"Working Dogs"

Dave and I cannot say enough good things about our local vet, the South Davis Vet Center. Everyone there treats our dogs like their own pets and they are genuinely happy to see "the pies" whenever they come. In fact, on the off occasion when I bring only one dog in for a shot or something, they always ask "aw, why didn't you bring darling Sweet Potato (or Rhubarb) Pie also?"

The veterinarians are the most wonderful people you'd ever hope to meet. Instead of insisting that the dogs be up on the exam table (where they are freaked out and scared), the vets happily plop themselves down on the floor with me and the pooches for the whole visit. These are seriously my kind of people.

Last time Dave took the pooches to the vet for check-ups, the vet commented on how great the dogs look. He said "wow, now these must be working dogs." Since we have border collies, "working" of course means dogs employed to herd livestock all day. Ha! Dave asked why he thought they were working dogs and the vet said it was because they are so fit and thin--not overweight with poorly defined muscles like most family dogs. Beaming with pride like a proud papa, Dave came home and shared this hilarious encounter with me. I, of course, beamed at our pooches and then laughed my butt off.

Our dogs are NOT working dogs...unless you consider hoarding toys, snuggling on the couch, and chasing tennis balls "work." Unlike most families, I suppose, we keep to a strict feeding schedule, make sure they get plenty of exercise at the park every day, and limit their treats. (Our pooches actually only get treats when they get baths...and that's to say, not often.) Some people hand feed their dogs treats constantly, but we don't. Partly because we don't graze on snacks ourselves and partly because we're in the habit of rewarding the dogs with attention and snuggles instead of food.

So the running joke in our house now is "humph...working dogs indeed!"

Here's Ruby hard at work, hoarding her toys so brother can't play with them. She has two raw hide chewwies, a bone, a dinosaur, a rubbers newspaper, and an otter. Can we say spoiled?And here's a series of pictures of Potatoes from Saturday. Every morning after he eats breakfast and goes potty, he makes a bee-line straight back to bed, where's he'll remain for a couple of hours. And yes, he's in our bed using our pillows as a nest. I'd like to point out that he rearranged all those pillow himself to get them the way he wanted for optimal snoozing conditions. (There's a reason they say border collies are the smartest dogs in the world!)

Potatoes at 12:20pm:
Potatoes at 1:40pm:
Potatoes at 2:30pm:
Can we say spoiled? Nah!