The Adventures of Wylie

Wylie

Well, School has started up again.  Last year at this time Wylie escaped the safe confines of the family homestead. Needless to say he created some angst for his parents, but he was ratted out by a young lady and we found out he had been sneaking off for the purposes of cavorting with prepubescent children at the local educational institution. He discovered there was an abundance of children at this local institution who were more than willing to play games and pet him and it was just down the street from home. Well, going to school became an obsession with Wylie.  He was sneaking down there every chance he got.

I thought about seeing if I could just enroll him, but changed my mind when I realized what a hassle it would be to meet all the requirements – getting shot records together, finding a birth certificate (don’t tell him but he isn’t AKA registered), and then getting him tested to find a grade level. Besides I don’t think they allow children with full beards.   Just too much trouble.  I also realized how difficult it would be on his psyche.  I mean, sure when he wanders down there during recess it’s all fun and games. He is the life of the party.  But we all know if he became a full time student that hiking his leg and peeing on everything and sniffing everyone’s butt wouldn’t go over!  Those aren’t exactly relationship building skills.

It wouldn’t be long before all the other kids would be teasing him about his dental issues, smelly breath, and pointy ears. All the jocks would say things like, “Go away dude, everyone knows your mom is a bitch and we don’t even know who your dad is.” I would have to try to get him on Dr. Phil and it would just be too much of a hassle.

I guess we will home school him. I wonder if you can teach an old dog new tricks. Not that I actually want him to learn tricks. That seems too cruel. Tricks are only for the amusement of party guests. And that brings back too many painful childhood memories. I liked learning how to play the Dobro and all, but the whole thing of every time some fool came over for dinner we were forced to demonstrating how we sucked at music… Just too much pain. After all didn’t mom and dad realize I actually did listen to the Doc Watson record and I did know how the Dobro was supposed to sound, and my playing didn’t sound anything like that. No way I’m putting my dog through that kind of pain.

I was thinking more like Spanish. Can a dog learn Spanish? Because if he could it would be really helpful. I realize I’m not ever going to learn Spanish, but it would be really helpful to have a translator I didn’t have to pay for.  It would be wonderful if Wylie could do that for me.  I’m not sure how his accent would affect the pronunciation of Spanish words. With the growing hispanic population he would be a great help.  Wylie could even ride around in the truck with me and bark at all the chihuahuas.  Do chihuahuas bark in Spanish?

Speaking of riding in the truck, I will be escorting Wylie to a doggie resort of sorts next week. He has reservations. Imagine that! A dog with reservations. He will be staying at “Clips and Bows,” Claremore’s exclusive doggie resort. Plenty of high class company, daily walks, high dollar food and possible pampering on a regular basis by the teeny bopper employees. This will be a real treat.  Actually, I think I’ll let him go toTexas and sleep on the relatives hide-a-bed and I’ll stay at the kennel. Not that he hasn’t ever been out and about, but not like this.

Unfortunately, Wylie’s previous experiences with travel involved experience with the law. You see Wylie was once a vagrant, eating garbage and annoying the heck out of everyone. He was snatched off the streets of the Oklahoma Panhandle city of Woodward and taken by a caged truck to a cinder block building and thrown into a pen between a lab with mange and a pit bull who was on death row for killing Ole Aunt Ida’s favorite chicken. Fortunately for Wylie he was rescued by a Schnauzer rescue lady because he looks Schnauzery and he was given a chance to be adopted. That is where we come in. Somehow he tricked us into believing he was a mild mannered, quiet, lap dog.

Now I find myself acting like an idiot standing in the yard and applauding an animal for taking a dump and treating him like he just found a cure for cancer because he didn’t poop in his bed.  Now which one of us really needs an education?