Good Girl!

One thing I tend to do multiple times a day is join Dorothy where she is reclining on the couch and give her belly a scritch while telling her over and over that she is a Good Girl!  Dorothy likes this, and tends to respond by making these little puffing sounds while I scratch, which I figure is her version of saying, a little to the left, a little higher, etc.  Owen also likes when I do this, and although he won’t help with the scratching of the belly (he smartly likes to keep his distance from the swiping reach of Dorothy’s long-nailed paws), he will now pipe in with the chorus of Good Girl!, and does so using the exact same tone of voice as I use.  Sometimes, Owen will even drag me over to the couch and initiate such a session himself.  He enjoys praising his beloved Dorr-Dorr.

Now that “good girl” is part of Owen’s vocabulary, he will also use it to praise Plum and me and Sean, so I’ve started correcting him with “good boy” when it is appropriate, although as of yet he seems to think that I am joking when I do this. 

Owen and Dorothy have another thing in common, which is their great affection for Owen’s cousin, Katie, who sometimes will accompany Susan to our house.  Both Owen and Dorothy get VERY EXCITED when they see Katie get out of Susan’s car.  Owen will start opening and closing his little hand in a wave and saying, “Hi, Ka-tee! Hi” and Dorothy starts wiggling and crying and will dash out the door the minute I open it so that she can accost Katie on the porch.

Owen being carried by cousin Katie:

Her reaction has reminded me just how much Dorothy enjoys people and being admired—something that she got all the time in the city, but less so since we are out in the suburbs.  Dorothy would make a great shop dogge, come to think of it, as she would like nothing more than to greet strangers who are willing to give her an ooh and an ahh.

Dorothy thinking, I could say welcome to our shoppe!

This morning, when Owen saw that Katie was not climbing out of Susan’s car, he said, “Ka-tee honk-shu, honk-shu, honk-shu” (which is our sound for snoring), and what Susan gives as the reason for Katie not being there, that she is home sleeping.  I thought it was quite clever of him.

Dorothy and Owen also both enjoy the arrival of the mailman.  Owen will run to the door saying “Hi, Mail-Man!” over and over, and Dorothy will also run to the door so that she can get a milkbone from the mailman.  He is very fond of and nice to Dorothy, and a good mailman on the whole, although I admit to being a little disgruntled when he opens our screen door and puts the proffered milkbone straight into Dorothy’s mouth.  So much for Dorothy’s being a guard dog!

Dorothy thinking, I really do love that mailman.

But the Sticks Belong to Dorothy

I wouldn’t exactly say Dorothy was happy when Owen arrived.  In fact, just to refresh your memory, she spent a lot of time his first month home skulking under the couch:

She often gets jealous still, and when one of us is sitting on the floor playing with Owen, she will go get a toy and nudge-like try to get us to play with her instead.  If her efforts fail, she will then cry a bit—a sound Owen is so familiar with, that he will imitate it if you ask him “what does a dog say?”  (Apparently a dog does not woof or bark, but cries, “Nnnnn, nnnn, nnnn”). 

But they have reached a grudging détente, and Dorothy is on the whole submissive to Owen in the house.  He can take toys from her and give them back and she will willingly give them up and then gently accept them.  When Owen puts on her collar like so:

She does not protest.  And Owen adores her.  He calls her “Dorr-Dorr” (although the other day he tried to say Dorothy and came up with Dor-ye) and always wants to know where she is and what she is doing, etc. 

But.  All these niceties change when Owen dares to step foot in Dorothy’s yard.  The yard, humble though it is, is Dorothy’s Eden.  It has grass to eat!  Space in which to sprint!  Woodchucks and squirrels to chase!  And perhaps most important, it has sticks.  It is when Owen picks up a stick in the yard that problems occur.  In the beginning of the nice weather, Dorothy would more or less body slam Owen when he picked up a stick.  But after repeated scoldings, she now knows she is not supposed to do anything when Owen has a stick, although every once in a while she can’t help herself and will gently steal it from him when we aren’t looking.

Poor Owen, who enjoys picking up a stick and will often do so generously to hand to Dorothy, was for awhile picking up a stick and then immediately assuming a defensive posture with his little back hunched and the stick clasped to his front.  But as we all spend more time in “Dorothy’s Yard”, she is getting more accustomed to letting Owen pick up what he will, knowing that soon he will tire of it and will become hers.

Dorothy thinking, but the yard is mine and everything in it.

A Boy and His Bulldogge

I had wanted to get a holiday photo of at least Dorothy and Owen together, but my photo sessions did not work out.  They tended to look like the picture below, where Owen looks like a two-dimensional paper-doll, and Dorothy looks depressed.

Or like this one, where Dorothy is checking to see if Owen's palpable rage is edible.  It is not.

There, there, says Dorothy, with a heavy plunk of her paw, getting said deadweight rather dangerously close to Owen's head.

And so I decided separate photos would have to do.

Owen Gets Photobombed

Owen is an only child, so he doesn't have siblings to compete with.  Yet with a dogge and two cats milling about, it can be hard for him to be the solo subject of a photo.  Here he is, a vision in plaid, sitting getting some philosophising done in his bumbo chair, and preparing to have the moment immortalized, when hark!  A purple cat appears in the background:

Dorothy is very good with Owen for the most part.  As long as he isn't crying too frantically, and as long as her father is not giving Owen all of his attentions, then she is fine.  And sometimes she will go over to Owen to try to discern just what the fuss over this little fellow is all about:

Poor Owen is not so sure that he wants a faceful of Dorothy kisses, yet with limited neck and head control, there is only so far he can move away from the smoocher:

Never fear, Owen!  Soon the tides will turn and the toddler will be invading the bulldogge's space with unwanted kisses.  And perhaps a stray cheerio.

All Guests Must Kiss The Bulldogge

Dorothy loves a visitor, and she always has done.  The problem she is having now is that for some reason most recent visitors seem to pay way too much attention to her--let's face it--rather lackluster little brother (Does he play frisbee?  No, he does not!  Does he attack and kill his father's socks for him? Again, nyet!)--and not enough attention to her, Dorothy.

This state of affairs simply will not do, so now Dorothy has added a few skills to her guest-greeting repertoire, including Jumping Up On The Guest Right as They Lift Their Knee To Step Up On the Considerable Front Door Step, Thus Causing Them To Lose A Bit of Balance and Lean Forward, So That Then They Are At the Perfect Height For Kisses.  As you can imagine, this tends to take the poor guest by surprise.

And if a guest should happen to sit on a couch, well then!  They are simply Fair Game for hugs and kisses!  And when I say "hugs", I mean hugs, for Dorothy will plunk each front meathook down on either side of the couch-sitter's head, pin them in place, and start smooching.

Don't you want to come visit?

This past Friday my Aunt Elsie came to meet Owen, see our new house, and of course, give pats to the pets.  Dorothy immediately began her guest-greeting routine, and tried her hardest to make sure Elsie paid as much attention to her as she did to Owen.  This entailed trying out a new skill:  Getting Between The Baby and His Bottle.

Here is Elsie trying to please both great grandnephew and great grandniece:

I'd say she did a fine job!  Thanks for visiting, Elsie!  Come again next time you are in the mood for some bulldogge slobber.  :)

Body Buffer Zone

As my southern nieces could tell you, I am someone who likes her body buffer zone respected.  In fact, I'm one of those annoying people who often demarcate it by drawing an imaginary, yet pointed, box around my person with four swipes of my arms and an accompanying glare.

Ha.  Those days are over.  This is now the view when I tilt my head and look down:

And oh look!  What is glued to my side?:

But at least my legs and feet are solo on the hassock, right?  Wrong:

And I'm pretty sure I'm currently wearing Posy as a hat.

Thief!

Oh, hello there.

I'm looking for a blanket.  It's a pale blue receiving blanket, and I would like the lower 2/3rds of my body to be swaddled in it, so that I do not kick myself out of a fine nap.

Have you seen it?

Dorothy?  Might that be something pale blue under your chin?

The Background

Is NOT the place for a bulldogge in a photo:

Nope, still not good enough.  Photo = Fail.  And why does the bulldogge not have a soft blanket on which to lay her pretty head?

Ha ha.  Not even close:

Now we are getting somewhere.  Yet what is that still cradled in my paw?!  Oh look, it's a grudge!  I'll let go of it, but it is going to cost you.  The belly!  It needs scratching.  The muzzle, it needs cheesesteaks!  Begin flattery now!

Baby and Bulldogge

On August 8, 2012, we welcomed Owen Martin Gares into this world, at 9 pounds 3 ounces and 21 3/4 inches long:

Or some of us did.  Others of us aren't so sure that a welcome is in order, unless it is of the "hello you must be going" variety.

Dorothy has actually been quite good on the whole.  Her dad had to get stern with her when we first brought Owen home, because she thought he might be a squeaky toy for her.  Once stern words were said, however, she seemed to realize that Owen is a tiny human requiring special treatment.

Dorothy was depressed, but now she is perhaps feeling a little better about things:

The thing that amuses me the most about her behavior is that at night when Owen starts to cry loudly, Dorothy hightails it out of the bedroom and goes and lies downstairs on the couch, until the crying stops, and she comes back.  She does not find his wails to be a pleasant, pear-shaped tone!

The cats for the most part are rather indifferent to their new baby brother.  Posy completely ignores him; and Plum is only interested in Owen's equipment, such as the cribs and strollers and whatnot.

We are all going through a period of adjustment, but are glad Owen is finally here!

Dorothy thinking back to when times were merry: