Ronda Rich and husband Tink marry at the Cloister on Sea Island recently. Specil photo
It’s me, Dixie Dew, again. Y’all who read this column regularly know that I am Ronda’s adorable and svelte (though she writes differently) dachshund. This is the third time I’ve guest-written this column but since it’s Mother’s Day, I’m giving her the day off. This is my gift to Mama. She’s been working on a tight deadline for a new book so she’s earned a rest.
I have another reason, too. It’s probably a bit selfish but let’s face it — it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there so a dog’s gotta take care of herself.
Do you remember that I’ve been working on my memoirs? After years of watching my mama write books, I figured it couldn’t be all that hard. She seems to have a lot of fun doing it - most days — and let’s face it: All she does is tell stories. The same kind of stories that she tells when she’s sitting at the Sunday dinner table is what she puts on paper. How difficult could that be?
I need some money. I’ve got a couple of problems that only money is gonna fix. I need a cook who will grocery shop and feed me better than Mama does. Our vet, Dr. Jane, insists that I eat more green beans, apples and carrots. I’m starving to death! Where is my Gravy Train? Then, there’s that blasted cat, Mississippi, who seems to think she’s in control around here. How can an outside cat be in charge? Everyone knows that the dog that lives in the house is in charge. Despite my best efforts, I can’t catch her. Though it’s painful to admit it, she outsmarts me. She hides behind trees and watches while I try to track her down. The moment the trail leads to her, she’s gone to the woods and up a tree. I need to hire someone to take care of this. I’m fighting for my own survival.
There are a couple of publishers interested in my autobiography. I’ve seen a lot of the world in my eleven years. But they tell me they need inside information about Mama so that the book will sell. Well, wait till you hear this big news.
My mama got married!
Yep, I know she hasn’t told y’all so here I am to prove how valuable I can be as a writer and distributor of Ronda Rich information. It’s been about a month now. She sneaked off — but she did take me, so I’m here to vouch for the gospel of this truth — to Sea Island and got married in the pretty little chapel at the Cloister. As an aside: I’m kinda a spokesdog for the Cloister. It’s my favorite place to visit. They treat me like royalty there. I have even sat in the same chairs President Bush and Prime Minister Tony Blair sat in during the G-8 conference there several years ago. I’m a big deal at the Cloister. But being a spokesdog for them doesn’t pay (though they do give me treats), so I’m having to write this book.
Anyway, all these years, it’s been just me and Mama. Then, she ups and marries this television producer from Hollywood. He hates for people to mention that he’s from Hollywood but I’m here to tell the truth. His name is John but Mama calls him Tink, so the rest of us do, too. He’s been a big interruption in my life, but I have to admit — I like him a lot. As humans go, he’s cute and funny, but the main thing is that he’s really sweet to me. He does, though, argue against me having any French fries, so I can see that becoming an issue between us down the road. I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’ve got a bigger problem.
Where is he going to sleep?
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