A tale of one bone. And three tails.

A couple weeks ago, two friends came over for dinner and brought Cheyenne a rawhide bone.  She toyed with it a bit but was otherwise uninterested. I don't buy Cheyenne rawhide treats because she'll gnaw on them a bit here and there, and on occasion toss one in the air at me to signal that she would like my attention, but that's about it. Unless, of course, there is another dog in the house, at which she morphs into a monster with all of her toys and previously ignored rawhide treats or discarded bones. Such was the case on Sunday when I had some friends over to watch the unfortunate performance of the Texans. 

One friend brought her dog, Piedmont.  Cheyenne and Piedmont get along very well, except of course when it comes to Cheyenne sharing anything at all. When Piedmont arrived, the two dogs ran around the house together for a bit, and then Piedmont spotted the rawhide, but Cheyenne quickly took it from him. My girl, of course, settled down with her posession.  Not to chew on it, mind you, but to hide it.



Needless to say, Piedmont was not at all happy to be rawhide-less.



When Cheyenne realized there was chips and queso on the coffee table, the rawhide was immediately forgotten.  Piedmont took advantage of the opportunity.



After the dismal loss to the team I cannot stand from a city north of Houston that I will not name, my guests went on about their days and Cheyenne eagerly snatched the rawhide as soon as Piedmont was out the door.  Again, not to eat it, just to have it.



That might have been it, at least until the next time Piedmont came over and the cycle repeated itself.  Except this morning I was awoken a little after 7:00 when Lowes arrived to deliver and install my new washer and dryer.  I opened the front door and gate for them and Cheyenne ran out past me do her morning business.  With one eye on her and while talking to the delivery men, a man rode his bike up to me, pointed to a yellow lab and asked if the dog was mine because she had been in the street and he was concerned.  I thanked him for his concern, explained that I knew the dog, Bailey, and that she was my neighbor's dog.  Cheyenne and Bailey had discovered each other by this point and were a brown and white blur as they ran around the yards and alley in playful chase.  The delivery men were waiting for me to show them where the washroom is and the guy on the bike is waiting to make sure I take care of Bailey, and the dogs are butt-tucking and circling and not at all listening to me call them. 

Did I mention that I am still in my pajamas at this point?

I asked the delivery men to wait one second while I grabbed Bailey's collar and led her back to her house.  Her owner was nowhere to be seen, but his garage door was open enough for Bailey to get inside.  Thankfully, in she went.  Not thankfully, Cheyenne followed. 

This is only two houses from mine, so I figure the dogs are fine for the moment and I walk back to the delivery men and bring them inside the house to show them where the washroom is.  When I return outside to get Cheyenne, she's right there in the livingroom.  Good girl, I tell her, and then I walk to the neighbor's to see if Bailey is still on the loose.  The garage door is still open a bit but since I don't see Bailey anywhere, I figure that she's inside, and I walk back to my house as the delivery men are bringing in the dryer through the front door.  Relieved that the circus is over, I go into the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee, which is when I discover Bailey under the kitchen table chewing on the rawhide bone, and Cheyenne with her sad sack eyes standing over her. 

Bailey stands, rawhide in her mouth, looks at me, looks at Cheyenne, and runs past the delivery men with the dryer on the rollers and straight up my stairs into my bedroom.  Of course, Cheyenne follows and of course I follow as well.  Not to be cornered, Bailey shoots back down the stairs and out the front door.  Again, Cheyenne and I follow.  Bailey runs straight to her house and under her garage door.  I grab Cheyenne, peek under the door and see that the door to the house from the garage is open, so Bailey has gone inside and is no longer my problem.  Cheyenne may or may not have seen it that way but when I asked her if she wanted a treaty, she happily trotted along side me back to our house. 

I can only wonder what my neighbor thought when Bailey ran into his house with a rawhide in her mouth.  And I hope that the treaty made Cheyenne forget about the rawhide that she really never cared about in the first place.