Dog Stories

Evening Jaunts with the Pups

When I take the dogs for our run in the evenings, the ritual goes something like this. I step into the bathroom and put on my workout clothes. The dogs both raise there heads and watch me as I shut the door. When I emerge, donning my workout wear, they are both sitting outside the door looking at me with big, excited eyes. Once they get a whiff of my clothes (no matter how often I launder them, the pups can always tell they're my "outside" duds), the excitement begins. Elvis pants happily and whines and stands underfoot as I fetch my running shoes. Hilda, being female in all ways, makes no attempt to hide her emotions and barks and scampers and jumps everywhere trying to grab the socks from my hand. Leashes at ready, I open the front door and the dogs rush into the yard. I spray my pants legs with bug repellent, attach the leashes and off we go.

This is how it goes every evening. Until yesterday.

I wasn't feeling too wonderful and decided to just enjoy a long, leisurely stroll instead of a strenuous run. With that in mind, I warmed a cup of soup to have for supper while I walked. So, soup in hand and dogs all primed and full of energy, I opened the front door as I normally do. The dogs burst forth, as usual. Suddenly, I hear Elvis' signature long, descending growl. In the blink of an eye, he's off like rocket! To my horror, I see the 2 yippy irritating Pomeranians from up the road fleeing for their lives! E's in hot pursuit with Hilda at his heels!

I will just interject two facts here before I continue with my narration:

These 2 little mongrel neighbor dogs are a menace. They are allowed free reign (no leashes, no fences) of the neighborhood and I have caught them tearing up my trash and crappin in my yard on more than one occasion. So, while I certainly didn't wish for them to die the terrible death that Elvis would surely inflict upon them, I also wouldn't mind the fear of God being put into their little black hearts as regards their trespassing in my yard. The other fact pertinent to this story is that Elvis is sure death to any living animal caught in "his" territory. Once he launches forth, and pursuit begins, it's like trying to stop a locomotive. When he eventually hears me saying "NO!", he'll slow down. But, by then, it's usually too late.

Back to the story:

I immediately flung my supper into the yard and sprinted after the pack, yelling "ELVIS, NO! ELVIS, NO!" in my mean-loud-dog-commanding voice. I could hear a terrible ruckus as they passed from beyond my line of view. As I rounded the edge of the yard, I expected the worst--bloody,mangled neighbor dogs being shaken to death in Elvis' jaws. By some minor miracle Elvis had heard me yelling. He had slowed up enough for the trespassers to escape. They were running as fast as their little legs would carry them, tails between their legs, yelping as if E'd already caught them. I was out of breath and out of temper. Elvis came trotting back to me, quite satisfied with himself. Hilda, at first excited with the chase, was terrified by my yelling and was now seeking reassurance by trying to walk between my legs. We all walked back to the house and I sat and let my heart descend from my throat while the dogs ate my supper off of the lawn. Lesson learned: E must be on his leash BEFORE I open the door.


Treats

It is a ritual to give the dogs rawhide chips when they've come in from doing their business. And so here begins the drama I like to call "As the Rawhide Turns".
Each dog grabs their treat and heads to their customary chewing locations. Elvis puts his treat down between his paws and begins to eyeball Hilda, who's happily chewing away. Eventually, he feigns sleep. Hilda, being a puppy and of a naturally flighty personality, lacks the focus required to completely dispense of a rawhide without distraction. Elvis, the patient scavenger, knows he has only to wait and watch. He's developed quite the taste for a soft, pre-chewed treat, you see. Eventually, inevitably, she drops the rawhide and scampers off, only for a moment, mind you, to investigate some interesting sound or smell. It is all he needs. Smooth as glass, he slinks over filches the treat and slinks back. Hilda, upon returning, is at first bewildered and begins to sniff about. Following the scent too closely to it's source, Elvis growls and hovers protectively over the treats between his paws. At this point, Hilda runs too me and whines and gets another treat. And so the drama continues...



Regarding Hilda's approaching ...umm...b*tch-hood?

Hilda is showing signs that she will soon "become a woman". I've decided to allow this to happen once before I have her fixed. It's supposed to be healthier for the dog. The logistics of it happening, however, will naturally be a problem. When talking to Janelle about it she suggested a Diva Cup. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!