Then again, Dexter *is* pretty smokin’ hot too.
So we hired some stand-ins to be active for us. Don’t say I never did anything for you!
Remember Skye, the puppy I fostered for a little bit last year? He’s all growed up now, and clearly is no border collie! What he is remains a mystery though. He’s super tall … makes Dexter look like a shrimp!
He and his brother Duffy were kind enough to take me to the beach and recreate some of my favourite my-dogs scenarios so I could take photos, without my lazy ass dogs having to haul their summer-corpses out of the comfy dog beds.
It was so much like having my own dogs there I hardly noticed the difference, except that I didn’t have to pick up any poop, and neither Skye nor Duffy wanted to kill other dogs they met at the beach (ahem*TWooie*ahem)
Because there’s too damn many of you, that’s why!!! I can handle a pack of dogs like nobody’s business, but by doG, 7 is too many to take to the beach. I gotta downsize before there’s no summer left!
Or maybe it’s because he’s so ball obsessive. I accidentally turned him into a dumbball monster. He is so obsessed with the ball that yesterday he dug one out of the agility bag and spent the whole morning dropping it in front of the vacuum cleaner and then the steam mop, presumably hoping one of these machines would throw it for him. I think that’s how he views me too … as a machine designed to throw toys for him. He’s a super nice puppy, but he’s not got much personality. I would so love to see him in a sport home that would turn that drive into a partnership of work/play. I think he’s got oodles of potential!
I also (*sob*) listed my Springaling (*sob*).
Oh but I do! I love her endlessly. It makes me so sad to put her up for adoption. But I’ve just got so many dogs already, I just can’t think of a good enough reason to keep a SIXTH dog. Especially now that I’m going full time at the shelter (yay by the way!) and will have even less free time (otoh, more money for things like trial entry fees. AGH! Shut up, me!) And she’s going to hate being rehomed too, she luffs The Food Lady something fierce. Le sigh. I don’t want to talk about it, it’s going to make me cry.
Well, now that you mention it, TWEED.
In my house, Dexter, Quinn and Spring are crated for sleepy time. Woo sleeps on my bed, whether I want him to or not (6 years ago he climbed up there, said “I ain’t movin’, beeyotch, so deal with it,” and there he has snoozed ever since), TWooie goes to sleep in his dog bed, but sneaks up on my bed after I am asleep (I may or may not have gotten him a little set of carpeted dog stairs to make that easier for him. Just sayin’). And Tweed and Piper sleep under my bed, where they argue. ALL. NIGHT. LONG. They snark, growl and snap at one another for getting in each other’s personal space. It’s a queen sized bed, and you’d think there’s be plenty of room for them both, but apparently not.
So this morning I spent some time rearranging furniture and busting out a couple new dog crates. My house now resembles a kennel, but damn it all, I WILL get a full night’s sleep. Tweed now has his own crate and as soon as Quinn gets adopted, Piper will too.
I did take some time out of my busy morning to photograph this ungodly huge egg for you though, mostly just to share my own horror.
On the left we have a “size small” egg, the kind my polish cross lays. In the middle we have the regular sized “large” brown eggs from my sexalinks. And on the right is a godawfully huge monster of an egg that makes me pucker just *thinking* about how that must have felt to lay!
Once the housekeeping was taken care of, the dogs and I took a stroll down the acreage and back. And since I have recently been accused of being a terrible, no good, horrible cat owner who should be banned from adopting from all shelters anywhere, or whatever, I decided to take Mr. Orange with us. Oh yes I did!
Mr. Orange, it turns out, thinks he is a dog, not a cat. And he has a better recall than some of my dogs (*coughWOOTWOOcough*) do as well! He has decided that he needs to accompany us on our daily constitutionals and immediately fell into line behind the rest of the pack, and came for a walk.
And then sometimes we had to stop and wait for him, because he is obese (for the record, he CAME THAT WAY and has not gained any weight since I accidentally acquired him. Because if you recall, it was me or death and he apparently chose me, so I can’t be all that bad) and all that walking was hard work.
I did discover earlier in the week that the secret to making him shut up in the morning was to feed him BEFORE I left for the dog walk. Amazingly simple solution, really, no cat therapists involved. The taking-him-with-us thing is just for my own amusement, and also to get him to lose some lard.
You should adopt her! Although if you try, I might kill you. Just sayin’.