This was the day we first met Winston and brought him home – he had just jumped into the car.
Such beautiful eyes, floppy velvet ears, kissy muzzle, and… hmmm, what else? That tongue! This is why we have their water bowl inside a crate – when he drinks, the whole area turns into a slip ‘n slide.
What do you think he was thinking when I took this picture? I think it was, “Yay – this is going to be so much fun!”
And boy, was he right!
I needed a break from writing this afternoon so got the camera out.
And a couple cookies.
I’ll be gone for the next five days on a family trip with my daughter and son, my sister and her husband. Dogs are staying home with hubby Kim, so I’m wondering…
Well, one thing I know they WON’T do is be my guest bloggers while I’m gone. All they ever write about are naughty cat jokes and the tragedies of bath day. And also? Terrible spelling. So this blog is going quiet until next week… in the meantime, re-watch this video, Linus the Boxer Loves His Baby. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it before, but it’s so dang cute, and such a good example of the sweetness of Boxers, don’t you think?
I wonder if Sampson misses the B.W. Days. He used to get a lot more one-on-one attention from us.
Although, now that I look back at these pictures, I wonder if maybe he considers the arrival of Winston to be the best thing that ever happened to him.
I don’t know, it’s hard to say.
My teenage daughter asked me a question earlier today that made me feel a little crazy.
We were messing around with Winston and sort of gushing about how much we love him, and he was giggling, eating it up and being all… Winstony.
And my daughter goes, “Would you give Winston to someone if they paid you a million dollars?”
Can you guess what my answer was? Well, it wasn’t actually “no.”
It was, “HECK no.”
She was like, “Really? Not for a million dollars?” (as if I misheard her the first time and thought she asked if I’d do it for a million schmollars)
But yeah, I wouldn’t give Winston away for a million dollars.
So then she asked me a harder question.
“A billion?”
Hmmm, no. But as easy as it was to answer that, it makes me feel a little bit crazy. Have I lost my sense of reality? (it’s possible) Am I stupid? (wouldn’t surprise me) Couldn’t I find something cool to do with the money that would make up for not having Winston anymore? (nope)
Same goes for Sampson, by the way.
Money is nowhere near as fun to play with as those two guys. Money doesn’t tilt its head when I say, “Sampson, are you grumpy?” Money doesn’t flip out with excitement when I come home. Money doesn’t give me sloppy kisses when I’m crying about dog cancer.
That’s all I’m sayin’.
Sometimes I let the dogs lick the leftover peanut butter off my apple-and-peanut-butter breakfast plate and then I put the newly-cleaned plate back into the cupboard for tomorrow morning.
No, I don’t really put the plates back in the cupboard like that – I was just kidding. Unfortunately, I grossed my own bad self out, and now I feel a little barfy.
There’s a big “Who Gets To Sleep on the Dog Bed” game in our house, where puny little 2-year old Winston naturally assumes every bed is his. Always. And believe it or not, Sammy, the 6-year old, battle-scarred heavyweight allows puny little Winston to claim the dog bed. Always. Sam is so sweet.
And what gets me is that even when Sam is on the bed first, and he gets up to stretch or turn around – he always allows Winston to sneak on and take over. Sam then reluctantly, but seemingly happily, resigns himself to a spot on the hard floor – he is that sweet.
I’m sure that if I hadn’t just sprained my spleen while working out on the elliptical, I’d be really good at tying this to some profound life philosophy like, “Patience is a virtue,” or “Take the high road,” or “The meek shall inherit the earth.”
Or maybe it’s just, “When the dog bed gets too drooly, the puppy can have it.”
Need to relax? Watch this short video… works for me every time.
Occasionally, and I know you won’t believe me but it’s true, Winston and Sampson get my cell phone and call Kim, my husband. When he doesn’t answer, they leave messages.
One day last year, Winston chew through a nice leash while I was gardening. He was afraid he was going to get in trouble when Kim got home, so he called and left him a voicemail to sort of soften the news. Then Sampson started thinking he might get in trouble – just by association with the real trouble-maker – so he also called Kim, leaving him a second message.
Kim saved them both, and here they are. Thought you’d like to hear what Winston and Sampson sound like on the phone.
Sampson ate my undies a couple years ago, and I’m only sharing this because I know there must be other dog owners out there who have gone through a similar experience. Right? (Oh c’monnnn, right?)
Anyway, since the aforementioned apparel didn’t appear after 3 days, we had to take him in for surgery. While they prepped him for the $1,500 operation, the sedative made him nauseous and he threw everything up, without choking or anything. Thank you, God.
They gave him something to reverse the sedative so he’d be awake enough to bring home that afternoon, but he was one very drunk dog for the rest of the day, he kept forgetting about his hind legs and even though he remembered to go potty outside, forgot he was supposed to be standing up.
One of the weirdest simultaneous-crying-laughing weeks ever.
Even after that experience, which could NOT have been pleasant for him, we still occasionally catch him eyeballing random socks and stuff with a determined “I-must-eat-that” look on his face. So then we gently remind him about Undie Day 2010, and he finds something else to do.
He’s so beautiful, so sweet, so intelligent. Maybe he intentionally does these things for the sole purpose of keeping us entertained, giving us something to do, appreciating Life. Maybe he really does know better and he’s just making these physical sacrifices for our benefit.
On the other hand, maybe my Sampson is just a doofus sometimes.
Tales of Two Boxers 