[et_bloom_locked optin_id="optin_2"] content [/et_bloom_locked]

I used to love autumn. Now I’m not so sure. I see all the trees in my backyard losing their leaves and they look like they’re dying. I’m sad for them, but Stanley loves to run through the leaves. Or try to eat them. I wonder if they taste like potato chips. He makes his way through the backyard with his nose to the ground, daring the leaves to trip him up.

 The other day he came in with a face full of mud after having dug a huge hole beside one of the bushes. I’ve never tried to get mud out of a furry face before. It was a time-consuming task and one that took three towels. After it was done I went outside, took the shovel, and filled in the hole to China.

Didn’t matter – Stanley was out there the next day. Ah, the life of a terrier.

I am forcing myself to brush Stanley’s teeth every day. He hates anything mechanical, as I’ve mentioned before, from the printer to the coffee bean grinder. If it makes a noise, he’ll attack it, so there’s no chance of using the almost silent electric toothbrush. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a terrier’s teeth, but they’re amazing. They have these huge double molar looking things with razor edges a few teeth back from their incisors on both sides. I imagine they’re good for tearing up prey. They also make me uber cautious when I’m brushing Stanley’s teeth. I have two toothbrushes for him – the large one for the front teeth and the baby toothbrush for the back teeth. I have surmised that the more often I brush his teeth the more familiar he’ll become with the process. The other night was the first time I was able to finish his teeth without having to coax him back into position or try for the back teeth a half dozen times. Progress!

He’s also learning to be brushed every night. His facial hair always gets messy with food and water, so that’s a challenge.

The most important progress is that he doesn’t have a fit when I take out the garbage. At the garage door I tell him that I’ll be right back. He sits there at the door waiting for me, but he doesn’t cry. (Or scream, thank heavens.) The other day I had to do something else in the garage and I didn’t come back in for 15 minutes. There wasn’t a peep from him. Nor did he tear up anything.

Baby steps, Stanley style!