Meet Tigger.
Why? Because Tiggers bounce.
When Tigger came home about 13 years ago as pup in my sweater, he bounced into my sons arms and our families hearts.
Still there..... just doesn't bounce as high these days.
Tigger is 110 pounds of Lab/Rottie mix... must have been a heck of a blender.
While his bark can shatter windows, and he has dragged railroad ties across the yard on occasion when we were silly enough to tie his lead to one... he is gentle as a kitten.
He is, in fact, scared of kittens and will hide behind us if one visits.
The little white thing... that would be 'Daisy', AKA 'Rat Dog', AKA 'Terror Bitch', AKA "That %^$#%@ bit me again!'.
Daisy is a Cairn Terrier, which is some ancient breed bred to guard trolls in caves and such. I'm not sure what Trolls have to fear, but Daisy could surely handle it.
Daisy came to us at an undetermined age, but it doesn't matter. I suspect she was mean and crotchety at birth. She is twenty pounds of attitude in a ten pound body. Don't feed her what she wants? Your dinner will do nicely then. Not at the door when she wants to go out? Fine... she'll crap where you are sure to find it... in the dark.
Daisy is a pound mutt, and my wifes' therapy dog. She loves my wife dearly... puts up with me.... allows our children to live here, and usually attacks anyone else who dares to walk in without permission. Her permission, not ours.
We have one more dog.... my youngest boys constant companion. She's a 'jug', part pug and part Jack Russel terrier. Strange little alien space creature of a dog that actually thinks Daisy wants to play. No matter how many times little white rat dog turns into the Tasmanian devil, Cinder still wants to play.
No picture of Cinder the jug (AKA 'Da WoodChuck') because they are all a blur. Cinder has two speeds..... WZZZ WZZZ WZZZ or hide under youngest sons chair.
She can lap the living room five times without touching the floor, rebounding from furniture to wall and back again. Weird. Space. Alien. Creature.
Every morning she greets me as I come down the stairs.... she's learned not to come up the stairs, as that is Daisy land. Learned the hard way.
She greets me every morning with the complete inability to contain her excitement that I am still alive, much as she greets everyone else who breathes. I know she can't help herself, but I've often wanted to hold her still a few moments... just to see what pops off when the pressure builds up. I wave my hand in circles and she spins like a top to watch it... just in case my hand does something really amazing this time, like turn into a rabbit or something.
I can't recall living without dog for any significant part of my life, and we had dog as long as we have had kid. Sometimes we have forgotten which is which. Their manners give them away... the dogs are better behaved.
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Right now the Yogimeister is laying at my feet in his favorite little spot between my small desk and the back of a big recliner. and he's looking at me with the sheer intent that, if it could speak, would say" Yo Mama. . you gonna eat that last piece of cornbread?"
Ayup.
When I want an 'all dog' moment, I only have to rattle the lid on the cookie jar ever so slightly.
The house walls will bulge from air displacement as three dogs ignore all the laws of physics and appear, as by magic, to sit and stare at me.
No meal goes by without audience... and assistance.
Our last family dog... Sammy... had his own special way. At the call of "Sammy! On Duty!" the kitchen floor would get scrutinized and cleaned of the smallest morsels... Saved a lot of cleanup time when I was cooking.
I sure do miss Sammy. He was a good soul.
I swear to my family that when these dogs leave us, we are not getting another till I have just ONE DAY without finding dog hair on the floor. I've been saying that for 25 years... aint worked yet.
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