A SAD CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY Getting Ready for Easter . . . .
Judy & Courtenay	Judy the foster is settled into the kitchen for the Easter holiday weekend. She has arrived just in time to observe her foster mom turn into a whirling Dervish. You see, the Circus has managed to fetch most of the backyard into the house this week. The floors are filthy. Plus, there's a ton of washing; the house needs serious cleaning; the beds should be changed; holiday menus must be planned and food purchased; every single animal that lives with us urgently needs brushing, grooming, stripping or de-thatching at the very minimum. They all look like little bears aside from Judy the foster who, with her shorn coat, looks more like a peeled onion.
To add to the chaos caused by four Airedales ranging in age from two to 14 & a ga-ga almost-16-year-old Toy Poodle, the c*t is coming back. He is bringing his mistress to celebrate the holiday. So, I'm mowing through all this workload, hoping to finish before Easter and the guest with c*t actually arrive, and finally reach the point where I can see my way clear to go buy groceries. The foster is snoring away happily in the kitchen behind baby gates. The girls are occupied elsewhere. I need to crate Murphee and I'm gone. There he is! Sound asleep on the rug in my dimly-lit office. I nudge him with my toe and command, "Murphee - crate." He doesn't twitch so much as a whisker. I nudge a little harder and order, "Murphee - CRATE!" He stretches luxuriously and yawns.
Now, Murphee is a little quirky but, generally speaking, he's a pretty good boy and he's not especially stubborn. I'm somewhat surprised. However, I don't have time to analyze his psyche at this precise moment so I yowl, "MURPHEEEEEEEEE - CRAAAAATE!!" Laboriously, he scrambles to his feet and sticks his head in the crate. I give him a shove and into the crate he hurtles, landing in an ignominious heap.	Murphee
Meanwhile, the Littlest Lunatic is jumping up and down yelping, "Nonononononononono!" Since I have no idea what her problem is and, again, haven't the time to figure it out, I ignore her, grab my coat & purse and head for the door where . . . . . . I encounter Murpheeeeeeee! Only I just put him in the crate . . . . So who's crated? Dash to the office and peer inside the crate. Glaring out at me is a seriously-provoked Pixie Almost-Perfect. Oops . . . ! Hastily, I apologize and release Ms Pix who stalks out of the crate, tail stiff as a ramrod, bristling crossly. She offers me a piece of her mind at 150 decibels on the way past and stomps off to the living room. I swear I can see wisps of smoke drifting out of her ears. In a very small voice, I ask Murphee politely if he would mind going into the crate so I can go buy groceries for Easter. He graciously consents as long as I promise to fetch him a treat from the store. Judy, the foster, looks at me as if I'm crazy . . . .
Murphee, Judy & Courtenay	Courtenay

CONTINUE WITH THE SAGA OF
JUDY & TYNER IN CANADA HERE