Written 5/10/03
Those wonderful spring mornings, lying on the porch with eyes looking lovingly toward Mom, the exuberance of the young man chasing the shadows of Robins, the invitation to play with a toy of his imagination . . .
and then there are those other moments. Like being awakened early on a Saturday morning to the sound of yakking and a smell worse than anything else that he has ever been responsible for that permeates the house and causes your stomach to revolt.
Last night the charming boy chewed on his bone outside on the lawn as evening approached. The weather was pleasant and the evening was peaceful and calm.
The speed with which Parker can grab and ingest something inappropriate has begun to exceed the speed of my reflexes for retrieving items from the back of his throat. To help matters, the cats graciously leave parts of their plunder as alms to the Newfs around the patio. Two days ago he had managed to cause a part of a dead lizard, some leftover cat plunder, to disappear before my very eyes, and he was on leash!
Last night, as he walked back toward the house after relieving himself, I saw him drop his bone and jump backward. Being immediately alarmed that it was a snake, I ordered him to Come. I had become very proud of how well he would return, even from a cat chase, but then there are the humbling moments that follow the feelings of success. He continued to step toward the object of his attention, then jump backward. I ran toward him, to pull him away. It was dark and I couldn’t see what he saw, but I saw movement. Before I could grab him, his focus followed the moving object and he spun around. As I reached for him, he engulfed what held his attention. After all, if I was going to remove him from the situation, he didn’t want to lose his treasure. As I watched in horror, he reacted again faster than I could and was spitting out that distasteful object as fast as he had grabbed it. He kept spitting and shaking his head. Mr. Parker learned a valuable lesson about putting unknown things in his mouth, and a toad may have made a successful get-away. I was relieved that neither he nor I were snake-bitten. Parker shook his head and tried to spit out the residual taste for several minutes.
This morning we are enduring the consequences – cleaning the crate, the house, the rug and the dog, and recording another of those more memorable moments of puppyhood (the ones where it seems that puppyhood lasts a very long time.)
Donna
(taking a break before checking his temp. & bathing the dog)
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