<$BlogRSDUrl$>

••• Friday, October 10, 2003

Tag Team Blogging
Sometimes the Universe provides.

Not that I think inspiration for knitblog topics is high on the Divine Interventionist's to-do list, but it just could be that the Divine is subject to slow days, like the rest of us. And if I happen to be an unwitting recipient of a Divine slacker day, so be it.

Mariko has a Basenji and yesterday she blogged the dog a couple lines of fame. A while back, Mariko and I had an email exchange about Basenjis, which she cryptically alluded to in the same post.

In case Super Eggplant aficionados are linking here looking for a Basenji story, here it is.

Not long after I was divorced and happily settling into my new digs, my sister, her four young children and their Basenji, Zoe, moved in with me on an emergency basis. I should have journaled this adventure, as the often surreal particulars are fading with time.

Basenjis are breed of dog, but I wouldn't be surprised if one day a new, other-worldly species is named for them. I realize it's not fair to judge an entire breed by my experience with one, but it's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

Zoe was an amazing creature. She didn't bark, she bathed like a cat, and she answered to no one, unless that no one happened to be slathered in lard. She had a cute, curly tail that nestled tight and high on her rump, like a fashionable cinnamon bun.

Basenjis are out of Africa and I belief they are of ratter ilk. Zoe had a delicate system and her diet consisted of a highly specialized canned dog food and the crotches out of my underwear. I'm not talking just ripped crotches, she consumed in three inch strips.

Zoe often escaped from the house and would run the neighborhood, terrorizing neighbors, children and pet bunnies. At least twice a week a neighbor would come a callin', asking me to fetch the beast from their garage/yard/kitchen/laundry room.

Zoe knew no fear, and would run in and under 5:00 traffic, with a pack of wailing children in hot pursuit. The only way to get her back would be to entice her with a stick of butter. Basinjis have incredible sense of smell and Zoe would respond to this lure from a block away.

My sister was not often home so the kids and I developed our own efficient, emergency search and rescue response routine. At the sound of the alarm (a shrill "Aunt Marcia!!") I'd drop everything, grab a "stick" and the car keys (she ran far, fast) and we'd run the drill.

The butter worked like buttah, and did wonders for her skin.

If Zoe stole a food item off the table, it was hers. She'd fight to the death over a pork chop. Although I objected to the principle of a dog eating off my table without invitation, I quickly learned not to sweat the small meat and to pick my battles. Occasionally I might distract her from the objet d'salivation with a stick of butter, then drop an ever ready laundry basket over her (think Mousetrap Game), which allowed me to safely whisk away the booty.

Zoe was eventually adopted out to some people who live on a farm. These folks were better equipped to deal with her special issues, as they were professional dog trainers.

This is only one of many tales, mind you. The stories about living with my sister and her kids could could easily supply a sit-com season. ::Think the early years of Malcolm in the Middle, with a sisterly twist::

My son fondly speaks of those crazy days as the most fun of his childhood. I'm sure Zoe also looks back with fondness. Back to The Days of Butter.

Point of Interest Post Note: I found a website devoted to this breed. They have an entire photo section titled "Destruction." 'nuff said.
# posted by Marcia @ 9:06 PM


Comments: Post a Comment