She labors under the assumption that Rottweilers are highly intelligent. Based on patient observations of the new one next door, I am not quite ready to award big IQ points just yet. The thing barks at the sound of his own pitter patter of toenails.
In other (crap) news, this getting old thing is over-rated. On the yay side of the ledger, the countdown to Irene begins shortly.
Outfit from my Luigi. Goes with the Chicken-Prizes harness. Also, she detailed my wheels and the cat colony is exploding.
Apparently I am to to assist with the excitable Akita down the street, who hates me for my freedom. This is acceptable, as long as a) I get at least as much chicken as she does, b) I can buzz her if the mood strikes, and c) we continue on to the cat colony the next street over. They are breeding like flies, outdone only by the black and whites two doors down (who nest in the trees, they are so plentiful). I know she selfishly wants to do a trap/neuter/release effort even though it would cap my supply longer term. Typical.
I’m also going to star in a pilling video for veterinary clients, which will be easier money. Not only have I been pilled more than Heath Ledger and so could do it in a coma, the incremental steps simulating the uneducated = a chicken extravaganza.
In other news, she slipped Greek yogurt into my breakfast. I ate it but am now on alert in case she gets aggressive with the proportions.
She has installed a podium to facilitate my positioning and footing for optimum head-out-car-window operations, which I appreciate. I am also feeling bouncier thanks to especially rigorous PT.
Between all this exertion and the Turtle-in-my-house (see Item 52) compensation squeaky panda needing especially detailed burying, I am exhausted.
I am to be brought back to the underwater treadmill, which is rubbish. I don’t care about my knee. I don’t want to go in the bloody tank. Just let me kill some animals so I can get some endorphins happening.
But no. She will haul me in for near drowning no doubt because my knee went clunky the other day. This would not have happened had I not been forced to walk across the state of California and also repeatedly sprayed with water, to the point of crinkly fur. Ironically, I have been effectively rained out of reasonable walkies for two days straight. My luck with water is lately atrocious.
On the not-entirely-crap side of the ledger, spectacular array of fauna at the marina the other day, including this naïve infant.
And these giant, not very fast, yet sadly out of range bird things.
Finally, no Ginkgo for weeks, only this pale imitation and various assorted grindingly boring dogs.
So I go from 5 000 supplements per day to 5005 or whatever. I’ll live with it if it means a chicken chaser and no more godforsaken Chinese herbs surreptitiously mixed into my food. That was hell on earth. I could have starved.
Eventful walkies all week. Cesar Chavez juveniles, epic sniffing, and then every day, rock cats. They are out and off guard. This is superfantastic.
We are out early to beat the heat, and so are they. Dog-wise, it’s been bland. One morning I met a reasonably interesting Dachshund, but no Ginkgo. Oh, and speaking of less boring dogs, she has taken to suggesting a wide berth around the screen door dogs I buzz on evening walkies, thus knocking yet another enrichment activity out of my life. Typical.