Puppy walking

An adventure in looking after a puppy until it is old enough to be properly trained as a guide dog for the blind.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Sept. 11

I make especial note of the date in honour of the memories of those in New York in 2001.

And now for the mundane. I just said to Peter, “I can’t believe it’s only 9:30.” We’ve been up for hours, since before 7am when Rocky whimpered to go out for his pee. Unfortunately, I was also up at 1am when he barked from his crate and made me run downstairs to let him out where he had a big mushy poo (and a pee while he was at it). I am grateful that he asks to go out but of course, I am not that grateful at 1am.

It is much cooler in the early mornings these days and I have actually taken to wearing socks again. The grass is also wet in the morning and the puppy yard faces West, so you need a little extra comfort standing out there at 7am. Rocky doesn’t seem to mind. He sits in the crease of the fence and as the breeze blows by, he sticks his little snoot up into the air and casts for scent. Any noise is of interest and he draws my attention to the sound of people talking inside their houses or the distant train whistle. He does seem content to just sit there and take in the world as it unfolds around him. Very Zen. But then, he has also discovered bits of bark from where we used to keep firewood at the edge of the patio. This morning, he got a piece of bark and then ran like a mad thing around and around the patio table, under the chairs, tucking his little butt under him as he flew around, all four giant paws flapping and flopping as he galloped.


Post a Comment

<< Home