Canine Comedy
I realize these anecdotes are all from the......'you had to be there' ......category.
Not a day passes without Michelangelo making us laugh. His name does not suit him. It's a classic name, regal, from the renaissance. Mikey fits him but we also call him Butthead. My dog is a clown.
When we dispense ice from the refrigerator he stands ready for the possibility a wayward cube will miss our glass and bounce on the kitchen floor. He pounces on the slippery treat, bites and chomps it down. He loves ice. We use our bundt cake mold to make large ice rings to put in his water dish. Watching him play with the ring, trying to figure out how to get it out, is hilarious. He'll drink from the center of the cold donut, paw at it, and splash like a toddler. He puts his entire face in the bowl, then drips all over the floor.
We buy raw almonds. Mikey will sit perfectly still as I munch, transfixed on my handful of nutty goodness. I'll toss a nut across the hardwood floor. As the almond slides to rest Mikey is sliding right behind it. The hardwood is like ice to his paws, he can't get traction. It's fun watching him excitedly chasing nuts, slipping past, but adroitly picking them up as he skates by.
At mealtime he never digs in until we tell him it's okay to eat. I hold the bowl of dog food. He sits attentively. I place the bowl on his rug. He sits attentively. I pause, testing his patience. He sits. I pat him on the head, "good boy", gesture toward the food and in he dives. I've never seen a dog wait once the bowl was down.
Unlike Milkshake, I'm being careful about giving him people food. Mikey doesn't come near the dinner table when we dine. If he wanders near I point to the living room, "go", and he slinks off, dejected. We sometimes give Mike table scraps but only after we're done and the table is clear. He does not associate our dinner with his getting treats. I wish I did this with Milkshake. I was less disciplined. We created a mealtime monster.
Have you ever had a dream where you're falling then you wake up with the weightless sensation? Mike sleeps on his back, legs up, hanging off the edge of the leather sectional. Slowly he slips towards the 24 inch abyss. I'll get Cheryl's attention so she can enjoy. As he slides off he awakes startled, bug-eyed, legs kicking, as he tries to get a grip of something. He hits the floor in shock. I'll confess to occasionally pushing him closer to the edge as he sleeps.
Boxers are known as high energy dogs. Some people can't handle the energy. The Boxer needs an outlet, exercise and play. Mike gets his share of horseplay. Late at night, after 10:00 when we're all winding down, he gets his last wind. He darts through his doggie door, runs around the back yard, he bursts back in, like a cannon shot through the door. If you're not aware he's in 'crazed dog mode' it scares you as he bolts through the door into the living room. He runs upstairs and does high speed laps around the billiards table.
Then it's over, energy spent, time to snuggle up to his people.
Not a day passes without Michelangelo making us laugh. His name does not suit him. It's a classic name, regal, from the renaissance. Mikey fits him but we also call him Butthead. My dog is a clown.
When we dispense ice from the refrigerator he stands ready for the possibility a wayward cube will miss our glass and bounce on the kitchen floor. He pounces on the slippery treat, bites and chomps it down. He loves ice. We use our bundt cake mold to make large ice rings to put in his water dish. Watching him play with the ring, trying to figure out how to get it out, is hilarious. He'll drink from the center of the cold donut, paw at it, and splash like a toddler. He puts his entire face in the bowl, then drips all over the floor.
We buy raw almonds. Mikey will sit perfectly still as I munch, transfixed on my handful of nutty goodness. I'll toss a nut across the hardwood floor. As the almond slides to rest Mikey is sliding right behind it. The hardwood is like ice to his paws, he can't get traction. It's fun watching him excitedly chasing nuts, slipping past, but adroitly picking them up as he skates by.
At mealtime he never digs in until we tell him it's okay to eat. I hold the bowl of dog food. He sits attentively. I place the bowl on his rug. He sits attentively. I pause, testing his patience. He sits. I pat him on the head, "good boy", gesture toward the food and in he dives. I've never seen a dog wait once the bowl was down.
Unlike Milkshake, I'm being careful about giving him people food. Mikey doesn't come near the dinner table when we dine. If he wanders near I point to the living room, "go", and he slinks off, dejected. We sometimes give Mike table scraps but only after we're done and the table is clear. He does not associate our dinner with his getting treats. I wish I did this with Milkshake. I was less disciplined. We created a mealtime monster.
Have you ever had a dream where you're falling then you wake up with the weightless sensation? Mike sleeps on his back, legs up, hanging off the edge of the leather sectional. Slowly he slips towards the 24 inch abyss. I'll get Cheryl's attention so she can enjoy. As he slides off he awakes startled, bug-eyed, legs kicking, as he tries to get a grip of something. He hits the floor in shock. I'll confess to occasionally pushing him closer to the edge as he sleeps.
Boxers are known as high energy dogs. Some people can't handle the energy. The Boxer needs an outlet, exercise and play. Mike gets his share of horseplay. Late at night, after 10:00 when we're all winding down, he gets his last wind. He darts through his doggie door, runs around the back yard, he bursts back in, like a cannon shot through the door. If you're not aware he's in 'crazed dog mode' it scares you as he bolts through the door into the living room. He runs upstairs and does high speed laps around the billiards table.
Then it's over, energy spent, time to snuggle up to his people.