Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Meaner Than A Junkyard Hair Salon Dog
What's my dog's deal?
I've never seen such a wimp in all my trips around the sun as my seven-year old Golden Retriever girl. When I'm home, and the doorbell rings, she jumps up and goes with me to the door. If she's not outright barking like an idiot, she's doing that thing where she just boofs, kind of under her breath. It's as if she's saying "No sweat there, Crime Dog. I got your back." Loyal. Faithful. Tough as nails. Right? Kinda, sorta. Right on the first two, dead wrong on the third.
A couple of days ago, I came home after dark, and no lights were on in the front of the house. I had some bags and stuff in my arms, so I mashed the doorbell button with my elbow, just in case anyone else might be home and could valet the door open for me. No such luck. Of course, my big, brave dog was home, but she was completely silent, making no apparent effort whatsoever to even see who was at the door, much less bark out some sphincter-puckering warning to any intruders who might be trying to get in.
So, I managed to open the door and barge my way in. Scully was in my office, apparently afraid to come out until she knew who was coming in. I uttered a little phony growl from deep in my throat, and only then did she go completely ape-shit. She barked as though she was going for the throat, but somehow forgot to come out from behind my desk to actually attack. I walked into the office, bags still up over my face so she couldn't see who I was. Can dogs hyperventilate? I think mine did. I found her up under my desk, pressed into a corner so compactly I had to wedge her out with a 9-iron.
Mateo has a new dog of his own, which he brings over to our house a couple times a week. His name is "Buddha," he's a Pug, and he's about the size of a quail. Scully acts as though she's terrorized by the little turd. She's probably just annoyed, but Mateo keeps telling Buddha to "stop picking on Scully." Big, mean, bully of a Pug.
Well, Scully is what she is: A love sponge. She soaks it up, and you can squeeze, scratch, and pet it right back out of her. What's better than that?
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I've never seen such a wimp in all my trips around the sun as my seven-year old Golden Retriever girl. When I'm home, and the doorbell rings, she jumps up and goes with me to the door. If she's not outright barking like an idiot, she's doing that thing where she just boofs, kind of under her breath. It's as if she's saying "No sweat there, Crime Dog. I got your back." Loyal. Faithful. Tough as nails. Right? Kinda, sorta. Right on the first two, dead wrong on the third.
A couple of days ago, I came home after dark, and no lights were on in the front of the house. I had some bags and stuff in my arms, so I mashed the doorbell button with my elbow, just in case anyone else might be home and could valet the door open for me. No such luck. Of course, my big, brave dog was home, but she was completely silent, making no apparent effort whatsoever to even see who was at the door, much less bark out some sphincter-puckering warning to any intruders who might be trying to get in.
So, I managed to open the door and barge my way in. Scully was in my office, apparently afraid to come out until she knew who was coming in. I uttered a little phony growl from deep in my throat, and only then did she go completely ape-shit. She barked as though she was going for the throat, but somehow forgot to come out from behind my desk to actually attack. I walked into the office, bags still up over my face so she couldn't see who I was. Can dogs hyperventilate? I think mine did. I found her up under my desk, pressed into a corner so compactly I had to wedge her out with a 9-iron.
Mateo has a new dog of his own, which he brings over to our house a couple times a week. His name is "Buddha," he's a Pug, and he's about the size of a quail. Scully acts as though she's terrorized by the little turd. She's probably just annoyed, but Mateo keeps telling Buddha to "stop picking on Scully." Big, mean, bully of a Pug.
Well, Scully is what she is: A love sponge. She soaks it up, and you can squeeze, scratch, and pet it right back out of her. What's better than that?
