My Name is Glazer…by Marilynette Cox (Part 5)

Our first visit to Williams Lake, Pagosa Springs, CO

The Mount Dora Citizen is pleased to offer the story of the life journey shared between Glazer, the Boxer, and her family – as told by Glazer.

Living in Colorado

The abbreviation for Colorado may be CO, but it needs an LD on the end.  That place can get really really COLD.  Sara always loved it, but of course she would, she had a much heavier fur coat than I.  I wasn’t jealous because most of the time we lived in FL which could also be FLAT OUT HOT.   She would run out of the house and tear through the snow, run in circles, jump, man she loved it.  She would drive me crazy with new snow.  I would be trying to step carefully and find the “business” place with all this cold wet stuff everywhere, and she’d just be running around like an idiot.  You had to always smile when Sara was really really happy like that – she has always been a bit childlike.

When it wasn’t cold like that, Colorado was neat.  They had lots of different smells, trees, and varmints.   And some of those varmints had a hell of a smell.  Little did we know it was a smell that you could keep with you for days, even weeks.  I can still hear mom shrieking at the top of her lungs, “Skunks, they’ve gotten into skunks!”  We also hadn’t figured on the treatment to get rid of the smell.  If you think regular baths are awful, you should try one in tomato juice, didn’t work very well and turned Sara pink.  I guess the smell got into the cracks and crevices in my nose for I was not allowed to give Boxer kisses for the longest time.

Then we discovered porcupines.  Yeowwww!  I don’t think I can add more to this story that you cannot already imagine.  What goes in must come out.

 

Living in Colorado
Living in Colorado
Sara loving the snow.
Sara loving the snow.

Friends in Colorado

Mom and dad made lots of good friends in Colorado and most of them had dogs they toted around in the backs of their pickups.  This was a very novel idea to Sara and me; after all, we rode around in the back of a Suburban.  These were some seriously good dogs.  They would actually stay in the back of the truck until they were told to get out.  Get out!

Once we went to this place that had a lot of water, water as far as you could see.  We went with an extremely big dog named “Dante! No!”  Most other dogs I knew had only one name, but he obviously had two.  Not being a retriever, I am not much into water sports.  I like water that comes out of the hose, that’s the best water to drink if you ask me.  But this day we were going to retrieve sticks out of the water, and I guess that’s some sort of a game.  I really didn’t want to play, but everyone seemed to sort of insist that I participate.  So, I go over and put one front paw in the water and it’s cold and wet and I just do the cat thing, shake it off and I want to go do something else.  But nooooo, we have to get the stick out of the water.  You would think it would go something like this: the human throws the stick into the water and it’s Dante!No!’s turn and he gets the stick and brings it back, then its Sara’s turn, then it’s my turn, and so on.  Organized and civilized water sports, nobody gets hurt, nobody drowns.  Well that’s not how it turned out.  The human throws the stick into the water and simultaneously we dogs are supposed to hurl ourselves into the water, swim furiously all the while looking for the damned stick, argue over the stick in the water until someone wins and brings it back.  At this point you have a choice, you can either stay in the cold water and swim around in circles while you wait for the stick to be thrown and hope like hell that you have a running start on the one who had to take it back, or you can swim to shore, and say to hell with this.  Keep the stupid stick.

 

Water games – Argh.
Water games – Argh.

The Boxer Bitch

If a female dog has to be a bitch then why aren’t male dogs called bastards?  I heard mom use the word bitch, but I don’t think she was talking about this woman’s dog.  But, in that terminology, I have only been a real bitch once in my life, and to my knowledge my sister never has.  We have an acquaintance by the name of Gator (guess where his mom went to school).  Gator used to live in Colorado also.  Once a bunch of humans with all their dogs went camping on this river, and it was a grand old time, especially the part when mom and dad tried to put up a tent.   Now, you know how I feel about most water, unless it’s the water hose, toilet or shower, and to me the river was about the same as that big lake.  Well, all the dogs, including Sara, are doing that stick thing.  Getting wet and running around and slinging water all over me, and Gator is the very worst of the bunch.  He’s jumping in the water and making a splash big enough to drown us all, fighting over the stick, running full tilt out of the water, chasing me around, jumping over me, and I put up with this for a while.  Then, I was a bitch.  I whirled around and said, “Listen you little bastard, you sling water on me one more time or jump over me one more time, and I will beat the ever loving dog shit out of you.  Do you understand, you’re toast, and I mean it.  Now, leave me alone.”  All of this with a great Boxer growl at the end for emphasis which we can do really well when necessary.

Next week…Glazer’s story continues, beginning  with “Kevin – The Best Thing about Colorado”

Marilynette Cox, Guest Writer