Wednesday, April 9, 2008

Oliver's Ears Make their Move

After flirting with uprightedness, and jolly askewness (that should be a word), Oliver's ears seem to have settled down into a button ear. The button ear, is the folded over ear, not a dangling ear like a hound or an erect ear like a chihuahua. As a child that was my favorite ear to draw-my dogs had pointed ears and of course we always want what we don't have.

Oliver seems to have no interest in achieving the size I dreamed of, which is fine because he would be a horrible watch dog and protector of the pack. Come to think of it, his father was pretty laid by for a chihuahua too, and had no interest in protecting his puppies. The mother dog just wanted them gone, as did the people in the household.

It's so easy to rag on this people, but it isn't right. They are ignorant, not mean. I too had dogs that bred and I tried to find them homes and the mother wasn't spayed because I couldn't afford it. (That was pre low cost spay neuter clinics).

Oliver is the first dog to make use of the lovely cedar dog house I bought in Dallas thinking "if it rains they'll have a place to go". No one ever used it, but I liked the way it looked and always thought it would make a spiffy rabbit hutch or chicken coop. Oliver uses it for home base in his daily games of tag. He runs into the house, sticks his nose out and barks until all the dogs in the pack want IN because he's the only one who is IN. Then, he leaps out, runs around the backyard, the entire pack in pursuit. If no one catches him, he goes back and says "ha ha ha....I'm still the only one IN...." and the game begins anew.

Cody and Greta are both losing a little excess weight.

Ironically, I had a sunroom in Dallas as well as here, so that is where they go when it rains. Really, the dog house is my 895 SQ Ft. Mansion, complete with dog transport vehicle, dog exercise vehicle (one of my bikes is rigged for dog jogging), dog alarm clock (a punctual parrot) and alternate dog laps (my parents live two houses down). The best part of the alternate dog yard (my parent's house) is that after going into the house to get the treat Mom has for them, the lucky dogs can go out into the backyard and prance around let the pack SEE that they are HERE with the nice old lady who hands out bacon bits and chicken jerky.

Yet, to a dog, they always seem glad to come back home to resume tormenting their packmates upclose and personal. That is probably what love is.

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