I want to believe.
I want to believe all kinds of things. FOUR YEARS AGO TODAY Dexter was born, and I wanted to believe I was getting a superstar agility dog with a big brain and a superfast body.
Well, he’s fast all right. And most of him is big (ears, legs, hugs, LOVE), but not so much his brain. I feel like I am living with an alien sometimes, as we so do not speak the same language (I speak English – usually angry – and he speaks Crashing Cutlery and Burning Rubber).
I want to believe that at the ripe old age of 4 years, he’s on the cusp of a breakthrough (his brain will evolve, or come out of hiding or whatever). Agility class last night proved me wrong. For the record: THERE IS NO FIRST WEAVE POLE IN DEXTER’S WORLD. It’s not his fault, the thing just does not exist on his dimension, so suck it judge.
He’s a lunatic.
I love him. I hate him. I’ve never had such diametrically opposed feelings for the same creature at the same time as I do for this dog. I cannot imagine life without him. I cannot help but imagine what life would be like if he had two brain cells to rub together.
But one thing I am sure of; he’s my family. He’s part of our whole big retardodog soup.
Happy Birthday Dexter “Long Stride” Morgan. If you do not put me in an early grave (fists clenched, mouth for eternity screaming a long “WHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!”), I raise a frisbee to another 14 years of crazy making together.
There is no Winter in this photo because he was hiding from me beneath my truck. He was hiding from me because he was afraid I was going to chase him around the acreage hitting him with a dead chicken. This is not because we have turned to vaudeville as a way to amuse ourselves, it’s because the f*cker killed one of my chickens this morning and I tried to beat him into mangy goat meat with the corpse. Alas, the chicken was very small, and Winter is very fast. Foiled again.
Anyway. We’re baaa-aack! You missed us, apparently, judging from all the posts and emails. My apologies for disappearing from the face of the earth … I just was not feeling the blogging thing. For no real reason other than my job consists of me training, exercising, talking about and writing about dogs. When I come home, I scowl menacingly at my own crew and don’t want to train, exercise, talk about or write about them or any other dog on the planet.
I’m too vested in my job, maybe. I don’t want to analyze it. Shut The Fuck Up.
No no, I wasn’t speaking to you. I was speaking to her. “Her” being Shut The Fuck Up.
She is my latest “I take my work home with me” project. About 3 months old, she was found locked in the fenced ‘Small Dog’ dog park one morning by a woman when she went to take her dog for a romp. All by herself. No other dogs or humans in sight. I toyed with calling her “Coyote Bait” instead of Shut The Fuck Up, but then I tried to put her in an XPen and leave the room, and the set o’lungs on her sealed her name fate.
At work we call her Hopscotch, and my boss says I am NEVER EVER ALLOWED TO INTRODUCE HER TO CHILDREN because I might say the wrong name by mistake.
Can you guess what she is? I mean, besides an Olympic gymnast.
Or the Terrier’s Plaything.
Maybe she is your next little agility dog?
Don’t be offended by her name. She was almost “Pisses On Dog Beds.”
And speaking of next agility dogs, I guess Kieren is going to be mine. I had three – count ’em, THREE – applicants for Kieren who vanished into the ether halfway through the adoption process in the last month, so I have effectively given up on trying to find him a home. He’s still listed as available, in case a MIRACLE happens and someone actually comes along and adopts him, but in the meantime, I have started training him in agility, so that he’s not rotting away in the back of my SUV.
The Satanist has dubbed him “The Better Dexter” which tells you all you need to know about the trajectory of Dexter’s agility career in the years to come.
In other news, someone put a hole in Wootie, but it healed itself. The hole probably vanished into the HUGE LAYER OF FAT that he is sporting this summer. The older he gets, the lazier he gets, so the fatter he gets. He’s going to be 100 lbs by the time he’s a senior.
His brother suffers from the same affliction. But he’ll have to get fatter at Auntie Jen’s place, as that’s where he’s going to live for a while. He bit Dexter the other day, so The Rage is intensifying (although what I erroneously interpreted as Dexter being trapped under the bed turned out to actually be a contest for who could claim Under The Bed rights first, and whoever gets under there doesn’t want to leave lest their nemesis plant their flag in that spot. It must be the coolest spot in the house, because now that the weather is not so smoking hot, the contest to claim it has abated somewhat) and I am sending TWooie away to give Dex a break from being bullied.
Piper is going bald.
Had her first ever hot spot last year. Got another this summer. No idea why. I got ahead of this one quicker though, as I was prepared for it, so I didn’t have to shave her whole back end like I did last summer.
And Tweed’s having his toe removed :(
His cytology came back as nothing alarming, just inflammation, so we did a second round of powerful antibiotics in case it was a foreign body that didn’t get expelled the first time. No dice. Then the good Dr. Bowra wanted to do a biopsy, just in case. But after some thought, I decided that if the biopsy DID show something and we had to remove the toe anyway, I was paying for twice the procedures AND he would have to go under anaesthetic twice, something I am a bit loathe to do in an old man dog of 13. Plus, he will Not Leave The Growth Alone and he keeps making it bleed, so I am going to bite the bullet and just sacrifice the toe. And my credit card.
The good news is it hasn’t slowed him down any!
Hopefully the same will be said after he is short one digit.
Even when it’s boring around here it’s never boring!