his services to keep rabid soccer moms and the like at bay during sporting events, when they’re ready to storm the field because “my little Madison is not getting her allotted playing time and I don’t CARE if she hasn’t been to practice in six weeks we’ve had THINGS to do so get her in there you cretin of a ‘coach’ before I drop-kick you with my Christian Loboutins!” Tyson would help out by just standing there, basically, perhaps with a bit of alka-seltzer to chew on so that he froths at the mouth attractively. Needless to say, I like this idea. I might not even charge for our services, though there’d have to be biscuits or something in it for Tyson to make up for the fact that he’ll probably have to leave his stuffed cow at home. Somehow I don’t think that would be quite the look we’re going for.I’ll have to move quickly though, before Tyson is adopted. In spite of my warnings on this very blog, people have been clamoring to add this little (big) guy to their family. Yesterday we had a family of dreamers, refusing to accept that Tyson’s head will inevitably explode one of these
days, parents and their 2 kids who lavished attention on Tyson while he tolerated it, bravely. Poor guy. Oh sure, it looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, with Tyson on the couch, paws crossed daintily, one parent on either side and the kids on the floor in front of him, all enveloping him with kisses and hugs.......but I tell you, danger was lurking, clearly. Unfortunately, when they brought their little fluffy white dog in to see if the two would get along, Tyson seemed to confuse Gracie with a large white squirrel, and started growling menacingly while Gracie froze in her tracks. Oops. I had a sudden vision of Tyson taking the little dog by the scruff of the neck and shaking her about, much as he had done with Cow earlier. Cow, however, seemed oblivious. Gracie would not be. Tonight’s people have no other pets – I just hope that Tyson acts out our routine like we practiced it whereby I say the word “vichyssoise,” as in “Excuse me while I take the vichyssoise off the stove”, and Tyson immediately goes and sits by them, gazing up adoringly. Fingers crossed. There’s just so much of the cuddling and playfulness I can take, as I wait for his “true” Doberman character to assert itself. Today he brings me his rawhide and gives it to me to hide in the couch cushions for him..........tomorrow, well, who knows what, with the ticking time bomb that he is.Also, for those who’ve asked me about Sálome, she’s still in the hospital, though YCBG assured me that she was on the docket for yesterday. I await word, anxiously.
And I’m pleased to note that Deanna has said that she’s been having great success with the Paleo Diet, though I think she’s using some weird version as hers doesn’t include the basic tenets of my own regime, namely Corndog Week and Fried Dough Month. Apparently she’s already lost 5 pounds, though when she asked me how my own diet was going, I coolly informed her that my FAR SUPERIOR version of this strict nutrition regimen was still in the “bulk” phase. Much like weightlifters are known to do, I need to bulk up in order to fuel my training – and then later on when I cut back on water, or salt, or something like that, I will instantly shed all excess fat like Cher tossing off her feather boas. I hope. Otherwise, I’ll be in big trouble once racing season rolls around. No pun intended.
UPDATE: We received an email from the family who came by yesterday to meet Tyson, and it looks like they took a chance on another vicious Dobe, who has already taken over their household:
I pray for the safety of the family.
1 comment:
That is the most fabulous dog I think I've ever seen. SO cute.
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