Rosco Struts His Stuff

Today, Rosco, found his way into the neighbor's hen house; but didn't do any harm other than scare the dickens out of the chickens.

Still full of himself, he later scampered into a field to bark at some grazing horses and a colt. The horses were pretty non-chalant. I wish I had had a video to catch the little doxie pounce-barking at a horse. Then of course, he's so proud of himself he runs around in large circles before bounding out of the field to catch up with me.

The Field of Pounces

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The Furless Philistine

Tonight, as I was getting ready for bed, I found Fips cuddled at my pillow cuddling the half chewed carcass of a field mouse. What more could a doxie want except to be in his bed with his treasure? I'm indulgent but there are limits. Ever mindful of that first possession stand-off we had years ago, I'm always ultra diplomatic as to how I approach Fips when he has one of his treasures. We had a long negotiating session, and eventually I convinced him to lie on a pillow on a chair that I had dragged to the the foot of the bed. He gave me this look which expressed his amazement and disapproval at my inability to appreciate the finer delights of life.

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Midnight Meanders

The moon is bright and it's 28 degrees. Will the bougainville survive? Followed by the doh-gees, I checked up on the plants which looked OK; at least no ice fuzz was forming on the plastic. The fuzzy butts seemed to take to the chill, so I figured, what the hell. Of course, they scampered down to the riv-ver. With some trepidation I let them past the gate making sure they stayed close. Down we go, to the rushing waters for some midnight root tugging.

Meeaah? Lo Hobbie-Wobbies, who followed down right to the water. Meeaah.

I was uneasy with it being so dark and them being so close to the water, so I led the ani-pack back up again -- Hobbes taking his sweet, meandering time.

But they were in their element, so I decided to take them down Hilderbrand, doggie tails up and wagging. Hobbie-wobbie follows, cutting across the lawn over to the corner, where he refuses to crawl under the fence. Meeeah! Helpless cat. Nothing I can do coaxes him through.


Sigh. We head back the other way, Hobbes sprinting (!) over the lawn to meet up with us at the front gate. The dogs are happy so long as we can be out and about... where does not really matter.

We all go down to the bridge. Three furry blurs in the darkness, sometimes pairs of luminescent eyes reflecting off my flashlight. Hobbes looses himself in the thickets by the bridge, Fipsy heads out left into the large oat field and Rosco scampers on ahead off to Mirabel. The dry cold is deceptive, but the nanimoos don't seem affected by it. Hobbes rejuvenates from his lethargy and the doh-gees are definitely in an Oh this is fun! mood.


But now my furrless paws are getting numb, so I head on back. The two doggies follow, and when we reach the crest Hobbes (who went on a sit down strike when Rosco chased him), saunters up the hill in best feldkatz manner.

Back inside, I say "hot doggie?" and Fips immediately snaps his head away from his butt. All animals get a chunk-o-doggie. I fix myself some tea. Fips stares at me curiously while a rub my hands over the boiling water. ???? I think of the Aesop fable as the two fuzzy bodies eagerly wait their excise tax on bread n' butter.

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