Tag Archives: Dogs

September 23, 2020 · 7:04 am

Spot the Cat

A few days after Cocoa joined the gang, my son tried to introduce the new addition to the Puppers. Fred was curious but George was jealous. He barked at Cocoa who leaped out of my son’s arms and ran to the corner of the yard, curling up on himself like a pillbug. My son was disappointed. He’d hoped they could be friends.

Since the dogs aren’t getting along, we have three walks to take in the morning, and three in the afternoon. Fred and George have priority. Then Terry, as fast as possible–Terry’s choice not ours. Finally, Cocoa. He’s small, so he doesn’t go too far, but he loves the grass. He throws himself about like a kid in a ball pit. He isn’t much interested in doing his business outside though–too many things to sniff.

Our walks have added a Where’s Waldo activity just to liven things up. The borega guy has an orange and white cat that looks like a sun-bleached Garfield. This cat has taken to my son like they are long lost buddies. It comes mewing along every time it sees us, completely oblivious to the dogs.

So each of our walks, we play Spot the Cat! Sure as anything, at some point along the walk, Garfield will appear. Sometimes it’s on a rock, waiting like the Cheshire Cat. Other times it is in the cornfield, just watching us pass.

Fred and George are absolutely stunned at Garfield’s presence, every single time. They freeze and it takes some coaxing to get them started again. Terry, when he takes the time to notice, tries to attack. The new leash has proven its mettle. Cocoa can’t see Garfield over the clover and has no reaction whatsoever.

We’ve recently realized that Garfield is actually a Mrs. Garfield, and a pregnant one at that. She now not only appears on our walks but follows us home meowing piteously for food. She’ll only accept food from my son for whatever reason. And since she’s eating for 23 (or so my son says) she comes morning, noon, and night for more vittles.

I think she’s taken up residence in my sister-in-law’s house and that’s where the kittens will appear. Time will tell!

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The Great Food Heist

George on the left and Fred on the right.

The other day, it was raining, which is no surprise because we are in the rainy season after all. My son dashed out to feed the horses and left the back door open a crack. He was gone maybe five minutes and came back to find the door wide open and muddy paw prints all over the place.

He hollered for the dogs. Fred came dashing out from the garage so fast he slid on the tile like a cartoon. George came tumbling down the stairs with the cat’s food dish in his mouth. The fact that it was George who went upstairs puzzled us because Fred is the sniffer. He’s able to smell food like nobody’s business. George, as the head dog, then appropriates Fred’s find. But in this case, it was George who immediately headed upstairs.

After the dogs were outside and Fuzz’s food dish reclaimed, we followed the tracks to try and figure out the series of events that led to the Great Heist. It seemed Fred was sent as a lookout to the front door, while George went upstairs and found Fuzz stretched out on the bed. He must have taken a sniff or two of this recumbent feline, who paid him no mind. The muddy paw print on the blanket was left in evidence.

Then George grabbed the food dish and hurried back downstairs when my son called. So how did George know there was food upstairs? Was it a crime of opportunity, or had deliberate planning gone into it?

We’ve come to believe that George has been plotting this escapade for a few weeks now. You see, when Fuzz, his royal highness, isn’t happy with his food selection for the day, I drop the leftovers from the back porch to the dogs. I’ve seen George puzzling out how I come to be up on the porch and how to get there himself. With the opened door, George seized the opportunity and took it upon himself to get today’s leftovers (although Fuzz hadn’t properly finished with them yet).

We’ll have to be more cognizant of open doors now. Once a successful heist has occurred, from now until infinity, the two scoundrels will be casing the joint, looking to take another run at it. Meanwhile, Fuzz will lay there and observe it all.

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Walking the Dogs

Practicing social distancing means we don’t get out much. However, now that the chicken feather guy’s lady dog is no longer in heat, our doggie walks again encompass the entire block in La Yacata.

Walking The Puppers and walking Terry are two completely different experiences. We can’t walk them together because George and Terry still haven’t made peace with each other. So two walks it is.

All of the dogs have learned to spell w-a-l-k. Their excitement when it is time is evident. Fred and George start racing around the back yard. Terry starts whining.

The Puppers get the first walk. Sometimes they are so excited they forget to wait for my son to clip the leash on. When everybody is hooked up, out we go. Fred clearly has the superior nose. Sniffing the air when the coyotes have been by, sniffing the corners for new pee messages, sniffing the grass as it starts to grow. He even sniffed out a 6-foot long snake the other day.

George is the point guard. He takes his guarding and pee spraying the parameter very seriously. Sometimes, he checks out what Fred is sniffing, decides if it is worthy or not, and then pees all over it.

Occasionally, a happy white lady boxer dog is in La Yacata. More often than usual these days since everybody is tired of their own company and head to La Yacata to congregate clandestinely. White Lady Dog is so excited to see The Puppers. She bounds up and stands nose to nose. Everyone is completely still except for furious tail wagging. Then she bounds away.

Every day, they look forward to the corner where sometimes they see Lady White Dog and her “come up and see me sometime boys” invitation. Fred whines, sniffing away for any trace of her while George scans the horizon.

Then we circle home and switch out the dogs. As soon as Terry sees the leash, he begins this high pitched barking that only ends once he’s at the front door, ready to go. He leaps out of the gate like some sort of racehorse. Sometimes, my son isn’t fast enough for him, so he grabs the leash and tries to walk himself.

He sprints as far as the leash allows him to go, which is pretty far because I bought him a longer leash recently. When he reaches the end, the abrupt stop jerks him and my son’s arm. This happens every single walk.

As we head up the incline, Terry seems to believe he must pull my son up the road. Maybe he’s not satisfied with the speed. We used to think that maybe he was hot on the trail of something, but have learned that’s not true. There isn’t anything pressing ahead that he is interested in investigating. He just plows on ahead.

Now the terrain in many areas of La Yacata means jogging isn’t an option. I told my son that if he had a pair of skates (and a level area) Terry would pull him along for miles. Not gonna happen here though.

So my son and Terry have a miserable walk, each fully convinced the other is misbehaving. My son, for going to slow, and Terry for trying to race ahead. Terry is oblivious to everything except George’s pee spots, which he makes his own.

The dogs at the corner don’t bark at The Puppers when we pass. However, perhaps because Terry looks like some sort of wolf or coyote, they sound the alarm, which Terry ignores.

The White Lady Dog came up to Terry the other day and I swear, Terry had that look a 10-year-old boy might have if a girl came up and gave him a kiss. EWWW! Cooties!

Soon enough, we arrived back home. Terry is still in command of the front area, while The Puppers have the back. My son must go through the back to reassure The Puppers. They’ve started this strange ritual where they just have it as if they are gladiators in training trying to impress the master when my son arrives after his walk with Terry. This free-for-all goes on until the moment my son goes into the house. Then it’s back to lounging under the trees in the shade, waiting for the afternoon walk.

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