October 21, 2006
I can't help but write this now, after sitting on the deck and watching the sun come up with the computer on the deck table.
I'm very fond of giant breed dogs. Sadly, they don't live as long as other breeds, but their temperment agrees with me very well. The two I've had, a Great Dane, and now an English Mastiff have shown the breeds to be easy going, not hyper, and exceedingly affectionate. Danes are hands down the dog for me, and the Mastiff was actually my ex-wife's dog that stayed here when she left. She and her boyfriend now have what I disrespectfully call a "drop-kick dog." These are the really small, and really hyper dogs that are constantly yapping in the high-pitched bark that drives me insane. I suspect that all major serial killers had drop-kick dogs, and that's why the ultimately started hearing voices in their heads. I'm just not a drop-kick dog kind of person. I'd rather have a cat. I digress...
Tolkien (the Mastiff) is a very good dog, he's just not that smart. He is, though, very affectionate, and since Soren's passing has assumed the mantle of protector. This was a big step for him, as he had to stop urinating on himself every time someone drove up. That wasn't fear inspiring. Now he barks and growls at people he doesn't know, and puts on a big show before running into the garage to hide. Now if I could get him to stop dropping land mines on the road and deck, we'd have it made.
His description as a "mountain dog" is not because we live in the mountains. It is because he is one. A mountain. On mornings like this, he likes to lie on the deck right next to me... and snore. Maybe he's actually a volcano. Lying next to me sounds sweet and all, but his bulk extends from the table to the side of the chair. Every time I get up for a cup of coffee or to get some paperwork I need for whatever I'm working on, I look like I'm practicing Tai Chi exercises. One leg goes way up in the air, and extends out over his bulk, while my arms go wide to balance myself and whatever I'm holding in my hands. The same routine puts me back in the chair. I could make him move, but that would just be mean. Besides, he'll just settle back into his volcano form in a few seconds. Of course, I have to be careful not to disturb him during the expeditions around Mount Tolkien. If I startle him out of his reverie, he sits up and I get a thirty pound dog head slammed into parts of my body I'd just as soon not have punched.
He cracks me up, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Mountain climber...
I'm very fond of giant breed dogs. Sadly, they don't live as long as other breeds, but their temperment agrees with me very well. The two I've had, a Great Dane, and now an English Mastiff have shown the breeds to be easy going, not hyper, and exceedingly affectionate. Danes are hands down the dog for me, and the Mastiff was actually my ex-wife's dog that stayed here when she left. She and her boyfriend now have what I disrespectfully call a "drop-kick dog." These are the really small, and really hyper dogs that are constantly yapping in the high-pitched bark that drives me insane. I suspect that all major serial killers had drop-kick dogs, and that's why the ultimately started hearing voices in their heads. I'm just not a drop-kick dog kind of person. I'd rather have a cat. I digress...
Tolkien (the Mastiff) is a very good dog, he's just not that smart. He is, though, very affectionate, and since Soren's passing has assumed the mantle of protector. This was a big step for him, as he had to stop urinating on himself every time someone drove up. That wasn't fear inspiring. Now he barks and growls at people he doesn't know, and puts on a big show before running into the garage to hide. Now if I could get him to stop dropping land mines on the road and deck, we'd have it made.
His description as a "mountain dog" is not because we live in the mountains. It is because he is one. A mountain. On mornings like this, he likes to lie on the deck right next to me... and snore. Maybe he's actually a volcano. Lying next to me sounds sweet and all, but his bulk extends from the table to the side of the chair. Every time I get up for a cup of coffee or to get some paperwork I need for whatever I'm working on, I look like I'm practicing Tai Chi exercises. One leg goes way up in the air, and extends out over his bulk, while my arms go wide to balance myself and whatever I'm holding in my hands. The same routine puts me back in the chair. I could make him move, but that would just be mean. Besides, he'll just settle back into his volcano form in a few seconds. Of course, I have to be careful not to disturb him during the expeditions around Mount Tolkien. If I startle him out of his reverie, he sits up and I get a thirty pound dog head slammed into parts of my body I'd just as soon not have punched.
He cracks me up, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Mountain climber...