Editor’s note: Our forum mascot and sometimes guest writer is back with us to tell you all about his Fourth of July weekend. If some of his viewpoints seem a little odd, remember, it’s a dog’s world.
I want to thank Happy Forfajuly for whatever he did to make an entire community of packs come out to the streets to look for him. It seems once a year or so, he goes into hiding, but instead of being dismayed, the pack leaders turn it into a festival. Oh, how I love it when the big red fireman’s den begins howling and announces they are on a search for Happy Forfajuly.
It’s a remarkable sight. As far as the eye can see, pack leaders and their puppies line up and begin marching down the moving den trail calling out for Happy Forfajuly. The strangest part of it all though is , they sound quite cheerful about it. They don’t weep and moan, they don’t wring their paws, so I’ve come to believe it’s just a game Mr. Forfajuly likes to play.
This is okay by me. When the searching dens march by, they pay homage to our pack by throwing candy. You should see all the puppies that scramble for it! I wanted to scramble too, but my pack leader said I couldn’t have any. Once again, species discrimination rears its ugly head, but there simply is no arguing with the leader of the pack.
This year, though, the searches did something different. They not only paid for the right to use the moving den trail that borders our territory, they remembered I’m the territorial guard and paid me, too! I counted six dog biscuits paid into the leader’s candy bag at the toll gate, but the pack leader only gave me two, saying I could have the rest later. Guess what that meant? I had to beg each day for the rest of the biscuits until they were all gone. I didn’t see the puppies begging for their candy. They ate it all up as fast as they pleased. But, I still want to thank the other dens for paying their respect.
It was really pretty marvelous. I got to see all my friends and even friends I didn’t know I had. Some of them were even my tail sniffing buddies. They rode in style, on moving dens, with all their pack present. They waved to me and asked me about Happy Forfajuly. I was sorry to explain I hadn’t seen him. With all the payments they dish out, I can’t help but wonder how much they pay to the one who finds him. I’m going to keep a sharp eye out so when he disappears next year, I can turn him over for a big reward.
Eventually, they must have found Happy, because they quit searching for him and we all returned to the den. However, finding Mr. Forfajuly is always cause for another big celebration. One of the puppies brought out the outside fire thing and roasted up wieners and hamburgers. The puppies call the wieners “hot dogs”, but I know they’re just kidding me. I can honestly say I’ve never seen them catch a dog and cook it, although they sure know how to catch salmon!
Maybe there are special dogs they catch on a string the way they do salmon. All I really know is those wieners tasted awfully good and I hope they’re not really dogs that live in rivers because I would hate to eat my own species. I’m not a cannibal. Everyone was giving me bites to eat and for once, the pack leader pretended she didn’t notice. In fact, she even shared a little of her own food. That made me pretty positive the wieners weren’t really dogs. She has some pretty strict rules, and one of them is no fighting with other dogs, so I’m sure she wouldn’t condone eating them.
Speaking of salmon, those string throwing puppies had caught a bunch of them. I don’t know why the salmon like strings so much, but they do. I’ve tried catching salmon with my teeth before, but it doesn’t work. The sly devils just slip away, but they’ll latch on to a string every time and fight like a pack of chihuahua’s to keep it. The puppies turned their outdoor fire way down low and said they were smoking the salmon, which was a lie because I know what smoking is. It’s a paper stick you put in your mouth and puff on until smoke comes out. I never once saw them put a piece of salmon to their lips and smoke it. Every now and then, though, they would throw me a piece of their salmon. I ate so much, it was three days before my special food dish looked appetizing.
All this candy, barbeque and salmon made a wonderful smell in the air, so wonderful, Mr. Bear came down from the woods, hoping we’d invite him to dinner. I told him no! And chased him off, showing him all my might and power. Mr. Bear didn’t get the picture right away though. He still came sneaking back two more times. I guess he didn’t know I’m an experienced sentry, and have kept all the Nazi squirrels and even a few moose at bay. Each time he returned, I firmly let him know he wasn’t welcome here. This is my territory and nobody gets my food stash. Mr. Bear left in a huff, but he didn’t dare tangle with the ferocious mammoth conquering, wild cat chasing, successful big game hunter, Dylan.
Each time I chased off that shiftless, territory trespassing bear, I received all kinds of praise from the pack leaders and puppies. They even rewarded me with more salmon. Now, I stay on constant patrol because this is a high-paying job, one to be taken very seriously.
A fan of mine asked if I received a cold, wet nose from all that patrolling. As a matter of fact, I did, but I also discovered some wonderful scents while tracking Mr. Bear. I almost rolled in them, but remembered if I did, I’d get another bath and I don’t think I need a bath more than once a year. All in all, it was a wonderful exciting week, with lots of good food, popping skies, howling dens and puppies from everywhere coming to visit. I just wish Happy Forfajuly would go into hiding a little more often.