We met Daisy at the Petco in West St. Paul. For the record, I (John) was opposed to dog hunting, and opposed to going to look at dogs. I'm a soft-hearted idiot when it comes to pets, and I've never much enjoyed looking through Mall stores at puppies. I know that at some point, someone's going to turn out the lights, and then all those poor pups will be left alone. I'd buy them all and take them home, but for the fact that I couldn't afford it.

To make a long story short, Daisy is obedience-trained, housebroken, and very well-mannered. When we met her, she'd been sitting directly in front of the doors (basically sheet aluminum - noisy) for a couple of hours. She wasn't jumpy, noisy, or even hopping around. She sat, calmly, as befitted her status as The Lady of The Place.

It IS weird to have a dusky brunette panting in your ear. Especially with the rest of the family (wife included) watching.

This is Daisy's new family. All but Dad, I guess. We'll get him tomorrow. Boy, will we get him tomorrow.

Should there be any doubt she's a big girl, this should dispell it. She takes up my end of the couch...

Saturday night, Daisy was asleep on the futon. Gilligan had seen her and tore out of sight under it some time before. He came out from under the futon, figuring that life was both hunky and dorey, as the "Giant Slobbering Beast" was gone.

He stretched out, rear down, and then moved into a sitting position, just looking around as if he'd just awakened. He looked left, then right, then up. I could see the nose beginning to work. Left again, right again. He knew there was something there.

He looked to the left one last time, and realized that he'd come out from under the futon directly between a pair of paws that are half the size he is. I'd never seen a cat pivot and retreat with quite the speed Gilligan managed.

And Daisy slept through the whole thing.

Daisy did finally bark for us on Sunday. We were in the park, wandering around, when a fellow came along with twins in a wagon and a pair of Labs (yellow and black) attached to the front.

The fiercest-sounding bark I've ever heard (at least, since the time I was getting chased by Larsen's damned brain-dead St. Bernard when I was nine) came out of this dog - she wasn't worried, just warning the other dogs that these sheep - er, people - were under her special protection.

I tell you, though, I could feel that bark clear down to my sphincter. As a pilot would tell you, there was a serious "pucker factor" going on.

This was what I spent a fair amount of the early walk doing. Daisy would tug, hard, and I'd lean back. The good news is that Daisy was smart about it after a bit, and would trot ahead to the end of the leash and then maintain a steady speed. She circles back, though, so I end up doing a lot of "behind the back" switches with the leash handle.

Daisy, however, is better trained than the kids are. She'll circle them (herding behavior), and then keep going. On a leash, though, that's a big problem. She's just tied up one of the charges. The kids are learning, albeit slowly, to duck or jump when she starts to make the loop.

And I'm getting better at the behind-the-back pass...

When we got back from the walk, we spent a little time in the back yard, and I got to see just exactly how lucky we were. Daisy wandered around the back yard, patrolling the perimeter, and then came up on the deck. About that time, Jack chose to come roaring out the back door and was tearing towards mom, all arms and legs.

For a literal instant, Jack's arm (right near the elbow) was in Daisy's mouth. She was doing the usual tongue-out lollygagging along trot, and had been closing her mouth when Jack's arm crossed into it.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, she turned her head and kept going. Closed her mouth PAST Jack, and just kept looking around.

Jack, meanwhile, was revving up to a full-bore freakout. Mind you, having a dog that outweighs you, barks like a demon, and is capable of knocking you over, sitting on you, and slobbering, and life's got to be a little uneasy right now. But I stopped him, before he could freak or Ann could react, and I told him what had happened.

"She was closing her mouth,"I said, "and your arm accidentally got in the way. She turned her head and missed your arm, and kept on going. She took care of you when you didn't look out for her. She was taking care of Her Boy."

Full-blown freakout mode safed, Jack turned and gave Daisy a big hug. Daisy looked confused, but Ann and I hugged her as well. She is a good girl.

The picture? After that. EVERYONE was tired. As you can well see.

After a long day, everyone relaxes before bedtime.

Frankly, I find the idea of fur pajamas ... a little kinky. But if it works...

Despite major protestation to the contrary, I still believe this picture was posed. Especially since Jack can usually (if he plays by the rules) beat his sister.

Daisy has finally started to realize that we're her new home. First couple of days, the tail wouldn't move. At all. If she was left home alone and we came in, there wasn't much of a greeting other than "hey, you, c'mere, lemme sniff ya".

That's all starting to change. She'll even jump on Rhiannon when she gets off the bus in the afternoons (Mornings are still stressful. The kids get on the bus, she knows they're safe, because they return on a bus, but in the mean time...). But she's doing much better, and is even doing naughty things now. Which is fine. She pulled a bunch of greasy paper towels out of the garbage the other day and sucked the grease off. She did have the decency to look sheepish when we scolded her. Well, just a little sheepish.

Now, if you'll look closely at this picture, Daisy has one of her tennis balls between her front and back paws, and she looks entirely happy. We've discovered she loves to play keep-away, not catch. She'll get the ball, hold on to it, walk towards you, then run past. If you're nowhere near, to taunt you, she'll literally drop it, bat it back and forth with her front paws, then try to pick it up.

Smart Girl.

What does a dog love more than anything after a game of catch? Well, a rawhide chew, if someone would stop putting her into a headlock to prevent her from getting the chew.

Cute picture though. Glad I told her to do that.

Now, I would be utterly remiss if I didn't put a picture of the Cats up here as well. And in their new semi-adopted home for the time being... You'll note Jack is in a cat bed Tish normally prefers, at least now.

And yes, the tight cropping is to remove the furnace behind Jack, the shelf above him and the cats, the fridge and storage area in front of Jack, and the laundry carts between the photographer and Jack. Cats like it cramped. Go figure.

Saturday, February 7, 2009
RIP Daisy