September 17, 2003

Alpha Male ~ A Hole Month (sic)

image copyright Fred First

An Uneasy Peace: "I dare you to step over that line, said Calvin the cat."

All puppy all the time. Not the blog, mercifully. Just everything else around here, now that we are 'celebrating' our one month anniversary since bringing home Tsuga the Barracuda. He's been with us (24/7) long enough that on first seeing each other in the morning or on the rare occasions I leave (the kennel where we live) and return, there is the joy of hello, followed almost instantly by knuckle-gnawing with me as the gnawee. It's just me he wants to masticate. And hump. A guy thing, I guess. But we're getting there, and he is growing (and I cannot emphasize that word boldly enough) into a pup someone would want to be around. Not quite there yet. Not quite.

Yesterday we forgot that we were housebroken. Standing verily at my feet in the kitchen after having been outside for a half hour he squats down and unloads a pint of pee on the throw rug, dribbling a trail as I vociferously carry him at arms length out the door. Is this a form of canine defiance? a sign of deep-seated emotional trauma? or, as I suspect, rebellious psychological hazing of would-be masters? Hmmm. The most egregious sin this week involved an open pantry door. Don't tempt a good dog to go bad. Or Tsuga, either. He found a large unopened pack of saltines and first crushed them into a fine powder inside the wrapper (like we used to do in grade school before pouring this crackerdust into our mouths or our soup.) Then he expertly incised a large distribution hole in the wrapper and did one of those Family Circus zigzagging romps all over the first floor of Chez Tsuga, spreading pixie dust in a remarkably uniform pattern across 300 square feet of hardwood floor and rug. For an instant there I thought I was trapped in a really bad Hoover Vacuum commercial, but the cheerful housewife in the lace apron never came. Damn dog.

He has his tender moments. Missing for a moment this morning, we looked up to find his little face peeking innocently out of a large wicker basket where we put our boots. I think he's telling us it's time he had his own place; I am adamant that he will not get the keys to my truck at this time, however. Perhaps his most endearing moments are when he tells us he is ready to rest (Oh joy!) by hiding under our feet wherever we are standing (and does the same thing under flexed legs on the john, which is not so cute). He wimpers like an overtired child in need of a nap. Especially on the hardwood floor, his feet slide toward all four compass points. He just collapses when he can take it no more, all fours splayed out, belly flat against the floor: a dog can't get more two-dimensional than this. He looks for all the world like the hide of a coon tacked on the barn wall, a tawny yellow X against oak, and he is dead to the world, saving up energy for his next romp du jour. Enjoy naptime while it lasts, mister. Cause White Fang gonna rise again.

~ Read other Alpha Male tales ~

Posted by fred1st at September 17, 2003 07:08 AM | TrackBack
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