It has finally happened. Root Beer knows how to walk on a leash, sit on command, and come when she's called. And she almost always participates when asked to complete those commands.
I wish the children were that easy to train.
We figure she's over five months now. She's looking more like a poodle with her curly black coat. What's funny is the curls are only on the top part - almost like when you're learning how to curl your hair and you only manage to get a few of the curls in. You know, either your curling iron craps out on you, or you're really naive and think that three well-placed curls would look sophisticated - not that I would have ever thought that...
Anyway, I do have pictures of our dear dog and lots of video. Yesterday, Luke and I played for two hours outside our house just throwing the ball and watching Root Beer race for it down the road. Her passion and enthusiasm for the game was something to see. Then we went to the backyard and Luke started cleaning the leaves from the pool. Root Beer - black lab and white poodle mix - was far too interested in the ice/water covering the giant hole. I'm going to have to watch her this spring. I can't imagine cleaning an algae-crusted pet. Would I use a scraper? Ewwww...
Luke's loving his dog. Both of them have really grown accustomed to the other. Dave and Luke are going for round two of the dog obedience, and from all reports, just having a blast. Nice to see father, son and little girl having fun together.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Slipping and sliding into spring
Have you slipped in the mud a bit? It's spring and the season is muck.
When the children were small, I tried to keep them out of the puddles. Yet, invariably, a boy or two would come home with a boot full of water and a soggy tale to tell. Root Beer doesn't wear boots but her soggy tail sure tells a story every time she comes inside.
I try to keep her away from the water but it's everywhere. My front yard faces north and the snow melts slowly. It causes us a great deal of grief as we watch our neighbours start their lawnmowers as we continue to shovel.
Root Beer doesn't mind. She enjoys our half-melted landscape. She rolls, jumps and runs through the last echo of winter. She gets wet. She gets muddy, and her paws grow larger.
Her tender tootsies are now lovingly wiped 16 times a day. And still the dirt walks freely. Paw prints the size of a small mac truck dot the beige carpet and the ultra suede sofa cushions. Like a reluctant Sherlock Holmes, I can now track Root Beer's progress through the house just by following the puppy-paw trail.
I have scrubbed and vacummed and prayed for the warming rays of the sun to dry up my front yard, but to no avail.
The paw prints continue to roam.
I'm not fretting too hard, though. I know that one day, just like the days when my children played outside, I'll yearn to yell at the dog to stay out of the water, but I won't have to.
I know that someday when the seasons change, her sleek black coat will remain clean and her paws will remain spotless. She will be older and more mature - and I will miss when it was spring.
When the children were small, I tried to keep them out of the puddles. Yet, invariably, a boy or two would come home with a boot full of water and a soggy tale to tell. Root Beer doesn't wear boots but her soggy tail sure tells a story every time she comes inside.
I try to keep her away from the water but it's everywhere. My front yard faces north and the snow melts slowly. It causes us a great deal of grief as we watch our neighbours start their lawnmowers as we continue to shovel.
Root Beer doesn't mind. She enjoys our half-melted landscape. She rolls, jumps and runs through the last echo of winter. She gets wet. She gets muddy, and her paws grow larger.
Her tender tootsies are now lovingly wiped 16 times a day. And still the dirt walks freely. Paw prints the size of a small mac truck dot the beige carpet and the ultra suede sofa cushions. Like a reluctant Sherlock Holmes, I can now track Root Beer's progress through the house just by following the puppy-paw trail.
I have scrubbed and vacummed and prayed for the warming rays of the sun to dry up my front yard, but to no avail.
The paw prints continue to roam.
I'm not fretting too hard, though. I know that one day, just like the days when my children played outside, I'll yearn to yell at the dog to stay out of the water, but I won't have to.
I know that someday when the seasons change, her sleek black coat will remain clean and her paws will remain spotless. She will be older and more mature - and I will miss when it was spring.
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What the nose knows
Root Beer's first bath
