JUST kriskibbee FRENCHIES

Tullys Bully Tails

There was still a bite to the air on that Sunday in early March when we stepped out to our local Farmers Market for its inaugural spring opening. Tully and Boo were both straining at their leads, beaconed by the hickorylaced aroma wafting from Billys Barbecue Booth and his neighbor Hamburger Herbs. Slow down boys, Sean urged, a twinkle in his eye.I know were all starving. Indeed I added with sarcastic flare and a glance at my wristwatch.It has been an entire forty-five minutes since you all had your breakfast. Tully zigzagged through an ensemble of gum-smacking teenage girls waiting in line at the face painting booth and made a hard pull towards the food wagons.Gotta have energy to make it through the market, Sean reasoned aloud. Who could argue with that logic? Enormous, glassy bubbles formed on Tullys lips as he gazed lustfully at each morsel of deep-fried Elephant ear dough that passed my lips. He pled more convincingly than a rail-thin infomercial child asking for a 35 cent donation to fill his aching belly. When was the last time I ate? I felt him wondering. Will I ever have food again in my lifetime? Boo was less subtle. He took to batting at Seans shin every fifth second, his paws balled into tiny, catlike fists. Sean tossed him a crusty rind of onion ring batter and Boo snagged it from mid-air with the grace and speed of a Border Collie. As Tullys face turned from the pair and back at me, his eyes grew wider, his expression

Attack of the Killer Potatoes

more tortured. I titled my head to mirror his and plucked a sugar-coated flake off my last bit of doughy delight.Here you go honey. I barely got my hand back. In true male fashion,Tully quickly lost interest in me once Id given him what he wanted. Seans eyes wandered along with his sons, seeking out a dessert to chase down those onion rings. Despite the small scale of the market, its hot food district was fairly expansive. I suppose that spoke poorly of our community as a whole, but all my boys seemed entirely pleased with the array of offerings.Ooh, ooh, check it out, Sean sang, skirting toward the Fannies Fudge booth. P.B. fudge! Come to daddy! We both ogled the rows of decadent brown bricks with mouths agape and tongues lolling.The boys had shown more composure! My eyes darted between the walnut and maple cream fudge with flurried indecision but the tug, tug, tugging on my leash hand pulled like a loud noise waking me from a dream. What is it Tully? I barked with palpable irritation, my focus torn from the seductive sweets. Tully was stiff as a board. His ears were pricked at attention, his hackles rigid and pointed to the sky. His muzzle rumbled with a faint grumble that grew like an approaching train. As I followed his line of sight, it landed directly on two rather enormous teenage boys, made even more so by the plush potato suits they wore. I elbowed Sean and tried not to smirk.Check it out, I said, with a motion towards the Greenbrier Organic Potato booth. Impossible as it may seem, these two fellas, obviously bored out of their wits, were attempting to break-dance in full potato garb. With each twist, turn, bounce and all-out face-plant they carried out,Tully grew increasingly agitated.The low grumble in his belly crept its way upward and finally erupted in a rather shrill bark. It was followed by another bark, another and another, until the succession of them morphed into an odd and irritating howl of sorts. I dont believe it occurred to Boo to mind the peculiar pair of spuds, but if Tully was in attack mode, well then hed better suit up too. In no time my boys had slid down the evolutionary ladder (which in this instance seemed rather slippery) and were regressing into wolf territory.That is, wolves with a taste for potato. Red-faced and fleeing as fast as our feet would take us, Sean and I scooped up the boys, found the nearest exit and beelined it to the car.Oh man, I gushed, nearly breathless that sucked. Yeah, but it was also kinda funny. Was he serious? With our Subaru in sight, the tension in my arms finally eased and I deposited Tully onto the pavement beside me.Thanks a lot little man, I said in a punishing tone.You made me miss out on my fudge! Tully returned my look with obvious remorse, but his eyes shifted quickly toward something in the distance. She was nearly upon us before I had a chance to object.Oh no maam, please. Please no. He doesnt do well with people in costume. Perhaps Tullys noxious barks had rendered everyone in the market deaf. Perhaps she wasnt listening. Perhaps she just didnt care. But as the petite brunette dressed as a colossal cupcake bent down to pat Tully, he just sat quietly, stared wistfully up at her sprinkles, and licked her chocolate tights.

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

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