Michael D. Davis.

Most places I go anymore people ask about one thing: Dixie. Our new dog. So, I thought I’d give a small update.

Dixie has settled into the house like the Queen in Buckingham Palace. She has made it hers, and she is spoiled. Not only does she have her favorite spot, sitting in the window like a cat, watching the outside world, but she likes to take everyone else’s as well. If you go to the bathroom, you have to be aware that there’s a good chance her duchess will be sitting in your chair when you get back, and will refuse to move.

She has no time for toys or playthings; her day is made up of naps and more naps. A retriever she is not. I’ve tried throwing the ball around with her a few times, and the majority of the time, she will watch it go by and then look at me like I’m an idiot. Once, when the ball was bouncing past her, Dixie put out her paw to stop it from bouncing, then walked away.

She’s not a water dog either, as she detests getting wet in any capacity. The rain annoys Dixie, and she will do almost anything not to go out in it. I got her a little yellow raincoat, but she hates that almost as much as the rain. Dixie doesn’t like wearing anything. She wears the raincoat like Ralphie wore the bunny pajamas in A Christmas Story, with a look of pure humiliation.

When she appeared to be cold the other day, I put her in a sweater I’d bought her. Dixie stood there in the sweater with her head down; she didn’t move an inch. I thought something was wrong. Maybe she was hurt. She wasn’t moving an inch. I took the sweater off her, and she jumped and trotted away, having made a miraculous recovery. The little drama queen.

I will leave you with the best Dixie story I have so far. Ya see, Dixie is an old girl, and like many old women, she has a problem with flatulence. She has cut a couple that have made the paint peel off the walls. The worst was when we were stuck in the confined space of the car. It made my eyes water.

The thing is, though, they are mostly silent killers. I had told Ma that I’d heard her cut a few, and Ma said, naw, I never hear anything. She smelled it, but she never heard it. Then we went to the vet. It was Dixie’s first time to the vet with us, and we walked in, and the place was empty. There were two people behind the front desk, but that was it. We got checked in and sat in silence on a bench. Well, we sat in silence until Dixie made what sounded like a short, high-pitched hum out of her back end. It was similar to the sound of someone letting air out of a balloon. And of course, what normally would have gone unnoticed was very obvious in the empty waiting room. The sound seemed to reverberate off the walls and echo back for several minutes.

Of course, after Dixie let off her squeaker, I started to laugh. Ma then started hitting my arm and whispering for me to shut up. I did my best, but in my defense, I don’t think the ladies at the desk heard my laughter, as the sound waves of Dixie’s toot still spread through the air, shattering eardrums.