Mr.
Ashbury is completely smitten by his new best friend—Tuffy the puppy. Now
twenty-three weeks old and a robust five and a half pounds, the little fur ball
is firmly ensconced as a member of the family.
While we
were in Kansas City for RT in early May, our daughter came to stay here at our
house. She brought her three Chihuahuas with her, and as far as Tuffy was
concerned, it was a great, 8 night long sleep-over with his best canine
buddies.
That's
sleep-over as in he, and my daughter, and her dogs all slept in our bed.
Does anyone imagine that after that love fest, Tuffy would agree to return to
sleeping at night in his "play pen"?
Mr.
Ashbury is delighted, of course, since he has wanted the puppy to sleep on our
bed with us since day one (actually the puppy did sleep on the bed day
one, unbeknownst to me).
Tuffy is
very happy to see his daddy when he steps in from work each evening—just
as our old dog was. The difference—other than size—is that Tuffy the puppy
doesn't really like going for a walk.
He's not
a lazy dog. He simply does not like to go for a walk. He'd rather just
play.
Of
course, Mr. Ashbury sort of understands the concept that puppy = child
and puppy owner = adult. He takes Tuffy for a walk most days if the weather
conditions are ideal. And, of course, the good news is that if the little guy
tries to pull against his leash, he's not dislocating Mr. Ashbury's shoulder in
the process.
Now that
the heat of summer has begun, Tuffy has a new "hair style". We'd taken him to a
groomer near us about a month ago. As it was his first visit to the lady, the
appointment comprised a bath and brush with a tiny bit of clipping, to introduce
him to the concept. This groomer doesn't believe in forcing things on a pup. She
wants them to think of the process of being groomed as something fun. Last
Friday he had his second appointment. This time, with the help of her own dog
who served as distraction, she was able to accomplish what was
needed.
Tuffy is
no longer a scruffy puppy. The difference in his appearance is
amazing. His fur which had been very long is now barely an inch, and he has
legs! We didn't know he had such long legs, because he was such a puff ball of
long, shaggy fur.
Tuffy
appreciates the new style—if not the process—as it is cooler for him.
The
little guy is now five months old, and he has hit—relatively speaking—the
terrible twos. He likes to filch shoes and slippers, though he doesn't inflict
any real damage on them (yet). He has learned how to jump down from the sofa,
and tries really hard to get the cat's dinner each night. He's taken to sleeping
in the bed very well, and if he and his daddy go to bed before I do, I can be
assured that when I do retire for the night, Tuffy will be laying in the
vicinity of my pillow.
He's
curious about everything, and he likes everybody. He's the eternal optimist, in
that he will not give up on the hope that one day the cat will, indeed, play
with him.
And he's
brave. He doesn't hesitate to put himself between us and perceived danger. When
he growls, there can be no doubt that he means business. He must have a good
memory because he growls at the cat window—the place those scary looking racoons
appeared a few weeks ago.
Tuffy
Ashbury is the true embodiment of that maxim, "it's not the size of the dog in
the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog.
Yes, my
beloved has a new best friend and he is a very happy man.
Love,
Morgan
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