Tristan Tells His Tale

Tristan Tells His Tale

Mom's trying to be funny with that title.  Get it?  Tale, tail!  Woof-woof!  Okay, so you don't get it.  Hey, can't blame a guy for trying?

I'm Tristan.  It says on the papers that I'm an official "Brown Dog."  Well, it would if I had papers and if Brown Dog was a breed.  But Mom don't care; she loves me anyway.  Okay, back to my "tale."  I'm a two year old brown dog, like I said.  I weigh in at about 70 pounds, maybe a bit more – haven't been weighed in awhile.  Coming up on my annual visit to the vet pretty soon, I guess.  Mom says so anyway.  I say I've seen enough of the vet's office.

Let's back up a bit in this story.  I bet you're wondering how a simple brown dog got a fancy name like Tristan.  All the other dogs around her have names that end in "ie" or "y."  You know the cutsie kind of sound.  But not me!

I'll give you the run down on my name the way Mom likes to tell it.  It also explains why I live where I do.  Here goes in Mom's version which is pretty much my version since she's told me so many times.

I was a little skinny, mangy dog who showed up on Mom's property about a month after Franky showed up.  He's my big brother, and I do mean BIG.  Anyway, this is about me so I go on.  I smelled so bad that Mom gave me a bath even though she was going to take me to the vet that day.  She knew that it was better not to bathe me so the vet could diagnose my problem easier, but she couldn't take the smell.  I hated that bath.  I was really scared she would drown me.  I hadn't been treated too well by humans before this.  'Course I was only about 6 or 8 weeks old.  Never could pin down my birthday.

So, we go to the vet's office.  They tell Mom that I have the mange and worms and that the mange is the bad kind that can hop on other dogs who get around me.  That meant that I had to stay outside instead of getting a kennel in the house like Franky had.  'Course I didn't know nothing about Franky at that time.

Mom fixed me up with what had been a big chicken cage, and she put a little pen around it so I could do my business outside the cage.  I didn't always remember, but I tried.  This is where she fed me and gave me water.  She petted me some but not a lot.  I wasn't much to look at, that's for sure, and I didn't have a name.  She did give me a collar though.  Every dog who shows up here gets a bath, a collar, and a name.  I just didn't have that last part yet.

So there's Mom.  She's in the barn taking care of chickens.  My pen is in the shade of a big tree that is near the barn.  She comes out and looks at me sorta strange and says, "You just told me that your name is Tristan.  Tristan, Knight of the Round Table."  Okay, whatever!  Just pet me is what I want to say.  I'm easy.

I know it was hard on Mom.  She had to wash her hands when she got back to the house before she petted anybody else.  And she had to give me medicine and everything.  Thank God she didn't have to dip me in the stinky stuff that she did with Franky.  He told me all about that when I got to know him.  It smelled like rotten eggs.  When he had the mange, he was younger than me and he couldn't have the pills – and his mange wasn't the "bad" kind like mine.

Basically, I was a happy puppy.  I didn't know from nothing.  I had a safe place to sleep and eat and water to drink and shade from the sun and  a Mom who came out to pet me from time to time. She also tried to take me on a leash.  I had a bit of trouble getting the hang of that.  I'm fine now with it except I pull sometimes when I see something I want to take a bite out of.

Then one night, it got real cloudy and I heard these big noises.  Mom said it was going to rain.  Now, my cage had a top on it but no sides.  Mom didn't want me out in this weather, so she fixed a little penned area in the house in the kitchen with newspapers on the floor.  Way cool!  I could see the other dogs up close and personal.  'Course my mange was pretty much under control or Mom couldn't have brought me inside.

Now, here's the best part.  After the rain ended, Mom never did take me back out to that ole chicken cage.  I got to stay in the house!

Well, I'd better move along with my story.  There's lots more.  I grew, that could pretty much be assumed.  And Franky grew.  He's a lot taller than me and older and he likes to get me down and roll me in the grass.  For awhile there, we both had collars all the time.  Well, not all the time.  It would take Franky about two days or less to chew my collar off my neck and then he would chew it into little pieces.  Franky likes to do that.  Then I got the hang of it and chewed Franky's collar off his neck.  I thought I was something.  Mom finally gave up.  Neither of us wear collars anymore.  Mom keeps them in the house on a peg on the wall so she can use them when she takes us on a leash.  And our names are on them so she can tell which is which.

Let me tell you about feeding time and kennel time.  All of us have our place in the big metal building/dog kennel.  Rocky and Cassie share a kennel in the middle, Franky now has his own big kennel, and I have my own kennel.  I used to have a big cage, but Mom talked Dad into buying the stuff and building me a kennel.  Anyway, when its feeding time, Mom comes out with our pans of food and says, "Kennel up."  'Course we don't do it right away, well sometimes some of us do.  I hang back so that Franky does not bark in my face, but Mom knows I'm coming.  I hardly ever get in trouble about going in my kennel.  Franky does though.

Franky can be a real pain.  He always barks and barks at me and I bark back and bare my teeth.  Boy, do I have the mean look going!  Sometimes Mom yells at us, other times she just goes about her business.

Okay, so we have metal bowls all alike.  We had plastic ones, but Franky chewed them up.  If you leave something around, Franky will do that.  Okay, so Mom sets the bowls of food on the table just outside my kennel.  In our bowls is dog food with a little water added: three cups for Franky and Rocky.  Two cups each for Cassie and me.  I don't always eat all my food.

Betcha ya want to know about the feeding order, right?  I get fed first because I am so good about going into my kennel, even if I do have to wait until after Franky gets put into his.  Mom pets me, sometimes makes me sit and look at her.  Sometimes she sings her "Tristan - Knight of the Round Table" song.  It's a short song, but I like it.  Then Mom feeds Rocky and Cassie and then Franky.  I guess its an order thing, but I like to think its because I am the favorite.  'Course this is our morning eating time.  Evening is sorta the same.  I'll get to that later.  When!  I don't usually work this hard!

After we get done eating, we rest and then Mom comes to let us out of the kennels so we can run in the pasture. There are two horses in the pasture, and I like to bark at them - from a distance.  One time, Dakota (she's the big brown one) chased me.  I gotta be careful out there.

Okay, so Mom opens my kennel first and I run and bark in Franky's face through his kennel.  Then Mom lets out Rocky and Cassie and makes all three of us go into pasture.  Then she lets Franky out.  He runs to the pasture gate and barks at me.  I put on my mean face again, but it don't mean nothing.

Now that its summer, we all get to be in the house in the afternoon.  I'm not too thrilled with some of the little dogs - especially that new puppy, Marcus.  He wants to get in my face.  Nuh, uh.  No way.

Evening feeding time is in the house.  We each have our place to eat so we don't have to see the others chowing down.  Then about 7:30, Franky and I have to go back out to the pasture.  I think its because Franky isn't good at all with the little dogs.  If it was just me, Mom would probably let me stay in the back yard.

At bedtime, we get biscuits and Franky and I have to sleep in our outside kennels.  Everyone else sleeps in the house.  Mom says she would let me sleep in the house but I bark in the middle of the night.  Well, there's noises in the night.  Something might get a guy if he doesn't stay sharp.  Anyway, Franky would be lonely if I was in the house.

Basically, I'm your go with the flow kinda guy 'cept I do like to get some special attention from time to time.  Mom knows.  She's the greatest.  I don't think I'd want to be the only dog all the time, but I sure do like it when she lets me go in the house without the other big dogs.  That's what she calls us four, "The Big Dogs."  And she calls Franky and me "The Boys."  Buffy is THE little dog.  I know not to mess with her.  Mom would kill me. 'Course there's also Reyna and Maddie and Little Bit and that new BIG puppy named Marcus.  Mom says people keep throwing dogs out just like someone did me.

Okay, so that's about it for me.  Oh, I do have this really cool thing I do.  When Mom gives me a rawhide bone, preferably chicken flavor, I like to put three or four in my mouth at one time.  I look really great with all those bones sticking out the sides of my mouth.  Sometimes Rocky or Franky or Cassie steal my bones, but if Mom sees she gets them back for me.

I'm an all around good guy basic brown dog.  But Mom keeps saying I'm "Tristan Boy, Knight of the Round Table."  Makes a guy kinda proud.

P.S.  Mom just read my story and told me it needs a few more things. I already had to update the stuff I already said.  Ah, shucks! Now I gotta work some more.  Oh, well, telling a story is better than scooping poop.  Oh, I don't do that either - Mom does the scooping if any gets done.  How I do go on!

Anyway, where to start? 

Now, this is one of my gripes - Rocky.  I know he's the main man, the big-big dog, the oldest, the first.  I've heard all that stuff a million times.  But why does he hate me and bark at me or growl at me and make me hide in corners?  It's not fair.  I'm Mom's favorite; he shouldn't do all that to me.  Mom tells me that Rocky was here first and all that stuff and that he's a really good dog and all that hooey, but he sure ain't good to me.  Course he's never really hurt me; just scares me real good.  Okay, so I guess he is a good dog.  And I guess I've got it pretty good.  I'd be dead if it weren't for Mom and Daddy.  Yeah, I've got it pretty good.

I'll have to get back with ya on any more stuff.  It's nap time!  Official Brown Dog over and out.

***
Here I am back; Mom said I had to. My story needs an update according to her. Okay - I know where my food comes from.  Let's see, where was I?

Well, the main thing I can think of it is that I now have to share my kennel with Marcus.  When he was a little puppy, he stayed in the house in a crate/kennel and got to go out with the little dogs.  Now he is over one year old and sorta' grown, so he has become a "big dog."  That means being outside more and eating and sleeping in the kennel with me.  The reason he's with me is that Franky would never leave him alone, and Rocky has Cassie.  So, I'm stuck with the kid.  Most of times it's okay.

Okay, Mom. I'll tell them the bad stuff. (I don't think it's bad, but she does.)  Franky, Cassie, and me (and sometimes even Rocky) like to get Marcus down and pretend to chew on him.  We rip off his collar and Franky or Marcus chew it up.  Mom has had to buy a bunch of them and replace the tag.  She is not happy when this happens.  Okay, so Mom finally wises up and starts bringing out the rolled up newspaper called a "doggy whopper."  She shakes it at us and we behave mostly and don't chew on Marcus in her presence.  He's still now wearing his collar; she doesn't trust us.

Oh, no!  I don't want to go there!  Mom says I have to tell you that I peed in the house.  Dad got really mad and ran me out of the house into the 100 degree heat.  He didn't care at the moment if I fried.  After awhile, Mom came and got me and put me in her office with the door shut.  I did it again a day later.  Why, you say?  Well, in these hot days, Mom brings us all into the house at about noon.  There are so many dogs in a closer space, it feels like I need to mark my territory and, I guess, it overtakes me. The leg hikes, and the pee flows.  I don't even think about it until after.  Franky has done it, too.  Why doesn't he have to tell?

One thing I do like is hanging around the dinner table in the summer.  All of us dogs wait for handouts.  I put my head close to the table with only my chin barely touching.  Mom says I look real cute.  Dad wants to hit me, I think.  Anyway, when we have fried okra, we almost always get some.  It's really good.  I've also found out I like raw vegetables, at least, some of them.  So does Buffy.  If I ever tried to take food away from Buffy, I would find myself on the outside in more than just a physical way.  I just caused her to react one day, and I thought Mom was going to kill me.  Mom didn't even see what I did, and I can't remember.  But whatever it is, I sure don't want to repeat it.

At Mom's nap time, I sometimes get to be on the bed.  It depends on where Franky plops down.  Sometimes there is not room for me without ruffling his fur (he doesn't have feathers.  A joke - get it?)  Anyway, if I get too close to Rocky he growls a lot.  I hate it.  Why me?  When I do get to be on the bed, Mom works around me to find her own place.  She doesn't make me move like she does Franky.  That's another reason I know she likes me best.  She pets Marcus a lot, but he is the baby.  She keeps saying that, "Marcus is the baby."  I get pretty sick of hearing it.  So, what!  I was a baby once; it didn't last.  And to me, Marcus sure doesn't look like a baby anymore.  He's almost as big as me.

I guess that is about it.  Mom isn't looking, so I'm going to quit and take a tap behind her chair.