Monday, January 11, 2010

Getting Wet to Prove It's Dry.


It would be an understatement to say that the dogs do not like the rain. How many times have they rushed to the door only to be stopped dead in their tracks by The Disappointment. All things considered, BC hasn't been that wet, but there have been disappointments.... and restlessness.

Tonight Rosco was wanting to go out, and was sitting by the door making his sentiments known. I opened the door and out he char'..... / stopped and turned on a dime. I shut the door in his snout but, as he just huddled in the doorway, I let him back in.

It wasn't really raining --- more like a thick but slow drizzle. So I stepped outside myself and stood several paces away from the doorway, as two doggie faces peered at me from inside.

I stood.

They peered.

I've tried this a few times before, and I knew from experience that I would have to stand there until my example proved the point.

It's ok, doggies, c'mon ,

I said, as I stood there amid the droplets in my flip flops and tee shirt, wondering how long it would take to really really prove the case to canine satisfaction.

Fips was the first to slowly climb over the door step and hop on out. Rosco, who apparently has a higher threshold of proof -- beyond a reasonable doggie doubt -- took note of his brother and then again of me. At last he cautiously followed suit and hopped on out.

I stood there is the rain and watched as the doggies did what they wanted to do before trotting back inside.

Sometimes the leader has to get wet.

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Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Modes


After an early rise, I returned to bed for a mid morning snooze. Fips crawled in after me and snuggled into my side, resting his snout on my left shoulder and placing his right paw over my bicep, as I petted his head and draped my right arm over his haunchies. And there we lay for quite a while, in Cuddle Mode, the smooth and the fuzzy in their presence.

My mind always wants to know, what is he thinking? But what am I thinking? About this? Not much of anything because there isn't anything really to think about. I simply am pleased to feel the warm, and gently heaving presence of his fuzzy-wuzziness and there is no reason to think he is not other than pleased at having my fleshly warmth envelope him. And so, we shared our contements.

It had stopped raining and so at mid afternoon I drove over to the athletic field. As usual no one was there. The air was chill and brisk with a hint of damp and a slight breeze. I walked over to the area which has been cleared of trees and which now lay covered with wet chips and mulch. Rosco forged on up the trail while Fips engaged in some slow poking and precision sniffing. I rolled my eyes, and guessed it was going to be another one of those walks.

Then all of a sudden Fips picked up a trot and from a trot to a canter. From time to time he'd come to an abrupt stop, not to rest, but to sniff something before giving a little up and trotting on forward. He was clearly in Friskie-Mode. At one point, I turned around and caught him balancing himself on the cement base of something, like a fuzzy statue on its pedestal. He then hopped off and charged at me, his ears flapping like wings.

After that, he went full bore, running around and across the field, with virtually no stopping either for sniffs or breaths. Rosco would fall back and catch up, and every once and a while the two brothers would run alongside one another. But the real energy was with Fips and it was amazing to behold.



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