Travis is great at improv acting so long as his part is that of an enthusiastic dog. Trav-trav is a Collie/Shepherd/Something mix.
Today he looked particularly Colliesque so I called him Lassie which devolved into this piece of Canine Improv Theatre:
For those of you too chronologically deprived to catch the Timmy/Collie reference, here is the opening of one of the best TV shows ever: Lassie.
Timmy was the clumsiest boy on Earth. His inability to avoid falling into wells stressed out poor, sweet Lassie day after day after day.
Travis and Mika and I evened the score.
Before I started my own blog I noticed in blogs I followed that sometimes the busiest times in a bloggers life are the least blogged. June was a huge month for me and I’ve been putting every word I have into Hel’s Bet.
I’ll do a photo-essay of June.
Best wishes for a great 2009 from Doug Sharp.
2008 was a year of ups and downs. My health was down but my friends kept me going. Thanks, all.
Happy New Years from Mika, here waiting for me to leash her up for a walk. She will never understand why humans don’t walk dogs every waking hour.
Happy Hogmanay from Travis, waiting for me to open the gate so he can terrify small furry creatures. A walk is like a video game for Travis – chipmunks and squirrels and rabbits hiding and squeaking and running away. It’s a game he was evolved to play.
The three of us hard at work while a blizzard rages outside.
I am determined to rock 2009!
Margaret, my beautiful but criminally insane
They seem to like the activity, twisted though it is, so I indulge them with bouts of Kill the Frog:
Travis, driven mad with frog-hate, moves in for the kill:
When he has the frog in his mouth Travis is pure evil:
Mika isn’t intimidated. She wants that frog:
Once Mika has the frog it’s hers:
and Travis doesn’t bother to fight her for it. Mika is too intense when she plays tug-of-war. She loves to pull and she won’t let go and she’s 39 pounds of bone and muscle. She’d play tug-of-war all day if she could train a human to be her slave. She doesn’t care about HAVING the frog – she wants to play tug with it, so she doesn’t keep it to herself for long:
She runs right up to me and demands that I try to pull it away from her:
Pitying the poor frog, I rescue it:
We reenact the eternal Battle Between Dog and Frog Puppet 2 or 3 times a night. The dogs lure me outside to play by being unbearable cute and eager.
On the Frabjuous Day front:
NO MORE SLEDGING OF SUPPLIES, LAUNDRY, AND TRASH!
I had to drive fast to plunge through a foot of wet snow where the road dips into the valley, but I can now drive up to the cabin:
Spring has sprung at The Pad.
We are creatures of habit here at The Pad. My dogs and I live a comfortable daily rhythm.
Every morning the first thing we do is GET MEAT! The dogs wait for me to wake and when I stir Travis gives me a minute of snuggling and chin-kissing. I yell “MEAT!” and they scram for the dog door while I grab my robe and slippers. It’s an explosive way to start the day.
I get them pieces of meat from the fridge while they wait outside. Some days they get a big piece of meat and take their time eating it. Other days I scatter little pieces around the yard for them to hunt.
I, meanwhile, prepare my morning latte while looking out the kitchen window at this scene:
The meat feast isn’t over, however. Years ago in a moment of generosity I gave the dogs a second, smaller piece of meat after they finished their first. “Meat dessert” is now a mandatory fixture of our daily schedule; I never forget to fling them their second piece.
I retire to my computer to drink my latte and eat oatmeal while I read my lib political blogs.
Being a geek with a few scrozzled neurons I don’t wake at dawn. I average a 1pm wake-up, so the day is well along by the time we see it. After breakfast it’s time for our daily walk or canoe.
Then the boring part of the day for the dogs as I write and program at my infernal device.
A few times every evening the dogs gang up on me and mount a cuteness offensive, generally jumping around like ninnies until they get my attention and convince me it’s time to play. So we run outside in a jumble and chase each other like ninnies:
Sometimes I howl as loud as I can just to listen to the echoes. Neither of the dogs are howlers so they are rather non-plussed at this.
Most nights I’m in bed reading by 2 and asleep by 4. Nine hours of shuteye and I’m ready to give my dogs some MEAT!