"This MUST be its head."

Olive, a pro at looking as innocent as an infant fawn when she most needs to, thoroughly enjoyed the Fourth of July celebration at my cousin’s house. With her characteristic grace and wit, she stretched her Audrey Hepburn-like neck across the picnic table and extended her bright pink tongue as far as it could possibly reach to lick the icing off the cupcakes, nose through the macaroni salad, and nip at the hot dogs. Clearly the dog prefers dessert as more than once she had to be forcibly extricated from either the Friendly’s Orange Crème ice cream and sherbet roll, the black and white homemade cupcakes with edible 3D red and blue “firework” bolts standing atop each or the dutch chocolate ice cream log. She never got much before I’d hear someone shriek, “OLIVE, NO!” And then someone would have to scrape the icing off the cupcakes because I ask you, who wants to eat dog nose prints? Olive’s ears recoil as she starts to back away from the scene of the delicious crime. Smacking her lips, I can see the glint of delight lighting her eyes. ‘YEAH, THAT WAS DEFINITELY WORTH IT,” thinks a gleeful Olive. “FOR GOD’S SAKE OLIVE, DO WE STICK OUR NOSE AND TONGUES INTO YOUR FOOD BOWL?” Olive looks up at me as though she has no idea what I’m talking about. And then she abruptly takes off. You’d think she just recalled where she left her garter belt on Saturday night. Instead, she decides that this seems like an opportune time to chase Hunter, the 120 pound Golden Retriever and Oliver the tiny Tibetan Terrorist around the small yard. The three dogs begin chasing each other, racing in circles so swiftly that it appears that the circle is unbroken and that each of the dogs is a charm on a sterling silver bracelet. Green grass flies in all directions as they momentarily lose traction circling a bewildered bush, sometimes slipping but rebounding so quickly that the fall is almost imperceptible. Oliver is chasing Hunter who is chasing Olive, who lives to be chased. They are moving so speedily that I fear the centrifugal force will jettison them one by one into outer space. And just as quickly as it started, it stops. Olive now turns her attention to the oscillating fan, approaching it inquisitively. She plants her face directly in the fan’s wind pattern and she stands there letting it cool her off. What a goofy dog. After all the less ambulatory guests leave, we bring out the “spray mister” which looks like a garden hose that has been fashioned out of tough green plastic piping and stands up like a cobra snake ready to spit. (Perhaps this was not an accident in the design.) We connect the garden hose to it and it starts spraying a seductive fine mist in three different directions. Olive runs over to the spray mister like she’s late to prom. She’s not quite sure how to approach it, as it envelops her in its petite moist clouds. First, she tries biting the clouds to great comical effect. Because she’s biting very daintily and not snapping her mouth closed each time, it looks like she’s trying to gum the clouds to death. Not satisfied with her intake, she decides to take the proverbial bull by the horns and chew on the tiny golden spouts releasing the moisture. I don’t think she realizes that as she is imbibing the “liquid clouds” that her entire head and face is slowly getting soaked. The irony is not lost on me. I should have used this as an opportunity to bathe my little monochromatic monkey.