Warm Fuzzy Puppies

This post is for a particular friend...you know who you are...

Said friend said she didn't know I had a blog, and in any case she figured it wasn't about puppies. Well, my other one sure isn't...unless the puppies in question happen to be the Dogs of War (Havoc!). But here at the Ripper McQueen show, the attitude is much more laid back: a calm, blue ocean of thought. My laughin' place. So I thought I'd do a post about my puppy.

First things first: my puppy really isn't a puppy. He's almost 8, which makes him, according to the vet, a certified canine senior citizen. A spry and extremely fit senior citizen, but one nonetheless. I can see the subtle changes: the greying on his muzzle now reaches back to near his eyes; he is more measured and flowing in his pursuit of squirrels and ducks, instead of the reckless abandon of his younger years. His bark has become more dignified: no longer the "I'll tear you up if you don't get out of my yard!" war cry, but more the "I see you...don't make me come out there and tear you up" growl.

He is, however, still a puppy in many ways. He absolutely refuses to be where his people aren't: if we're outside, he must be. If we go in, so must he. If you sit longer than 3.89 seconds, he regards it as his right to attempt to occupy ever inch of your lap, which is the equivalent of having a 45-lb. sandbag across your legs. He carries his stuffed pheasant around like a security blanket, when he is not tearing out the stuffing and mangling it into the wad of random filth all dog toys eventually become. In the summer, he will maintain a constant and vigilant patrol of the back yard for hours on end, keeping the Varmint Cong under close eye until it's time to go inside, at which point he will collapse into a mound of dog jelly and fall into a sleep just short of needing a tactical nuclear device to rouse him from. Unless, of course, someone drops food on the floor...

He is my boon companion, all a dog should be: loyal, obedient, protective, a source of joy and a convenient space heater on cold winter nights. He is a dog you can sit down and have a beer with, who listens without complaining and never asks you if you think you've had enough; he follows you willingly into your misery and leads you back out again, and any secrets you tell him remain between you, he, and God alone. A Man's Dog in every way.

Here's to you, Kaiser!

My wife's cat? He's a jerk...