Pappy Licked Him, Fair and Square

We had a big group over last night for a dinner party. For people who have watched the Pappy movies, their first time meeting him is always a surprise. First off he doesn't talk. But even more, every other person says he's much taller than they expected.

At the end of the evening one of our guests, who had played devil's advocate at dinner by pointing out the unnatural and neurotic entanglements between pets and owners, sat on the floor with Pappy. Pappy gave him a little lick on the face, and he laughed. Then Pappy licked him some more, and he started to giggle. Then Pappy laid into him full bore, licking nose, mouth, scalp, eyeball, and wrapping up with a big old wet willie. Our guest was in such paroxisms of laughter, that Pappy got a little freaked out. But that didn't keep Pappy from licking him some more.

Confirmation

Today I had an unexpected day off from work, so Pappy and I took a long walk through the slushy wonderland left behind after yesterday's wet snow. The interesting thing was that, when Pappy insistently followed his nose in one direction or another, I could clearly see evidence of the spoor he was following. Prominently showing in the slush were the dog and deer footprints he was tracking like a bloodhound. When he hunkered down immovable with his nose pressed to the ground, I could see a clearly delineated yellow patch. I guess he really isn't just making this stuff up.

Monkey Terror

For Christmas, my aunt picked out a toy monkey for Pappy which seemed appropriately rugged, with sturdy rope arms and legs. Around the same time I gave Pappy a rope chew toy. I can't help but notice that the rope chew toy has barely attracted passing attention. But put that same rope in humanoid form, and Pappy's all about tearing it limb from limb before finally eviscerating it. In just a couple of days he's reduced the monkey to one leg.

The next time I'm feeling a little faint, I'm planning on keeping a locked door between Pappy and me. I'm not sure I'm even comfortable napping around him.

Rainy Day Dog

I kind of dread taking Pappy on a walk following a rain. The moisture brings out all the smells. This morning he spent the entire walk with head cocked down and nose glued to the ground, constantly straining to follow some scent. Every damp spot on the pavement and every soggy phone pole is alive with olfactory sumptuousness. The world stinks, and Pappy loves it.

You Just Can't Take A Bad Photo of Pappy

As long as you can get him into the picture, that is.

Pappy In Eruption

Early this afternoon I got a call from the dog walker. She'd taken Pappy out for his daily walk, when he was suddenly overtaken by some digestive awfulness. Stuff started coming out of both ends. I've been around Pappy yakking often enough to know that it's probably a good thing that he has this outlet for the occasional indigestible tidbit, but coupled with the diarrhea was a little troubling. My wife headed home from work early, but when she arrived Pappy seemed none the worse for wear. When I took him for a walk in the evening, he seemed to have a reasonably solid poop-- aren't you glad you checked in on the blog?

It's sad to think of Pappy had such a bad time early in the day, but it gave me a great idea for a garden fountain.

Conversation at the Dog Park

A couple of weeks ago at the dog park, Pappy was engaged in one of his signature endless rounds of fetch. It was just me and one other owner at the park, and Pappy started dropping the ball at his feet-- I'm always at the end of Pappy's list.

Some folks are thrilled to have Pappy single them out, but this guy was clearly a bit diffident to being a cog in my dog's obsession. He mentioned to me that endless fetching seemed like a joyless preoccupation. I responded with a platitude about it being good exercise. He said he used to have a dog that would fetch incessantly, and he'd always felt it was associated with the dog's epileptic seizures. I said that Pappy had never had any trace of a problem, he's just terrier obsessive. He asked how old Pappy was, and I said almost three. He said that epilepsy could come on in older dogs, mentioning he thought he saw a little tremor when Pappy was waiting for the ball. Then he recalled fondly how he would sit and stroke his dog during one of the seizures.

It was a perfectly pleasant conversation, but I just wanted to yell at the guy "my dog does not have epilepsy just because he chases a stinking ball!" Even at the time the situation cracked me up... the discussion couldn't have been better scripted to drive me crazy.