It hasn't been quite a month since our newest acquisition of fuzzy, black dog number three. But, in the short time Bob Barker has been with us, the four-legged contingency in our humble abode seems to be adapting quite well. In fact, Bob is taking to training very well.
Lilly has taught Bob that if he flops over on his side when I try to get him, he's much harder to pick up. Ace has successfully shown him that my lap is an open invitation any time he wants attention. Bob has even tapped into his genetic pool bag of tricks by staring at me with those doleful, brown, spaniel eyes. Bob's even trained my son. When I get those looks, my son -- the voice of oppressed pets everywhere, will chime in with "don't you wuv me Phiwup? I wouldn't have to stawe at ya like dis if ya'd onwy feed me more often." I'd like to see Victoria Stillwell or Cesar Milan against the indomitable duo that is my son and his dog.
Don't get me wrong, though. Bob Barker is not stupid. He's learned some other interesting tricks as well. As a howler, he can harmonize with either Ace's or Lilly's barking. Soon, he'll have all three of them harmonizing together. Bob's also learned how to use the bathroom in the yard, as opposed to the kitchen, or bathroom, or living room, or... You know. He learned that if he spreads his legs apart, he's a lot harder to get into his kennel at night.
Best, or worst of all, he seems to have figured me out some. When my wife and son aren't around, Bob will sit a short distance away and watch me. Then he'll creep really slowly up to me (as if stalking prey?). He'll keep his eyes on me and we'll watch each other. Then Bob will put his head on my leg and give me that doleful look. How can I not scratch him behind the ears when he acts and looks so cute at me like that?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
|Don't let the cuteness fool you...|
The fuzzy, black dog count in my little house has grown. In addition to Ace (the Jack Russell, schnauzer and poodle mix on the left at top) and Lilly (the schnauzer, yorkie mix which people like to shorten to schnorkie--on the right at top), we now have Bob, who for all practical appearances seems to be an American Water Spaniel. Unfortunately, Bob (who has really been named Bob Barker) seems to have created friction in out little household as to how we should proceed.
A friend of mine found him and another spaniel running around by the side of a road. Neither dog had a collar, so she did what she always does. Having an overly large heart and a soft spot for stray dogs, she managed to subdue the dogs and bring them home. She is currently trying to find a good home for only one dog. And therein lies the problem.
My theory contends that Bob was abused. His behavior seems to verify this theory. My theory also states that we, my family, are but a mere halfway house -- half way between a rough, rotten life and a new happy one with a family to love him. My solution is simply to find a happy home for the adorable little pup.
My son also has a theory. His theory states that when the dogs outnumber the family members, then we have a serious problem. Unfortunately, according to his theory, we don't have a problem yet since Bob puts the number of animals even with the number of humans. If you've ever tried reasoning with a teenager, you'll find it's easier to hit your head against a wall.
My wife has developed her own theory which can be summed up in four simple words -- &%*! out of luck! She says that we are just fuzzy, black dog magnets. She's also noted that our teenager and Bob have, in less than 24 hours, become inseperable. And it's becoming obvious when they have been seperated as a low, mournful howl begins echoing through the house...