Lap Dog? Yeah, Right!

I was in desperate need of relief from the melancholy of being around my poor little Duck Toller, whose paw injury has him more or less under house arrest and condemned to wearing a cone for at least another week.  (Imagine trying to tell a tornado to stay in the playroom.)  So Tuesday night, after seeing “Hamilton” on Broadway (b-day gift from Carol, and it was SPECTACULAR!), we went over to Greg and Kelly’s apartment so I could finally meet my new grand-dog, Ruckus.

Before even taking my jacket off, I got down on the floor with him for hugs — and he immediately grabbed my scarf in his teeth.  And wouldn’t let go.  When we finally got him to surrender my scarf by offering up the elk antler I’d brought as a new-puppy gift, my son and daughter-in-law confided that the scarf-tug-o’-war was far from an isolated incident, and that in fact, their dog isn’t nearly as mellow as they initially thought.  What I think they’re starting to realize is the reason he seemed to be a sweet, quiet, content, docile little throw pillow his first week home was that he was recovering from a severe

case of pneumonia.  And now that — thank goodness! — he’s healthy and has his energy back . . . he’s a puppy!  And a pretty frisky puppy at that.  Maybe not quite Kemba-level frisky, but not chopped liver, either.

Oh — and that lap dog they thought they were getting?  Ha!  I don’t think so.  He’s a pit bull-and-whatever, and though Greg and Kelly haven’t opted for the DNA test, I can tell you the “whatever” ain’t no chihuahua.  I horsed around quite a bit with the little fella (he’s a big face-licker, which I love!), and he’s 42 pounds of hard muscle.  And he’s only 8 months old, so he won’t be staying that size for long.

So what do I see when this high-spirited, scarf-eating, shoe-grabbing little pup gets to meet his hyper-driven Uncle Kemba next week, who’ll be coming off at least 10 days of forced inactivity?  Well, I don’t think it’ll be a polite little tea party.

Fasten your seat belts . . .

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