Still adjusting to the four-legged addition to the house

FATHER’S DAZE
Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

Our dog Chewbacca – pardon me, Gracie – is still at it.

I wrote last week that I thought the dog has the wrong name, that it should be Chewbacca, or Chewie for short, because she delights in chewing things.

There seems to be no end in sight to her predilection for chewing things

For the most part, her interest is still mainly in plastic items, but she also does quite a number on her various stuffed toys.

It’s hard to narrow down at exactly what point she becomes bored with her stuffed rat, owl, cat or whatever and begins tearing it apart instead of just dragging it around the house, but that point seems to come with all of them.

The result is usually that our downstairs floors will end up looking like we had a small snowstorm inside the house.

It would look like a blizzard, but Gracie hasn’t graduated to huge stuffed toys yet – and I can only hope she never will or else we’ll need a snow shovel in the living room as well as outside.

She’s also still in that stage where she has to be as close as possible to her human masters, which can get especially annoying when you’re trying to work on a laptop computer and Gracie decides she belongs on your lap instead of the computer.

She’s caused more typos in emails, Facebook posts and such around our house than any autocorrect function ever could.

Gracie also likes to sniff everything and everybody, which often times makes me wish that someone made a nose warmer for dogs, since sniffing is something else she likes to do up close and personal.

She has enthusiastically embraced the idea of taking nightly walks, despite whatever kind of day the two-legged occupants of the house might have had or what the weather might be like.

Even on an evening when the temperature is more in the range of mid-winter and we’re just a few hours and only a few miles removed from a tornado warning, Gracie still seems to think it’s a perfect time for a walk.

Fortunately, it’s at times like those when I’m able to remind Terry that getting another dog was her idea.

That argument doesn’t work on nights when Terry is working or gone to a meeting, so I haven’t escaped the walking the dog duties completely.

Walking is probably a bit of a euphemism for what occurs – it’s more like trying to restrain a small rodeo bull.

Gracie’s actually pretty good on a leash, but the problem is that she usually wants to set the pace, and her pace can vary from a racing thoroughbred to a crawling snail, all within the space of a single block.

She has yet to figure out that she can take advantage of her walks to take care of other business as well, so we’re at least saved the duty of pooper scoopers and plastic bags – so far.

The downside of that, though, is that she usually remembers right after we get in the door at home, which means she goes right from the front door to the back door.

The only good thing is that she at least waits until she gets her leash off before she makes that dash.

It’s just more adventures in puppydom, I guess.


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