Wes and his fans....
We have a gang of little girls in our neighborhood. They're all between 8-9 y.o., and the think that Wesley is the best dog ever. When we're walking around, they drop their teaset games and put down the bubble wands and run to pet him. Owing a debt to Nance who has a similarly inclined gaggle that worships her crew, I have dubbed them "The Pixies."
But as Wesley learned last night "The Pixies" are growing up. :-[ :-[
Last night, we were ringing the neighborhood, and the Pixies were involved in an intense game of soccer with a HUGE ball -- one almost as tall as their 4 feet heights. One was playing goalie, and she was nearest the fence in which they were playing. Wesley saw her, but she was involved heavily in tending the goal against the onslaught of oppontents who were racing toward her.
Wesley waited, he chuffed, he wagged. The Pixies continued playing.... "What's wrong," he asked me with a look. "Why no adoration today, Dad?"
"They're playing, Wes. They're busy."
He didn't accept my answer, hoping to solve the dilemma with patience. In the middle of the sidewalk, facing the soccer game, he laid down Sphynx-style, ears forward, tongue merrily bouncing as he panted, ready to leap forward and accept the accolades that he knew were on their way...
Except that they were not. The Pixies squealed and laughed but paid their mascot no mind.
I was about to tug him homeward and explain the lessons of Puff the Magic Dragon, when fate took a hand: One of the Pixies kicked the ball with all her might and it went soaring over all their heads. With one bounce, it was over the fence and rolling toward us.
The Pixies ran pell-mell through the gate and toward the ball. And Wesley was right there, able to receive their kisses and pets. As he knew would be coming.
We learn a lot from our dogs. Wesley taught me one more time about the value of patience, especially when dealing with Pixies.