I’m not sure I can call the new boy The Rookie still, though he is certainly a newbie. He is goofy, awkward and adorable. He loves to chase the other dogs at playdate, though can never catch them. Even more so, he loves to do his own thing and spends much time patrolling the perimeter. Not in any watchdog sort of fashion, just wandering around checking things out.
And, of course, peeing on anything that is stationary. And things that are not stationary; oh, say, Willow, for example. I’m not sure why I am even surprised anymore when she moseys over to me in between her diligent bouts of organizing the other dogs at the park, to present her brindle patches intermixed with a few new fashionable yellow ones. I’ve taken to carrying paper towels with me.
(And may I just take a moment to say, “Thank you inventor of cargo pants”! Nail trimmers, poop bags, phone, keys, camera (of course), flashlight, kitchen sink all tucked into pockets. Sheesh, you would think I were preparing for a natural disaster. Nope, just an early morning trip to the dog park.)
So anyway, back to the leg lifting, apparently, this is what boys do. Though I must, not so guilty, confess to encouraging him when he does the chicken scratch, fling dirt in a 3 mile radius thing, after he has stopped the flow. The first time he did it, he did so with such force and vigor, he propelled himself forward about 3 feet. Heh. My laughing at him is making up for the number of times I’ve washed Willow’s head free of pee.
He’s rather intelligent, and surprised me last weekend when we were at our new playdate location – Doggie Disneyland – and he took to the obstacle course like a greyhound to a couch. In no time at all was playing king of the mountain from the lofty height of two hay bales, accessed by crossing a railroad tie. Woot!
He does snuggle with me on the couch and sleeping arrangements have been permanently modified to accommodate him stretching out across the bed as though he were doing yoga.
At least he no longer tries to share my pillow. That sudden wake up did not go well for either of us. He couldn’t figure out how one human could squeal like that. I couldn’t figure out, in those first few moments of semi-consciousness, as I rolled my head over to the bellows heating up my ear, what the hell the fire breathing dragon was doing trying to scorch me with air from two flaring monstrous nostrils and forked tongue challenging me from between rows of menacing teeth. A sudden snap to fully alert was accompanied by said tongue returning into a mouth which then attempted to rehydrate it through much smacking of lips. The resulting pool of drool on the pillow provided enough depth for the Olympic diving team to work with.
I had to get up and pretend I was going into the room that contains the s – n – a – c – k – i - e – s, so he would get down forfeiting his prime pillow real estate and I could reclaim my sliver of the bed. Devious, I know, but effective. And, I will admit there was cackling as I gleefully hopped back into an empty, for long enough to realize there was not going to be a tasty treat, bed.
Re-reading that last sentence, I realized I probably should limit the bragging and not be so proud of outsmarting a dog. Which was then, promptly followed by the confirming thought that I OUTSMARTED A GREYHOUND COMFORTABLY ENSCONCED IN A BED and the wave of proud washed over yet again. The deluge flooding my senses with the expectation I can accomplish anything. Including, possibly, teaching him to pee on something other than