This story is a true account from years ago of how I met lovely wife Katherine, who deserves some of the credit in recollecting the details. It is not a read suited for everyone, and is dedicated to those who have open and free minds.
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Another hot summer's day and as always Petey my faithful 2 year old English Mastiff was excited to go for his daily swim in one of the irrigation ponds on a 500 acre farm in our small town. Petey at 180 lbs and always looked forward to cooling off by wading in the ponds, and today being over 90 degrees he was especially ready.
Being so hot and humid, as Petey was very prone to overheating; I decided to walk along the edge of the farm where the nearest pond was. This pond was backing off a large old farmhouse perched on a hill top protected by overgrown trees, unkempt bushes, and thick underbrush. It was the type of place that I as a kid would avoid, rundown, hidden amongst the trees well off the beaten path, and a tad creepy.
As we approached the pond I let Petey off his leash and predictably he immediately sauntered in and plunked himself down into the water. As is his custom he started grazing on the Duckweed floating on top. I sat down and watched him splash around and frolic in the pond trying to catch any bug large and close enough to warrant his attention, I loved watching his sluggish attempts at this, most times the bug would win but that didn't keep Petey from trying, what a dope!
Suddenly, a yelping bark came from the house on the hill, Petey immediately froze his head cocked toward the sound, his muzzle wrinkling, trying catch a whiff of the source.
"Staaaaaay," I warned.
Damn! Too late! Petey was off like a shot, uncharacteristically running at high speed up the hill.
"Shit," I thought to myself, the last thing I wanted to do was negotiate my way through that jungle to retrieve him, even at 42 years of age I wasn't too keen on trespassing onto this creepy property.
After 5 minutes of a harrowing ordeal fighting the overgrowth I approached the yard of the house, not surprisingly the grass was long, littered with junk, old window frames, rusting appliances and other refuse strewn all over the place. A short but sturdy older woman was struggling to keep her excited Doberman from approaching Petey, who conveniently was laying on his stomach 3 feet away from the end of the Pinscher's 20 ft lead. What a coward Petey was, teasing the poor dog by keeping just out of reach.
"Soooory" I hollered, picking up the pace to help out this poor woman.
"Is 'e friendlay?" The women panted out between breaths, it was obvious her dog was overpowering her and she was running out of steam.
"Oh ya Petey is a big suck, wouldn't hurt a fly."
I quickly snapped on Petey's leash and tried to pull him away to a safer distance.
"What's your boy's name?" I asked
"Shamus, he's a bit of a rogue, it may not be a guid idea to let him off his lead. He's had it out with the dug down the road." She blew out, seemingly with her last breath.
"Awww, he looks harmless enough."
I crouched down and let Shamus sniff my hand; his stubby tail started wagging as I started petting, then rubbing him under his chin.
"Brave Lad," she smirked, maintaining her iron grip on Shamus' lead.
Petey started submissively rolling on his back all fours upward and limp.
"See, Biiiiig Suck, it's embarrassing." I quipped looking up at her trying to get Petey to sit up and be a man.
"Let's see if they can get along." I offered,
I slowly led Petey toward Shamus they began with a timid Mexican stand-off; they brought their noses closer taking in the scent, tails at attention. Shamus started growling posturing dominance so Petey obediently backed off and wagged his tail. Shamus acknowledged this and relaxed, when the raised hair they on his neck returned to its natural position, it I knew they'd be OK with each other.
Seeing that the dogs were getting along the woman slowly relaxed her grip and crouched down to speak to her dog, exposing long and deep cleavage;
"Noo, you be a guid boy and PLAY NICE," she commanded, finally freeing Shamus from his tether.
Her sturdy 5'2" frame straightened up, her face was attractive but appeared worn and sweaty. She was an older woman probably somewhere in her mid 50's, her heavily freckled arm and shoulders beet red from the sun. She was wearing a sleeveless tank top which nowhere near covered her sun burned freckled chest, nor the bright orange tufts of hair under her arms. Unhampered by a bra, her large and cone shaped breasts set neatly over a slight belly, her nipples were outlined against the light sweat stained fabric. Her belly didn't appear flabby, but it did protrude in a way that made her look 5 or 6 months pregnant. Her nicely arched back flowed into her deliciously wide hips accentuating almost a cartoonish curvy look; her waist was not small, however in relation to very wide pelvis it appeared to be tiny. Her mid-thigh length light sun dress failed to completely hide her deliciously plump butt, framed by saddle-bagged hips that faded into a pair of opulent and thick thighs. All this was supported by proportionally thick calves that disappeared into a pair of very small pair hiking boots that seemed incapable of balancing her stocky frame.
She momentarily removed her sunhat that revealed shoulder length fading red hair with streaks of grey framing a round, virtually unwrinkled face which was as heavily freckled as her chest. It was obvious she was making little or no attempt to keep nature from taking its course, she reminded me of an old hippy that had spent too much time in a van trying to find herself.
"A'm fair puckled." She giggled;
"Been trying to make a silk purse out of this sow's ear of a garden all mornin', then your wee coo of a dug comes along exciting my Shamus and heating meh oop."
Having visited Scotland many times I recognised the accent and dialect immediately, then laughed;
"You wouldn't happen to be a Scottish Las would ya, Glasgow perhaps?" I asked, facetiously.
"Aye, Glasgae she confirmed, arching her back placing her hand on her hip in pride,
"What's it to ye?" She challenged, giving me a full up and down check out, then with feigned disgust she sneered;
"You are NOT from Glasgae." She gave me a look making me feel I wasn't worth her time.
"Tough town," I knowingly nodded.
The women looked over at the dogs; Petey had his nose in Shamus's butt which remained there for an awkward amount of time;
"Aye can be," she breathed, then added, "Yer boy Petey there wouldn't last a day there be'avin' like that."
I managed an uncomfortable chuckle; Slightly embarrassed I desperately tried to break a tenacious Petey away from Shamus's backside. I tried to lighten the mood and blurted;
"I think humans could learn a lesson from dogs, maybe we would all get along better if we would greet each other their way rather than a simple handshake."
My face reddened, realising how overly familiar that must've sounded given that we only just met, I then extended my hand to her, in an attempt to recover;
"My apologies, my name is Bill, I hope a handshake will do!"
