My New Puppy, The Notorious RBG

Before I can say much if anything, the lady starts talking about the beautiful merles she has ready to go.  Show-quality bitches.

Looking for a male, I told her.  Guessing by the look of dejection on her face, that particular color dog is more pricey.

Oh, she says.  Then brightens.  I do have one male tri-color, my husband likes those best.

She hollers into a door and moments later, this little blackish puppy is racing around the room, nose to the floor like a vacuum.

What I really really want is a free merle miniature bull terrier.  But I am sitting there and looking at this baby canine and I am thinking, he is perfect.

Well? the lady asks.  All depends on price and permission, I tell her.  She tells me what he costs and my wife gave me the okay.

We call him Ragnar, after the greatest of all Vikings.  Officially, Ragnar Brother Gonzo.  The Notorious RBG.

Code name: Swagger.

Day One.  Can’t get up the steps.

Day Two.  Can’t get down the steps.

Day Three.  Up and down.  Up and down.  Up and down.

The first night, you put together an old man and an eight-week-old dog, you have to expect some whimpering.  The puppy made some noise, too.

Second night, the old man didn’t try to read.  The whimpering stopped after the light went out.

Third night, a Monday night, the Buccaneers played like poop, so they stayed up late.  Just him and the puppy.

The next night, the old man left the light on.  Read a complete chapter.  No whimpering whatsoever.

Then there’s The Curious Case Of The Disappearing Ice Cube.

In the early stages of raising one of life’s greatest dogs, it’s a full-time job and I treat it that way.  In the late stages of life, it takes two old people to do the work.  So, we spend a lot of time just watching him.  He has the most expressive eyes and I like to imagine I can read his mind.

Thinking Ragnar is either an idiot or a genius.  Too soon to tell.  Like many of us.

“It was right there just a minute ago.  Remember I left it in that spot.”

As the puppy’s head whipped back and forth, eyes wide in surprise and confusion- a frequent expression, to be honest – you could just hear him talking to himself.  I am guessing he had never seen an ice cube before.  Good guess.  Summer in the sub-tropics.  He’s not yet nine weeks old.  Lot of things he hasn’t seen.  Like that lizard!

Ragnar loves an ice cube.  He loves the cool, fresh taste, and the slipperiness, too.  But he does not yet understand where they go to hide.

Tough to stay focused.  He turned his back for a few minutes and – imagine John Belushi outside Dean Wormer’s office – he is hopping up and forth, where did that ice cube go?

Ironically, his young bladder seems the same size as that little vanishing block of fun.