Wednesday, April 21
I recently found out that my dad hates our dog's name.
Every time he has a client come over for a meeting and Daisy barks at them coming in, my dad quickly excuses her as: "My wife's dog"
"You know you've been around a lot recently when Daisy doesn't bark at you when you come over" -A friend
Daisy doesn't usually bark at females
She spends most of her time upstairs on her folded up mattress pad my parents assembled for her. But once she hears someone's in the kitchen, you hear her come running. And she follows you around the kitchen. You're by the fridge, she's right there with you. Opening a can of tuna? Her favorite. She's right at your heels. We should have named her shadow.
I refuse to reinforce this "shadow" behavior, so I have taught her to lie down in the next room. And she will, no matter how I say it, she knows to leave me alone. If she is patient and I am no longer irritated by her breathing down my neck...er...ankle...then I award her with the empty can of tuna or whatevs before I leave the kitchen area.
I saw shitzu pups for sale at a local grocery store and thought of how my mom has ALWAYS wanted a shitzu. Instead we got Daisy. I guess we'll keep her.
She's 77 in dog years. that's 11 adult years.
lousy pics, I know. But I had to show a side shot to capture the essence of this dog's mass.
(Cute nephews, though, right? christmas 09.)