Howdy, neighbors! JW here, your friendly neighborhood media mogul and dog-wrangler extraordinaire. Today, I’m swapping my keyboard for a leash and venturing down to Badu Park with my main squeeze, Meathead the Bernese Mountain Dog. He’s not just any mountain dog, folks, Meathead’s got more fur than a yeti convention and a heart bigger than Texas itself. But let’s be honest, he’s also got the attention span of a gnat on a sugar high.
Now, Badu Park ain’t just any ol’ park. It’s got that special somethin’- somethin’, that Texas Hill Country magic you can practically smell in the air (unless it’s a Tuesday, then it’s just barbecue). And what better way to soak it in than with a warm taco in one hand and a slobbery canine by your side? Except, of course, when said canine decides tacos are overrated and squirrels are the new haute cuisine.
We stroll down the path, Meathead’s head swiveling like a radar dish tracking rogue frisbees. He sniffs every blade of grass like it’s holding the secret to eternal bacon treats. Suddenly, he plants his furry feet, tail wagging with the fury of a hurricane, eyes fixated on a blur of bushy tail darting up a tree. A squirrel! The ultimate canine kryptonite.
Now, Meathead and I have a pact. He gets to sniff (practically inhale) every lamppost in town, and in return, he leaves the squirrels be. Today, however, that pact is about as binding as a chocolate teapot in a monsoon. He strains at the leash, whining like a lovesick hound dog, his eyes pleading, “Just this once, JW, let me live the dream!”
I gotta admit, there’s somethin’ kinda poetic about it. This gentle giant, yearning for the primal thrill of the chase, the wind whipping through his fur as he leaps for airborne fluffiness. But then I remember the last time he “caught” a squirrel. Let’s just say there was more fur flying than at a Miss Texas hairspray competition.
So, I do what any self-respecting dog owner would do. I whip out my secret weapon: a chorizo and potato taco, dripping with all the fixin’s. Meathead’s head swivels like a rusty weather vane caught in a Texas twister. Squirrel? What squirrel? There’s only barbacoa bliss in his doggy world.
He devours the taco in three messy gulps, tail thumping a victory beat against the ground. Squirrel forgotten, he nuzzles my hand for another, his eyes shining with taco-fueled contentment. We finish our picnic under the shade of a live oak, Meathead snoring like a chainsaw with narcolepsy, the setting sun painting the sky in shades of Texas orange and purple.
As we head home, I can’t help but grin. Yeah, maybe Meathead didn’t conquer the squirrel kingdom today, but he conquered something far greater: the irresistible allure of a Badu Park taco. And that, my friends, is a story worth tail-wagging about.
‘Til next time! Remember, if your dog starts acting squirrelly, just offer him a taco. You might just save yourself a furry furry-ocaust.
JW, signing off. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find a lint roller the size of Texas.
P.S. Meathead says “Woof!” (Which, I’m pretty sure, translates to “Can I have cheese on my taco? I like cheese!”)
