Olive has the body type of a Supermodel, unlike most female Weims who look like they were born to be Champion Roller Derby Queens. When meeting Olive for the first time, most people comment on her long, beautiful legs. She puts dancers to shame. And when she stands up, placing her paws on my shoulders or my back, she comes almost face to face with me. She is lean yet muscular and sinewy with an aura of soft elegance about her. When she trots, it is absolutely graceful in its effortlessness. So, it might be hard to imagine her zooming through the house, leaping up and down stairways, sliding across hardwood floors and coming to rest only when she’s slammed into a wall and literally bent the prong in the back of a C02 monitor plugged into an outlet. My sister visited a few weeks ago and I was concerned that Olive might accidently send her flying down the stairs. “When you hear hoofbeats,” I tell my sister, “Get the hell out of the way. Lean against a wall. It’s your best defense.” This is of course, only when Olive’s not devouring a bully stick, gnawing on some piece of cardboard somewhere or licking houseguests down to their DNA.