not when we're out walking. In fact, not only does he not bark if he poops away from our house, he seems completely oblivious to anything or anyone around him. Reason would dictate that it would be just the opposite, right? Reason and logic would say that Ollie wouldn't bark in his own territory at his own home, but rather when he's in an unfamiliar area. Oliver Chance Johnson, however, cares little to nothing about logic and reason, and he happily continues to bark when he poops ... but only when he poops at home.
Now I know what some of you are thinking ... you're thinking, "Come on, Terrie, we know you've got some fantastic gem of wisdom for us ... some awesome life lesson you've learned from Ollie's barking pooping behavior." Well ... here's the thing ... ummm ... well ... here's the thing ... nope, I got nothing ... absolutely nothing. Except the star of tonight's post sleeping next to me on the couch ... snoring ... and quite probably dreaming of robbing banks or impersonating famous television dogs or pulling off the biggest jewel heist of all time. And barking when he poops ... I'm sure he's dreaming of barking when he poops. But only when he poops at home ... only when he poops at home.
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