More Dog Days

If you read the last post about our dog Ally, you're hoping when you come to visit she doesn't go ballistic upon your arrival.  That would besmirch your character in ways from which it's hard to recover.  (No dangling participle!)  No, you're hoping she will lick your outstretched hand, and snuggle up to your leg.

Not bloody likely.  

You may be able to touch her - briefly, and only under the chin - when you've known her for half an hour.  Like an old society matron, she has her own notions of what is appropriate, and she's not afraid to tell you when you're overstepping.  Although I would not advise chuckling an old society matron under the chin, no matter how long you've known her...

But here's the weird thing:  Wally can open the garage door (it rumbles as it goes up, so loudly you can hear it in our bedroom, about half a mile away).  He can open the back door (beep! beep! that's the alarm that tells us when a kid is heading for the pool.  Or for freedom, but that's another story) and not a peep out of the dog.  She doesn't even raise her head.  

In contrast to a rat climbing the drainpipe who gets the entire anvil chorus in barking, or an amorous squirrel who really must be out of the mood after listening to Ally carry on, Wally gets the silent treatment.  Just a wag of the tail.  Nope, he can walk right into the bedroom and she won't even come out of her house.  

Is it scent?  Or sound?  How does she know it's us?

And here's the other weird thing:  Ally rarely wags her tail.   She's not unhappy, she snuggles up to my leg and demands petting at breakfast, and she can be quite demanding.   Many mugs of tea and spoonfuls of cereal have landed on the rug thanks to her shoving me with her nose because I got engrossed in the newspaper and forgot to keep scratching. 

She hops up on the bed in the morning and burrows into the warm down comforter, pressing her back against me, then turning over to wash my face.  So as you can see she's not intimidated, or unaffectionate.   But that tail?  Mostly reserved for other dogs.  I'm feeling a bit like I'm in the cheap seats, at least where the tail is concerned.

Maybe she knows we don't know the code.  Maybe she's noticed we don't have tails.  Apparently our noses are not the only parts that are not up to snuff.  

Treasure Hunt

If you don't like dogs, go read something else.

Right, everybody cozy? So Leeann and Dan were over for dinner, and of course we were wandering around the garden with wine in hand, and I was apologizing for the - ahem - whiffy-ness in the garden beds, and explaining while I am happy Ally has finally learned to do her business outside, I wish she would do it a bit farther from the outdoor dining room. And not in the areas where I plunge my hands into the soil. And Leeann told me about The Treasure Hunt.

Her friend had a similar problem and it was leaving brown spots on her lawn. So every day she'd take a big handful of kibble, yell "Treasure hunt!" and fling the kibble across the lawn. Dogs won't do their business where they eat, so problem solved.

Ally and I have been going out with treats (yeah, she's spoiled) at first every morning (altho since she's begun to nag while I'm having breakfast I'm mixing up the time) and having a treasure hunt. And the last few days when I've gone out to have breakfast in the garden, or a glass of wine at night, I've noticed something missing. A distinctive and unpleasant odor is gone. I can smell the jasmine and the roses...and the wine.

I don't know where she's going now, and like the parent of an unpleasant teenager said, "I don't care! It's not my problem." Come to think of it, that's what the unpleasant teenager said too.

So please excuse me, I'm taking my tea and toast out into the garden. And I will stop and smell the roses. Finally.

Animals at the table

My mom tell the story of my dad's cousins having a Very Important Person over for dinner, and finding out during dinner he was a bit of an ass. Mary Jean was of course as polite as could be, she wouldn't say macadam if she had a mouthful, but Ireta did not suffer fools gladly, and became more and more irritated as the evening wore on. When their dog was rubbing up against the guest, looking for handouts, he said "Say! I think this dog likes me!"

Ireta had had enough. "He should," she said, "You're eating off his plate."

The dinner ended rather abruptly, and that was the last time they saw him.

You know I like dogs more than I like most people, and I have a sign in my house that says "If you don't want hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture." But even I draw the line at the table. And cats. Disclaimer:

This Is Not My House.

At Risk Cricket

When we came home there was Cricket in the garden.

Our friend Larry of At Risk Welding made a sculpture of our darling dog. She died about two years ago - it's so nice to see her in the garden she loved. And our new rescue dog Ally

does not seem to be jealous. For a change. When Cricket died we thought we could never love another dog. Ally the clown has won our hearts. The best advice ever - get another dog. We are smitten, and Ally thinks it's a pretty good idea too. Thank you Patty Casci of Oh Behave in Danville for helping. Could not have done it without you.