Gnome Fear

In my family the women are all kinds of quirky. It's just a fact. I must preface what is to come with that, because the story involves me owning (and loving) a vintage lawn gnome that my mom placed under the Christmas tree for me 5 years ago with a tag that read: "To Rosie Poesy Love: Baby Jesus". With that said, though Wilkes is adopted (shhh we haven't figured out how or when to tell her yet), she seems to march to her own drummer just as the women before her did.

While Josh and I were sitting in the office, said gnome was sitting on a small table, where it had always been. Apparently she had never seen it, or should I say, apparently it had never looked Wilkes so deep in her eyes with it's rat-like beady peep holes. Wilkes started barking, the kind of barking you expect to hear from a pit bull being cheered on by a large dodgy man with hundred dollar bills in his hand. She barked to warn us; she barked to destroy the evil gnome.

We saw this as a suggestion... err, invitation, to chase her all over the house with it. I simply pushed it on the floor after her, while Josh made it more of a demonic, levitating, shrill voiced assassin. She would stop from time to time and try to kiss it and smell it as if to prove it was "all good" now and they were buddies so there was no further need to play this game. After she had sat whimpering in one too many corners we put it back on the table.

Now, daily, we have gnome time, where she runs and growls and barks, and we laugh at her turmoil. Between the gnome and the laser keychain at Josh's parent's house that all the dogs try to catch, the fun NEVER ends!