Patti Soldavini

Archive for April 6th, 2012|Daily archive page

The Curse of Critical Thought

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/06/2012 at 9:56 am

"HOW high is the price of gas today?"

Leafing through an artsy-fartsy luxury catalog the other day, one product in particular caught my eye. For about $135, I could own a framed illustration of a dog with this message on it: Unencumbered by Critical Thought. I chuckled. Yes, I thought, if you don’t own a weimaraner. They are capable of critical thought. Anyone who’s ever owned one knows this. I look at this picture of Olive and I imagine she’s thinking about how high the price of gas is going to go and whether this will impact her trips to the dog park. (Don’t worry, Olive, it won’t.) And no, I didn’t buy the illustration. After all, it would be a lie to display it in my and Olive’s home.


Weimaraner Bends Steel with Bare Paws

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/06/2012 at 9:13 am

"Who, ME?"

The average person has no idea how strong weimaraners are. They are so muscular that when they slam into objects, the objects usually crumple like aluminum foil or bend pretzel-like into an entirely new shape. Today, I am still nursing a bruised bone and hematoma the size of a petite squirrel head on my shin about two inches below my right knee. At the moment of collision between Olive’s head and my leg, I was more worried about her because she stood there for a second apparently somewhat dazed. I felt as if I could actually see the cartoon birds (Birds. Can you believe it?) tweeting in circles around her head as though she were knocked silly. All this from rapidly snapping her head and body around less than two feet from where I was standing. It was like a speeding car slammed into a telephone pole. This is not new to my highly alert, sometimes-obsessed pooch. On occasion she exhibits the child-like habit of walking straight ahead with her head turned to one side. In the past, she has smacked her head into street signs, sidewalk trees and other such objects while ogling something across the street on one of our walks. Today, she effectively “ran with a stick” in her hand, although she has no hand per se and the stick was clenched firmly between her teeth. And then when she took off like a corvette, the stick got stuck momentarily in the chain link fence and stopped her in her tracks. She turned to look at me as if to say “How did THAT happen?” I walk over to her, put my arms around her and kissed the top of her little taupe head. “NOT AGAIN, OLIVE. YOU LITTLE NUTHATCH. ARE YOU OK?” And then I see the damage. The stick must have gotten caught on the wire band that attaches the chain link fence to one of the upright poles. It had been torn clear away from one side of the fence. “HOLY SHIT. OLIVE. COME OVER HERE.” Now I’m examining her with the frantic energy of a medic on a battlefield, looking for blood and/or a puncture wound or a missing tooth. After an invasive inspection of her mouth and neck that would make both a Dentist and an automotive detailer proud, I thankfully find nothing amiss. I breathe a sigh of relief as Olive, who has already forgotten the incident, takes off after a bird that’s just landed inside her pen.

Olive: The Master Manipulator

In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/06/2012 at 8:38 am

"Do you like my impression of a HYENA?"

The vet just called, confirming what I suspected. Olive’s urinalysis is fine. Negative. Clear. Pristine. Possibly on par with non-sparkling water from an icy-blue stream at the foot of the Colorado Rockies. Essentially, I paid $59 to learn that my dog is a master manipulator. She does not have a bladder infection. She just pretends to so I have to let her in and out of the house 60 times a day. Is this why only I can hear her laugh?

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