The Journey of Phillip, the Forgotten, to Phillip, the Fabulous, in 30 Days
Eighth in a Series
December 23, 2015
The Milk Bone Dog Biscuit Massacre
As bowls were washed and lined along the counter, the dogs knew breakfast was not far away. Everyone had excited statements to share. Phillip was soaking up the behaviors of our dogs like a sponge and soon learned that when the dishes appear from their storage place empty, they would soon be filled. Orders must be given to these human attendants so that they would know what to place in those empty serving vessels, so loud barking must ensue! This demanding barking must be accompanied with bumping the two legged waiters to hurry the process along as well as watching the floor for any tidbits the clumsy helpers dropped.
Stan the Man opened the door into the back yard. The Pyrenees’ pair pranced outside awaiting the preparation of their well barked orders to be served patio style. Stanley had an ulterior motive for opening the door. He must rid some of the hungry mouths from this restaurant leaving more food for him. Stan the Man then positioned himself between Paul and the cabinet staring at the floor as if his intent for tasty droppings would magically materialize. This placement also reminded all of us of his presence should we forget. Gracie Bird joined the barks with her request. “Gracie Likes! Brrreakfast!! Gracie!!!” she demanded. Weasley, the lab, was doing his bouncy spring dance on the other side of the baby gate accompanied by the Arf…Arf..Arf…that only he could rhythmically deliver. The sleeping Cindy Lou woke for this and ran to her crate. It was a miracle!
The food of Thanksgiving always tastes the best. It is our theory that you can taste the love that went into the preparation. That’s why Paul was a purest when it came to dog food carefully reading the label of anything that went into the diets of his babies. Food was as important as any pharmaceutical in our medicine cabinet. No corn, wheat, or by-products could be found in our dogs. “You don’t find starving dogs stalking a corn field,” he liked to say. Paul measured the four different types of chow to suit the various diets and health issues of each animal. There was the senior chow, the anti- allergy chow, the chow for skin issues, and the one for arthritic joints. The bowls’ contents were determined by the canine issues faced by the recipient. I was a big proponent of Kefir and a portion of the homemade custardy cultured cream was poured like gravy over the dry food. Phillip got extra Kefir since I think it helps with skin problems. Every day was Thanksgiving for our dogs!
“Well,” Paul announced to me, “How about I take you out for breakfast now that everyone else has eaten?’ “Well, why not?” I accepted. The family and friends were curled up in their favorite spots with full tummies for a morning nap. I smiled when I noticed Thor on my pillow. “It’s only a week,” I reminded myself. Gracie Bird did not even look up from her apple slice as we were well down the road before she could alert the brothers that a ride was in progress.
After breakfast, a trip to purchase the vet’s dog deodorizing pine scented candle, and a quick stop at the pet store to get toys for our good girls and boys, we arrived home only to walk into a celebration in progress.
The pet adoption equipment box had been disassembled and the contents strewn all over the floor. “I forgot to put the box up in the closet after the last off site adoption event,” I told Paul sheepishly. “I just came into the house and sat the box here next to the door.” “Who could have done this?” Paul asked. “We left the baby gate up and Phillip was crated,” he puzzled.
About that time, an excited Thor leapt over the askew baby gate with the ease of an experienced hurdler. Phillip crashed into the gate like a high school football player uncertain of his strength but ever so willing to get where he needed to be and that place was with us. With a full body wag and unrestrained joy, Phillip proudly ambled up to greet us among the mess carrying his mauled prize. A once full box of Milk Bone Dog biscuits hung mangled in his tightly clenched mouth.
“But how did he get out? He was in the crate wasn’t he?” I asked thinking that I might not have closed the clasps properly. “Do you think he ate the whole thing?” Paul asked me. “Oh, I think he had some help,” I replied hearing a crunching sound coming from the direction of Thor. The faces of two happy dogs stared back at us trying to express the fun filled wonder that they had just experienced.
I heard Paul laughing. It wasn’t just any laugh. The laugh was one of those laughs that starts out as a chuckle becoming a deep down full blown belly laugh and is as infectious as any laughter emanating from the jolly elf himself.
“Do you realize that while we were running around trying to play Santa, Santa came? He came in the form of a little girl that saved her allowance to buy the homeless dogs a treat. Santa came in the form of Karen who drove Phillip to our home and in the rescue efforts of Leslie who took him into her group, Meals on Wheels Helena-West Helena Dogs, after he had been tossed from a car window. Santa was there in the form of all those who had a hand in his care. The vets, those arranging transportation, and of course Gail, who sent that e-mail for help…they were all Santa’s for Phillip,” Paul said. “He was forgotten until all these Santa’s found Phillip deserving enough to bestow their gifts upon this dog.”
With that, the special diet had gone the way of a box of Milk Bone Dog Biscuits that graciously found its way into our home with the love of a little girl and a Christmas wish. “Everyone deserves a cookie at Christmas!” this health nut vegetarian justified. “Ho, Ho, Ho,” Gracie Bird chimed in, “Merry Christmas!” as the “black boys” wrestled unaware of the crumbs they had embedded in our carpet and became new found friends enjoying their first of many adventures.