Remember how I said we like to watch the squirrels that live in our backyard?
Well, the other day as we were making lunch, Sweet Husband looked out the kitchen window and realized that they are watching us too....(insert scary movie theme)....Dun-dun-DUN!
If you don't hear from us in the next 24 hours, send nuts for ransom!
Moe is five today. Can it be possible that this little punked-out puppy has really been with us that long?
Life changing, I tell you, life changing!
For the birthday boy's big day, we took him to the Pawsh Wash for a little spa day.
Lest you think that sounds like birthday torture, remember, Moe's favorite thing in the world is a garden hose.
I think he could sit and watch the water run for hours on end if we would let him.
And when it's followed by a cookie--well now, that is a birthday treat indeed!
More snow tonight. More tucking in on the couch, under the covers.
Except this afternoon--home from work early because of the roads again, don't hate me--I just couldn't stay inside anymore. It was too early to make dinner. I had already knitted a lot. I didn't want to watch a movie.
Sweet Husband and the dogs agreed. Snow or no snow, it was time to get outside.
So we bundled ourselves up--man, woman, and beasts--and trudged down to a nearby park and back. Surprisingly, I was warmer when we got home than I was when we left. And we stumbled on about five tiny squirrels looking for dinner and watched them scurry up a tree, so it was a worthwhile walk for the pups as well.
So long ago that even I had to look up when it was, I made a Welsh Terrier quilt square...
...which eventually ended up in this beautiful Welsh Terrier quilt...
...and now the quilt is up for grabs!
You can buy a raffle ticket here for $5 or 6 for $25. The winner will be drawn at the Montgomery County Kennel Club Show, which I believe is held in October, so there's plenty of time to get your tickets.
All the proceeds will benefit Welsh Terrier Rescue, an amazing, all-volunteer group that helps Welshies in need across the country. (Seriously, check out their website--if the "after" stories don't make you tear up a little, nothing will.)
What are you waiting for? Go get some tickets!
Sunday morning at Rock Eddy I woke up just as the sky was barely starting to get light. Sweet Husband and the dogs were awake too, so we decided to walk up to the top of the hill to watch the sunrise.
It was perfect, as you can see....
As I was standing watching the mist over the river--all blissed out by the smell of the leaves and the cool air and the wonderfulness of it all--Sweet Husband said, "Um, I think Moe is gone."
Moe had really been good most of the weekend--and at Rock Eddy there's not much to get into as far as bothering other people or dogs--so we had been letting him run loose. But sometime during our walk he smelled good smells or a little bunny caught his eye or something. He was gone.
An hour later we had packed up the cabin and had a little breakfast...still no Moe. So Sweet Husband walked up to the owner's house where Nice Kathy got out their little all-terrain cart and they set out to ask the neighbors if anyone had seen him. Meanwhile, I walked through the woods near where we had last seen him, calling out, "Moe-moe...Moe-y...Moe...."
I won't pretend I wasn't just about to flop down in the leaves and cry. I love that little dog far more than is wise for a creature that's so hard to keep out of trouble, and my mind was racing with all the horrible things that could have happened to him or might happen to him if we didn't find him. I had visions of him going to ground and getting stuck or getting eaten by coyotes or starving to death....
But then I heard his tags rattle through the trees--oh what a good sound! He was still off on his little lark, of course, so asking him to "come" was just silliness, but nonetheless I wasn't going to loose sight of him. I ran through the woods, stumbling over rocks and making my calves ache and my side split going up and down the hills--in terms of gracefulness, think the exact opposite of Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.
After about fifteen minutes of following him, I got close enough to give the most intimidating "STAY" command I could muster. Whether he was actually paying attention or just getting tired I'll never know, but he "stayed" right where he was as I walked up, snapped a leash to his collar, and promptly plopped onto the nearest rock to catch my breath.
Sweet Husband and Nice Kathy came along just as I made it up to the road. Apparently, Nice Kathy said they have a "city dog" run off a few times a year. One even got away for a whole weekend once. Its owners had to leave on Sunday night, but on Monday morning the dog showed up. The poor husband had to make an eight hour drive back to pick up the dog.
It's probably not very nice, but it always does make me feel good to know there are dogs out there more naughty than mine. As a more charitable thought though, as misbehaved as he is, I'm awfully glad my bad boy made it home with us.
Meryl: See, I picked a devil costume this year because Moe is a devil inside and now a devil outside too--get it?
Porter: LMAOROTFL!
Sweet Husband: Moe-Moe, I'm glad your...manly parts...have already been removed....
Moe: If y'all don't throw my squeaky toy for me at least a hundred times after this, I'm going to poop on you in your sleep.....
Porter: Still LMAOROTFL!
Meryl: Oh hush you three! Happy Howl-O-Ween everybody!
I made Mom and Dad take me to the lake last Saturday. Well, "made" is a strong word. Actually, I "persuaded" them with my terrier wiles. You know, barking at them, looking longingly at me leash, pulling them out the door....
We went on a nice walk up the path, over the hill, and down to the lake.
My terrier wiles were not enough to persuade Mom to let me off-leash for a full swim. But I did dip my toes in. It was a little chilly, but nothing I couldn't handle.
Oddly, Mom was most interested in taking pictures of rocks. There is absolutely no accounting for human preferences!
Let there be peace...on my couch.
This rare moment brought to you by Moe's haircut.
Really. See, part of the reason we usually get Moe groomed in late September is so his hair has a chance to grow back in a little before it gets too cold. That way we only have one really cold hair cut each year (the pre-Christmas grooming), and thus less sweater wearing required.
Except this year the weather hasn't really cooperated, so we've had to pull out the sweatshirt early. There has also been some massive cuddling going on, with whatever warm body is willing and convenient. Porter has been sweetly (and oddly) patient about this. So much so that a few nights ago I decided to see what would happen if I tucked Moe into bed with her.
It was a complete failure, but not for the reason I thought it would be. I fully expected Porter to tell Moe to get the hell off her bed. Instead, Moe refused to sleep with Porter. After moving him from our bed to Porter's three or four times, he got off Porter's bed and went to "the dog bed" instead.
So much for gratitude!
I have to say, freshly groomed dogs are one of my very favorite things. Aside from the fact that a day at the groomer always completely wears my two out, there's the soft, fluffy fur; the non-dirty smell; the embarrassing, pastel bandannas....
But my very favorite part? Eight perfectly paw-dicured little pup feet!
As an aside, for all two of you who live in Lawrence, I have to put in a shout-out for our wonderful groomers at Christal K-9. They do such a good job, and they even lie to me when I ask if Moe was good! ;)
Our pretty girl is twelve today. Birthday wishes will be passed along in the form of ear scritches and belly rubs!
....if my dogs are trying to send me a message.
(Yes, those are feet that were chewed off a squeaky toy and left on the porch in a somewhat threatening manner. Does it mean I'm next? Or is it just meant to scare the tennis ball into not rolling under the hostas again?)
Completely out of the blue Saturday morning, Mom put my leash on and we got in the car. We didn't go very far, but when we got to where we were going I was so excited! Little white dogs...the faint smell of rats...we were going to do some earthdoggin'!
I spent all week thinking today was the first day of Spring. I made plans to spend the day frolicking about to celebrate, and I made Sweet Husband promise he would go to the local feed store with me so I could stand and gaze longingly at the baby chicks for awhile.
So, um, the dogs. They, um, like to lick each other. Or rather, Moe likes to lick Porter. I swear I read somewhere that it's a "pack dominance" thing. She's the alpha so he has to groom her...or something like that. Usually we just let them get on with it.
Today, I am four. I think Mom is maybe a little sad about this--me entering middle age and all--but I'm completely down with it. I don't mind being older so much, and birthdays always mean fun!
I love dog blogs. I don't mean blogs about dogs--although those can be fun too--but rather blogs "written" by dogs. I particularly like the terriers, of course. Bogart Handsome Devil, Mr. T-Bone Beasley, Molly and Taffy, Cassidy and Big Harry, the Ayatollah Mugsy (a pug, but still hilarious)--I have so much fun reading their adventures each day.
'Cause he kicked him.
Everyone was posing (reasonably) nicely for the picture, when the photographer's assistant started squeaking a toy to get the dogs to look at the camera. Which sent Moe into a complete frenzy, of course. Poor Santa held onto him valiantly, but--from the familiar way he was rubbing his side when all was said and done--I'd say Santa got some mad, crazy terrier paws in the gut.
But I'm sure Moe was just thinking, "Wow thanks Santa! I see you already got me just what I wanted, now let me down so I can go kill it!"
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