Morning Dog

Russ is a morning dog. No let me be really clear--Russ is an in your face, I'm up so everybody in the universe should be up morning dog. (I have tried various parent tricks to get him to sleep later--keeping him up later, taking him out very late for his last widdle run, but nope no good--he is a morning dog) Let's take a walk through Sunday morning with Russ.

At O'ridiculous :30 he announces that it is time to get up. He has the most interesting noises that sound a bit like a cross between a cow in labor and a bark. I beg for just a few more minutes, but no way, he is ready to get up.

O'ridiculous:33, he and Sara are tethered and ready to go outside. It was a beautiful sunny morning, so much romping and frolicking without much business happening. (If you remember, we had an incident where Russ completely forgot to do his duty a few days ago, so I am patient.) All of a sudden Russ starts barking like "Jack the Ripper" has returned from the dead and is heading right for me. Then I realize he is guarding me from a flying piece of white plastic.

Let me pause for a breed moment--Cardigan's are breed for herding (sheep, cattle, etc), tending or keeping the children in the yard while parents were in the field, and it has been said they would have been set to doing the washing and ironing if they only had thumbs. Importantly, they also were breed to guard the homestead. Now Russ takes his job of guardian of the home fires very seriously. Many have said that if they didn't know he was a mere 30lbs they would take him for a big dog with his bark. So here it is O'ridiculous:39 and he is carrying on like this piece of white plastic is going to kill me dead in seconds. It takes a couple of minutes, and proving that white plastic is harmless and he settles down.

We return to the house where two teenage boys (my son had a friend sleep over) are eagerly awaiting a down home farm style breakfast--waffles, biscuits and sausage gravy, hashbrowns, and bacon. So while I busy myself with this, Russ keeps the world safe from cats. He romps a bit with Sara and tries to get the tennis ball out of the plastic dog puzzle. Life is good.

When we sit down to breakfast, he decides to redecorate. My mother-in-law comments that it is nice to have a dog that takes an interest in the house. Anyway after he pulls his crate to the middle of the floor and takes out the crate cushion. He seems satisfied with the results and moves on.

After breakfast he is ready for his second trip outdoors. It is much warmer so more romping, running, and frolicking. This time he is so excited to be in outside he starts rolling in the grass. He gets completely lost in the activity and rolls right into the sump pump release hole. He is muddy and wet but happy. Being a sturdy herder, he shakes it off and carries on.

He decides that grass is fun and can be ripped and shredded. He runs as fast as he can, stops cold, pulls grass up by the mouthful and shreds it to bits. I initally was horrified by the scene but quickly decided that it was much like when Nick was young--we were raising a kid not a grass farm. I have had a good number of years of beautiful grass and now we are raising a Corgi (soon two) and not grass! May the fun continue!

He is sound asleep now, as once the morning antics are over, he really needs a long nap.