I know you are probably tired of the doggie tales so I will make this the last for some time, promise. But in order to complete your view of my past lives, I need to give you this last chapter.
Sweet Man and I decided early on in our ownership of Annabelle the stubborn, that we could not have a giant dog who would not listen to us and behave. So we enrolled us in dog obedience. I say us because the classes are really for the owners. The dogs come along to enjoy the humiliation that they can cause. Just ask any self respecting dog if they learned anything and they will tell you, yeah, I learned Dad is in charge and Mom, uh not so much. Joe took Annabelle for the first several weeks and then his work schedule became such that he couldn't follow up and practice with her. (psst, he reads this blog so I can't say the real reason is because he is testosterone impaired and just wouldn't get up off the couch to do it, mums the word, remember what goes on here stays here). So I took over the training. She and I kicked ass. She was attentive, proud, and was a good candidate to graduate first in her class (not that I am competitive, she is the one who wanted to win).
The day of graduation we practiced like crazy bitches, no pun intended. She had everything down pat. We get to class and I am feeling on top of the world. Go through our routine and the last part was a down, stay and walk away. Call the dog to come to you. Perfection until I turned around and called her and she .........wait for it............was asleep. I had worked her so hard that she was tired and took a nap. Not just a nap but on her back, snoring. Damn, coulda been a contender.
And the last tail of the tales. We were in the habit of walking our dogs to the package liquor store on Fridays after work. The dogs loved it. BTW, we never took Prissy to obedience class, embarrasment and the fact that Belle taught her how to walk in tandem (like the potty training thing) was all that it took. It was a joy to watch peoples faces as these two giant fluffy obedient dogs casually strolled with the three of us down the street. Shelley would take one of the dogs on the way home and we never even worried that the "girls" wouldn't listen to her.
I have to interject a comment at this point. I have no idea why little dogs are so insane. Other dogs would see the "girls" bark and leave it at that but there was a pair of kick me chihuahua dogs that lived at the end of the street who would constantly charge the dogs as we walked them. Neither of the little dogs were attended by anyone except children in the front yard, as a matter of fact the little ones kinda roamed the neighborhood at will. Belle and Prissy noticed them but because they were attentive to us would not even acknowledge the little yappers. That is until one night, I guess the ever stubborn and in charge Belle had just had it with the in her face charging of the 5 pound bruiser. Joe had her on lead, but the lead draped over his shoulder when the attack started. Belle gave him a clue as to her intention, he took ahold of the lead and the next thing I saw was Joe suspended in air, horizonal to the ground being pulled down the street. The only part of his body that touched the ground was his thumb.
Needless to say he let go in pain and blood and off Belle took after the little turd dog. When I caught up with her she was in his front yard. The backend of the little dog was conspicuously hanging out of her mouth. The kid in the yard is screaming, "your mean dog just ate my dog" and I am smacking Belle on the back of the head yelling "spit it out, spit it out". Out pops this Chihuahua all covered in goo, not hurt but madder than hell. Belle did a return and sit. (See she and I learned something in class). Prissy is barking and jumping around like the chicken dog she was saying, "yeah see my big sister kicked your butt".
After making sure that the little dog was okay, we returned to check on Joe who by this time is holding his bleeding thumb and bruised ego. As we made our way the other way on the street, here comes the black nincompoop doglet for an attack to the rear, literally. Belle turned, growled and it was like one of those cartoons with the yelping and running and tail tucking thing happening. And Shelley, a saged age 9 at the time, said to Joe, "Dad, why don't you let me take Belle for you, she won't run away from me, cuz she needs to protect me". Ouch.
Thanks for reading my tales on tails. And thanks for your sweet comments and sharing of your own tales on tails. I am in the process of writing a children's book about the giant hairy sweethearts and have just shared some of my favorite adventures. At another time I shall tell you about Cricket the flying cat and give you some insights into my life with a 5 foot iguana and how it is to be a turtle wrangler.
Have a super week my lovelies, (((((hugs))))))