She Means Business

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Now 10, Daisy still puts hunting above all else. She’s good at it, too, being a Dachshund. Lethal. And although she snores beneath my desk at this very moment, I bet she’s dreaming about hunting.

She also desperately needs a haircut.

 

I’m Here to Tell You Different

There is accepted scientific fact, and there is truth. Sometimes they’re not the same thing.

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Salad Days

I watched a canine documentary a couple of years ago that centered around behavior.  The Host started right in on a dog’s limitations, of which there seemed to be many. For instance, one of the first listed was the leash/obstacle problem.

The Host posited as truth the old chestnut that a dog can’t comprehend that they must stay on the same side of an obstacle as their owner; that they are connected by the leash. ‘They just cannot think laterally’, he said.  ‘They can’t work it out’. That’s when I turned the show off.

Well, Bree worked out for herself as a puppy that we were connected and after two times going the wrong way around a light pole and never did it again.

Last night while watching Stephen Fry’s series QI I heard him say that dogs cannot follow where you point. They watch your finger, not the direction in which you are pointing.

Once again, Bree got pointing right away. I can point at stuff anywhere and she’ll go get it. Stuffed babies, usually. She loves it and regards it as work, which is the highest calling for a herding breed.

She also knows how to ‘take it’, ‘come’, ‘go’, ‘hug’, etc… and saved my life once when the electric blanket I was using caught fire.

Got kids? Get Collies. There will be an excess of hair, but your children will have a best friend you can count on… one who won’t introduce them to meth.

Conversely, Badger, also a herder, does not always get it. Maybe her original people didn’t spend much time with her when she was a puppy.

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She’s old now, the Bree. Her face becomes progressively whiter and she moves slower. But she’s still the best girl.

Ten

My funny little girl is ten today. I can’t believe it.

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Little Bree with her Aunt Deb.

Playing with Dad…

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16 weeks…

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She played very carefully with kitties…

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And used to go into the spare room to look at herself for company when her sister died.

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And August of this year. A little the worse for wear, but still my lovely girl.

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Happy Birthday you silly, hardheaded bitch. You’re not going anywhere soon.

I had to get a photo of her today, though it’s not like she was going to look at me! This was right after her bath.

My Punkinhead:

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Daisy Doesn’t Care

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It’s election day here in the United States, but Daisy doesn’t know. And as her person I feel safe in telling you that she wouldn’t care if she did.

The Dachshund’s vocation (and obsession, if we’re being honest) as huntress sort of rejects any political thought but as her hobbies include barking at strangers and lying pink-belly-up in the sun, you might be inclined to wonder if she’s had aspirations.

Well, no. That’s one of the things I love about her; the uncomplicated, primitive nature of her being eschews anything civilized.

Bree… well, she thinks too much… so, probably. And we all know that Badger wants to rule the world…

As for me, I’m more of a Daisy today. I don’t care. Not just because I’ve been sick and feel like ick… but because it doesn’t matter. I’ve come to believe that anyone running for president these days must be mentally ill. One wants your guns and one wants a wall and it’s all control. Gun control and immigration control and meanwhile, we’re importing jihadists who want to blow us up because of some guy name Mo. It’s unreal and surreal.

Going back into Daisy mode now. At least until I drag my ass across the street to vote.

 

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