October 10, 2018

White Dog lifted her head and feigned indifference as the rest of the White Dog Army came charging into the office from all corners of White Dog Ranch. It was the lunchtime ritual where I lift the plate to remove the plastic from my lunch which is a Universal signal to come in and expect to share. And like everyday I said, "No, this is momma's lunch. You will have afternoon duck jerky treats in a little while." And just like every day, I pat each White Dog on the head lovingly.

Zsofia always sits right at the edge of my desk on the right side in perfect "I am a good girl" form; I take an extra moment to compliment her on her good manners. Today I started as I focused on My Itty Bitty Baby Girl. Her mouth was smudged with blood.

I pulled her closer and immediately began the hunt for injury. When you live with a reactive dog you tend to be edgy about bloody pups. She had no areas that indicated damage; the blood was limited to her mouth and chin.

"Roman!" I called. "Come see momma!" Maybe Zso had fought with our boy; she is no wimp and not above throwing attitude. He was still wearing his muzzle. He was not happy to have me twisting and turning him looking for red or wet spots but he was unmarked.

I sighed. I was not up for a mystery but I called each member of the Army to me (with the exceptions of White Dog and Nilla, both counted as safe) and did exams. Everyone was unharmed.

Zso still lurked in the hallway. "Did you kill a birdie?" I asked her. "Or a mouse? Come talk to me." Instead she headed through the dog door. I wasn't sure what the next step was in the Perfect Momma Book.

A few minutes later Zso trotted in and settled with her back to me on Stormer's old couch. She checked to make sure I was typing before quietly trying to chew something. This is what I had waited for.

I quickly rolled my chair to her side and grabbed her collar. "Sorry, Zso, I have to see what you have in your mouth." I feared I was about to pry a wriggling rodent or delicate bird parts from her stubborn jaws.

It was plastic. One of those multilayer "diapers" that line butcher trays and become saturated with the blood and juices of grocery meats. Only a small section remained. A soft sigh escaped me...relief...before I started to wonder where my girl had found such a thing.