Kris KIBBEE

Tullys Bully Tails

Frog Dog in the Bog

Preface Its well known by Frenchie fanatics far and wide that the breed has

Chapter five

earned itself the moniker Frog Dog for a variety of reasons. His short, squatty body resembles that of a bulbous bullfrog. His hilarious hop can easily be envisioned with lily pads as his stepping stones. However, perhaps the most notable of the Frenchies frog-like attributes is his bark. This harmonically hilarious half bark/half ribbet-like noise that our flat-faced friends produce when they are excited, alarmed, or even joyful, has come to embody that amphibious analogy that Frog Dogs worldwide wear with pride. Apparently Tully didnt get the memo.

Prologue Ill never forget the first time I heard Tully bark. He was nine weeks old and standing guard over a very alluring Wooba Kong that big sister Moxy had been gnawing on for the better part of a half an hour. When shed abandoned the toy for a brief water break, Tully saw his opportunity and took it. Spry as a potato on stilts, Tully hurriedly wobbled toward the slobber-saturated toy and straddled it with all the authority he could muster. As Moxy returned, water droplets still falling from her muzzle, Tully turned to face her, his head hunkered low. His miniature bat ears bent sideways and his sweet brown eyes narrowed and took on a dusky haze. I could hear a soft growl churning in his belly and forcing its way up his throat. As it sputtered out of his mouth, his little jowls quivering with its release, and Tullys first bark assaulted the air. It was shrill, sharp and unlike anything I had ever heard. What on earth was that!? My hands shot to my ears, the painfully pointed noise ringing from drum to lobe. My husband Sean emerged from the other room looking as if hes been startled from a particularly pleasing nap, and echoed my words to the letter. Tullys focus broken, his soft features returned as he regarded our faces with obvious puzzlement. Was that your bark, little man? I asked. He stared on, confused by my question. Whats a bark?

Sean plopped down beside me on the floor, where Id been regarding the Frenchies play session with delight for the past few moments. As he did so, Moxy skirted by and utilizing her round and rather ample rump, knocked Tully as far from the Wooba Kong as she could manage. It was on. This time there was no mistake about it. As Tully erupted with a second ear-splitting yap that solicited a simultaneous wince from Sean and me, I knew this wasnt your average Frog Dog.

Over the years, Sean and I have gained an affinity for outdoor projects. Big or small, we tackle them all. We may balk and labor over the cost and time involved, but our tenacious twosome has accomplished everything from building patios to taming two acres of unruly wilderness into a park-like paradise. So, when we came upon a foreclosed home on 7 overgrown acres that had reached a rock-bottom price after two years of vacancy, we considered it an apt challenge. Aw, well have this spiffed up in no time, Sean chirped as he surveyed a solid acre of blackberry bushes blanketing the west side of the lot. It was our first day out on the property since finalizing the sale and what had previously looked manageable to me now stretched out before my eyes, turning acres into years.

The Tail

Tullys Bully Tails: A JF Series

Err . . . ummm. A foreboding grumble rattled my stomach as I panned the horizon and the litany of wild rose bushes impeding it; like enemy soldiers creating an impenetrable line of defense. Sean scooped up a pair of branch cutters from the ground below, popped me on the rear with them and lit off down the hill. Dont be such a sissy, he sang as the three Frenchies followed along behind him, leaping over stray rocks and weeds as they went. I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed a pitchfork and headed into battle. Though Moxy seemed entirely content to supervise our assault on the blackberry front, Tully and Boo quickly disengaged and made their way toward a large pond that had drawn our attention from the first time we had viewed the property. Be careful boys! Sean called out behind them. Neither turned to acknowledge as Seans gaze panned around to meet mine and he asked Keep an eye on them, would you? Sure. I was just thinking I didnt have enough to do, I growled while trying to free myself from an inch-thick vine that had somehow wrapped itself around my right leg and, seemingly alive, was creeping ever upward in potentially disastrous assault on my womanhood. Just . . . you know . . . keep tabs on em Sean purred, his voice laced with guilt. Mmmm Hmmmm.

about an hour in and the boys were still spellbound by all the new oddities that their soggy playground had to offer. I dropped down next to Moxy, the dry grass greeting me like a naturally heated blanket. Droplets of sweat spotted my forehead and as I reached upwards to wipe them away, Seans silhouette appeared against the half-risen sun and blocked it from view. Hey, who said it was break time? he said with a snarky tone. Me! He collapsed beside me with a huff. OK, you talked me into it. Broken blackberry barbs where jutting from his pant legs and as I reached down to extract a few, Sean bellowed across the valley. Boys! Boo and Tully! COME! A few moments passed with no little brown or white bodies bounding into view. You were keeping an eye on them, right? Yeah. I sat upright and peered towards the pond. Just saw them a second ago. A line of cattails flanking the pond swayed in the breeze as I scanned the shoreline. TULLYYYYYYYYYY! I roared, just as two of the stalks parted and the boys came into view. Tully was out in front, but Boo, with his long, slender legs, skirted around his older brother and made a bee-line towards his Dad. His muddied paws, like wee brown boots, quickly made a canvas of Seans t-shirt. I grinned. Hi sweetie. Tully arrived looking defeated, and sat in front of me with a purposeful thud of his rump. Been havin fun? Tullys expression was quizzical, yet stoic. He regarded me and I him, but just as he had me equally perplexed, he did something Id been waiting ages for. He barked. Not a shrill,

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It was mid-morning by the time a break seemed warranted. Wed lopped down the first and second waves of spiky soldiers and were well into the third battalion. Moxy had passed out in a sun-drenched patch of grass

Tullys Bully Tails: A JF Series

nails-on-the-chalkboard yowl . . . a genuine, frog dog bark. I beamed. Oh my God! Sean eked. He finally got it . . . his big boy bark! He sounded like a true frog dog! I was reaching towards Tully, ready to pull my boy in for a congratulatory embrace, just as he recoiled. His head snapped back, as if he was gagging and I scooted backwards, knowing the look all too well. Uh oh. Now I was on my feet, determined to avoid residual splash. Of Sean and me, I preferred to remain the tidier. Must have eaten too much pond goo. Tullys mouth sprang open, but contrary to my suspicion, no stream of murky water, marsh grass or pond scum erupted. Instead, a miniscule frog, no larger than my thumbnail, hopped gingerly out, landed on the ground in front of Tully and let out a good, long RIBBET! which sounded suspiciously similar to the big-boy bark Tully had been congratulated for only moments ago. Was that? Did the frog? And we thought it was Sean sputtered as we shared a mutual epiphany. Tully peeked down at the frog, and with his entire frog dog might, let out the most piercing bark Id heard yet!

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 three of the mischievous mongrels. She will be writing about the Tails of Tully! Kris Kibbee twofrenchies@hotmail.com