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Fips was in an ultra-frisky mood, hop skipping around like a doggie in a meaty-bone store. When he's bursting with energy like this, it blows me away to think that he's 14 and 1/2. Rosco was full of it too... but that just turns him into a hyper Electrolux, scowering the ground furiously for edibles. If it weren't for the adoration in his eyes, I'd type him for a stomach on four legs.
When "we" had finished scouring the grounds and taking a trot over the field, I headed back to the Jeep. The field is about a yard down from the parking lot and in order to exit, you have to pass through a turnstyle in the fence and then walk up three or four steps onto a raised grassy knoll that abuts the lot. I walked ahead and waited by the Jeep. Rosco was not far behind. But Fips got detained by a smell, and when he looked up, I was nowhere to be seen.
The poor little doggie panicked. From my vantage point, I could see his head look left, then look to the right... I called out, but he didn't hear the exact direction, so he started running back in the direction from which we had come but away from the exit and stairs. On the other side of the fence, I ran toward him, calling out so that he could see where I was. He looked up, stopped, was evidently happy again and ran back toward the turnstyle.
All of us back in the "truck" and done with the obligatory water slurps, I decided to get my gym session out of the way. So we drove over the hill to Hidden Valley. Once parked, I gathered up my sweats and headed inside. But Fips was having a separation attack and insisted on coming with me. He was so intent on this that he fell into his water bowl before forcing his way past my hand and almost jumping out of the cab -- which would not have been good orthopaedically speaking.
I decided to take the boys into the gym, but had to get the rope-leash from the other side of the Jeep. As I walked around, both doggies trimmed to the other side of cab, knocking over the bowl again. Sheeesh...doggies! Just a minute, Just a minute. Eventually and after no small amount of entangling with sweats, leashes and bounding furry bodies... I made it to the ski machine where I did my half hour as the doggies - now motionless -- lay nearby.
When I had finished, the doggies were just as impatient to leave, and tugged me by their leash out the door, where they suddenly had lots of time to sniff and piss. Eventually we got back into the Jeep and headed back to Middletown. It was such a nice day, that I decided to take them to "Central Park" for more walking about.
There was no let up on their eagerness as they hopped and sniffed about until, all of a sudden, Fips decided he wanted to go... Now! So I lifted him back into the Jeep and waited for Rosco to bring up the rear. He did, but just outside the fence gate, where we had parked, he stopped.
Smell Alert!
Rosco stood at the base of a blue plastic barrel looking up to where a very attractive aroma was emanating. He stretched out his body and leaped up -- his little paws almost reaching the rim. Back down again. Stare at the rim. Stretch and leap. Back down again. Stare at the rim.....
Rosco was trying to push the barrel over, but this was not going to happen because from where he was standing, he was pushing it directly into the fence it stood against. I saw that the barrel leaned a little to the right, so it was obvious to me that if Rosco was to succeed in his ambition he would have to jump push from the left. Again, Rosco pushed the barrel against the fence.
"Rosci"
He looked over, his eyes reflecting the apprehension that I would put an end to the enterprise. I walked over as his he took a slight step back, still looking up with uncertainty and apprehension. I stood to the left of the barrel and prodded it with my fingers.
"Pushy, Rosco," I said, "Pushy here."
The look in Rosco's eyes now told me that he was waiting for me to push the barrel over; but I wanted him to do it.
I kept prodding the barrel and motioning Rosco to come over to the left side. Fairly quickly he caught on that I wanted him to keep jump-pushing the barrel, but he simply did not fathom that I wanted him to do it from the left side. Again he pushed it into the fence.
At last I took him by the collar and led him around to the left.
Bonk, Bonk
Pushy here Rosco; Pushy here.
He ducked away over to the front side of the barrel.
Again I took him by the collar and led him around to the left.
Bonk, Bonk
Pushy here Rosco; Pushy here.
NOW, he finally got it and started jump-pushing from the left side, as I stood back to see if he would succeed.
About the fourth or fifth pounce, the barrel slowly started to keel over and then fell to the ground with a thud. Rosco wasted no time in scampering over to the opening and delving inside from where he emerged with a full half ros' beef sammich in his maw which he devoured in three seconds or less as Fips looked on through the windshield of the Jeep.
Rosco then got his nose stuck Heffalump style in an empty bag of Cheezos, and after running around for a while eventually disengaged and was ready to get back into the Jeep and return home --- a good morning having been had by all.
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