Tug

So, Tug came to visit today. He healed down the walk in on a porch like he owned the place. Kathy saw gun first -- it seems like she always sees him first -- and called out, "Tug's here!" Without Emma, Tug is somewhat less swirly. He came in, and swirled around the place, but at a slower pace. He has a good memory for food, and a great nose. He went looking everywhere he ever had treats, and he tried to paw on anyplace that there were treats. He will sit on command, and sits in trembling anticipation for his treats. He did this on the linoleum floor, and trembled so hard he ended up sliding backwards across its slick surface.

After Tug had some treats, Kathy got one of Oz's old toys, but for Ozma really have never taken to much. It's a largish ball, about the size of a grapefruit, with a built-in cloth handle strap. She threw it for him a few times in the house anyone galloping around. Then, because he seemed to want it, we opened the back sliding door and Kathy started throwing it out in the yard. He brought back to me more often, perhaps because Bob (his owner) throws the ball for them at home. However, he was perfectly willing for Kathy to throw the ball form. We threw a bunch of times and he went sprinting afterwards. After a while, he seemed ready to go. Not anxious really, but ready. So I got my shoes on and filled my pockets with treats. I then walked him home, a walk I'd taken several hundred times with Ozma. Tug was happy as could be. He stayed near me well, pretty near me, near enough. He would come near me so bumping up against it by then swung off to the side of the street to smell something, or to have been muddy water. Then he'd come back, greet me again, maybe nuzzle my hand. Then he went to the other side of the street, where there was more money water to be rolled in. Now, Ozma love the lake. She loved creeks. She loved her little pool. But she only got in mud puddles when it was really really hot there was no other water. Tug doesn't seem to make a distinction. The lower his jaws in the mud like a moose or a duck peeking up a mouthful of self-loathing and drain out of the corner of his jowls. He looks exceptionally silly, and I can imagine keeping a house clean with him in it.

Kathy seems to be getting attached to him. (She's always liked him, and often says we should steal him.) She gets possessive, and wonders if he likes her. He does, more than just about any human outside his family. She gives him treats and makes him welcome. She's happy to see him. What more could a dog want?Greg