I'm sitting in my shop at the Ozark Folk Center tying a broom when in walks Jeanette. Jeanette normally moves with a sort of quick grace and always has a smile. This time, she seems agitated and her movements are abrupt.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing." She says as she flips over my OPEN sign and makes the be-back-at break clock read 1:30. "Come with me."
Around the corner, past a few other shops, there's a pile of puppies. Mostly white with the occasional spot of gray or brown. The occasional badger face peers out, too.
"These are Margaret's Great Pyrenees puppies," say's Jeanette. "And we've been thinking abour getting a guard dog... but I wanted you to take a lok first."
One of the little fluffballs comes trundling over to me, sniffs once or twice and plops himself on my feet.
"They're six weeks old, weaned, with their shots and wormer." Jeanette continues.
The ball of fluff on my feet looks up at me and I notice that over his glossy black eyes, there's the finest white eyelashes I've ver seen. And, although he is pure white elsewhere, his nose is variegated -- there is a spot of pink on either side.
"This one." I say, pointing down at my feet. "His name is Buckshot."
"Yeah. Look at his nose. He's double barreled."