I choose to believe it/they were mole hunting, because the alternatives (moving a dead body, building a satanic fall-out shelter etc.) are just too frightening.
This little guy is a 5-6 month old Craigslist acquisition I picked up last weekend. I figured Tweed needed a red buddy, since he was odd man out and all. SEVEN dogs doesn’t make me crazy, does it?
I’m just kidding, I’m not keeping him. He’s real cute and all, but I’m just fostering him.
I was going to find him another foster home, but he’s been a pretty easy puppy so far – housebroken, quiet in his crate, comes when called etc. And to be honest, even TWooie hasn’t f*cked with him all that much … he’s too busy hating Dexter, and resource guarding EVERYTHING in the house. In fact, I was going to blog about that today because I’m going to be looking for some suggestions on those topics real soon. But I was invited to go play with and photograph some ponies this afternoon, so I’m going to do that instead :)
I had to buy this puppy, as the woman was not in the least bit interested in releasing him to rescue for free. Normally, I’m not all that chuffed about buying dogs from CL, and I let nature take its course, but a red and white intact male puppy just spells trouble for me down the road, since it generally means candy coloured border collie adolescents puppy up in rescue in about a year, so I went ahead and paid her what she was asking. And I’m glad I did too, because he has the worst case of parrot mouth I’ve ever seen.
And he has two retained testicles. This is a dog that should not be passing on any of his genetic qualities.
If you’re at all interested in helping offset those costs, you know where the paypal button is ;-)
But he is a very NICE puppy, although as he settles in, he’s beginning to show me what he’s made of. He learned to play Dumbball (initially he didn’t understand why I was throwing the ball away, and then he couldn’t really figure out the benefit of bringing it back) in about an hour and now he’s kind of obsessive about it. On day two he was trying to snatch the frisbee out of my hand when I went to pick it up and nailing me pretty hard in the process. And this morning, as we were out to tending to chickens rather than playing Dumbball, he decided it would be a good time to bark at me and bite me in the leg to indicate his displeasure at NOT playing Dumbball. And since he was living in a house with 5 children under the age of 10, I feel like I made a good decision getting him out while I did.
Spring is really diggin’ having him around, as he’s a puppy and therefore likes to play more than the older dogs do. She also seems to really enjoy having someone to boss around, finally. Last night I was relaxing with the latest episode of Breaking Bad (I am so naming my next dog Heisenberg!) and all the big dogs were sprawled around the house sleeping, and the red puppy was bored. So he started meandering about picking up various toys … and every toy he would pick up, Spring would take away from him and stash in “her” bed (a cat bed atop a chest in the living room). By the end of the evening, she was uncomfortably crouched atop a MOUNTAIN of dog toys and old bones, and the poor puppy was just gazing wistfully at her from the floor, wondering why he wasn’t allowed to have any.
I tend to think that the toy hoarding is a terrier trait, which would go back to the borderjack theory of origin. But then I watch her run, and I think she might be a pocket lurcher after all.
And while she may be enjoying the puppy, her all time favourite wrasslin’ companion remains The Woo.
I am now off to go play with ponies before class. Yay!!
Have a great long weekend, ya’ll (yay!). I have to work the whole thing (boo).
But before I go, let me ask you a question … have you ever heard of a CAT with separation anxiety? Yes, I said a CAT. Mr. Orange can’t stand it when I leave the house, and he sits in the window and cries and cries and cries until I come home, whereupon he immediately goes and finds somewhere to lay his fat self down to sleep again peacefully. In the mornings, very early, I can hear him crying all the way from the back of the acreage. What kind of effed up cat have I gotten myself into??