gone to the dogs

sunrise:  5:35

I have a comfortable routine of blogging up here.  There happens to be a strong unsecured network that I get from the grocery store parking lot in town.  I pick up food and a signal in one convenient trip.

Rough waters and looming clouds made for an abbreviated paddle this morning, so the dogs got to go out earlier than usual. I offered Clara and Kate their morning walk grudgingly, still annoyed at them for last night.

Clara has been so good on the leash, and in little bits of off leash time as well. So once again, like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football that Lucy keeps promising to hold still (and never does), I decided to trust her and give her one more try. As my sister and I walked around the dirt road loop for the dogs’ evening stroll, Clara returned to my side on command and got her treat - once, twice, 4 or 5 times, just perfectly. Then something in the woods caught her attention, and she was gone.

Probably because I had just been telling my sister how Kate would never leave my side, Kate chose to prove me wrong and took off as well, leaving her fetching stick behind, against all odds.

We took the car and searched for a while to no avail. It was a little nerve-wracking as darkness fell, but sure enough they both returned eventually, wet, panting, and exhausted.

Why do we do this thing – invite these difficult, mannerless creatures to share our homes? There were nine of them here the other day between all of the immediate homes on our point plus visitors over for a swim. And what a menagerie! My brother has two mini-dachshunds, and here is my sister’s old Fred – an English bulldog that I affectionately call a freak of nature.

In fact, this dog cannot even exist in nature. They can only be born by Caesarian section because of the relative hip and head size. All aspects of reproduction are facilitated by humans. All that trouble for something that looks like it should be in a circus side show!!?? In fact, I know that they were bred for fighting bulls, latching on with their enormous jaws and safe from having their backs broken by a shaking bull because of their tiny hips.

If Fred saw a bull, he would not have the slightest idea what to do. He chases animals fruitlessly. Once he actually caught up to a big ground hog and was utterly baffled by his success. Uh…what do I do now?

Really, though, I love old Fred. He is dear sweet boy, a fine companion, great with all the growing children, old reliable.  And a constant source of amusement.

I love my dogs too... but sometimes it’s hard to remember why.