Looking out below! A.Rittger If I wanted to chronicle my life, I would need to dictate. An iPad is not an iPaw. My life will be in the hands of my one-and-only, and she likes long sentences. I will have to retrain her to honor my short attention span with shorter sentences. Nor should she add or pad with conjecture or interpretation. A dog’s mind is mostly subject/verb. At least mine is.
I recall in a my last post alluding to loud and sudden sounds like firecrackers or the firing of Smith & Wesson 38 Specials and the terrible effect on my nervous system. And I believe I may have mentioned the sheer joy of a ringing phone. It often means friends are on their way up, or if my one-and-only grabs the leash, we are going downstairs to greet someone in the lobby. Clearly then, booms equals disaster and ring mean camaraderie. That’s just the way it is. No need to go deeper.
When at home, either alone or with my darling, I rarely watch TV. On my own, I would not have the skill to find Animal Planet. I have noticed that when we do turn on daytime TV, Law and Order SVU marathons are our go-to viewing. It did bother me that when my one and only offered me string cheese, she held it out and said in a creepy voice, “Is this the way you like it?” I felt my pelt crawl. But then she laughed. It only happened once.
I have learned to climb from the couch to a tabletop close to the window. From there I can look down on Grand Ave or at Webster and spy other dogs strolling. Low in my throat, I growl. Shushes or commands like “No! Foxie! No!” have no affect on this part of my nervous system. Food, of course, can redirect me, but then I hop back up and recommence my deep-throated growling. I absolutely could benefit from training, but we seem to have given up on that option. In fact, I have not worn nor seen my muzzle in months.
Yesterday I did launch myself at a fuzzy sort of something on a leash. I expected the muzzle to be rediscovered. Muzzle. Oh why do I even mention it here? The mere memory undoes me. When I’m forced into it, my ears droop. My tail, likewise. I can only hope no other creature sees me thus shamed. It's important to remember that I can “cute” my way out of wearing it. My eyes go soft, and I position my small brown self to highlight my vulnerability. Overcome by my cuteness, my one and only sighs and relents. We go out. Too bad the next dog I see will trigger me once again. Without a dog whisperer, I doubt I’ll ever learn. While Animal Control wasn't terrible, being rescued gives me so much more material for The Life and Times of Foxiebeau le Chien!
Have to stop! My body clock is telling me it is time to jump around, to signal a walk or a treat or, best of all, both.
I recall in a my last post alluding to loud and sudden sounds like firecrackers or the firing of Smith & Wesson 38 Specials and the terrible effect on my nervous system. And I believe I may have mentioned the sheer joy of a ringing phone. It often means friends are on their way up, or if my one-and-only grabs the leash, we are going downstairs to greet someone in the lobby. Clearly then, booms equals disaster and ring mean camaraderie. That’s just the way it is. No need to go deeper.
When at home, either alone or with my darling, I rarely watch TV. On my own, I would not have the skill to find Animal Planet. I have noticed that when we do turn on daytime TV, Law and Order SVU marathons are our go-to viewing. It did bother me that when my one and only offered me string cheese, she held it out and said in a creepy voice, “Is this the way you like it?” I felt my pelt crawl. But then she laughed. It only happened once.
I have learned to climb from the couch to a tabletop close to the window. From there I can look down on Grand Ave or at Webster and spy other dogs strolling. Low in my throat, I growl. Shushes or commands like “No! Foxie! No!” have no affect on this part of my nervous system. Food, of course, can redirect me, but then I hop back up and recommence my deep-throated growling. I absolutely could benefit from training, but we seem to have given up on that option. In fact, I have not worn nor seen my muzzle in months.
Yesterday I did launch myself at a fuzzy sort of something on a leash. I expected the muzzle to be rediscovered. Muzzle. Oh why do I even mention it here? The mere memory undoes me. When I’m forced into it, my ears droop. My tail, likewise. I can only hope no other creature sees me thus shamed. It's important to remember that I can “cute” my way out of wearing it. My eyes go soft, and I position my small brown self to highlight my vulnerability. Overcome by my cuteness, my one and only sighs and relents. We go out. Too bad the next dog I see will trigger me once again. Without a dog whisperer, I doubt I’ll ever learn. While Animal Control wasn't terrible, being rescued gives me so much more material for The Life and Times of Foxiebeau le Chien!
Have to stop! My body clock is telling me it is time to jump around, to signal a walk or a treat or, best of all, both.
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