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Goo Goo and the Thanksgiving Turkey Incident by Cliff Rhys James

We once had a dog named Goo Goo, and despite the name (more on that later), this was not a stuffed animal or some kind of child’s windup toy. In fact, he was a real hound. Not a hound dog, mind you, but a hot-blooded, four-legged, shorthaired dachshund with a shiny black snout and a slender jaw full of razorsharp teeth that gave pause to larger animals. I’d witnessed it many times, some bristling big dog coming at us, eyes flashing, chest out ~ swaying down the sidewalk with a wide load of attitude, straight for Goo Goo in that cocksure way of all creatures rarely challenged. But then, the big dog would abruptly halt to consider the scene confronting him: Uh-oh, Goo Goo, despite being 75 percent smaller, isn’t backing up! And now I can see the bigger dog sensing what I already know ~ that there’s just no “backing up” this smaller dog. If you wait for this wiener dog to back down, you’ll die waiting because dachshunds were once bred to burrow into tunnels after badgers, and everyone knows badgers are pound for pound the toughest, most ferocious four-legged creatures the

animal kingdom has yet produced. But all this rough talk isn’t fair to Goo Goo. It doesn’t provide a balanced view of the lovable little guy. Sure, he was ornery and sometimes snarly and loaded with enough attitude to fortify a WW II German Panzer division. And he could bare his teeth when things weren’t going his way, but he was just as likely to snuggle up to you on the sofa, wrestle playfully with you on the floor, or give you a good thorough face licking for no reason whatsoever. He was a nine-month-old drunken lush of a puppy when we received him from his former owners and enablers. They, some self-absorbed ha rd-pa r t y ing t y pes, a nd t heir frequent guests had been having

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November 2015 ttimes web magazine  

Tidewater Times November 2015

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