Patti Soldavini

Posts Tagged ‘sticks’

Octostick

In dogs, humor, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/11/2011 at 10:39 am

"I see dead STICKS!"

Late Thursday night, when I took Olive out after the thunderstorm, we barely made it out of the garage before she begins barking like a banshee and shrinking back from something she obviously finds threatening. I squint my astigmatic eyes and step out a few feet to trigger the motion sensor lights. I do a quick visual scan of the front yard and there it is. While I am always afraid of coming face to face with a bear, the intruder that Olive is barking at is…a leafy bough that has fallen from the tree and lays like a beached Blue Whale on the front lawn. This dog has a gestalt mind; always recognizing “things out of their place.” I sigh with relief, grateful that I don’t have to protect my pooch and myself from being used as a toothpick and then torn apart and eaten by one of the American black bears that have already been roaming the neighborhood like zombies. However, Olive will not stop barking until I have confronted the motionless interloper. I walk out to the middle of the yard to retrieve the “Creature from The Black Lagoon,” dragging Olive behind me on her flexi-leash. It’s one of the few times it’s not unspooling like an off-track rollercoaster. She continues to bark intermittently as she charges forward, sideways and backward as if she’s as animated checker on a checkerboard, changing her mind instantaneously and repeatedly before making a definitive move. Olive is incredibly agile, executing 180-degree turns in fast forward (and reverse) with the grace of famous French trapeze artist Jules Leotard. It is funny to watch. “FOR GOD’S SAKE OLIVE, IT’S ONE OF YOUR FAVORITE THINGS. A STICK. AND IT HAS MULTIPLE HEADS.” For emphasis I add, “IT IS THE OCTOPUS OF STICKS!” I drag the bough across the lawn and driveway and place it next to the garbage can. It will probably stay there a week before I feel like cutting it apart to dispose of it. Olive runs over to inspect the captured prey, cautiously sniffing it. By the third sniff, she sinks her teeth into the injured branch. “HAPPY?” I ask Olive. She ignores me as the sawdust starts flying.

Spank The Human

In weimaraners on 03/29/2011 at 6:11 pm

"I don't know WHAT you're talking about."

Have you ever been spanked by your dog? With a stick? I have. I swear, I don’t make this stuff up. I may exaggerate a little, but it all stems from a truth. As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, Olive has a love affair with sticks. The dog must have a stick in her mouth while walking. Kind of like a cigarette smoker who cannot drive without sucking on a cigarette. Orally fixated, kinetically expressed.

Olive is not intimidated by the size of the stick. I’ve seen her pick up a fairly large-sized limb from a tree and try dragging it behind her. I usually have to perform an emergency amputation of the branch that is already in her mouth and we walk away with that and she seems satisfied. Until she sees the next desirable stick. I have yet to figure out why she finds certain sticks attractive and others do not merit even a second sideways glance. Thank God telephone poles are “vertically planted sticks.”

Yesterday though, she spanked me. With a stick. Repeatedly.

During our daily walk, Olive picks up a stick about the size of a drum majorette’s baton. Slightly shorter in length, but the circumference looked about right. Not a wimpy stick. A handsome one too if it could be said that a stick is handsome. The Brad Pitt of sticks.

She’s walking on my right, slightly behind me and she begins gnawing on the far right end of the stick. This places the bulk of the stick strategically behind…my behind. As she chomps down on the stick with all the vigor of Paul Bunyon, the left end of the stick bats my ass. This act repeats itself about a half dozen times and picks up a distinct rhythm, sounding like one of the songs from Paul Simon’s “Graceland” album. With each chomp, I can sense Olive becoming frustrated that my ass is preventing her from fully enjoying her stick gnawing experience. CHOMP. SWAT. CHOMP. SWAT. CHOMP. SWAT. CHOMP. SWAT. CHOMP. SWAT. CHOMP. SWAT.

It creates the distinct impression to passersby that my dog is spanking me.

Interior Monologue

In Uncategorized on 02/01/2011 at 6:23 pm

"Huh? What the heck is a wolfman?"

Sticks R’ Us

In Uncategorized on 01/21/2011 at 7:02 pm

What? Did someone say “Bully Sticks?” Of course I know what they’re made from, I’m a Weimaraner. I’m keenly intelligent. Highly articulate. And very impatient with dolts of all species. Wait a second, I have to bite my tail…What were we talking about? Right, Bully Sticks. So fragrant. Like Chanel Number K9. If I could roll in its scent I would. I really don’t care if it was made from the privates of a kangaroo. Is there such a thing as Kanga Sticks? I’d like to try them too. You know what? Can you take me to a store where they sell all kinds of Sticks? Like Tiger and Lion Sticks. Elephant and Buffalo Sticks. Oh my God, my stomach is growling and I’m drooling. And I can’t stop fantasizing about ZEBRA STICKS. Hold it. I have to lick myself. Was I talking or were you talking? Did you just see that bird? I’m waiting for the spring when they turn red and ripen. And blue. The blue ones look like they might taste spicy. God, my toenails are long. I almost poked my own eye out before when I went to scratch my cheek. Oh look a mirror. Geez, I AM adorable. Here. I’m done with this Bully Stick, you can have the rest.

Tre Bastoni

In Uncategorized on 01/20/2011 at 8:12 pm

"Damn, just a regular stick."

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