These are some pictures of my grand dogs. The sleeping giant in the bathtub is Watson, a five month old Akita. He has to barred from the bathroom for anyone to have any hope of privacy. In the second picture, he is with his partner in crime, Hime.(pronounced He-May) Though he pesters her incessantly, she can’t bear to be separated from him. You can also see Watson cooling off in his pool and relaxing with his bone.
Reblog from Kelly Barnhill. Be thinking of her today. Nutsrok
My dog is bathed and dried and wrapped up and next to the heating vent. I got her to eat a little this morning. She drank some watered-down unsalted beef broth (organic, because she is worth it), and it felt like a miracle. I’m sitting next to her, my computer on my lap, pretending to write my book, but really I’m just looking at my dog. Keeping close.
“Stay,” I say.
She thumps her tail.
“Stay,” I say again. She closes her eyes and groans she pushes her nose against my leg with a sigh.
When we live with dogs, we have a set of words that our animals are trained to obey on cue. We say sit, and they sit. But that isn’t always what we mean. When Harper was young – a gnarly, snarly, scruffy little street dog, narrowly escaping Death By Dogcatcher – I would say “Sit”…
View original post 566 more words