JUST kriskibbee FRENCHIES

Tullys Bully Tails

The letter that arrived alongside Saturdays newspaper looked unfittingly official.
To: Mrs. Kristine A Kibbee & Tully Kibbee, AAT Canine I felt like we were in trouble. Jury duty perhaps? Sean peered over my shoulder, eyebrows arched. Whats that? he inquired, a distinct ring of curiosity to his tone. Dunno. I was already tearing clumsily at the flap. A fancy letter opener seemed more appropriate. Dear Mrs. Kibbee & partner, you have hereby been cordially invited to attend this years Cowlitz County Fair as a representative of Pet Partners Animal Assisted Therapy education team. We request your presence as a host at our Information Booth (located in the FFA Building) from the hours of 5:30pm-6:30pm on June 16, 2013. You will find directions to the event enclosed. Please RSVP via the enclosed card & prepaid return envelope. Kind Regards, Ms. Susan Baker Pet Partners Education Liaison Sean snorted playfully as we read the last line in tandem. Ha ha, you have to work at the fair! he chanted like a spiteful child. I said nothing but flipped the mailing envelope over in my hand, my eyes washing over the gold-embellished text on its face. Really? The fair? Tully had never been to a fair before but having ogled farm animals at a distance on several occasions, I knew that he would regard that ornate lettering on our invite as entirely fitting. Come June 16th, I found out just how much so.

THATLL DO BOO
the breeze and Tullys features were alive with excitement. His flat nose twitched as if spasming and his pupils dilated to the size of small dinner plates. OK kid, settle down. He was trembling and mad as a hatter by the time I finally found a parking spot. All leash manners completely abandoned, I did my best to look unassuming as Tully pulled me towards the FFA Building with all the strength that twentyeight pounds of frenchie muscle could muster. A blonde woman with wisps of grey hair spilling from her loose bun smiled as we approached. A stoiclooking Golden Retriever sat at her side, unmoving. Well hi there. You must be Kristine, she greeted. I nodded, dropping my eyes down to shamefully regard Tully, who was now tugging willfully towards the Retriever. Oh, and this must be Master Tully. She was grinning, her wrinkled face suddenly warm and child-like. What a handsome man! Thank you. I felt my face flush slightly. Hes not exactly on his best behavior today. Her eyes were kind as she returned Well theres an awful lot going on here. Within moments Tully & I were left to fend for ourselves, seated behind a table littered with pamphlets, promotional pencils, key chains and the like. Our vantage point was such that we had a nice view out of a large, open barn door which looked directly into the opposing building. Animal noises and poo smells wafted over on the wind. Tully was in seventh heaven. Time ticked by slowly and visitors to our booth were few. I doodled ugly frenchies on a pad of notepaper that my predecessor had left behind while Tully entertained himself watching pigs, cows & goats cross the open doorway in the barn across the way. He was quite hypnotized and paid me little mind at all. When a bright white goat with a bulbous belly ambled past I said pretty cool, eh Tully? but didnt even get a glance my way. He was silent and immovable as stone. He couldve been a gargoyle. Lota company you are, I scoffed, glancing at my watch. 6:15pm; nearly end of shift. I shuffled the brochures Id been erecting into an oversized house of cards and readied my purse. Surveying the grounds, I spied a rotund redhead in the distance. She was on the losing end of the leash behind a massive English Mastiff and doing her best to guide him in my direction. At long last, my relief. I plucked my keys from the purse but their jingle was overshadowed by the whining that followed. I peered under the table and found Tully still statuesque, fixed on the barn across the way. That you? I asked. Nothing. Not a movement. Not even a twitch. But then, like the soft mew of a kitten, the whining rose again. It grew and intensified until there was no doubt; it was coming from Tully. I followed his line of sight outside and landed squarely upon a petite pink piglet that was being ushered through the door of the neighboring barn. He was cobby and stout; about the size of a frenchie. Tully was incensed. The chirpy little whines boiled in his belly and joined together into one massive howl that all but shook the building. Goodness gracious boy! The redhead & her mastiff, bubbles of excited drool hanging like jewels from his lips, arrived along with the howl. The woman regarded me with an expression of relief. I could see her wheels turning . . . Oh good, my dog isnt the most poorly behaved one here after all! Tully was like a live firework as we exited the FFA building and despite my better instincts, I allowed him to pull me towards his coveted piglet. A brassyfaced teenage boy with acne on his forehead that perfectly mimicked the Little Dipper stood at the other end of the pigs leash. Im sorry, I greeted, But my dog is just really interested in your pig. Any chance he could see it? The boy appeared puzzled but also bored stiff. Um yeah, sure . . . I guess. He shuffled sideways and exposed the miniature swine, who ducked his head sheepishly and took a few steps back. Tully, seemingly aware hed been given a green light, strained hard on his lead. I gave a bit of slack but was surprised to find that he did not rocket towards the

Kris Kibbee (Castle Rock, WA) is a Pacific Northwest native with a love of language and dogs. While attending Washington State University she studied in the Professional Writing program and was a contributing writer to The Vancougar. An avid animal welfare advocate and experienced dog trainer, Kris has a contagious affection for French bulldogs and shares her home with two of the mischievous mongrels. She will be writing about the Tails of Tully!

Kris Kibbee twofrenchies@hotmail.com

It was only about 65 degrees out but balmy and I had the passenger-side window cracked so that Tully could get a whiff of fresh air in the cabin. About 500 feet from the entrance to the fairgrounds, he began scaling the doors armrest to reach that opening as if it were his only means of ventilation. Scents of sweet hay, musk and animal dung swirled in on

JUST kriskibbee FRENCHIES

THATLL DO BOO
In an instant the whining had returned. It persisted the entire way back to the car, plus half the ride home. By the time wed made our way to the house, Tully had cried himself to sleep. Poor little man, I mused aloud, regarding his soft muzzle vibrating as he snored. Wonder what it was about that piglet. As soon as my engine fell silent, I spied Boo galloping towards us from the house. Sean waved from the doorway and pointed at Boo as he raced up to the drivers side door of my car. While I was greeted with gusto, Boo quickly deferred to the passenger side, where he knew hed find Tully. As soon as he saw his brother, Tullys eyes lit. He erupted from the car without my typical lift assist and immediately launched himself at Boo. The forlorn whining of only moments ago transformed into the high, happy whine of a desire fulfilled. Boos shiny little eyes caught mine as his face emerged from between Tullys two front legs, where hed found himself pinned. His rosy bat ears, speckled black by the freckles visible beneath his fair hair, flopped back and forth as Tully tugged him this way and that. In a flash I was revisited by the image of the piglet, peeking from betwixt his masters legs. The resemblance was uncanny. And as Boos pink muzzle curled into a smile I understood that finally, Tully had caught his pig. I smiled back. Thatll do Boo, thatll do.

coy piglet and instead crept forward ever so slowly. Tullys steps were all but methodical as he inched closer. The piglet, still understandably cautious, darted behind the boy and peered through his legs as if they were protective cage bars. In response Tully backed off but only slightly and to my wonder, began crouching into a bow. Ha! I chirped, my eyes glued to his rump as it stuck high into the warm summer air. He wants to play! Tully wiggled his rear a bit more and gave a playful bark, which set the pigs handler to chuckling along with me. No doubt encouraged by our frivolity, Tully made a quick dive for the piglet, which sent the poor creature into a squealing retreat. His curly pink tail disappeared into the darkness of the barn with his master trailing close behind, calling out hey, get back here! with palpable panic. The pair left a very disenchanted Tully in their wake.