Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Why the name of this blog?
Of course, you already know that this blog is named after my dog, and you’ve maybe noticed that for some reason we call him the Wonder Dog. Why is that? What has he done to earn that title?
Hmm? He doesn’t do any special tricks, just the standard sit, shake, lay. It’s a struggle to get him to rollover; by that time he is just too excited. Once I give him one treat for being a good boy, I might as well forget it.
He has gotten better about staying in the yard, but still wanders off if given the chance. He doesn’t wander off to relieve himself either. No, the whole backyard, as I believe I mentioned in another blog post, is his toilet.
I really wish I could teach him how to pick up the phone and bring it to me when I need to make a call. Or could he get me a cold beverage from the frig like that one dog on the commercial (not that he would bring me a beer, because there are none in my frig).
He can’t seem to understand what weekends are for. He has it in his head that seven days a week we all need to bound out of bed at five a.m.
But he sure loves his kids, any kids. Any child between the ages of four and forty-four comes in my front door and the dumb dog runs and brings every toy in the house as an offering. No, not really, he will keep bringing things until someone starts playing fetch with him.
He does know the following phrases, “Go get a toy”, “Go to the back door”, “Who’s here?” He does not know “Go find the kitty”. Again, I have blogged about those escapades that my husband and I partake of on winter nights when it is time to eradicate the cats from the house. The dog does not participate in this.
And yet there are times when he shines. When my mom comes over, walking slowly, slightly hunched, needing to hang on to something as she navigates my house. Dino stays at her side, he doesn’t jump, he doesn’t get under her feet like he constantly does to me. When she sits down, he sits next to her. Asking for nothing but a pat on the head. Ok, that’s not true at all. He knows that she will feed him table scraps, and he will take them as gently as if a snowflake were falling from the sky.
And when I am sick, when I am in bed with a migraine like I was earlier this week, he will not leave me. He follows me from bed to bath to couch and back again as I try to find some kind of relief. He lays at my side and his brown eyes intently watch me, raising one brow-less brow and then the other.
Oh, I guess he is ok for being a dumb mutt.