RAINY DAY

It is raining. More or less. It has been raining (more or less) all day.
Wet Bassets smell like wet dogs.
Wet Belgian Puppies have no odor, but they know how to soak your legs and and arms.
None of my dogs, either breed, care about weather. This amazes me because I am constantly reading about dogs that refuse to go outside in the rain or snow.
Mine don't care.
They may not go far, but they go. Out the door. Maybe not for long but they go outside. Meaning, they "GO" outside.

 

So here I am with this new puppy and what does he think about the rain?

Nothing.

Not a thing.

No thoughts at all.

Rain?

Whazzat? Who cares?

 

So all day I have been drying dogs. Bassets with soppy ears, Belgian puppy with soggy fluff.

He eats sticks, cardboard and leaves. He drinks water from anywhere including horrible spots in the yard. He is totally without brains. Almost.

Can't wait for snow. Only once. I don't need anymore snow than one time. This puppy is from Texas. The others are all from Wisconsin or here. Snow is built into their genes.

Not Doc.

My guess is, snow is an amazement.

We'll see.

DAYS GONE BY

 

Dis usta be such a nize place to lib.



We all sleep togedder an dere plenty of room. Da peepels dey juss step ober we. We got along purty well scept when dere food involved youse nose, like onna floor or sumfine but afferwards we frens agin an goes out inna yard checkin everyfing out meke sure it ok.

Dere awways sumfin cool goin on like da bebe squrrl watch-- ole Nigel he culd walk den, waitin for one a dem fall inna he mouf. And dey almost awways did, too. He sit dere for ours watchin and waitin... (Ise nebber cared much for raw squrrl bebe, mysef.)

 

 

An dere awways a lap avaleabel avab a lap ta siddin. No lotta noiseys and leepin about an butt bitin an kill-da-basset games.  I no nose whut happent. But I gots a suspicion.

 

               Look cute, dont he? Got sum news for youse.

 I catchim he in BIG TRUBBEL.

Fondly to youse all,
Dis be da aggravaded Conley

OTHER THINGS

Yesterday  I found my ancient iPod and decided to add some stuff to it only to find it was no longer possible to do that unless I deleted EVERYTHING I had put on it and started all over. So I did. I spent all day putting stuff into iTunes and then into the iPod. There are CDs stacked everywhere. Some are mine and some are John's.Mine are mostly bluegrass-- Doc Watson, especially. The rest are classical if you consider Enya to be classical. Lots of Bernstein, Strauss, two spoken ones: Fierce Pajamas which is stories from the New Yorker, and ...and... uh...oh. The Capitol Steps-- which is a combo of spoken and songs all terribly dated having to do with the Bush (first bush, not shrub) administration.

(This is a crowned crane.. I have to have photos in this blog or it's no good. Since I am not talking about anything important, I thought something living but decorative would be nice.)

The dogs spent most of yesterday outside. I can only let two out at a time-- puppy and Conley or puppy and Llewis but otherwise, three is a barkfest. If it doesn't bother the neighbors it drives me crazy.

Like a Tiger or Leopard, Doc goes for the back of the neck when he is "playing" I have not seen a puppy play this way before and I am not sure what to think. He does not have stripes or spots but I am wondering if this is a dominance thing, so early. He is slow to show his belly unless one of the others is REALLY pissed at him. Most of the time when that happens instead of rolling over he dashes off and stays away. Doc, I think, is not short of ego.

Beneath this sweet and innocent exterior beats the heart of a dictator. He is already losing some of this sweetie-pie look: the nose is lengthening, the eyes are more alert, the fuzz is full of sticks, twigs, leaves and some burrs which I am forever pulling out. When he plays, he bites. I gave him (he took) a huge cardboard box when he arrived. It is now two small pieces about 8" in diameter, each. Maybe six.
Every night and every morning I crawl around the room picking up tiny pieces of chewed up cardboard.
I try to picture my Mother living this way and now I know why we didn't have dogs. Or cats.
Now I understand why, when a kid says "Can I have a puppy?" the sensible Mother says "I don't know." instead of "Oooo how many??"

DOC GOES TO SCHOOL MOM GETS LOST

Last night was our first night at school for the Doc. It is about a 20 minute drive and very straightforward and I had a map.
Doc howled and screamed for the first twenty minutes. I blame getting lost on him, he made me so damn nervous.
Eventually, sure I was somehow going the wrong way, I called home and learned no in fact I was perfectly fine. (True to form, when I left I pulled out of the drive and turned the wrong way.)

Doc had clearly been thinking about going to school all day. He pranced into the building and took one look at the giant German Shepherd in the crate by the door, did a 180 and headed for the car Clearly, this was NOT going to be what he expected, but what he feared. We went in anyway, since I was in charge (Bwaaaahahahahahaahahahahahahahah).

We worked on paying attention. When I said his name and he looked at me he got a treat. Within two minutes he had learned not to take his eyes off me, therefore ensuring a never-ending supply of goodies.

We worked on "sit" but he knew that one already and had decided since he was in school he would do it right each time instead of the half-sit, the side-sit, the backwards sit, and the no-sit that occurs at home.

About then he appeared to need to go out. So we went out into the night, in a strange place, a huge farm-like place with the wind blowing and the scents of a thousand strange dogs, and he panicked. Completely undone. Charged for the building. Better the giant German Shepherd than the UNKNOWN.

Next we did some baby agility stuff. She set up tires and a tarp on the floor, and some "pause tables" and with great delight Doc leaped through the tires, dug in the tarp, and flatly refused to set foot on that weird table. Uh Uh no way Jose. it took me 15 minutes to convince him (with food) to get on the "table" and he leaped off as if he had mistaken the German Shepherd for the table.

The we worked on "down". Down is not a natural position for Doc. Up and running, chewing, ripping things apart is his normal position. Also of course I was doing it wrong, teaching him to crawl rather than"down."

                  (This is a suckie school: there are no sticks.)

Then, the climax: lay down on your mat. The puppy next to us, a tiny fluffy mini Aussie, laid down and went to sleep on her mat.
The dog on the other side obediently sat on his.
Doc went around around across over. The"mat" was his crate pad, it wasn't as if it were unfamiliar. Finally he broke altogether.He quit working for food, he quit "watching" he quit listening, and I knew he had had enough. I think he was one of the youngest there and he had done all he could was ready to go home. Luckily, class was over.

He came home, dashed outside to relieve himself, came in, got in his crate (pad reinstated) and that was it for the night.

                                 The Oppositional "Sit"

PLAYTIME (is all the time.)

Yesterday was a magnificent day and the dogs knew it and wanted to be out out outside please now right now may we go back out out outside?
Yes but the problem is twofold: one is too young to be out without a humanoid as a supervisor and
The people in back should really be allowed to let THEIR dogs out as well without mine fence-fighting. Sweet Llewis being the worst, practically climbing the fence (6foot stockade fence) to get at his mortal enemies (whom he has never met and never will.)

One of Katie's dogs has cancer now and the other, the Border Collie psychopath (I love him but....) was attacked at the dog park by a Rottweiler and Pit Bull working together. That he was not more severely injured is a testament to the speed with which his owner's son responded. Another reason I do not do dog parks. Oh well a topic for another day. So really, Quincy and Orie are allowed to bark at my dogs just as mine bark at them.

Anyway it was difficult finding times when fence fighting did not become a primary activity.

I put Nigel in his cart and dragged him outside (he hates the backyard in his cart, digs his feet in and I do, literally, drag him out the door. Once out, he is beginning to navigate the yard and try to play chase with the others. Young Mr. Doc is still a bit transfixed by the cart and is going to get his pretty paws run right over...

Nigel in his cart, trying to decide who to run down first: me or one of the dogs. His tail does not work well so that if he appears to be unhappy it is not accurate. He can wag it but the last half of it remains immobile. Interesting how the nerves don't all work. (If you are interested in that kind of thing.)

Three of four. Note Conley checking to see where the Kid is and trying to decide if he can make it to the deck without a butt-bite.

 

Sticks are favorite toys and also edible. I am forever digging sticks out of that mouth. He is just getting wound up in this photo....

Here we go. In a second he will drop the stick and just start charging about the yard as fast as he can go...

A very happy puppy

                                   WTF is he DOING?
                           Let's go in, Mom. I need a nap.

CONLEY ENDS A STANDOFF

Late last night, about 11, I took Conley and Batman (Doc) out for their last evening potty break. This means I can sleep until about 2 in the morning before I have to take Doc out again.

On the way back into the house, as we were marching right along in the drizzle, a cricket bopped into our path.

Uh Oh! Doc says, what's this? What's this hoppy thing? Look! When I get close, it hops! Whoa-- watch out!

Conley is watching this. Shifting his weight. Staring at the door. He doesn't mind weather, but he is smart enough to know he doesn't need to stand outside in it, either. But Doc was in front and very busy making the poor bug hop. Hop. Hopp. Pawing at it. Oops, can it hop without that leg? A dog experiment.

How many legs can a cricket lose and still hop?

Conley sighs, heavily.

I am trying to distract the puppy whose attention span is normally that of a guppy. No deal. Then I try to catch the cricket but it's late and I'm tired and I am holding a flashlight in one hand and trying to grab the by now quite hysterical cricket in the other.

I hear a heavy sigh. It is Conley. If he could roll his eyes he would be doing so.

Boing boing. Doc tries to grab it but ducks back at the last second.
The cricket is kind of getting tired. So am I. I make a last futile grab for the cricket, shoving Doc out of the way. It makes an end-run around my foot to Conley who, in one smooth move simply reaches down, scoops it up and eats it.

Wait! Wait! Where's my friend?? What happened? Where did he go?

Conley is marching firmly to the house. I go with him. Doc trails behind looking over his shoulder. What happened? Where'd he go? We were having SUCH a good time!

Poor Cricket.
Poor Doc.
Conley is looking very smug.

SOME DAYS JUST NEED TO START OVER

           Conley thinks children should be seen and not have teeth
                Doc says he has no idea what Conley could mean.