Posts Tagged ‘dogs’

Some back story: Since our adoption of Finley in February of 2009, Suz’s mother has been sporadically insistent upon us obtaining dog booties to prevent Fin’s feet from getting too hot/cold on the blue stones of the Holy City.  In its intent, the idea is probably a good one, as Fin has encountered a couple nagging blisters and booties may help.

But there have been issues.

#1.  I despise the word “booties.” Say it aloud to yourself right now. Booties. It’s an awful word.  There is no way around it.  I feel insanely dumb even enuciating it.

#2.  Finley, at least in part, belongs to me, a male specimen of human origin.  As far as I am concerned, men don’t dress their regal canine companions in anything more than a bandana.  No sunglasses, no sweaters, nothing.  But especially not booties.

In response to Sally’s requests, I have issued a resounding ‘no’ on numerous of occasions.

But I wasn’t exactly tight on phrasing my decision on what is and isn’t appropriate for Finley to (shudder) wear.  Sally picked up on the fact that I was particularly against booties.  She found a weakness in my position.  And she exploited it.

Fast forward.  I had arrived in Raleigh the day before New Year’s Eve with ogre in tow.  Within seemingly milliseconds of our arrival, Finley noticed a peculiar object under the Christmas tree.  It was a package mysteriously wrapped in both paper and a rope toy.  I’m pretty sure she immediately realized that the whole thing, including the box underneath, was for her, as if the rope didn’t give it away.  After a day of palpable anxiety resulting in several sniffs and nudges of the package, Finley had endured enough waiting.  She wanted the contents of the package.  She would have the contents of the package.

We found her under the dining room table carefully disassembling the paper cocoon that shielded the identity of her ultimate prize from her gaze.  And then, finally, she saw it.

There is a saying that “good things come to those who wait”, and that is probably particularly apt for this situation.  Inside the mystery box resided two pair of baby socks.  Not booties.  Socks.  A loophole had been found.  I peeled away the packaging as Finley eagerly attempted to figure out what type of fun she would soon be having with her gift.

As it turns out, the answer was “not a whole heck of a lot.”  Reluctantly, I placed the socks on her paws while non-verbially giving her a solemn look of “I’m sorry…I’m just..sorry.”  Turns out, she was too.  She was very sorry she had been so anxious to find out the contents of the package.

So there she sat in the middle of the living room, engulfed in some mixture of despondency, annoyance, and humiliation.  Baby socks nestled around her regal beast feet.  It was hard to watch.  But I learned something about my dog that day.  She doesn’t like dressing up.  She doesn’t like wearing ridiculous human things.  She knows better.  And that comforted me.


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Summer Walks at Dusk

The beast hates the heat worse than dumptrucks, being carried, and the cat down the street that likes to ambush her from the cover of a hedgerow, so she has been relegated to dusk patrols around Colonial Lake until it either cools down or she decides to stop being such a wimp.  Finley will be a patriotic half-year old on July 4th and we have prepared a small collection of this first half of a year, which will be posted closer to the holiday.  Kids these days…they grow up so quickly.  Check back soon.

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This is the portrait of a very bad girl.

As I mentioned in Sunday’s post, Finley took out some pent up aggression during a trip to Adam, Ashley, and Aspen’s house after we had forced her to trot around downtown in the heat for a few hours Saturday afternoon.

Upon our arrival at the Kentucky Derby-inspired cookout, the monsters were unleashed into the confines of the backyard to do beastly things like biting each other’s necks, fighting over the water bowl, and sniffing each other’s nether regions.  All seemed normal, except beneath the playful pup atmosphere existed a smouldering resentment that would soon manifest itself as a masquerade of a Dock Dog competition.

I’m pretty sure Finley had it all planned out from the moment we arrived at the house.  After luring all willing spectators towards the back of the lawn, Suzanne and I stood, helpless, as Fin forsook her previously perceived fear of deep water and plunged, headlong, into the koi pond.

We stood stoically beside the pool, bewildered.

Aspen stood stoically beside the pool, bewildered and contemplating emulation, thoughts that were swiftly cut down by Ashley’s watchful glare, which I discovered is much more effective than my yelping of ‘no’ at a barely audible decibel level.

Finley climbed out and turned towards us. I swear I detected a wry smile cross her face right before she leaped again.  And again.  And again.  30+ times again.  Between plunges, she was gracious enough to run the length of the yard to where we were viewing the spectacle in horror and shake the living daylights out of herself, blasting us with water droplet shrapnel, before returning to her endeavours.  In her quest to impersonate Greg Louganis, she retrieved and displaced nearly the entire contents of the pond. Lily pads, weeds, pollen tassles, and the like were strewn about the vicinity like tornado debris.  She tromped around the lawn, victorious, mockingly rolling around in piles of sand and grass seed, and sat valiantly, with no regrets, as she ultimately succumbed to the foil of her afternoon romp: the garden hose.

Don’t let the regality of this second photo fool you.  There is evil in those eyes.  But at least now I know that I may actually have a competitor for Dock Dog contests in the near future, which makes it all worthwhile in the end.

Also, these photos cannot be claimed by Suzanne or myself for a change.  Adam and Ashley snapped these shots during the rampage.  Everyone should go take a look at their site, linked above.  Very talented photographers and very good friends of ours.

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