I am constantly fascinated by the things that link Zoe and Abby, and the things that set them apart.
When Abby was younger, she was afraid to change surfaces. She’d hesitate going from the carpeted living room to the wood floor in the dining room or the linoleum in the kitchen. Abby’s favorite resting spot was in the living room, unless she so warm that she plopped down, panting, on the cool kitchen floor or in front of an air conditioning vent.
Zoe acts as if the entire house is hers, and she’ll lie down almost anywhere. This weekend she spent a good part of her lounging time where she had access to windows. She wedged herself between the couch and the picture window in the living room, popping up occasionally to growl at people walking by. A few times, I found her sleeping in the dining room by the patio door, where she could keep watch over the back yard upon waking.
Earlier this evening, she trotted over to the fence where a rabbit was too close to her territory. Instead of dashing off out of sight, the rabbit decided to toy with Zoe, stopping about three yards beyond the fence. It sat there for a few minutes while Zoe watched intently. The rabbit eventually hopped away, but it was a pretty bold move.
Zoe’s new nickname is Freddy Krueger, after an incident involving her nails and my chest. I was trying to get her to settle down when she batted me with her paw, leaving a nice long trail of claw marks from my neck downward. I could always use this as an excuse to buy some new decorative scarves, or maybe I should switch to a higher neckline for a while. For the most part, she listens when we tell her no, but we can all use a little work on defining what’s acceptable rough play. Obedience classes, here we come!
April 28, 2008 at 11:32 am |
ow! puppy claws!
your post made me remember how frightened my old Toby was when i took up the carpeting in my house in duluth.
the whole house had wall-to-wall carpeting, and one day i put him up in the attic just to get him out of the way, and then ripped up the carpeting in the living room.
when the time came, i let him out, he raced down the attic stairs, thorugh my office, and then skidded to a halt at the edge of the hardwood. and it was days–literally DAYS–before he’d walk on it.
toby was not what you’d call a brave dog.
May 6, 2008 at 2:36 am |
Love the story about Toby! Poor guy.