I believe at some point in the blog archive, I related the story of how my mother brought a wedding reception to a sudden halt by offering to show the guests her hammer toe. When given a choice of a $2500 surgery bill to fix it or a $250 charge to remove same, she chose the latter, insisting on being given the discarded item. She lived in Arizona where the sun shines. She left the thing out in the sun long enough for it to be properly jerked, then she swaddled it in cotton and placed it in an empty Altoid box which went into her purse. As far as I’m concerned, my mother’s purse remains one of the wonders of the universe.

She did not carry large purses, but they were always fully packed. My mother was never IN Girl Scouts, but as long as she had her purse, she was always prepared for any contingency. Yes, she carried that infamous Altoid box, but she also routinely stocked her purses with any number of useful items–a sewing kit; a foldable rain scarf in its clear plastic sheath; a string of safety pins, a wallet which contained both her regular driver’s license and her BACK SEAT driver’s license. (I’m not kidding about that, by the way. She got her back seat driver’s license from a joke shop and hauled it out whenever my father required back seat driving.) She had a coin purse with little holders for individual coins; an aspirin box, a comb, at least one tissue, and maybe a hanky as well. One of the reasons she never traveled by air after 9-11 was due to the fact that she refused to relinquish the paring knife that she also carried in her purse.

So back to the Altoid box and the wedding reception. While my father gleefully showed hapless guests his “diamond clip” which turned out to be a dime with a paper clip on it, my mother followed him around the room offering to show people her hammer toe, which unlike the “diamond clip” really and truly WAS a hammer toe. The guests were, not surprisingly, appalled.

A year later, at another wedding reception, the adult children in our family, took aim at me through my mother with a barrage of no-holds-barred toe jokes. It turns out there are any number of TOE-tally obnoxious toe jokes out there, and they managed to dredge them all up. It was funny and fun. I laughed so hard I could barely stand, and I’m sure the reception waitstaff was mystified about how we could all become so intoxicated on two glasses of champagne. I also confess that I, too, told a few toe jokes of my own.

So now, at last, after that very long preamble, we come to today’s topic: Bella, the wonder dog.

Bella is an important part of our lives, and so she is also an important part of this blog. For those of you who have regularly followed these musings, this information is a rerun. Sorry. Bella is a rescue dachshund that we found abandoned on the street coming up on three years ago. She’s been around long enough that she has been Bella The Book Tour Dog on five different book tours now. When we found her, most of her history was and still is a mystery, but we did manage to learn a few things. For instance, she had previously lived in a building with an elevator. We learned that on the first book tour when she walked right into her first elevator and never batted an eyelash.

Our adult children look at Bella and collectively shake their heads. She does not necessarily come when she’s called. Her bed occupies an easy chair in our bedroom and contains a down pillow–from Duxianna no less. She eats specially prepared dog food. She is, as far as anyone can see, a Princess and a dyed-in-the-wool Carpet Dog.

Which brings us to this weekend. Memorial Day. On Sunday, we managed a barbecue by huddling from the rain under the roofed cabana to grill our burgers and roast our marshmallows. During the meal, Bella was surprisingly absent. She has perfected the art of meerkat begging and is usually close at hand when food is being consumed. After dinner, we discovered that she had been otherwise occupied and had dug her way around most of the beds surrounding a patio in search of a mole.

By the time we found her, she was mud from head to toe. While Bill swept the dirt off the patio and tamped down the resulting mole holes, I dunked Bella in the pool enough to rinse her off so we could bring her inside.

Monday was Memorial Day itself. After our daughter and grandson returned from the Memorial Day Service in Cle Elum, we invited them over for dinner. It had rained all afternoon. The stairs down to the fishponds can be slippery, and so I asked Colt if he would please go feed the fish. He was happy to comply and Bella went dashing off with him. Colt came back. Bella didn’t, not for a long time. When she did, it was with her head and tail held high and prancing as only a miniature dachshund can because she was carrying the remains of a very recently deceased mole which she dropped in the middle of the kitchen for all to see. I have now heard my daughter utter that very undignified expression EEK! Followed immediately thereafter by ICK!! That was pretty much the end of dinner, but has not been the end of the conversation.

My mailbox has now filled up with any number of mole jokes which are not unlike the jokes the same adult children cracked about my mother’s toe.

Here’s a brief sampling:

What’s for lunch? Mole on a stick.

Too tired to cook dinner? Instant Mole ready in minutes, just add DOG.

Too tired to eat dinner? JUST ADD DOG. SHE WILL DO IT FOR YOU.

Moleties breakfast of CHAMPIONS.

Surprise your kiddo in lunch box with a jelly and Mole sandwhich. Guaranteed to NOT TO BE TRADED FOR TWINKIES.

Home owner relocation lunch special. No Home? No problem, because you ARE the LUNCH SPECIAL.

Cherry Jello with mole fruit?

Mole escar GONE?

Mole scampless? a variation on Mole Scampi either way NOT GOOD for the MOLE.

Or the crowd dine-in special. Dine in and WE BRING THE MOLE TO YOU.

Molemallows. JUMBO MARSHMALLOWS FILLED with yummy MOLE GOODNESS. FLAME COOKED OR GOLDEN BROWN.

Dear Emily Post,

What is the best way to end a dinner party early?

Sign me Just Wondering.

Dear Just wondering

Have your little dog that seems cute and nice bring in a mole that she has eaten part of the head off and drop it off at the dinner table. Party OOOOOOVVVVVEEEEERRRRRRRR.

Emily Post

By now I’m sure you see what I mean. It turns out I’m simply reaping the whirlwind for all the toe jokes I, too, once cracked at my poor mother’s hammer toe expense.

Based on the above, I’m more than half expecting someone to from PETA to show up protesting our MDTF (Mole Defense Task Force.) If they do, I’ll play gracious hostess and serve mol d’oeuvres and perhaps a cocktail or two, preferably a moltini–shaken not stirred.

To begin with, I actually had another kind of cocktail in mind. One that starts with a mol and ends with the word cocktail, but I probably shouldn’t even misspell that one on the internet for fear of bringing the wrath of Homeland Security down on my head.

As for anyone doing zero tolerance checking? That wasn’t a threat or hate speech. It was a JOKE!