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Yellow Belle - by Carl

Yellow Belle - It’s entirely safe to say, we have no idea where Belle really came from. She came to me by way of baggage with her Airedale partner Suki when I started dating Rachelle. Belle came to Rachelle by way of her previous boyfriend while the four lived in Las Vegas. What we do know for certain is Belle’s golden years, or rather grey years given her muzzle, are much happier than her puppyhood. We’ll assume our yellow lab was a street dog and as what little bit of the story goes that we do know, was discovered at a rescue; alone, after all her puppies were adopted and sent to the four winds leaving her behind to sort the rest out for herself. Typically, I’m not one to wish ill on anyone, however, in that Belle cowered and crawled on her belly for the first several weeks after finding her new home, I secretly hope the person(s) that scarred her psyche and her face are still paying off the interest on their karma. If you have so much as a ruler or worse yet, an umbrella near Belle, she goes into total recall of whatever shitstorm befell her in her youth and ducks for cover. Thankfully, the past shows itself less and less in her expression given her steady diet of love and a forty-five minute walk along the river nearly everyday. I won’t sugar coat her description by calling her a great dog. As far as I know, and could be wrong, she’s never rescued anyone from a burning building or an abandoned well. She’s more of a very good dog. She goes about her contented doggy agenda everyday to the point we forget she’s around; that is until anyone gets within, say about fifteen feet on any side of our house. Day or night. Only when and if she deems appropriate, one or two deep threatening, I will bring the pain if you enter here barks sound from the lower level and we take to our stations. She’s slow to warm up to men (and know they’ve been accepted only once they receive a single lick to the elbow while seated) she keeps a dutiful eye on the head count of her people when we go on walks, smiles while doing her version of canine water aerobics in the Platte and has no idea how to savor ice cream. We go about our daily routine humoring and cooing over our geriatric dog with baby talk while she wags and stares at us with hearts in her brown marble eyes; pet her where she likes it best and remind her, and maybe ourselves, everything is okay.
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