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captainsblogWell, we finally got the measurable snow that'd been so long overdue. Here's the sight out the back door from around 8:30 this morning-
It was even more Currier-and-Ivesish when I first had the pleasure of gazing upon it, four hours earlier, when Tasha, our older dog, started barking like a crazywoman about wanting to go out. After going on ten years with this animal, I can pretty much translate her barks into English:
I GOTTA! I'm part Labrador! It's my heritage!
(well, yeah, but you're also part German Shepherd, and that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you invade Poland....)
CMON! It's good packing snow! We gotta go out and play!
(it's 4:30 in the God-blessed AYEM, dog! Go find a house burglar to toss snowballs at you:P)
Do you just want me to stand here barking for another two hours? I can DO that, you know.
(finally, fur triumphed over reason, and half an hour later, a soaked but happy puppy re-entered the premises, smiling smugly at the human she'd managed to get into his clothes an hour before even their already ridiculously early feeding time.)
I forget who said it, but dogs are basically canine mammals frozen in mental age at about the second grade. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but some hours of the day are more suited to it than others.
----
Zoey's also had her daily excitement, returning to the vet to get her stitches out. The tech was telling Eleanor about another patient's human, who just adopted an older cat and brought kitty in for a checkup without benefit of leash or carrier. Before he knew it, the little guy was scooting under parked cars in front of the hospital entrance, and since their Sheridan Drive location is not conducive to pets playing in traffic, practically the whole staff was out there trying to round him up. Just as one of them was about to get purchase on the paws, the neighboring gas station let off a screechingly loud air brake, sending the cat into the upper atmosphere. All worked out in the end, but it's just another of those occasions when they take pains to remind us who really owns whom.
And there's the first call- only it's an email. Cross fingers, guys....
It was even more Currier-and-Ivesish when I first had the pleasure of gazing upon it, four hours earlier, when Tasha, our older dog, started barking like a crazywoman about wanting to go out. After going on ten years with this animal, I can pretty much translate her barks into English:
I GOTTA! I'm part Labrador! It's my heritage!
(well, yeah, but you're also part German Shepherd, and that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you invade Poland....)
CMON! It's good packing snow! We gotta go out and play!
(it's 4:30 in the God-blessed AYEM, dog! Go find a house burglar to toss snowballs at you:P)
Do you just want me to stand here barking for another two hours? I can DO that, you know.
(finally, fur triumphed over reason, and half an hour later, a soaked but happy puppy re-entered the premises, smiling smugly at the human she'd managed to get into his clothes an hour before even their already ridiculously early feeding time.)
I forget who said it, but dogs are basically canine mammals frozen in mental age at about the second grade. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but some hours of the day are more suited to it than others.
----
Zoey's also had her daily excitement, returning to the vet to get her stitches out. The tech was telling Eleanor about another patient's human, who just adopted an older cat and brought kitty in for a checkup without benefit of leash or carrier. Before he knew it, the little guy was scooting under parked cars in front of the hospital entrance, and since their Sheridan Drive location is not conducive to pets playing in traffic, practically the whole staff was out there trying to round him up. Just as one of them was about to get purchase on the paws, the neighboring gas station let off a screechingly loud air brake, sending the cat into the upper atmosphere. All worked out in the end, but it's just another of those occasions when they take pains to remind us who really owns whom.
And there's the first call- only it's an email. Cross fingers, guys....
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Date: 2009-12-02 02:15 am (UTC)