Teehee! It's not what the title would lead you to believe - it's another dog blog!
Frankie, my 100 lb pitbull mix, is often called "Mister". Mister Personality, Mister Enthusiasm, Mister Tippy-tail. Head into the kitchen, and he leaps up and bounces after you, toenails tap-dancing on the wood laminate floor. The more noise, the better, he thinks, as he clatters across the tiles to the corner cabinet which houses the large box of dog biscuits. By this time, Chelsea is prancing and dancing along as well, and in the bedroom, Harley has sprung up from his lumpy imitation of a wooley rug and is bobbing back and forth behind the hallway gate. You reach through the crowd of noses (yes, two can be a crowd) to get three bones from the box. Frankie takes his and runs back across the kitchen and living room to leap onto the couch and crunch it up, Chelsea hunkers down and eats hers right there on the kitchen floor, and when you pass Harley's through the gate, he whips around and hops onto his futon at the foot of the king-size bed. Throughout the evening, they beg for milk bones, and ALWAYS it's an all-for-one, one-for-all deal - everybody gets one. If one of the three happens to have gone outside, we wait for him to come back in. We do this three or four times every night.
Eventually I slip through the gate to get ready for bed and let Harley out the utility door. Chelsea and Frankie jump up to go out with Jack, as he picks up his lighter and taps out a final cigarette from his pack. When they all come back in, they complete the ritual by having one last dog treat before Chelsea joins Harley and me for the night.
The other night Frankie and Jack could not go to sleep. Frankie especially was still restless long after the other dogs and I were sawing logs in the other room. He began to be quite pestersome, so the story goes, hopping up beside Jack and whiskering him in his face, then jumping back down to the floor and pushing a cold nose in his ear.
"Do you want something?" asked Jack. Smiles and wags replied, "Uh huh."
Jack sat up and whispered to the dog: "Okay. But we have to be quiet about this - absolutely quiet!" He could hardly believe what happened next.
Frankie turned and walked slowly on the pads of his feet making no noise whatsoever on the way to the cabinet in the kitchen. He sat very still, waiting as Jack carefully extracted a milk bone from the box and handed it to him. Then, he walked slowly and soundlessly back to the couch and stepped - not jumped - STEPPED up onto it, curled up with his face to the wall, and ate the treat with as little crunching as possible.
He never ceases to amaze.
Frankie, my 100 lb pitbull mix, is often called "Mister". Mister Personality, Mister Enthusiasm, Mister Tippy-tail. Head into the kitchen, and he leaps up and bounces after you, toenails tap-dancing on the wood laminate floor. The more noise, the better, he thinks, as he clatters across the tiles to the corner cabinet which houses the large box of dog biscuits. By this time, Chelsea is prancing and dancing along as well, and in the bedroom, Harley has sprung up from his lumpy imitation of a wooley rug and is bobbing back and forth behind the hallway gate. You reach through the crowd of noses (yes, two can be a crowd) to get three bones from the box. Frankie takes his and runs back across the kitchen and living room to leap onto the couch and crunch it up, Chelsea hunkers down and eats hers right there on the kitchen floor, and when you pass Harley's through the gate, he whips around and hops onto his futon at the foot of the king-size bed. Throughout the evening, they beg for milk bones, and ALWAYS it's an all-for-one, one-for-all deal - everybody gets one. If one of the three happens to have gone outside, we wait for him to come back in. We do this three or four times every night.
Eventually I slip through the gate to get ready for bed and let Harley out the utility door. Chelsea and Frankie jump up to go out with Jack, as he picks up his lighter and taps out a final cigarette from his pack. When they all come back in, they complete the ritual by having one last dog treat before Chelsea joins Harley and me for the night.
The other night Frankie and Jack could not go to sleep. Frankie especially was still restless long after the other dogs and I were sawing logs in the other room. He began to be quite pestersome, so the story goes, hopping up beside Jack and whiskering him in his face, then jumping back down to the floor and pushing a cold nose in his ear.
"Do you want something?" asked Jack. Smiles and wags replied, "Uh huh."
Jack sat up and whispered to the dog: "Okay. But we have to be quiet about this - absolutely quiet!" He could hardly believe what happened next.
Frankie turned and walked slowly on the pads of his feet making no noise whatsoever on the way to the cabinet in the kitchen. He sat very still, waiting as Jack carefully extracted a milk bone from the box and handed it to him. Then, he walked slowly and soundlessly back to the couch and stepped - not jumped - STEPPED up onto it, curled up with his face to the wall, and ate the treat with as little crunching as possible.
He never ceases to amaze.
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