Patti Soldavini

Archive for December 20th, 2011|Daily archive page


In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 12/20/2011 at 2:39 pm

"I do NOT smell like day-old lambchop."

“Yes you do.” “No, I don’t.” “Yes you do.” “No, I don’t.” “Yes you do.” “No, I don’t.” “Yes you do.” “No, I don’t.” “YES you do.” “NO, I don’t.” “YES you DO.” “NO, I DO NOT.” “Would you like some mint jelly?” “WHAT is a lambchop anyway?”


Knock. Knock.

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 12/20/2011 at 9:46 am

"Do I smell FOOD?"

Knock. Knock. Who’s there? It’s Olive. Olive who? Olive food. This dog is so alert, she can detect a fly fart. (By sound and scent). Olive loves going over to Susie and Perry’s because Susie will rough house with her and Olive gets to sniff up three-year old Ryan. But everything in the universe comes to an apocalyptic halt when Olive smells food or observes activity in THE KITCHEN. The room that brings her the greatest joy in life. Counter tops lined with food in various stages of preparation. Scents that delight Olive’s over-stimulated nostrils; sending her into a heightened state of ecstasy. ‘WHERE SHOULD I JUMP FIRST,” thinks Olive. To Olive, it must appear that it is a buffet created just for her. ‘GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN,” I command Olive as she is craning her long graceful neck over the sink to lick the grease off a pan. She willfully continues until I march over there, grab her by the collar and pull her away. I’ve tried a zillion different things. Nothing has the magnetic pull required to chase her away from oily grease and carcass niblets stuck to a cold frying pan. She really has to be guided out of the kitchen and then she watches me like she’s Bernie Madoff sizing up his next mark. Because in the nanosecond that I turn my head away from her, she quietly but whiplash-rapidly tracks back to the “edible amusement park.” Whenever my intelligent pooch is confronted with a situation that she realizes may result in a correction, she very slyly and daintily makes her move, as though being delicate makes the behavior acceptable. Even this makes me laugh. “OLIVE. ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME? GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN. I DON’T CARE HOW CUTE AND GRACEFUL YOU ARE.” Everyday is a battle of wits with a weimaraner. Some days I win, some days I lose, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. In fact, the other day, I came to realize that after having a weim, I don’t think I could ever have any other kind of dog again. This dog keeps me on my toes. And living with a weimaraner? They’re four-legged soul mates. It’s like living with a human who actually loves you unconditionally and doesn’t talk. What an excellent combination.

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