All is not gloom and doom in our household, despite the conditions we’re currently living in. Last month or so, before we were told to stay in, we adopted a dog, a hound dog. A giant hound dog. We have dubbed her Charlotte Frances, but she goes by Charly.
As you can see by the pic, Charly was very onboard with the adoption.
Daisy, not so much.
Fortunately, Daisy’s attitude improved (as did ours) when she (we) realized she no longer had to depend on us to keep her occupied. In fact, she’s been so happy, that a couple of days ago, she actually sprained her tail.
Seriously. How does that even happen? One minute it was up and wagging and the next, well, she looked like Eeyore. We just didn’t have a bow and a thumbtack to complete the look.
But, after a few days rest, the tail is back and wagging.
And as we lay in bed this morning, drinking coffee and watching the morning show—i.e., Daisy and Charly romping around, we realized what we have:
A princess and an oaf.
Daisy is very fine boned and graceful. Albeit with bow legs. She looks like Yosemite Sam from behind. And Charly, well Charly is a big-boned, big-footed, hunk of dog. She’s not even a dog. She’s a dawg. You half expect Jed Clampett to come striding up the hill with her when she returns from her morning yard sniff.
But she is a kind dawg…content to let Princess Daisy chew on her ears and doesn’t mind when we tell her to please stop standing on Will’s private parts—most mornings since Charly’s arrival, I am awakened by Will shouting, “Charly, you’re standing on my d*ck.”
Sadly, he doesn’t find it as amusing as I do.
Until next time…cheers!
