Throw me a bone here, dog

Her Majesty and I are moving to Winnipeg in the new year. The decision was made October 15, but it's been a long time in the making, and part of the reason why is specifically because Her Majesty loves it here. But there are no jobs, so we have to get out of here.

Ok.

So first of all I had to dismantle our garden before it froze solid, which caused Tinky-Winky to have a meltdown and pee on everything she normally sleeps on. It was weird. But yeah, the garden was a major thing for both of us. It hurt me to have to do it, but I did it quickly and turned my back on it. Tinky-Winky took it a lot harder.

After that, I've been hesitant to make any further preparations. Tinky-Winky has never liked me opening the storage room door to begin with, because I make all sorts of loud noises that make her nervous. Now as soon as I touch that door, or try to move anything bigger than a book from one side of the room to the other (we have a bachelor apartment, you'll recall), she goes into a dark corner and shakes like a leaf until I pick her up, sit down on the couch with her, and do nothing but pet her or brush her for half an hour. And that's kind of a problem, because I need to empty the storage room completely, mark out the amount of space that's available in the car, and then refill the storage room with boxed things, ready to load in the car the day before we leave. And I can't do anything without her freaking out.

Sigh...

You know, dog, I realise that you don't know where we're going, or why, or how things are gonna work out when we get there. I realise that we've moved lots of places together and you never know how long we're gonna be anywhere, and you can't tell when we're never coming back to a place you like. I realise that you don't get to speak your mind or ask questions. I realise that you have no way of knowing how much your well-being and happiness have been at the centre of my decisions all along. I realise that you know we're gonna go for a long, long drive in a tightly packed car, again. Ok, so it is stressful. You're not in control and you never know what's coming. And yeah, we've lived here a long time, we're comfortable, and it breaks my heart too to leave it. But you're not the one who has to find us a place in Winnipeg. You're not the one who has to find a job and make this move work out, one way or another. You're not the one driving that damn car 2500 km. You're not the one who has to pack, and to leave behind the things you can't pack - yet again. None of your stuff is getting thrown out or left behind, I can guarantee you that. You're all worried, but you're not the one who has to do any of the worrying.

Ok, so I don't expect you to hold my hand and be supportive and ask how you can help today. But it would be nice if after seven years together when I've never let you down or let you want for anything, you could at least trust that I'm taking good care of you, and I always will, and if there is a little thumping and banging here and there, you don't need to make me drop everything to address your little prima donna act.

Sigh.

I think I'm gonna try to send her to Otis's people a few hours a week so I can get something done here.

You know it.

The dog who cried wolf

Her Majesty likes to lie right behind the front door. Which doesn't mean she's waiting faithfully for me to come home, because she also does it when I'm at home. Anyway. Yesterday she was a little slow in moving away when I opened the door, so the door hit her toes.

Tragedy!

Of course she first let out a blood-curdling scream, and then since I had my arms full of groceries and couldn't attend to her immediately, she followed me to the kitchen, hopping on three legs and crying piteously all the way. So I put the groceries down, pick up the dog and go sit on the couch. There was nothing wrong with her foot, so I kissed it better. Then she squirmed free and carried on with her day with no further evidence of having just survived a near-fatal injury.

Ok, I know I said that physical contact with loved ones releases oxytocin which is a very effective painkiller, but still. Kissing doesn't cure injuries on little kids, much less on hard-hearted little dogs. She just totally faked it to make me grovel.

And I totally fell for it. Sigh...

That can't be a real shiba

I don't know how to include this video in a post so you'll have to click on it like in the 90's... but that's not the point.

You know what, I can believe that someone would manage to teach a shiba to do this. Some people have that kind of patience. But if they really have a shiba in their house, where is all the dog hair?

Maybe I spoil my dog

I always say that I don't spoil my dog in that I give her everything that is good for her but I expect a standard of behaviour from her.

Right.

So now that I'm not working full-time, I've been staying up rather later than usual, and I notice Her Majesty will stare at me. The other day she was particularly pointed, standing in the middle of the living room staring at me for a rather long time. Not lying down and lost in thought, which would be one thing. She was definitely wide awake, full of intention, and staring at me. I asked if she needed food, water, a chewy, a walk, nothing interested her. Hmmmmm...

Well, after a while I got up to go to the bathroom, and immediately she jumped up on the couch and settled herself for the night in my spot. Because you see, that's one of her top three night-time sleeping spots, and she had made up her mind that it was past our bedtime, and she wanted me out of her spot. And the worst of it is, instead of moving her two cushions over, I tiptoed around her, put my reading materials away, and went to bed.

Perhaps I do spoil my dog a little after all.

Diesel, part II

Diesel and his people moved out of the building. How sad... I like Diesel. Anyway, while he was waiting patiently in the back of the truck, I went to pet him. At first he started to growl when I intruded in his home space, but he was wagging his tail at the same time. Strange. Anyway, he recognized me, then we socialized for a while and I got some better photos of him, thusly:



What a handsome devil!

Let's settle this once and for all!

See these?

They look like shibas, don't they?

Yes. Yes, they do. And you know why they look like shibas?

Because they're not foxes. They're Australian dingos. I got the photos from here.

So next time you see a shiba, you can sound erudite by saying "wow, your dog looks just like a little dingo!"