Posts Tagged "Cobra"

Spring Puppy Conversations | Translated for the College Kid

Dear Kid,

His Furriness is having  a tough spring.

It was not my idea to pose for photos before breakfast DearKidLoveMom.comMe: Come on, sweetie, Get Busy
Puppy (whispering): But Mom, Cobra’s walking with us today
Me: Yes, he is. Get Busy
Puppy (still whispering): I can’t poop in front of Cobra!
Me: Why not? He poops too
Puppy: I’ve never seen him poop
Me: Trust me on this
Puppy: This is humiliating

Puppy: What are you doing?
Me: Weeding
Puppy: You’re digging up plants
Me: I’m digging up the plants we don’t want
Puppy: When I dig up plants I don’t want it’s called digging and it’s bad
Me: Yup
Puppy: That’s not fair
Me: That’s weeding

Puppy: That’s my leash
Me: Uh-huh
Puppy: That’s my other leash
Me: Yup
Puppy: I only need one leash to go outside
Me: You’ve been chasing cats
Puppy: Only when I see them
Me: You have to stay on our property
Puppy: I do!
Me: Not when you see a cat
Puppy: Well, that’s different
Me: So the leashes go together and the rope goes here and you stay on our property
Puppy: Who is going to chase the cat?

Puppy: That’s my brush!
Me: It is
Puppy: You brushed me yesterday
Me: It’s Spring
Puppy: But you brushed me yesterday
Me: You have moved from Off Season Training status to Full Time Competitive Shedding mode. You will be brushed again.
Puppy: It’s hard to patrol for cats when you’re being brushed

Me: Please stop sitting on the tulips
Puppy: I’m sitting nicely
Me: Yes, but you’re squishing the tulips
Puppy: I’m quite comfortable
Me: I’m sure you are, but I prefer unsquished tulips. Come look at a worm or something
Puppy: I’m good
Me: But you’re sitting on the tulips which is not good
Puppy: I really have to move?
Me: Release the flower, dog
Puppy: Fine. I’ll sit on the hyacinth

Love, Mom

For more puppy conversations, check out New Puppy Conversations, Puppy Conversations, and More Puppy Conversations

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Puppy Dreams

What are you dreaming about BookerDear Kid,

Booker is sleeping and making all sorts of adorable noises in his crate. I wonder what he’s dreaming about. I’m sure he’s not dreaming about rabbits because a) we haven’t seen any rabbits recently and he’s got a memory about 14 seconds long and b) he’s surely got more important things on his mind. Like breakfast.

Can you imagine Booker actually catching a varmint? I wonder if his wolf instincts would kick in and he’d try to kill it or whether his natural personality would dominate and he’d try to be friends with it?

Speaking of his friends, Cobra (such a silly name for a cat) and Booker had a lovely time this morning. Booker whined and wagged until Cobra came running down the driveway to see him. The funny part is that while they love each other, they haven’t at all got the hang of how to behave with each other. Cobra wants to butt heads and do other cat-like things while Booker wants to play and sniff (not necessarily in that order). Which inevitably means that the cat head-butts Booker, stares superciliously at him while he tries to sniff, and then they ignore each other. The really funny part is that they work so hard at ignoring each other–kind of like 6th graders. Then the cat will go off on important cat business and Booker will fuss that he’s being abandoned. They crack me up.

I googled (when it’s a verb, do you have to capitalize google? how did google become a verb anyway? We would never say “I yahoo-ed”) dog dreams. Turns out there is an article in Psychology Today (of all places) talking about dog dreams. After some horrid experiments (how do people get away with cutting out parts of dogs’ brains???), they concluded that dogs do in fact dream (duh) and they dream about things they did during the day, just like people.

Which is only fine up to the point where I realized that I dream about things all the time that would never in a zillion years happen in real life and so how on earth can we assume what dogs dream about?

But he is the cutest furry thing for miles regardless of what he’s dreaming about.

Sweet dreams, kid.

Love, Mom

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Staring at Cats and Springtime Shedding

cat down the streetDear Kid,

This morning, as most mornings, I woke Booker, spent some time assuring him that he is the most wonderful puppy in the house, and took him for a walk.

Because of all the rain, there were lots of blades of grass to be sniffed. I really don’t know why the after-rain sniffing is so detailed, but it generally is, so I accept that we’re going for a sniff not a walk. We sniffed our way to Cobra’s house.

Cobra, just in case the recall section of your brain isn’t awake yet, is the cat down the street with whom Booker is very good friends.  (Very Good Friends being defined in some weird cat/dog way that I don’t pretend to understand.)

This morning Cobra happened to be out and about doing Cat Things. Unfortunately, he was doing them two houses away. Booker started to whine for Cobra. Cobra ignored him. Booker stared, hard. Booker believes he can control Cobra’s appearance by staring hard enough because one time when he was staring at the closed garage door, it opened and Cobra came out. Booker has not forgotten this. It has not worked since that one time. Booker hasn’t noticed. (No one said he was a candidate for graduate school.) Or if he has noticed, he’s convinced that lightening can strike twice or something.

In response to the whining, Cobra disappear, at his own pace. So far, normal morning. Then the yellow cat appeared.

The yellow cat is the feline Dad loathes. (Ok, to be fair, he’s not much in favor of cats in general, but this one sends him into apoplectic fits. It’s entirely possible the yellow cat is feral—it certainly moves like it’s bones are held together with twisty ties that have been tied one time too many. The yellow cat frequently appears on our property, and I’m reasonably sure Dad’s attitude has rubbed off on the pooch.) The very instant Booker saw the yellow cat, his entire body went on alert. He stared at the yellow cat. The yellow cat stared back.

The yellow cat took a few steps toward the road and twitched its tail. Booker stared. The cat took a few more steps, and twitched its tail. Booker tracked every movement. The cat decided that since Booker was on a leash he posed no threat whatsoever and sauntered, with great condescension, into the street.

In a surprise move (at least to me and the cat), Booker began to bark. A lot. All nineteen pounds of him trying to sound like an aggressive, highly annoyed, unfed Rottweiler. The cat lit off for parts unseen. Booker continued to bark.

Meanwhile, Cobra showed up. Booker barked. Cobra gave him a look that clearly said, “I don’t think so” and walked, as slowly as possible, into his garage. Booker was beside himself (which sort of tangled the leash).

I finally got him headed home and decided to brush him.

Let me just say—if he were a goose we’d be wholesaling down pillows.

Fur came off that boy in melon-sized fluffs. After just a few minutes, he was knee deep in fur. Granted his knees are fairly close to the ground, but still. That’s a lot of fur.

When most people brush their hair, they brush and then end. (I’m explaining this part because you have such short hair I can’t remember the last time you brushed it.) Even Pi (who has enough hair for a small country) gets to a point where she is finished brushing.

Not so with His Furriness. The fluff just kept coming and coming—he is the EverReady Bunny of Shedding. But here’s the funny part. During the entire seventeen hours that I brushed him, he stared intently down the street waiting for a cat to appear. (Never happened.) Eventually, I gave up and we went in for breakfast.

Beware of feral yellow cats and Springtime Shedding (not necessarily in that order).

Love, Mom

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