I finally found my forever dog

I have an announcement worthy of learning how to get photos in my blog. I've planned to for a long time. It's good for my blog. It will mean I can write about more things.

But the magnificent reason is: I have a puppy. An awesome, smart-as-a-whip puppy that at 9 weeks of age, is edging into becoming a fulltime chewing machine. I am already keeping house better.(No perishables or chewables lower than two feet.) And believe me, I am putting my leather shoes on high surfaces (I don't trust her not to figure out the closet door.)

Yes, her. A nine-week old girl Welsh Corgi. She has a mostly golden coat with white muzzle, feet, and neck. The tail unfortunately was sacrificed to fashion.
She has a friendly, fun, outgoing take on life. She thinks the world is a friendly place full of good people. She's not quite so sure about really tall dogs that are fascinated by her taillessness and want to sniff her butt again and again.

She does think. She learned to play fetch and return the ball in about 10 minutes. She adores my granddaughters and vice versa. I've had her two days and nights now, and she hasn't whimpered at night. Just sprawled on the cool wood floor next to my bed, although I have already gotten her a truly magnificent dog bed which she uses to lounge in while attacking her squeaky toy rabbit.

She goes to the vet today; she's started scratching since exploring my lawn, and the fleas are very bad this year. She's too young for most treatments but the vet has some stuff.

A nearby community center has obedience classes on Tuesday evenings, and I am thinking she and I may go. One thing I've learned: her nature is so circumspect that I have only myself to blame if she doesn't behave well. Queen Elizabeth would like her.

We must have tried 100 names in two days before I decided. I thought for a while it might be a kick to have a dog named Kitty. But wiser heads prevailed.

Here is where I should have the portrait of my alert, big-eared puppy.

Her name is Gracie.

Pictures as soon as I learn how to put them in.

Since my main web teacher took off for the Pacific Northwest this morning (hmmph!) It will be a week or two.

Blogs will be a might short here and there--she's learning the concept "no", but I am trying to be as preemptive as possible and head off the nos.

More later!

Kittens should be seen and not felt

I think I have stumbled on the litmus test defining whether I am a cat person or not.

Couple weeks ago, I was lying (note: I was NOT laying) on the couch, watching a video with my granddaughters. Suddenly, Oliver, their then two-month old kitten, sprang to my stomach, my shoulder and then bit my cheek. No punctures, of course, but I swept him to the floor firmly. His attempts to jump back were blocked.

I sputtered a bit and my oldest granddaughter picked him up and hugged him. He proceeded to wrestle with her hand and extend his claws and fangs, which she pretty much evaded.

"Face it, grandma, you love this cat," she said, cuddling him.

"No," I said, "I don't think I like him very much as a kitten. I'm sure I will like him much better as a cat."

I told this story to a friend who has always had several cats, but usually only one dog at a time. She chuckled and cooed, "Ooooh," in a tone that intimated he was adorable.

I told a friend who usually has equal numbers of both. "Uh-huh," she said, and laughed tolerantly. "Kittens do that, but they grow out of it."

I told a friend who has only ever had dogs. "Ick," she said.

This survey is by no means scientific, but I think it does illustrate why we individually relate to cats or dogs.

(Biting me on the face is adorable behavior? Where are you cat people coming from?)

I always knew cats found me very difficult to train, but I've had a few cats I have enjoyed a lot. Cats, not kittens.

Oliver has calmed down some since his nuts were stolen a couple of weeks ago. He really is cute chasing leaves and paper towel rollers as if they were fleeing rodents. He is almost as large as the small dog across the street and is kinda cute stalking the poor animal, then charging till the dog flees under a car and cowers there, yapping. Go, Oliver!

He shows signs of becoming a great mouser. My vet says rodent flesh is the quintessential healthy food for cats. When I lived in the country, my two outdoor cats had gorgeous thick, glossy coats and I seldom got rodents in the house.

Yep, I think Oliver and I are gonna get along just fine. But he has convinced me once and for all--I am definitely not a cat person.