It’s early morning, and as I walk down the hall in a funk, heading for the kitchen and my caffeine source, my feet hit something solid. And furry. It’s a dog. Mr. Magoo, the pug wants his breakfast. Now.
“You’ll have to wait,” I mumble as I continue my zombie-like shuffle toward the kitchen, but something larger bumps my knees. It’s another dog, Abby, our new lab/setter. She wants her breakfast too. Now.
“Get in line,” I tell her.
Several weeks ago, I wrote about the new dog in my household. That column prompted a number of questions, so here’s the latest scoop.
Abby, our new big dog, is 8 years old. Yes. We took in an older dog, and the funny thing, or maybe not so funny, is that she fits right in our lifestyle. Magoo is also 8 and if you want to get technical, Dick and I are pretty close in dog years, so the situation works. No rambunctious puppy or action-craving young hunting dog for us. No, all four of us are in sync and aging gracefully.
However, Abby has given us several surprises. I didn’t think it was possible to find a bigger chowhound than Mr. Magoo, but we must have discovered the only other dog in the world that loves to eat as much as he. We have established a new “feeding” pattern. After I fill their doggie dishes, I set Abby’s on the kitchen floor. Then I incarcerate Mr. Magoo (of course with his full food dish) in my office, behind a closed door.
Both dog gobble their food as if the hounds of hell were breathing down their necks. When the sound of crunching kibbles stops (and it doesn’t take either dog much time to finish eating), I open the door and release Magoo. He races to see if Abby has left any crumb in her dish.
Abby is no food slouch. As fast as she can scurry, she checks Magoo’s dish for leftovers. They are both out of luck because, of course, neither dog has left the slightest trace of food.
Another surprise is the exercise situation. I naively believed a big dog would crave long walks, but that assumption is proving to be somewhat false. Mr. Magoo, has within the past year, decided he likes the sedentary life. After all, he had no large pal with which to bond while strenuously walking. I hoped a big dog would encourage his enthusiasm for exercise.
Not quite what happened.
Abby, is…well, she will go on walks, but if we get overly busy and forget, it’s no skin off her nose. Don’t get me wrong. She loves being outside, especially if Dick is working on a project in the garage. She saunters around the yard, moving from a comfortable spot on the deck to a patch of sun in front of the garage. She’s a real outdoor dog. She just doesn’t need to travel far to be happy.
I assumed our new dog would love to jump off the dock and vigorously swim, but that hasn’t happened either. Abby likes to dabble in the water, but is just as happy lounging on the dock, watching the lake.
If I had to draw a conclusion, I’d say that the new dog and the Crosby household are totally compatible. All our desires and interests are on the same level, and I would be the first to strongly recommend adopting an older dog, if you fit the profile.
I reached this conclusion on a lazy Sunday afternoon as all four of us sat on the deck and Dick and I barbequed, with the dogs at our feet. Looking at both canines, it was obvious that nothing made them happier than to be dozing on a sundrenched deck as the smell of rotisseried chicken filled the air.
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