I don’t know who the Brain Surgeon is who penned the phrase “can’t teach an old dog new tricks” but I’d like to tell him a thing or too… I guess for this story I may as well start at the very beginning- you know the story, but just in case…

Once upon a time, there was a family of girls who lived on a farm on Paradise Lane.  Life was good, but something was missing. Then sudden through a unique course of events- their hired man bought two pit bull pups to cheer up his daughters who were sad over their cat dying… and when the pups got too big for the girls- he bought a third dog- one that he thought was little- until he saw the pup’s mom… Full blown lab… Long story, short- His wife said 2 dogs were plenty and in effort to help out the situation- the missing piece found a home on Paradise Lane… Yours truly, Detroit Snappenbarker Mendoza.

That innocent adoption deal had no idea what a tremendous opportunity was arriving. I soon saw the need for a farm manager and took my role seriously. Through the years, I’ve worked tirelessly day and night, barking out warnings during the shady night hours… Sleeping with one eye open during the day… Ready at an instant whenever there are fields to be checked or any piece of equipment to be moved. I’m just a well-rounded farm manager. (And no- that’s not a fat joke- it takes more food than normal to power this massive brain).

Anyhow, So I worked myself into a tizzy. Finally help came in the form of my assistant- semi blonde- Rolo.  And life was complete. I thought. But no, Julia had to drag in the Boyfriend, and make him a permanent part of the family, which is fine… And Emily decided that’s a good idea too- so Mr W is arrived . Still no major complaints. The new men decide we need more help with homeland security- so Kalila and Benilli show up. I’m getting them trained in- so that’s ok too… But then it happened…

Benilli discovered it first, one afternoon on barn surveillance… She came tearing to the house- her velvet ears flapping the breezes and reported directly to headquarters. I couldn’t fathom it. So I slunk towards the barn to check out the detective work of the little miss. Sure enough, there was a sign on the office door that read “Beware of the Cat” WHAT?!?!

I sounded out the code alarm- three short barks and the entire homeland security crew immediately went into stealth mode, attempting to figure out what was going on. Until I happened to glance in at the house… What I saw made my blood boil. I shot for the house like there was a coyote on my tail.

“Rolo! What on earth! The farm is at stake! We are under attack and you’re sleeping in the backyard!”

She calmly flipped over on her back (honestly, sometimes I think her brain is solar-powered) and said something that sounded like “no compressor” or “comprendo” or something… Sigh… Since Deb is in Nicaragua- Rolo thinks it’s so cool to speak in Spanish… and so I just drove straight to the cold hard truth..

“The barn is under siege- all the milk, the cows, everything… by a (I could hardly make myself utter the words)… a… cat”

“And what do you want to know?’

“What?!”

” You see, Chief, you under-estimate me. You thought I was shirking, but I was just processing info. The cat goes by “Coal” or “Attack Kitty”. The suspect was first located in the back barn as a very small infant and was taken to the office and has responded to the milk crew by scratching and purring at the same time (editor’s note: as trained by the bro-in-law) She has complete run of the place and is welcome to live in the office or go out at her leisure. She is no threat- except-bomb shell alert- you know how they punch all their cow records in on the computer? I know how techie you are, chief… Well, she’s taken over that. Late at night- I hear her purring as she walks back and forth over the computer keyboard, tapping away…”

Wow… I suddenly felt like I needed to join Rolo processing in the sun… But I just kept my cool and said something in an aloof tone like “thanks for your report- officer. I’ll let you know if we need you.” and headed out to sleep- I mean meditate by myself.

This was a crisis!

If they trusted a cat to put in the important info of their herd- very likely she’d weasel her way into everything and turn their hearts against us and BAM it’d be the whole adoption deal over again…

And then- I remembered a conversation I’d overheard between Eldon and the farmer-in law… They are all beside themselves about this new sprayer that just arrived and they were saying things like ” But what about the 2630? We don’t need a new GPS, but the Swath Control and guidance and something something something..” I’d thought at the time that they were talking about the spayer and those were terms for the computer system …

I’d thought… But in the crisis of the moment- new understanding dawned on me and I broke through the code and realized- they were talking about me! About us- the amazing dog network.  I’m not sure when the cat showed up- but I bet she was born about the end of June/first of July (6-30) So clearly a 2630- is code for her. And GPS – that’s Grand Patrol System 🙂 Swath Control and Guidance?  That’s got to be code for me and my tireless crew… What should they do about her? Say “Adios, amigos” and send her to catch mice on some deserted island far far away… I wish I’d known what they were deciding… Maybe we aren’t about to file for unemployment… But I am going to keep an eye on that barn cat- just in case…

And- I’m pretty sure if it comes down to it- I could take over the herd records myself. Keep that in mind- Brain Surgeon-  this ol boy, the Sherlock Holmes of the Canine World would be willing to learn anything.

But just in case- I better keep my options open- does your farm need a GPS system?

Respectfully, Detroit Snappenbarker Mendoza and the rest of the pack

Ok- So there was some light reading for a rainy Saturday… 😉

Blessings to you, Kendra