The difference between two and three dogs is probably the smell … and of course, it is (naturally!) pouring. Which definitely improved the fragrance.
And I don’t mean it’s raining a little bit. We don’t get trickles of rain. No drizzle. No fog. It is pouring. It has been doing that a lot recently.
We went to be about 1:30 in the morning with three dogs. I woke up at 6:42 this morning being told the original owners (the ones living in a truck) wanted their dog back.
I said “Back to the truck? They want to put Duke in the truck?”
She said she wasn’t happy about this and I said “Think of the dog. I’m pretty sure HE is not going to be happy about it either.” I told Garry and he was downright hostile. Meanwhile, what with the rain pelting down, we needed to push all three of them out the door. They were gathered by the door. Circling. Watching the rain fall. No one was going out.
I told them to go out. With Garry who was sufficiently pissed off and agitated to have gotten up too. They were reasonably amenable. The heavier rain was yet to come and it was only “just raining” as opposed to “pouring.”
Back to bed. Phone rang.
Previous Duke owner: “Never mind. I got snappy about it and they said, well, okay, I suppose it must be nice for him to have a yard to play in.”
You think? I woke Garry. “The dog is back.”
“Right,” he said.
The phone rang again. This time, it was the bug guy reminding us he’ll be back tomorrow to spray for the damned ants. “Thank you,” I said and went back to sleep for another hour before I got that mental itch that told me it was time to be up and about.
The dogs were gathered in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs again. Watching the door suspiciously and circling. Obviously, they needed to go out. But they don’t like rain.
“Go OUT,” I said. “All of you. Out.” Duke ran upstairs and I chased him around the table in the living room until he fled to the door. Then they all tried to go out at once, which I swear is something they got from watching movies of circus dogs.
“One at a time, you dummies. One dog at a TIME.” I’m sure they do that on purpose to aggravate us.
There were toys everywhere, from front hall, up the stairs, and covering every piece of furniture and floor in the living room. And there was that unmissable “wet dog” smell … something I hadn’t sniffed since Bishop passed. It must be the difference between types of fur on the dogs. Duke has that longish fur while the Scotties have Terrier hair which isn’t fur and smells different. Not better, mind you. Just different.
I looked around, hoping it was just wet dog smell. My reward was that it was only wet dog, nothing more insidious.
About “dumb dogs.” Previous owners assured us Duke isn’t smart. In just about 12 hours, he has figured out how to do anything any other dog does without coaxing from us. So I have to ask what they think a smart dog is like? Do the smart ones have a manual with instructions they memorize? Can they do arithmetic? Calculus? Read in French?
He found the doggy door and can go in and out. Found the water, the toys. Though he has clearly demonstrated he can easily jump both the kitchen and hallway fences, after being firmly told “no,” he stopped trying., at least while I’m looking. I’m pretty sure he was in the kitchen at some point, probably because all the bottles on the floor were knocked over. At least he didn’t eat anything.
That’s smarter than most kids.
They told us he doesn’t like being petted but he doesn’t seem to want anything else and when we aren’t petting him, he waits patiently on the rug in front of us, looking at us searchingly for signs of petting to come. He has located the treat boxes, but hasn’t figure out how to open them. Yet.
How smart was he supposed to be?