Rules of Engagement

Topics which you won't see covered in this entry: 1) the almost empty space adjacent to this study, formerly known as Sarah's bedroom; 2) the seemingly blatant disregard by this writer to supply three blog posts per week; and 3) anything to do with flatulence.

There.  Now that the rules of engagement have been established and recognized by all involved parties,  namely you, the readers, and me, the one who spins this wordy web, we can move on.

Since three hours of sleep is all I managed to squeeze out of last night -- I was packing personal items in a space about which I will not discuss right now -- and the hour inches ever closer to midnight, I'll keep this brief.  I have no real choice in the matter as my eyes are rolling back up into my head of their own volition.  My fingers on the keyboard appear to have a mind of their own.  And somewhere in there, the ol' gray matter is definitely operating on far less than fifty shades!

Hank the Wonder Pup, whose nickname has morphed into Hankie Mutt from here on out, is starting to realize that he possesses both maleness and alpha dog potential.  On yesterday's walk, he marked our way at least three times; that's two more than he usually pees in a week of leash-n-collar sessions!  At home, our elderly dog's increasing vulnerability due to arthritis and the natural slow-down that nips at the heels of a sixteen year-old pooch, has made her a target for snarling, barking and teeth-baring encounters with her younger counterpart whenever she enters the kitchen, which Hankie Mutt believes to be his territory.  Several times a day, I wade into the fray and assert MY alpha position over BOTH of them.

Our great white hunk of an overgrown pup managed to add a few friends to his collection of four-legged and two-legged pals in the past week.  Today it was Brian and Andre.  They work for the moving company which is contracted out by the Army to relocate the belongings of certain individuals to parts outside of these United States for the purpose of keeping married couples and families together.  This capital business arrangement works well for both parties and pertains to me in ways which, at present, I am not allowed to discuss for maternal heart reasons.  Upon the completion of their mission, Brian and Andre enjoyed iced tea, berries and Doritos provided by yours truly: I allow no one to leave my home hungry and thirsty on a hot day when hard work has been executed to my exacting standards.  Really, serving others, anticipating their needs, feeding people: it's who I am.  So I roll with it!  I learned that Brian and Andre grew up together, got in trouble playing football in a neighbor lady's yard together, and now work together.  Andre is quick to grin and operates a mean tape dispenser.  Brian is married to a Laotian woman.  His fifth wedding anniversary is just around the corner.  And he owns a pit bull mix who has been trained to respond to commands ordered in his wife's native tongue.  I rather like that.  (I'm thinking I could teach Hankie Mutt a bit of Spanish?!)

Brian and Andre

 Now you see it . . . 

 . . . now you don't!!!

 Good sports!

While we're on the subject of pit bulls -- dogs who get a bum rap in the ownership department because of the nasty habit many folks have of turning these handsome animals into bloodthirsty fighters for gambling human onlookers -- let me direct your attention to Hank's newest girlfriend, Emma.

 Emma: she's ALL woman!

 Introductions.

Look, Hank has an instant family.  

And Emma is REALLY good with children . . .  

. . . REALLY good!  Brave little bugger, eh?

All played out.  About time for Starbucks, Hank.

Emma is a regular at our local Bark Park.  During our prolonged heatwave of this past week, I thought it a good idea to bond with my pup after a week-long absence (the Colorado trip for my niece's wedding, which we will explore later).  To further this bonding, we awakened early on Saturday morning and took a road trip in search of apple fritters from that small donut place on Broad Street (had an itch that needed a sugar scratch).  One said apple fritters were procured (one for me; one for my hubby) and stashed out of range of Hank's powerful sniffer, owner and animal headed to the Bark Park. Once there, we engaged in a marathon two-hour play session in which most of the dogs who wandered in and out of the confined area chose to remain in the shade for all activities, including Hank.  Emma sauntered in, sleek and brown and nonchalant, resembling something more akin to a handsome small pig with fangs than an actual dog, and my young Casanova was instantly smitten!  I think it's safe to call it . . . prepare yourself . . . puppy love.  Sorry.  You know I had to go there.

"May I kiss you?"

"Not in public, methinks . . . "

If you'll recall, Hank's first girlfriend was a pit bull.  Rosie.  A sweetheart of a petite gal owned by one of my Earth Diva's and her family.  Rosie and Hank met during dog-training last year.  Outside of his blankie, Rosie was Hank's first experience with 'physical affections' which bring to mind the same visual for all people who know anything about dogs.  It's been quite awhile since these two lovestruck hounds have laid eyes on one another.  On a regular basis, Hank's main squeeze lives next door to us.  Cheeto.  Another petite girl, but with long hair, less muscle and daily access to our yard.  I believe she's a Gordon Setter.  And she's not the jealous type, so any worries that Hank might have bitches fighting over him can be put to rest.  Besides, I'm pretty sure that the stout-of-frame Emma could knock the stuffing out of the other two in Hank's harem.    

 

A reminder of Emma's stout form.

Hank also befriended a small-breed puppy, the name of which has flown straight outta my head . . . a Jack Russell terrier (my cousin had one once, hyper little guy, almost drowned in our yard during a sudden downpour when we all forgot he was tied to a pole which was attached to a large tent which was set up for my husband's surprise 40th birthday party five years ago).  The owners of this little guy wanted to socialize him with large breed dogs in an effort to avoid the aggressive behavior toward big dogs that their OTHER Jack Russell terrier displays.  Every dog at that park behaved with a respectful curiosity and playfulness toward that tiny ball of energy that was touching to watch.  Not to mention downright entertaining.  Of course, Hank, much like his human brother, Zachary, handled the youngster with a deference and genuine interest that stood out above the pack.  The other owners thanked him profusely for playing so well with their wee one.  My favorite moment, of which there were many, came courtesy of the pup, who clambered atop the sturdy edifice which is all Emma, like a nimble-footed mountain goat.  I didn't get the shot but I sure got the belly laugh!

 My OWN 'Harry The Dirty Dog.'

 "Hank, meet dirt.  Dirt, Hank.  Now GO play!"

 Happy in his freshly dug hole.

 He unearthed a portion of something we never could identify.

 He does NOT want Hank's big ol' paw in his little ol' hole.

 This pup is gonna give his owners YEARS of fun!

 New pals beating the heat.

Here Hank demonstrates the PROPER use for his nose . . . 

as opposed to violating the backsides of humans entering his home.

Well, as often happens, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.  You are once again up-t0-date and in-the-know where all things Hankie Mutt are concerned.  Next time, I promise to regale you with stories about humans.  Until then, I pray you sleep well.  I've been trying to do so for the past hour!