Baby Dog

Baby Dog’s adolescence gave me a respite today, as well as a hint of the adult dog she will eventually be. This morning she was a perfect puppy. She walked nicely and didn’t pull. She remembered her name and followed assorted doggie instructions. I know it won’t last. It probably won’t even last through the day. By the time I get home tonight, she will likely be a holy terror, rocketing around the driveway as though she’d been cooped up for weeks. That’s how puppy adolescence goes. One moment they’re the perfect puppy, the next they’re the puppy from hell. And I never know which it’s going to be. Neither does she.

Last evening she was excited by the smell of raccoon on the deck and was ready to head off into the woods after it. Heck, even I could smell that raccoon. Night before last, she didn’t even bark at the thunder. This morning she watched a squirrel leap into the large beech tree in the front forest and didn’t go into attack mode.

She has learned how to open her crate. This morning she sneaked up the stairs when I was feeding Smokey, the foster kitty, and was so quiet that I tripped over her when I turned around. She thought this was hilarious.