Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Doggy Tidbits

I sing to our dogs.
I think they know I'm in a good mood when the songs break out. I think they even know the songs.


Once there was a Tux
And when there was a Tux
He loved his Mommy and his Daddy and his Peaches too
Because he was the Tux

Once there was a Peach
And when there was a Peach
She loved her Mommy and her Daddy and her Tuxes too
But mostly she loved the Georgia-Ball...


Everybody thinks their dogs are smart, little furry four-footed humans. Ours, especially the Tux, has humanity nailed in certain ways. He uses a pillow exactly the way I do, which is cute as hell. He's as wedded to the routine as I am and he loves bedtime...say that word and he's upstairs like a shot. Give him his druthers and I'm not sure he'd get off the bed.

As I believe I may have mentioned, Tux loves Eva. Desperately. His world revolves around Mommy. It's adorable, but occasionally frustrating as hell. Eva can be gone for all of ten minutes and Tux will be all over her if she doesn't utterly ignore him when she gets back. (Extend your arm and point into the distance--direction doesn't matter--and he'll settle down quickly. Forget to do that and look out.)
What's semi-amusing through the pain of the clawing attempts to hug the Mommy is that Tux will always have the Georgia-Ball, or at least the Red-Ball, crammed in his mouth when Mommy arrives home. It's the only time he touches his "sister"'s toys, ever, and we've convinced ourselves over years that he gags himself with a ball to show us he's not going to bite. He refuses to understand that his claws, even clipped, are sharp and hellishly strong.

You want dexterity? Tux can get a plate out of our kitchen sink. I have no idea how he does this and I'd dearly love to find out. We do know his paws bend in a myriad of different directions, but sheesh. Leave anything conceivably within reach of a four year old kid and Tux will find a way to get it to the floor.

Another Tux-tale: One night, lying in bed, Tux was glomming himself over-enthusiastically to the Mommy (he loves his Mommy, remember?) Exasperated, Eva unthinkingly said "turn around, Tux." Whereupon the dog got up, turned 180 degrees, and laid back down. We were flabbergasted and informed him over and over what a good boy he was, and that command, "turn around, Tux", is now as much as part of his vocabulary as "cheese", "biscuit", and "car-ride".

Get that Georgia-Ball (oh, Peaches)
Get that Georgia-Ball!
Everybody get that Georgia-Ball (big finish, now)
Get that Georgia-Ball!)

I think Georgia believes she is the Mommy to her Georgia-Ball. She treats it like her security blanket unless I'm throwing it, which she insists I do a minimum of four times a day. There are actually two Georgia-Balls, identical, which look like this:
For others with power-chewer dogs, note: these suckers, by Westpaw, are damn near indestructible. I could give Georgia a tennis ball, I'm sure, but it would be deflated in three seconds flat. There are two Georgia-balls because she will very occasionally lose track of one, and those are the worst days in our Peach's life. But even though the two balls are, as I say, identical, she very much prefers one of them over the other for reasons that escape me. The hierarchy goes

Preferred Georgia-Ball
Inferior Georgia-Ball
Georgia-Cup (this is a metal cup the size and shape of a condiment holder)

Spoken word:
Georgia....what are the ingredients for Georgia-Ball?
Let's see...we need one Daddy to throw the Georgia-Ball...
One Georgia-Ball-Glove because Georgia, you drool...
One Georgia, to run and get the Georgia-Ball and bring it back to the Daddy...
...and [opens pato door and throws ball] One Georgia-Ball!

Our B.B.-cat is on her last legs. She's lived a long and loved life--about eighteen years--and while we don't believe she's in any pain, she's adopted a cave under the kitchen table and hardly moves from it except to get water (which she prefers to get from the dogs' dish). Eating is very halfhearted. There will be a B.B.-blog coming soon, I'm afraid.
The dogs know all is not well in the state of Cat. Especially Tux. He is very protective her, nosing around to make sure I'm only feeding her when I do. Dogs, in my experience, have an uncanny ability to discern when someone is sick, be that sickness physical or emotional, and act accordingly. This is one of many reasons I believe in canine intelligence; indeed, if humans can be said to have souls (or 'spirits', if you like that word better), I'm sure dogs do, too.

One puppy, two puppy, red puppy, blue puppy
Peach-puppy, Tux-puppy, Daddy loves his puppies...
(this one usually immediately precedes the playing of Silly Buggers, aka Hide The Tux-Face, and the rubbing of the Tummy-on-the-Tux. Tux has a tummy (and so does his Mommy, of course, for rhyming reasons)...but Peach and Daddy both have bellies.)

Eva's mom brought her dog here once. Scaredy-dog, this one was. Georgia noted this and brought her Georgia-Ball over, dropping it right in front of us all, as if to say here, this is my Georgia-Ball and it makes me feel good. Maybe it will make you feel good, too. I was completely overcome with a wave of love for my dog when she did that.

As I type this, Georgia and Tux are both splayed on our new couch. We were terribly afraid Georgia would "Peach" it--that's our euphemism for shred to pieces, which is what she does when she's bored or spiteful or whatever it is she is when she decided to chew things. It's never when we're around, although she licked the old couch often enough, right in front of Eva ("stop licking the coutch, Peach" is a sentence I never dreamed I'd hear in my entire life). The new couch is plush and they both love it...but not as food, thank heavens for small favours.

And that's all I have for now. I love my dogs. Go love up yours....

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