Going to the Dogs

It has been long since overdue that I introduce you to our dogs, Rascal and Rufus. (No changing of names here as they are illiterate and unconcerned about privacy.) They are miniature Daschund, one long haired, one short. They are loving and unassuming most of the time. Their good natures have won me over. I'm not a cat person anymore.

Rufus is very laid back. He is happy with life. His days are spent chasing birds and squirrels, barking at the mailman and licking our faces. Rascal, on the other hand, spends most of his time trying to firmly establish that he is the top dog. While, he is codependent upon Rufus for entertainment and snuggling, he is not about to let him lick our faces without then asserting himself into the situation and touching his cold, wet nose to ours. He is jealous. It does not matter that we love him the same or share affection equally. To Rascal the dog dish is half full.

I was becoming somewhat irritated at dinner the other night when they would not stop begging for food. I don't mind giving scraps from time to time, but downright under your feet begging is crossing the line. Braveheart (who really should entertain the notion to become an attorney) took up the case for the dogs. "Mom, wouldn't you beg? Wouldn't you beg if all you ate every day was cold, hard, dry chicken and beef pieces. And, when you woke up in the morning to face a new day there they were again in your bowl." I had never thought of it that way.

So, even though some will disagree and say they'll be unhealthy, I cannot condemn them to a life of dried, hard, cold food between that and the kennel it resembles prison a little too closely. These are the dogs that wag their tales at warp speed when we come home. They immediately flip over on their backs to submit and receive a belly rub in return. They love us unconditionally, the least I can do is fork over a little bacon now and again.