Kris KIBBEE

Tullys Bully Tails: A JF Series

and we found ourselves inching along in a pack flanked by onlookers, miles and hours from the sand. I couldnt help suspecting that this had been the plan all along. See, isnt this cool, Sean eked out between rounds of drool. His head was bobbing in and out of the drivers side window, right alongside Tullys, as both guys fixated on passing cars. Sean swooned after a 68 fastback Mustang as Tully puzzled over the volume of its engine. Boo! Hiss!, a group of boys spat as we passed in Seans 2010 Kia. A sandy-haired girl standing beside them dropped a paper plate on which shed scrawled the number 10 in bold, black letters and grimaced. By the time wed inched to the next grouping of people, shed fished out a plate with the number 3 on it and was fanning it aggressively in our direction. I dont think youre supposed to drive in this lineup when youre in a brand new car, Sean. Oblivious and intoxicated by exhaust fumes, Sean simply shrugged and replied but its the best seat in the house! Tully, who was still balancing on his lap and hanging out the window, glanced back at me in apparent agreement. I peered in the back seat to gain Moxys support for my cause but shed fallen asleep on the hoodie Id discarded beside her. She was snoring loudly; apparently her personal boycott of the current circumstances. She rustled and snorted as uncharacteristic shouts of approval welcomed us to the next grouping of Rod Run onlookers. As sluggish as our pace was, I could make out their cheers as if they were sitting alongside me. Woo hoo-check out that Frenchie! Oh myhes SO cute! Two middle-aged women in low-slung folding chairs were ogling Tullys face as he regarded them from atop Seans forearm, which was still straddling the cars door jam. I smiled at them and watched as Tully shook with excitement. He threw way. Mom-they like me! The next troop of spectators we approached had a similar reaction-applauding Tully rather than lamenting the car he rode in. Look at that Frenchie! an exuberant blonde woman proclaimed as another in the group added SO cute, SO cute! Tully looked my way again. This time his face held a certain degree of puzzlement, as if he were trying to figure out a new treat-dispensing toy. A coal black late 60s Camaro approached us from the opposite direction and Seans grip on the wheel tightened as he strained forward. You look like a bug on a windshield, I scoffed as the car came nearer. His eyes were like saucers as the driver pulled alongside us and slowed to a

Tullys Bully Tails

The Parade Charade

Preface: Every year at the close of August, when the temperature and percentage of my body resembling a lobster is at its zenith, my husband badgers me for one last summer outing. And though the notion of one final sun-kissed day of warm breezes and endless blue skies is enticing, this year I sensed an ulterior motive. Im thinkin road trip to the coast this weekend, Sean offered, bobbing his head in self agreement. I was reminded of a recent article Id read in Cosmo, where the writer suggested that a simpleton could be swayed to agree with just about any suggestion, as long as you accompanied it with a head nod when asking them. I peered slyly back and wondered if Sean had been reading my magazines again. You were, were you?

Chapter four

He shifted in his recliner and bent forward, his elbows now resting on his knees. He was suspiciously intent. One last hurrah? he added in encouragement, his eyebrows tented. Danger, I sense danger. An apprehensive snort brought Tully to my side. He quickly keyed in on Seans rascally demeanor and trotted towards the recliner. Well hey there little man, Sean greeted, still positioned at the edge of the chair. You wanna go to the beach, dont you? Tully clapped his front paws to Seans knees and looked on in excited agreement. See Mom, he wants to go, Sean crooned, egging on the flicker of interest hed seen in those soft brown eyes. Could you deny this face? Could you really deny this face, he baited, gathering up folds of Tullys wrinkly scruff and directing his mug towards mine. I scoffed and muttered Oh fine, knowing full well that Id gotten myself into more than just a simple trip to the coast.

Prologue: It wasnt until days later, when Sean was convinced I wouldnt connect the dots (really-the man has got to quit reading my Cosmo!) that he casually chimed, during a late supper, Oh, I thought wed stop by the Rod Run while were at the beach. My lips curled with a deluge of irritation. I knew it, I just knew it. What? Sean innocently chirped; tossing a fatty lump of pot roast in Tullys waiting trap as Moxy shot him a reproachful glare. I knew we werent going just for the beach. I knew you had some lame man-thing you really wanted to do. I tossed down my fork and it kicked a lettuce leaf off my plate, high into the air and squarely in

front of Moxys two front feet. She glanced downward, gave it a good sniff and then rolled her eyes at me. Figures Itll be fun, Sean bellowed, still averting his eyes as if I were Medusa. Just a quick stop to look at the hot rods and then on to the beach!

The Tail

As it would happen, every other crafty Cosmo-reading husband in the greater part of Washington state had also manipulated his wife into attending the Rod Run. Shiny cars from every era packed the main Long Beach thoroughfare

Tullys Bully Tails: A JF Series

crawl. Inside its cave-like cabin a broad, white face emerged and its thin lips twisted into a smile. That a French Bulldog? the driver asked, the tips of his handlebar moustache arching upwards and nearly touching his nose. Sean coughed, eyeing the car enviously. Why yes it is, he said at a near whisper that didnt sound as if it belonged to a full grown man. Cute, darn cute, the Marlboro man growled as he and his glorious automobile crept out of earshot. It took just one more crowd of awed onlookers to convince Tully. That final family, a set of seven actually cheered in tandem at my wee boy as he passed- swooning as best they could at a detached distance. Oh, puppy, puppy, puppy . . . the youngest ranted, as a teenage boy and girl screeched Too cute, too cute in near unison. Beside them, Mom looked like shed revisited her childhood sweetheart as she cocked her head sideways and gave Tully a tender, knowing look. Dad, obviously approving of the hefty, Bulldog physique, nodded and bobbed his head in harmony with Tullys. Even two rough-and-tumble looking boys of perhaps six or eight years ceased their attempts to light an unsuspecting army of ants aflame with an M-80 and waved at Tully as we passed. I could see the light of knowing ignite in his eyes as he looked casually my way.

Its about time. My own parade.

Kris Kibbee (Castle Rock, WA) is a Pacific Northwest native with a love of language and dogs. While attending Washington State University she studied in the Professional Writing program and was a contributing writer to The Vancougar. An avid animal welfare advocate and experienced dog trainer, Kris has a contagious affection for French bulldogs and shares her home with three of the mischievous mongrels. She will be writing about the Tails of Tully! Kris Kibbee twofrenchies@hotmail.com