Jon de Vos: An emotional ride for your dog
February 22, 2008
Is this you?
Would a splendid vacation be in an Indian teepee, curled up with a copy of Shirley MacLaine’s, “Sage-ing While Age-ing”? Can you see your toes dangling in the cool waters of Oak Creek as it tumbles through Sedona? How about later that evening? Would you try to meet with others of your own ilk around the campfire, chanting breathlessly in hopes of channeling grandpappy into divulging a hot tip about tomorrow’s lottery?
Answer this honestly: Do you have a lot of crystals around the house? Do you tap into their fiery energy? Will the stars rule your day? Nancy Regan kept a fortuneteller on her staff. It’s nothing to be even moderately embarrassed about these days.
The reason I mention it is because I might have a good thing for you that I saw at the Rocky Mountain Cluster. I know you’re thinking that the Rocky Mountain Cluster is the I-70 traffic as it wends through the mountains. But no, it’s not that at all. The RMC is the dog show in Denver that always follows the Westminster.
Early February each year, my wife and I look at each other across the morning newspaper and agree that some year we should go to the Westminster Dog Show.
Every year, it turns out we’re still reeling from the holidays and can’t get it together, so we console ourselves occasionally by going to Denver to the Rocky Mountain Cluster and seeing many of the dogs that will go to the Westminster next year.
We love our own three mutts a lot. In fact, we love them so much that we’re going to have DNA testing on one of them to prove to the world that we’re raising the progenitor of a new breed called the Bulgarian Weasel Hound. I’ll save that for another column, but right now I’d like to tell you how to make a quick 1400 bucks a day. Forgive me in advance if I offend the reality-challenged among you.
Dr. Nancy Bruington, d.c. is an Animal Communicator and like the sign said, for three dollars a minute, she’ll communicate with your animals. Hmm, OK.
We walked by her booth a couple of times before my wife told me to sit, stay, while she communicated with the good doctor. She came to fetch me after a few minutes, greeting me with, “Give me 50 dollars.”
As I reached for The Wallet, I asked, “Why? Is Doctor Bruington coming to Fraser?”
“No,” my wife replied. “She doesn’t need to.”
I looked at the pockets on her coat. Nope. No Dalmatian in there. “Doggone,” I said. “Too bad we neglected to bring our dogs.”
I checked her pockets again, “Didn’t we?”
In reply, I got the Pit Bull glare as she said evenly, “She doesn’t have to be near the dogs. She does it emotionally.”
I returned my best Bulldog face. “Well,” I said, “I like being emotionally near my 50 dollar bill.”
“Our 50 dollar bill,” she reminded me, hand outstretched.
In a supreme act of marriage-preservation, I remained mute while Doctor Nancy explained that our Basset Hound, 75 miles to the west of us and likely devouring our checkbook, preferred plaid. And that Blanche, our 15-year-old Dalmatian was getting tired but she loved us and just wanted to lie in the yard and see the spring tulips one last time. There were some pretty savage tugs on the heartstrings and pretty soon my wife and I were both sobbing uncontrollably, her about the mutt and me about the 50 bucks.
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