Mongo has a bone!

I was wandering around HEB today (I hate shopping without an appetite; it leads to a weird larder) and saw GARGANTUAN BONES for sale. There were weeny, teacup-Schnauzer sized bones (about twelve inches) and GOLIATH BONES (that was the name), so I bought a GOLIATH BONE.

Mongo took it from me with mingled excitement and trepidation. He chewed it for about ten minutes on the back deck, then walked around the back yard, stepping very carefully, with his head on one side as he carried it off-center in his mouth. He made sure Rocky next door and Gracie two yards over saw it, and plumed his tale out when the boxer mixes on the other side of Rocky began to bark.

He couldn't figure out where to hide it. There are two trees in the back yard: one is property of a cat, the other is a peach tree that, as yet, is not big enough to hide anything under. So he tried by the shed. Then he tried next to the deck. Then he tried by the bushes on the northwest side of the yard. Nothing worked.

So he brought his GOLIATH BONE indoors and, after a drink and a little toes-up on the living room rug, proceeded to look for a place to hide it inside. So far it's been in the bathroom, behind the toilet (no go; Humans peeing apparently are not conducive to a hiding place), in the office where I type (but he can't get to the couch at the moment, dammit), and in the linen closet. The linen closet is okay for now.

The previous three dogs I've been owned by were all either northern breeds or working breeds, or combinations of the two. That meant that Elsie would happily crunch the trochanter off a cow's femur, or Max would cheerfully, between tail-wags, chomp the bone in half at the middle, or Strider would simply make the damn thing disappear in under an hour. It was a short-lived, if dramatic, way to entertain a dog: buy them a bone much larger than anything in the human body, then wonder what would happen if I died in my sleep.

What Mongo lacks in barely-civilized, wolflike instinct he makes up for in entertainment value. I felt kind of bad for him as he pranced around the yard like a Tennessee walking horse, trying to keep The Bone from falling out of his mouth, but also amused by the fact that he grabbed it by the meatiest part rather than in the middle. And he's barely gotten two bumps chewed off since noon; this bodes well for the possibilities of an open casket funeral should I kick off during the night tonight.

Speaking of open caskets, I have started a BSN program (yes, my dears; I'm finally giving in to corporate pressure to have letters after my name) online. Tests are done with a webcam provided by the school; I have to be in sight of a proctor and with my entire workspace visible by same during the testing process.

So, I was wondering: is this the appropriate time to pull out the strapless ballgown, elbow-length gloves, and tiara I've been storing for a special occasion? I mean, my Psychology Through the Lifespan test is important; should I dress for the occasion? Would it be worth it to make the proctors crack a smile? Surely they could use a little levity in their jobs.

Mongo is yelping at one of the cats, who had the temerity to investigate His Bone. Gotta go.