The diva and the tramp

Tonight our friend Betsy came over with her two Border Terriers. Our Golly (right) and her MacDuff are exactly the same age, born on the same day, a little over 10 years ago. Childhood sweethearts. We posed the picture above, trying to recreate one we took about a decade ago. It was their idea to "hold hands." Later, when we were just sitting around talking, they had another moment, with no prompting from us at all. Luckily, we still had the camera nearby.Wisselwood Golly G Whilikers, CD (Brussels Griffon) and MACH 3 Otterby Thane of MacDuff, CDX (Border Terrier)

They'll Make a Liar Out of You Every Time!

Isn't it true with every living being that as soon as you make a definitive comment about something, the opposite happens? It's certainly true with Golly. If we haven't said it before, I'll say it now. Golly is a princess, a prima donna, a diva. Things must be her way or no way! We say she won't do something, and next thing you know...

We got Golly and her siblings some really nice beds. I mean REALLY nice beds (Woofie cushions, to be precise) - about 6 months ago. Golly has ignored the big one in the office since then. Since no one was really using the bed and it takes up quite a bit of real estate in an already very small room, so we talked about getting rid of it. It was an unseasonably warm day, so we took a throw from the couch and just dropped it in the Woofie Cushion. Wouldn't you know, Golly hopped right in and made herself at home! Needless to say, the Woofie Cushion isn't going anywhere!

Urban life and dog doings

Our next-door neighbor here at GollyGear is an insurance agent. He's a good enough neighbor, as long as you don't mind working next door to Felix Unger. Today I ran into him while we were both throwing away trash, which I do whenever I can't avoid it any longer and he does three times a day. He very kindly offered, if I had a shovel, to pick up all that "mess" behind my shop. That "mess" is a very tidy, four by four foot square of wood shavings. It's our "exercise area" when we have any of the dogs at work. I thanked him and explained its purpose. Felix grimaced. I don't think he approves of dogs. Then again, I can't imagine he approves of any bodies' functions. But he's also too polite to say so.

The great French Bulldog escape

Friday (my day off) was spent carting dogs to and from the vet: Golly and Roc needed their annual physical (read shots) and everybody needed heartworm tests.

Our vet, who I adore (in a wish-she-could-be-my-doctor way) is a bit old-fashioned; no appointments. You walk into the waiting room, sign in, and wait your turn. Consequently, when it's time for heartworm testing, waits can be long. Waiting at the vet can also be loud, depending on the dogs, and entertaining, depending on the other people. Friday morning, when I took Golly and Roc, was dogs-with-pushed-in-faces day, our two Brussels Griffons, a pug and a Boston Terrier.

Golly and Roc were puzzled by the Boston. She looked like their sister, but she was calm. Even sedate. Their little faces kept going from the Boston (Daisy) to my face, as if to say "What is this? Why is it not in perpetual motion? Is there something wrong with this dog?" Their fascination with Daisy perplexed Daisy's dad, until I explained the situation. He was astonished to learn that other Bostons could be, shall we say, more lively than his Daisy. He was gone by the time I brought Ceilidh in later that day. Shame. He could have learned the Dark Side of the Boston Force.

Golly and Roc both passed with flying colors - such good babies. No problem.

Later in the afternoon, I geared up to take Dax and Ceilidh in for their tests. Taking Ceilidh anywhere requires preparation; treats and a collapsible crate are essential. Leashes in hand, purse and crate over my shoulder, treats in my pocket, I sally off to the car. First things first: I sling the crate into the back, open Ceilidh's car crate, pick her up and pop her in. With all of her challenges, she's actually an excellent traveller. We are grateful for small favors.

As I'm putting Ceilidh in the car, I know something's not right. I look down and Dax's leash, which was supposed to be under my foot, is not. And there is Dax, trotting off across the street, into the neighbor's yard, heading for the alley behind his house. She's not running away from me, she's trotting at a very deliberate, very adorable, very terrifying Frenchie clip. I slam the hatch, start calling "Dax, come" (which got an ear twitch) and go running after her. I'm a pretty darn good dog trainer, so I use all the tricks in the book: run the other way, yell cookie, etc., etc. She just keeps on trotting.

I caught her leash at the end of the neighbor's yard. She'll be back in training class this week. You betcha.

The chase is on!

Dax (French Bulldog): "Ceilidh, play with me!"

Ceilidh (Boston Terrrier) : "Are you talkin' to me?"

Ceilidh: "I'm gonna get that bunny butt!"

Ceilidh: "Okay kid: show me what you got!"

Dax: "You can't catch me"

Dax: "I told you it'd be fun"

Ceilidh's a Contradiction

I've talked about Ceilidh, my Boston Terrier, before. She's a nutcase at Agility Class and has two speeds at home: hyper and off. She's also a contradiction. As wild as she is playing, that's how sweet and delicate she is at other times. I gave her one of the new "Squeeze Meeze" latex toys (OK, here's the link: http://www.gollygear.com/sqz_meez.htm) and she went crazy - holding the head of the dragon and shaking for all she was worth. I thought she was going to seriously hurt herself. And then a little later we were handing out treats and she was as delicate as could be. You would have thought you'd have to count all your fingers, but that's just not the case with gentle Ceilidh!

And then last night at Agility Class she was grabbing her ball and tugging, then later, sat nicely for treats. She's a contradictory pup.

The next sound you hear

Last night I was in the backyard with Roc, who for some reason, even after four years, is not really secure on the whole housebreaking thing, which means when he suddenly runs out of the room where he's been peacefully napping you run after him. Unless you feel like cleaning up the mess later. Most of the time he's just desperately thirsty and running to the kitchen for a drink.

Of course dogs get used to routines, they train us very well that way. So after all this time, he gets up, runs out of the room and waits for one of us in the hallway. He knows we're coming, and he's a very social little guy, so he does the polite thing and waits and now we're stuck. We decided to trust him for a while, but he kept waiting in the hall. Like I said, he has us well-trained.

Anyway, I had him in the backyard and like the nine-pound protector of the universe he is, he heard another dog walking in the alley and starts yapping away. I tried to get him to quiet down, but then the other dog barked. It was very dark and the other dog was on the other side of a fence and barrier of bushes. I couldn't see the other dog at all. But I heard his owner say "Quiet," and we had a nice chat:

He: "What kind of dog do you have?"
Me: "Brussels Griffon. Is that a Shepherd?"
He: "Yeah, he's a German Shepherd"
Me: "Have a good evening."
He: "You, too."

So my question is, little dog person that I've been all my life - how did I know, just from its bark, that his dog was a German Shepherd?