Her name is Rosie, short for Roosevelt. She is still here, and likely to remain, unless she gets into the chickens. She's still too curious about them for my liking, but is learning to obey when we scold her. She is my girl, I have to admit, with a sweet nature and willingness to please that speaks well for her future (if she can curb her taste for chicken).
Rosie stops to smell the roses..or where the roses should be.
We also now have a black lab puppy named Otis. He got his name as a spinoff of Oafus because of the way he falls down and up the porch steps.
Otis surveys his new home.
We stopped at the animal shelter a couple weeks ago to find out their hours and the procedure for dropping off an animal (Rosie, that would be). While we were there we asked about black labs--did they have any? They did. The first one they showed us was huge and scary. I like labs but this was more dog than I wanted.
Then I spied another, small black dog. I looked closer. Was he a lab? Yes, he was, a puppy about 3 months old. He seemed scared and lost amidst the Huskies, coonhounds, and mutts in the pen with him. We took him out and after a few minutes decided this was the dog for us. We arranged to drop off the beagle in a few days. The lab would be neutered and ready for pick-up in a week.
Meantime, we tried to find the beagle's owner. We called everyone we thought might have lost a dog, and called the local radio call-in show. No dice. A neighbor offered to take her and see if she'd make a hunting dog. A friend wanted her but worried about the busy road in front of his house. Rosie continued to work her way into everyone's heart.
Finally I called the shelter.
"We're keeping the beagle so we won't be picking up the lab."
"Oh no!" the lady said. "He's already been neutered and he's ready to go."
I offered to pay for the neutering in the hopes that someone would adopt him since the cost would be much lower.
Later that day I stopped in to pay for the neutering.
The lady said, "But why don't you want him? He's such a sweet dog."
"I don't want to deal with two puppies," I explained. She understood.
"But," she said, "just to be sure why don't you look at him again?"
I did--and there he stood, scared in the pen with all those big dogs, looking at me.
I took him home.
He is the ruler of all that he sees...
except for Rosie,
...who sits on him when he gets to be too much,
and leaves him chastened and knowing who the boss really is!
He's hilarious. He's 100% puppy, falling over things, barking at himself in mirrors, chewing on anything he can find (where did he get that deer jaw, complete with teeth?), and pestering the beagle to her wits' end. He is all puppy, and all Otis.
So here I am, with two puppies and one old cocker spaniel who seems to think she's a cat and has little to do with the new dogs.
Boy and dog, completely worn out. Can you see the dog, trying to blend into the floor and pretend he's not in the house, where he isn't supposed to be?
And that's the story of Rosie and Otis.