The other day I had to sign for a foreign package. The postman was standing at the door waiting for me as I walked Stanley to the door.
He and Flash have/had the same attitude about strangers. Strangers are no good. No bueno por nada.
Flash, however, just lunged and barked at people. Stanley has attempted to dine on them.
I opened the screen door, holding onto Stanley’s leash. If I could have put him inside my office I would have, but I didn’t have time. He was growling. The postman, who was a woman, handed me the package and the machine to sign. So, leash, machine, package. Then SHE REACHES IN AND STARTS TO TRY TO PET STANLEY.
WHO, BY THE WAY, IS STILL GROWLING LIKE HELL.
I said, in my most dulcet tones: DON’T DO THAT!!! DON’T TRY TO PET HIM. BACK OFF!
Look, I’m normally a Southern Belle, y’all, but I could not understand why that woman was trying to pet a growling dog. I was trying to control Stanley while holding onto that other crap, but I was scared he was going to bite her. We’re still working on manners.
She said: OH, I USED TO TRAIN DOGS. I’M NOT AFRAID.
WELL, I WAS.
Honey, if you used to train dogs, you know better than to try to pet a growling dog. He didn’t bite her, but he didn’t stop growling. I told him NO and he finally stopped, but she was an idiot.
Then I told her that he had only been with me two weeks and we were still working on manners. She said, WELL, THAT DOG NEEDS A WHIPPING.
I came so damn close to throwing that package at her. Or letting Stanley bite her.
That had to be the stupidest woman I’ve ever met in my life.
Do you ever wonder about people?
I have actually gotten a lot of work done, surprisingly, between zipping out to the backyard as well as playing ball. Stan the Man (see, I’ve started with the nicknames already) can play fetch! Occasionally, he carries this squeaky ball around in his mouth and it’s one long squeak.
I forgot to tell you that I have a vibration setting for my automatic bed. I turned it on last night and Stanley jumped up, alarmed, then settled back in. He then proceeded to roll over on his back with his legs in the air. I think he liked the vibration thing.
Today he’s taken over one of the chairs in my office. The look is because I’m not playing with him right now.
I have him on a 30′ training lead, but I did an experiment a little while ago and removed it. He followed me everywhere anyway. He really is my shadow.
He has now learned the command WAIT. Yay, Stanley!
In other news, have you ever gotten to the point that you want to eat one particular food and you’d almost kill to get it? It’s not chocolate. It’s not ice cream. I want meat. I want a steak. I want meat loaf. I want a burger. I want ground beef. I want meat. Me, cavewoman. You, better go get mastodon. I can’t eat meat right now because my UA is still too high and I don’t DO pain. But man, this is a serious craving. Nope, it’s a NEED.
Off to work again and also to do a significant amount of pouting. 🙂
A couple of things have happened to me in the past few weeks.
I got tired of being sad.
I read what I quoted yesterday: Measure your years by the number of dogs that loved you and how many you loved.
I saw the following blurb on a rescue site, God’s Dogs.( I really respect that organization.)
Dear Ladies in Waiting,
I am a gentleman so I’m writing you a paw written note. I know it’s been transcribed to text as per the rule of internets, but pretend it’s caligraphied. My name is Lord Stanley the Arf Duke of Kissington, but you can skip the furmalities and just call me Stanley. I’m a short yet dashing 20 pound, 1 year old doggie.
My exact hairytage is unknown, however I once greeted a Scottish Terrier and he did look like my 3rd cousin once removed. Howlever, a self pawclaimed Cairn Terrier expert said I very much favor that breed and have sprinkles of brindled patches to prove it.
You needn’t have a large dowry, but a large lap is a must. I am housetrained with a doggie door. I very much enjoy the constant companionship of a human. I currently dwell in a Foster Home and Foster Mum tries to leave me to my own quarters for sleep. I do not like this as I prefur the company of a human while I slumber and will whine until you agree.
Foster Mum takes us on leashed walks, I turn to look back periodically to ensure she is still behind me, a true gentleman always shows concern for his lady. Foster Mum can share a video with you where I slay an actual dragon to protect her. (Note from volunteer: it was a stuffed dragon, but we’d be happy to provide the video footage).
If you adopt me, I will be your constant loyal non judgmental friend. You will be lavished in love, tail wags, wiggles and kisses. Despite the French making up their very own kiss, dogs have always been experts in that regard.
I checked with God’s Dogs to see if Stanley was available and learned about his sad history. He’d been found on the mean streets of south San Antonio when he was about six months old. He’s had two foster homes and two adoptive homes, but he’s been returned from both adoptions. (It’s thought that Stanley is still a puppy – about a year or maybe slightly less.)
Stanley has separation anxiety. Every time his adopted family went to work he made himself sick by whining and crying and generally being miserable. His first foster mom had four dogs and whenever Stanley was separated from them or her he made himself sick, too. His second foster mom was a perfect match (and is a lovely person) because Stanley was the only dog in her home.
Lord Stanley, Duke of Kissington, came to live with me yesterday.
He is the sweetest dog. After the first hour when he was skittish around me he has grown to love cuddles and pets and his belly rubbed.
I have yet to see him pee, however, and I stood outside for so long I’ve almost grown roots. He hasn’t had an accident in the house so I guess he’s just a stealth excreter. 🙂
He is kind of strange about eating. He won’t rush to the bowl. He’ll just walk away and then come back about five minutes later and eat everything.
He’s a super smart terrier. I think he has a lot of schnauzer in him, plus some Scottish terrier plus some Cairn terrier. I have five new holes in the back yard where he tried to dig to China. (Those can always be filled in.) I bought him a huge stuffed duck that’s almost as big as he is and he has commenced to war with the duck. You know how a terrier can grab something and shake it until it dies? Well, the duck has been killed several times.
He and the black cat met each other last night. The cat didn’t look impressed and Lord Stanley didn’t bark.
See the black thing in the corner? That’s the cat’s tail. He’s sitting there on the fence (and hidden by the leaves) just like the Cheshire Cat.
Stanley was once crate abused – the first time I’ve ever heard that expression – and will NOT go into a crate. Trust me, I tried. So, last night Stanley slept on my bed, the first time I’ve slept with a dog in decades. He may look small, but he demands his share of the foot of the bed. I wish I could say that I slept well. I didn’t. However, it’s early days yet. He can leap onto my tall bed in a single bound. He can also leap onto my desk chair in a single bound, too, but he’s a little too big to be a lap dog.
I can attest to Stanley’s separation anxiety. He’s been about five inches away from me since yesterday. He also watched as I showered last night. Voyeurism, doggy style.
He whines when he has to go out, but he doesn’t bark. Or I haven’t heard him bark yet. I’m told that his bark is a lot louder than his size. However, he growls at weird things, like the rocks outside and something in the living room this morning. I have NO idea what set him off this morning.
Bottom line, Lord Stanley is a love. We’ll go through that “getting to know you” phase, but I’m surprised at how easy it’s been so far. (Other than the sleeping with me. I have a feeling that isn’t going to change.)
(I didn’t get ANY work done yesterday. Right now he’s sleeping at my feet so I’m going to take advantage of the moment and get some work done. So glad he’s getting his rest. 🙂 )
I’ve been watching an old show on Netflix called Animal Airport about Heathrow’s Animal Reception Center or ARC.
They process incoming animals of all sorts that are either coming into the country or using Heathrow as a stopping off point before traveling on to another destination.
Lots of dogs and cats come through the ARC and it prompted a question.
What do dogs think when they fly?
Are they wondering what kind of car this is? Where’s my two-legged Mom and why the hell have they put me in this crate and why am I getting this really funny feeling in my tummy? My ears are going wonky plus it’s loud and cold in here.
Animal behaviorists are postulating that dogs are much smarter than we’ve given them credit for and that they can reason to some degree. I would imagine that, on top of feeling abandoned, they’ve got some pretty rad ideas about where they are and what’s happening to them.
I think the cats would just be miffed about the whole thing.
What do you think?
I stumbled onto Dave Barry’s article about his dogs, or what I’d like to call the wuffing wounded.
It’s an old article (originally published July 17, 1988), but it’s priceless.
Speaking of dogs, I love the parade of people and pups in front of my office window. There are the guys whose dogs run alongside them. The mothers pushing strollers whizzing past. Or the truly athletic who are bicycling as their dogs keep pace.
Most of them, however, are being pulled along by their dogs.
My favorite sight is the elderly asian lady I’ve been watching for the past ten years. She has very bad and deforming arthritis, but she walks every day. I think she’s on her second dog. The first was a crippled little white poodle who gamely kept up with her. This one is a gray and white poodle. Now she’s using a walker and a young man always accompanies her. I think it’s her grandson. She is talking the whole time she walks, no doubt lecturing him about something. He ducks his head from time to time or nods. I’ve been in my car on the other side of the subdivision and seen her so I think she circles the area every day, which is at least three miles.
I hope the new dog – and her grandson – can keep up with her. There’s no doubt that she’s the alpha dog in her pack.
How about you? Do you have dog walkers in your neighborhood?
Lulu, one of the dogs who dropped out of the program, enjoying her retirement.
I don’t know about y’all, but I didn’t realize that the CIA had their own K-9 corps of bomb dogs. They’re responsible for protecting government buildings and are occasionally loaned out to local law enforcement agencies.
I accidentally stumbled onto an article about one of their dogs that didn’t quite make the cut. She wanted to play – she didn’t want to sniff out explosives.
You can follow the whole K-9 Unit, from picking out the puppies to training their dogs. I’ve found it fascinating.