The first time I discovered bees they were coming out of a hole in the ground. Those curious little creatures caught my attention with their buzzing and I wanted to see where they were going down there. I dug and scattered dirt in my wake and still I couldn't find the bottom of the hole, but those bees were getting a little testy with my presence. So did my mom when she saw what I was doing. I found out later that she's allergic to bees, which I gather is a bad thing, but even still she didn't need to do what she did.
Mom took the garden hose and was spraying me and the bees with ice cold water while she literally yanked on my chain to reel me in like a fish on a line---and just when I was starting to have fun with my new playmates. I thought for sure when my dad rushed out to get into the action, he'd be more understanding. Dad's always been my go-to man when I want to play. But he apparently hates bees more than my mom because he took a can of gas out of the garage and did something that to this day takes the piss and vinegar right out of me when I think of the carnage that followed. Dad poured gas down the bee's hole in the ground then took his cigarette lighter and lit it on fire. I never saw those buzzy little creatures in my territory again. ©
Painting: Fire on the Hill by Anchise Picchi
Welcome to The Levi and Cooper Chronicles. I'm the 'Cooper' and my baby brother is the 'Levi.' We're not siblings in the literal sense of the word. He's a miniature schnauzer and I'm a miniature poodle but our differences go far beyond our breed. You see, I'm the famous angel dog who blogs from the