Miss Dais and Max-a-Poo

We sure have had a crazy time here this past week.  Crazy Daisy's in heat.  Mr. Max-a-Poo's driving us batty.  Needless to say, it's been a fun couple weeks.  (dripping with sarcasm)  So, in appreciation of their "better" days, I'll share an excursion in the yard from a couple weeks ago.

Have you ever tried to sneak up on a dog?

 

 

Well, it's impossible.

 

Miss Dais with her perky little ears.

"Is that a shock collar?"  We get this question all the time.  No, it's a tracking collar.  Dais is a Walker coonhound and she likes to run.  I mean RUN! 

While I was away in Kentucky, Handsome Husband let her out after breakfast one morning and she wouldn't come back before he left for work.  So she was stuck outside all day.  When he got home, he looked at the GPS and she'd run 22 miles!  Twenty. two. miles. I say.

They've ruined our yard digging for ground squirrels.  They're checking one of their holes here.  Evidently, there was some action that we weren't aware of.

 

Happy Friday friends!

 

 

 

oh brown squirrel

I heard her whining from the bedroom.  I thought it might be the furnace man but come to find out, it was just a squirrel.  She stood in all her elegant grace, poised at the window.  All of her chest and leg muscles clearly defined.  She trembled as she gazed.  Her breath leaving small uneven ovals on the glass.  She whined under her breath.  I tried kindly explaining that she's not a squirrel dog and her daddy would be so ashamed to see it'd come to this, but she paid me no mind.  I firmly told her "No", yet she stood, still as a statue, taking in the view of the lively brown squirrel scavenging for food amongst the backdrop of white snow and barren cornfields.  The wind blew steadily and the sun played peek-a-boo as she ran to the door and gave me the look. 

She realized I wouldn't allow her to quench this thirst for Mr. Squirrel and so she circled back and to the sill again.  She gracefully stood up and placed her paws ever so lightly on the sill, barely resting them on the wood.  She stood there in all her glory, praying I'd let her out.  I wouldn't succumb to the pressure, all her high pitch whining and pacing.  I refused.  She continued on for a bit longer and then, in defeat, she lay down, only to hop up minutes later.  She sat perfectly still, heeding every little detail of the wind, the movements of the trees, she took it all into consideration. 

Her pedigree is fine.  And her stance?  Regal.  She sat, just listening.  More circling ensued and then, she approached me and put her front feet up on the couch as to ask, "PLEASE, let me out.  I'm in agony."  Again, I snubbed her.  She doesn't give up easily.  She has a great deal of fight bred into her bones and coursing through her veins.  All of her commotion roused the big guy.  He faithfully got up, sauntered over to the door where he sat as if silently pleading for her case.  He held his post for a few minutes and then, understanding I was not going to budge, he lay down.  He quietly gave up while he watched her circle and whine, circle and whine.

We played this game of hers for some time before she eventually surrendered and fell fast asleep on the floor.  But not before rallying the troops and convincing the big guy that he needed to follow suit.  And finally, I walked away, leaving them to play their own game.

Sunday

This has been the scene for the last 12 days.

Friday, the medicine kicked in and he was on the mend.

Thank heavens.  it's been a looooooooong two weeks.

Sabbath (n.) sab-uh th
- meaning Sunday, first day of the week; time of worship and day of rest.

Showers.  Pancakes.  Sunday school.  Church.  Leftover chinese.

Daisy.

Newest addition.
Eight months old.

Sweet as pie.

Cute as a button.

Walker coonhound.

Time to train the hound.

Daisy likes chickens a little too much.

And our girls are curious birds.

Bad combination.

These.  I love.

Seventy degrees.  Kids playing outside.

The old maple.  Creek.  Bikes.  Sandbox.

~ A perfect Sunday ~