Saturday, October 23, 2004

You shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you

So I've been bitten by Fred. Alot. For the multitude of readers that don't know (like there has ever been a multitude that do) Fred is my new old dog. Ten, twelve, nine years old, we have no idea. He's a bagel - a beagle/basset hound mix. Nice dog, tolerates hours of girlie hugs with a minimum of growling.

Another thing, he's pretty much deaf. Or pretends to be. I'm trying to teach him to take treats from my hand while leaving my fingers intact. I am now down to three fingers, making blogging an Olympic sport. Actually, he just bites me when he bites the cheese every freakin' time. So I quit for awhile. It was getting painful.

I've taken to letting him watch me feed Baxter, the big black dog, first as in "Look how nicely this well trained big galoot can take cheese from my hand." Fred, he looks up at me with those big brown eyes and I think, he's got it, this will be the time. I lower the cheese with my fingers curled around it, thinking that he'll not bite me but wait for the cheese to be offered. OW! FUCK! *Scarf Snarf Snort Swallow*

Maybe I'm the old dog who cannot learn the new trick. Why must I try to make him learn, why not just drop the cheese in his dish or on the floor. Or leave it on the kitchen table where I found him standing last month, eating toast, like he owned the place. I'll try it again later when my hand stops bleeding.

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