Shear Luck

Up until three days ago I trusted Jesse to be the best dog in the universe, no question.  To be clear, my definition of 'best dog' is probably different from yours.  The best dog in the universe sleeps on my couch but only gets up when she's invited.  The best dog in the universe doesn't bother me for scraps when I am cooking but watches me from a reasonable distance, just in case her taste testing services are required.  The best dog in the universe takes the fall for all family flatulence, including her own, which can melt the paint off the ceiling.  

The best dog in the universe does not eat sheep.  

I wouldn't have thought I needed to include that last one but it turns out my list needs to be very specific.  Jesse joined us at a bonfire on Friday night and had a wonderful time with all of the other dogs who came to the party.  She sniffed and romped and explored the tiny hobby farm; noted all the piles of sheep droppings, spotted every hole in the fence, planned her route of entry, then settled down by the lawn chairs to wait the two hours until nightfall before disappearing into the sheep paddock to corner a sheep and attempt to shear it with her teeth. 

The sheep is fine. The owner was extremely reasonable about the whole affair.  After inspecting the animal in the morning he assured us that we would not have to worry about vet bills, or worse, lose Jesse to The Place Where Bad Dogs Go.

So, in an effort to be more specific, the best dog in the universe does not counter surf for loaves of bread. She does not jump up.  She does not pick fights.  She does not tunnel out of the yard.  She does not lay on my tulips and she certainly does not disappear into the night to chase livestock and force me to lay awake, sick with dread, worrying that the shepherd will demand the worst price in payment.

The best dog in the universe: has some work to do.