Our of a mound of hair, our groomer carved a lovely Norwich Terrier. Nan, showgirl that she was, has been preening ever since we brought her home from her beauty date. Nan is the only dog I’ve ever known who seems to genuinely like being groomed. She’s been strutting around the house, posing. She’s adorable.
Bonnie, the totally scruffy Scottish Terrier got groomed today. She came home looking like a proper Scottie, wearing a very feminine floral scarf which though technically appropriate, is about as un-Bonnie as anything could be.
Bonnie, for a girl dog, is really a guy. She always was.
There’s nothing girly about her. She’s tough and scrappy. A digger, a lover of dirt. She’ll take on anybody … well mostly … at least in play. She’s a very tough growly Scottie when she plays.
Here is our newly renovated girl, fresh from the groomer. Bonnie and her best bud Garry, on the deck.
While all the other pups were sacked out in the sun, Nan patiently watched my every move from her place at the gate. As a reward, I did her portrait. Unlike Bonnie who runs and hides as soon as she sees the camera in my hands, Nan stands still and smiles.
Which means I have a lot more — and better — pictures of Nan than of any other dog. Because she will always give me her good side. I’m not sure she has a bad side!
What is your favorite type of dog?
My favorite kind of dog is the kind that I have. Currently, that would be a Scottish Terrier, a Norwich Terrier, a miniature Dachshund and an Australian Shepherd. Previously, there were others — PBGVs, mixed breeds, and others.
If I were to foolishly express a preference for one or another of these fine canine citizens, I am sure that they would learn about it from their doggy friends on Facebook and would turn my life into a living hell.
I love them all equally, as can be demonstrated from the fair and equitable distribution of biscuits, not to mention the endless stream of said treats starting with early in the morning and only ending when I finally limp down the hallway and close the door.
Name one thing not many people know about you.
Off hand, since I started blogging, everyone in the known universe seems to know more about me than I know about myself.
Have you ever gone scuba diving? If you haven’t, would you want to?
No, and not really. I’ve gone snorkeling in the Caribbean and enjoyed it, but all the equipment you need for scuba diving is too much for me. It looks like work.
What was the most important event in your life last week?
I bought and got (I just love Amazon) a tabletop convection oven. Now I don’t have to use the great big oven for our itty bitty meals.
I’m hoping it will help get our electric bill under control. It works really well. Faster and neater than the big oven — all for under $100, including shipping!
BONNIE IS BACK.
It was a long day for us, but Bonnie is fine. She had, I gather, a lovely day full of biscuits and romping with her new pal, a Boston Terrier. Garry and I are finally breathing!! Yay.
Thanks to everyone who kept an eye out. She was apparently picked up by a motorist on Rt. 98 and taken home to Douglas where she had a fine mini vacation. Many thanks to the Uxbridge and Douglas Police, both of whom helped make sure she found her way back to us.
And especially thanks to Joyce, Uxbridge’s intrepid Animal Control officer for her support and assistance.
Who’s the last person you saw before reading this prompt? Whether it’s a family member, a coworker, or a total stranger, write a post about what that person is thinking right now.
“What?!” His voice is muffled, irritable, half asleep.
“Did you put the dogs out earlier?”
The body in the bed makes annoyed face, groans, starts to get up.
“Forget it. I’ll do it.” I do it. And I clean up the pool of pee at the top of the stairs because Nan is getting to the “what’s housebreaking” stage of being an old dog. I hope I never get to that point, but feel free to put me down if I do.
Back to the bedroom after showering. I need to dry my hair. I’m still peeved, but much cleaner. And there’s still no one to complain to. Just an unmoving sleeping husband. I don’t think he is doing much thinking.
Uxbridge’s jail is part of the old city hall and in this century, it’s a storage area. At home, we have our own prisoners. Four furry internees.
I would let them run free if it weren’t for nasty old Rt. 98 at the top of the driveway. There isn’t a LOT of traffic, but cars come around our blind (and reverse-banked) curve too fast. We have more fatal accident on our little stretch of road than anywhere else in the area … known as “death alley” to the cops. Motorcycles, cars, and once Garry nearly bought the farm when he and a telephone pole got too intimate. What chance does a dog stand?
I don’t know why they never run the OTHER way, into the woods where there are 75+ acres of trees and meadow — and no motor vehicles. But they always head for the road.
The “Beware of Dog” sign isn’t because they are dangerous, but because the world is dangerous to them. It’s to prevent delivery people from opening the gate thus letting free the incarcerated doggies.
They are getting older and aren’t as frisky or fast as they were. But even old Nan can hit the driveway running in a mad sprint of death. It’s not good for my heart. If I chase them (which in any case, I can’t do), they run away because “chase me” is a classic doggy game and they love it! I have to stay calm, call them back with biscuits — before they become road kill.
My heart is in my mouth the entire time they are loose, so they will remain prisoners of love. Not so terrible. Not such a cruel life, with their 24/7 doggy door and sofas for beds … and far too many biscuits.