Watson, the Great Hunter

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My granddog, Watson, managed a successful hunt, despite overwhelming odds.  He found this plush toy beside a trashcan.  After valiant pursuit, he was able to wrestle it into submission and drag its sorry carcass home.  At last report, he was still standing guard over it.

Watson and football

In the shot above, Watson has slain an unfortunate football that landed in his yard from the schoolyard across the street.  As you can clearly see, he has placed it in his food bowl in preparation for dinner.  He is not a catch and release kind of dog.  I am concerned that he will never be able to pass this ball even if he is successful in eating it.Watson in BathtubIn the shot above, you see Watson snoozing in the bathtub.  He sleeps with his snout at the drain where his snores can be amplified throughout the house.  He is like a two-year-old child.  He thinks he should get a bath anytime anyone else does.  Should they forget to lock the door, he pushes his way in to get in the tub with them.  If he gets in before they dry off, he wants to lick water droplets off.  He is not a good shower friend.

 

 

Stories About Annie for Dog Day 2015

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I got my daughter a Dalmatian for her thirteenth birthday.  I do believe that was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.  For about a day and a half, Annie was sweet.  As soon as she got her bearings, she became a hyperactive, maniacal buzz saw, plundering and eviscerating everything in her path from shoes to the rag top on my husband’s MG, but that’s a story for another post.

At eighteen months, Annie’s hormones kicked in.  Overnight, she was transformed into a nasty-tempered, sullen,farting, bitch, such a blessed relief.  One day she was sitting between Bud and Mother farting up a storm.  Bud and Mother each kept looking accusingly at the other, thinking surely they would eventually do the decent thing and excuse themselves.

Deciding to take her show on the road one morning, Annie decided the best thing for her to do was to tunnel under our neighbor’s back fence to pay him a call.  Brian wasn’t in the yard, so she trotted into the house looking for him.  He was deep in thought, sitting on the toilet, enjoying some quality time.  Inspired by his wise example, Annie squatted and produced a fine example of her own.  Though I didn’t see the actual event, I did get to hear about it in great detail.My daughter once had a fat, farting, sullen Dalmatian named Annie who liked only two things in this world.  The kid across the street named Greg and anything with wheels:  riding mower, wagon, wheel barrow, cars…..We’d often look out and see Annie sitting on the seat of the riding mower.  I do believe if we’d left the keys in she would have cranked it.  She’d even try to sit perched ridiculously on top of the push mower.  If we left a car door open, she’d go flying in, hopping in the driver’s seat, perched behind the wheel.  When she did make a car trip, we had to restrain her to keep her in the back.

Annie and the MG

My husband bought a red MG Midget with a rag top.  Can you guess where this is headed?  Annie fell in love with it, thinking it was just her size.  It was in really good condition, except for a dime-sized snag in the rag top just over the driver’s seat.  Bud normally parked it in the garage, but he carelessly left it in the drive one night.  When he came out the next morning, Annie was sitting in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead.  She wouldn’t look to the right or the left. She had wanted to get in that car so badly, she’d climbed on top and fallen through the ragtop.  I heard him shrieking and wondered what catastrophe had taken place.  He tore the door open trying to get at her.  She ripped by him, making a beeline for the protection of her fiberglass igloo doghouse that she had never even stuck a toe in before that day.  Bud kicked at her(I hope the statute of limitations has run out on cruelty to animals)but she made it in before he connected.  He got a huge bruise on his shin from kicking the doghouse.  She never did get to drive.

A Penny Saved……

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My lovely, kind-hearted niece, pictured above, brought her little rescue dog, Penny,over to meet me.  Penny had been tossed out near a creek by some evil person, apparently in hopes she’d be picked up.  Hannah left her food and water, since Penny was too fearful to be approached, baited a trap with wieners, and caught her.  She was underweight, starving, and sick when Hannah got her to a vet, but is now recovering.  In fact, she is recovering so well, she chased my dog Buzzy out of his food, drank his water, and bossed him around.  I think it was good for him to see how a hungry dog eats.  After Hannah had Penny home a couple of days, she’s dug out under fences, dominated their bigger dogs, and generally taken over.  I think she may have run the place at some old grannie’s house.  She shows all the signs of being the spoiled darling the kids pitched out when Granny died.  I expect to see her drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, listening to gospel music, and playing video poker next time I go to visit Hannah.  Seriously, I don’t know how people who abandon animal can sleep at night.  I guess they don’t know about Karma.

Buzzy’s Exotic Vacation

imageOn our recent trip, Buzzy had a great time visiting family.  Lest I mislead you, I never claimed he was a brave dog.  He ran from some house cats, but they were bob-tailed.  In his defense, He’d never seen a bob-tailed cat and was unsure how dangerous they might prove to be.  He walked into a swimming pool by accident, his first experience with one.  He was an excellent swimmer, but had no idea how to get out.  He seemed to enjoy his little swim.image

His introduction to Aunt Beulah’s chickens was hysterical.  He was waiting expectantly when she opened the door to the hen house.  When Bonnie and Clyde strutted out, he set a new land-speed record for American Eskimo Dogs, if there wasn’t one before.  I believe he would have passed up Greyhounds trying to escape those bobbling fowl, even though they showed no interest whatsoever in him.

We are back home now.  I’ll keep you posted of his future adventures.

Hey, That’s My Mole !

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Bubba, the second in our series of four American Eskimo Dogs, now respectfully referrered to as the late Uncle Bubba, was a great and fearsome dog.  We’d been plagued by moles in our yard, which we’d been unsuccessfully battling.  Bubba was extremely interested in the beasts, as any fine hunting dog would have been, but had never actually spotted one.  He’d continually dirtied up his beautiful white coat in attempting to dig out the wily Star-Nosed Mole, courageously enduring bath after bath.  Unbelievably, his heroism eventually paid off!  Finally digging one out, he presented his prize gallantly!  Each of us bragged over his trophy in turn, praising him highly!

He kept his trophy handy all afternoon, bringing it forward from time to time when his ego needed a little boost.  Sadly, for Bubba, a passing crow also admired his catch, swooped down, and snatched it from him.  Devastated, Bubba loped behind him, barking in fury.  “Hey, come back here! That’s my mole.”