Thursday, June 19, 2008

Don't Take My Picture


Here's Shadow. He's our other rug rotter, also a
shelter dog. Yup, we adopted him when he was 2
and we were fully aware (although that's debatable) that he was a St. Bernard mix. He was already full grown and he was just as furry. We didn't even go to the shelter to pick out a dog, We went there with the kids to check out the farm animals and see the petting zoo. But still we came home with this huge dog. It's been 7 years and I'd still like to know what his former owners did to him. He's terrified of TV remotes and cameras. We can't even get the camera out if he's in the same room. He'll immediately lose control of his bowels and there's dog pee everywhere. Did they used to put him in dreadful polyester suits and take pictures and laugh at him? Maybe they used the TV remote to make him watch hours and hours of Full House reruns featuring the monkey twins. C'mon, admit it they looked like monkeys when they were little.


Just getting this picture of Shadow was a feat in itself. At first I had him outside, because we can't allow pictures in the house. This is him hiding behind our blackberry bushes. I finally had to have Mitch come out and take the picture while I held the leash. I think it took about 20 pictures before he was able to get the one at the top. Normally, I don't torture the dog in this way, we use different methods. Just kidding!

As much as I love summer, I live in fear of thunderstorms. Not because I'm afraid of the actual storm, I'm afraid of what happens during them. Thunderstorms send Shadow over the edge. We have a drill whenever there's a storm approaching. As soon as we hear thunder in the distance, we run and get his leash and try to catch him. Everyone is running around in the house trying to get the dog and yelling, Get the dog out! Get the dog out! All we need are some air raid sirens to complete the picture. We get the leash on him and have to drag him outside. He, naturally, doesn't want to go out where the thunder and lightning is. and is thinking "What are these idiots doing dragging me out here for?" He's panting, drooling and running back and forth like a squirrel in the middle of the street. As soon as he does his business, we rush inside and he bolts down to the basement to hide until the storm is over. If we miss the small window of opportunity, he will completely lose control of all his bowels and there will be a puddle of pee the size of Lake Titicaca and a huge pile of poop. He's part St. Bernard, do I need to say more? So you can see the sense of urgency we feel to make sure this doesn't happen.









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