The Never-Ending Ramblings...

Four Wheelers and Fire Ants

I so hate how you can create a story while en route from Point A to Point B, but by the time you make it to Point C (the compie) the words have dissipated into thin air. No longer available to grasp with the fingertips on the keyboard.

Why is that?

I had this blog entry composed, while Luna, my eighty-pound red Doberman, dragged me (by her leash)home from our Sunday morning walk.

I hate four wheelers, it began, but now, forty ant bites and two Benadryl later, I can’t recall the details.


Luna’s always a pain to walk. Even with her metal choke collar, she still loves to run, move in front of you, and stop dead on a dime. Nonetheless, I take her. It wouldn’t be fair to take Dakota (little Miss Well behaved) for a nice long walk and exclude Luna. So, my T.O.S. arms suffer being yanked around; and all because I love my Dobermans.

But today, Luna pushed – or should I say yanked too hard.

It was a four-wheeler, with two young teenagers riding. To their parents’ credit, they were driving like reasonable responsible people. Even still, their presence, and the noise the vehicle made while passing scared the heck out of Luna. She bolted, or tried to bolt while my fingers curled around her leash with a death grip. She jerked her head hard and I thought she might slip out of her collar.

Once they had passed, I leaned down to her ear and whispered soothing mommy words before we continued back to the house. Only a few steps in and the four-wheeler was on our heels. Luna bolted again, this time, much harder, fear gripping her body. My knee came crashing down. Off balance my arms mustered up as much strength as possible to keep her in one place while they passed.

Why the heck were they going so slow? They waved. I smiled and waved back, letting them know I was fine.

Luna continued to yank hard. She wanted back at the house, in the safety of her own chain-linked fenced in backyard. How could she breathe? With my counter attempts to keep her still?

Anyway, by the time I gathered my wits and strength, I realized my leg was lying in a fire ant bed. Oh great! It was taking both my arms to control her, now, I had to let go one to brush the upper (outer) right thigh.

Once home, I declared, “I hate Luna!” Fumbling through the medicine cabinet for the Benadryl while Bryan handed me the cortisone. Forty some odd ant bites. I counted. Then, I went to bed. Benadryl always knocks me out.

It's really four-wheelers and fire ants i hate. How could i possibly hate my dog?