Duke the Dogge is one crazy-ass dog. We have two Scottish Terriers and they are exactly what you’d expect Scotties to be: stubborn, self-willed, dignified, and more than a little funny.

Duke is a mix of something Asian and something else. Everyone, including the vet, is fascinated with his potential DNA. It’s because he has that squishy Asian-dog face. Not the kind of face you find roaming the streets. You have to wonder what happened to create The Duke? Was it a chance backyard greeting that got out of hand? A back-seat love-in? Passion as one purebred met a wild and crazy mutt and now, there’s Duke?

Questions abound and unless my curiosity extends to DNA — around $75 last I checked — he will remain a mystery.

Taming him is a process. He is absolutely nothing like the Scotties. Dignity?  Not exactly.

Duke

First of all, he talks back. Also, he talks forward. He just plain talks. He used to watch us as we ate and bark frantically on the false belief that this would result in snacks. A couple of trips to the local lock-up (crate) and he decided that wasn’t working. He next tried snatching food from our hands, almost always resulting in Garry or me getting nipped. A few more trips to the crate and he is now quite civilized about the whole thing.

But sometimes, he just stands in front of me, stares me in the eyes, and barks. He keeps barking. I ask him “What do you want? I don’t have any food. What do you WANT?”

He keeps barking. Finally, with a look of frustration and disgust, he gives up and slumps onto the floor. Huffing. I think maybe he wants to play. Either that, or Timmy is stuck in the well and we should go save him.

He doesn’t chew the furniture except for the corner of one table. Doesn’t chomp shoes. Doesn’t break anything except his own head as he slides into walls with the crack of his skull hitting the furniture. He is slightly obsessed with balls, but even more obsessed with stuffy toys. He wants to play all the time and has taken our “sleep, eat, sleep, and eat some more” Scotties and taught them to play.

They play “King of the Hill” and “tug of war” and “Battle to Save the World.” All of which involves huge amounts of snarling, growling, yapping, tugging … but not bloodshed or even a pulled-out tuft of hair. From the sounds of battle, you’d swear there will be carnage, but nope. No carnage. Mutilated stuffies and sodden tennis balls … and the occasional sound of Duke sliding full tilt into the front of the TV cabinet.

He is also an impressive jumper. We have gates. They aren’t tiny little gates, either. We’ve had big dogs, little dogs, and medium dogs. Now, we have Leaping Dog. He flies over the gates as if they were not there.

We do not sleep with the dogs. I have more than enough trouble sleeping without help … and the asthma is bad without more hair in the bed, so we say good night and the dogs — until Duke — snuggled into the sofa until we can be awakened and persuaded to open the vaults in which the doggy treats are stored.

Charge!

Duke, however, is convinced that one day, I will take him to bed with us. I go into the hallway. He leaps the fence and follows me to the door. I gave up telling him to go back to the living room because he’ll jump the fence outward, then jump back in again. So, I pat him on the head and he curls up at the door.

Aw.

I’ve considered getting him his own bed, but there is no reason he can’t sack out on a sofa like the other kids. Besides, if I put one more thing in the hallway, I will fall down and break my head.

Duke is slowly but surely taming down into a house pet. He is lively to the point of insane and has more energy in an hour than I have in half a year … or maybe a whole year … but I see it. He takes the biscuit and doesn’t take the tips of my fingers with it. After some unpleasantness from me, Garry, and Gibbs who does not like being nipped (and a full-size Scottish Terrier who is pissed may not move fast, but can be quite relentless), he has decided to wait his turn. Like the others.

He sits and looks out the window, plays in the yard, sometimes trying to drag something the size of a small tree in through the doggy door and occasionally succeeding.

Smart fellow. Smarter than the average dog and a pretty tough character, too.

He makes us crazy. He makes us laugh. He gets the Bonnie and Gibbs to run around and play. He has livened up us and the other dogs … and provided a layer of white hair on absolutely everything. He’s our boy.

Duke. The Dogge.

Categories: #Photography, dogs, Humor, Pets, Scottish Terrier

Tags: #Photography, Daily Post, dogs, Duke the Dogge, humor, pets, taming