"How could this little puppy possibly be the Terror of Tiny Town?" you might ask. Well, she says, "Spunk! I has it!" She's only 8 weeks old and I taught her to "sit" today in about five minutes. She already wears a big girl collar and walks on a leash, and today learned to climb almost to the top of the stairs to the second story.
But in between, she's tear-assing around the house and garden in a peeing and drinking and chewing frenzy! It's been 10 years since I've had a pup and I've forgotten how they are. Or I'm that much older, and it's exhausting me.
Here she is, already learning to drive, for crying out loud! We went up to Montana, near Missoula where the breeder has a 60,000 acre cattle ranch. We had the luxury to choose between two brown females. We chose Myshkin because she seemed "calmer." Hah! The breeder must've had her on Doggie Downers because when we got her home (after a two-day drive) she hauled ass doing figure eights like a crazy girl!
Here she is, fooling everyone with her demure, introspective face. I put up furniture and cardboard and a kiddie gate today in order to finish my editor's edits on my current manuscript while keeping one eye out for the Terror of Tiny Town. I'm sure I missed a few edits because it was nearly impossible. I can put her in her crate but she screams blue murder. Our neighbor was all "What was all that noise last night?"
Here she looks exactly like my dearly departed Ishmael at the same age. Exactly. Except Myshkin has a little white splash on her chest. Look at that devious face. She says, "Impishness! I has it!" Stay tuned for the next chapter in the saga of Tiny Town.
