Thursday, September 16, 2010

A Whole Lotta Lovin'

Any locals need a little extra love in your life?


I found this little guy running down a rather busy street the other day, and have been trying with all my might to reunite him with his humans! It seems, though, that either his humans don't want to be found, or he's a true-blue stray.

But folks, let me just tell you this. He's a LOVAH!  He is extremely friendly (unless you're a cat), is afraid of trash cans (aren't we all?) and won't eat or chew on a rawhide unless I'm right there with him. Goofy guy. I don't know much, but I think he's a terrier mix, and I think he's young based on his actions and his teeth.  I bet he weighs between 20 and 25 pounds, and is about knee-high.

This is a pretty pathetic picture of him, but I didn't take too many, and wanted to show you his whole self. Doesn't he look happy-go-lucky? No? Hah...that would be the photographer's fault, not the dog's. :o)  He's a tail-wagger, he is.


There, that's better. His tail is fuzzy because it's wagging.


He's great on a leash, and is pretty tame around tame big people and tame 2 year olds, and he is jubilant around 8 year old boys. We've got a great back yard here, but, unfortunately for him, he is slippery and unless you're out there with him, he likes to slip out through the gap under the gate. Which, now that you mention it, might explain why he doesn't have a home!

When we do play in the backyard, we pretty much just run in circles. He will go after a ball, but won't bring it back or even pick it up and run with it. Mookie runs around squealing and laughing because she thinks he's chasing her. And when the neighbor's boy was over, the dog pretty much just licked the boy to pieces. Who needs a bath when you've got that kind of all-over cleaning treatment?

Speaking of circles, here he is, getting geometric with his bad self...


Dogs. They crack me up.

Since he doesn't stay in the backyard, and since I've already got a house full of girls I have to care for, he's been relegated to a crate in the garage. Poor guy. I feel terrible for him, but he barkbarkbarkbarkbarks when he can see us, and is quiet (mostly, sorta, kinda) when he's in the dark garage. Now, I'm a fan of crate-training a dog, make no mistake, but I don't like the idea of him being in the crate 24 hours a day besides walks. That's just not fair to him. So, when it's quiet inside (like right now), I let him out of the crate and hang out with him in the garage. He walks around a bit, sniffing things, then settles down and eats or chews on his rawhide.

And when he lays down, he splays his back legs out behind him. I love that in a dog, don't you?

Now, for all you out there who think he was MEANT TO come home with me, I would like you to stop. Look around your house. Look at your yard. Look at the next few months on your calendar. Do you have 2 wee ones to care for? And two aging cats? And a yard that doesn't hold this dog? And a move in 2 months (yes)?  No? Well, God, The Universe, and Bob Barker may all have conspired to "give" me this dog, but they will need to reconvene because he is NOT staying here.

So again I ask you...anyone want some extra lovin' in their life?

2 comments:

  1. AW. You should write sales copy. He sounds like the perfect dog for you, if only you were the perfect family for him. Which you may be someday, just not NOW. Can you tell him that and ask him to come find you later?

    What're you calling him? He looks like a "Toby" or a "Leo" to me.

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  2. Maybe I should call him Peabody because he's so unbelievably adorable and a wee bit mischievous at the same time...
    But, see there? That's another reason I know he's not meant for me. All my pets have always told me their names. Call me wacky, call me Shirley McClaine. Whatever. It's true. :o)
    But this guy just hasn't told me his name! I don't actually call him anything, either, so as not to get too close to him. In my mind, however, I've called him "Rascal" for getting out the first time. I've called him "Charlie" as in, "wrong way, Charlie" as he walks around the wrong side of another light pole. I've called him "Frisco" because he's kinda frisky.
    This COULD be cosmic, afterall...
    I had a rather traumatic not-my-pet experience a couple of weeks ago, so maybe this is how God, The Universe, and Bob Barker are letting me know that it's okay, they still trust me with pets that aren't mine. :o)

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