Patti Soldavini

Archive for March 6th, 2013|Daily archive page

Mirror Image

In animals, dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 03/06/2013 at 8:53 pm

"My GOD, I'm cute!"

“My GOD, I’m cute!”

I monkeyed (obviously) with this grainy photo to bring you Olive caught in the act of staring at the 20×24 framed photo of herself on the wall. Yes, weimaraners are narcissists. It’s part of their charm.

Peeping Weimaraner

In animals, dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 03/06/2013 at 8:41 pm

"What the HELL is going on?"

“What the HELL is going on?”

Yup, that’s my dog. Peeping out the bedroom window seeking to identify some activity that only her bionic ears have detected. It was probably a bird fart. I only wish I were outside my house observing Olive in the window like this. I’m sure it’s worth a chuckle.

 

Keyboard-Playing Weimaraner

In animals, dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 03/06/2013 at 8:28 pm

Olive's Bohemian Rhapsody

Olive’s Bohemian Rhapsody

There I am this November-like morning sitting in the waiting room of a Doctor’s office, laughing out loud, even snorting, as I watch a video of Olive “playing” the keyboard. I watch it on my iphone. Again. And again. And again. Each time I titter more and more. I was motivated to sprinkle some Old Mother Hubbard Bitz across the keyboard more in an effort to amuse myself while occupying Olive’s active mind the other day. Between the bone-cold raw days, rain and all the extra hours I’ve been working the past 9 months, Olive has been feeling a little neglected. Which if you know me or Olive personally, is sort of ridiculous because she spends the entire day with me. But, like a three year old human child, wants my active attention more than I can give it some days. It reminds me of when kids yell in an adult’s direction, “HEY. LOOK. WATCH ME. WATCH ME DO THIS. WATCH. ME.” I believe Olive tries to retaliate by barking indignantly as though she needs to drop a lawn cigar whenever A) I begin talking on the phone and B) The minute my rear end grazes the chair cushion to eat a meal. “BARK. MOM. I NEED TO GO OUT. BARK, NOW. BARK, BARK.” Inevitably, I get up to let her out and then she either races toward my plate or runs into another room. Anyway, as she gobbled up the Bitz while making her way across the keyboard, there were a few spots where it actually started to sound composed. And at the end, after the last morsel has been hoovered up, she walks away, turns around quickly and comes back to check for more, punctuating her little concerto with a deliberately powerful sting. At this point, I’m crying with laughter.

 

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