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Likes: 2-hour belly rubs, chasing squirrels, and other live squeeky toys, digging, rolling in especially smelly things.
Pet-Peeves: Mom going on and on and on about how great Poodles are. Instead of whining, I've joined the ranks. LONG LIVE POODLES! POODLES ROCK!
Favorite Toy: Anything I can dismember. Although since Holly has lost interest in toys, some of the joy has gone out of them. I still destuff them and arrange the stuffing in an artistic manner.
Favorite Food: Salmon. Although fresh rainbow trout is a good second.
Favorite Walk: Anywhere there are tall grasses to hide in or squirrlies to chase up trees.
Best Tricks: Playing dumb. I've got mom thinking I'm too stupid to do tricks. So Holly does the tricks, I share the treats. Pretty sweet.
Arrival Story: Well, I used to be with another family in Montana. But one day, the little beast I was living with got too rough so I snapped at him. Next thing I knew I was in Doggie Jail. I tried to explain it wasn't my fault, I was pushed too far, but no one really believed me. This nice lady came and walked me for a while, and then decided to take me home. I was so grateful I would do anything for her. I did not really understand why she was upset when I jumped from the floor to the top of the dining room table. I was soo happy I leapt for joy - I just couldn't stand there on the floor any longer. I knew I had found a great person to care for me the first time we met a toddler together. I was so scared I ran and hid behind her legs and shook. She said she'd protect me and over the years my fear has left me. It has taken me a while to figure the rules out here - like no jumping on the tables and Holly First - but slowly I'm learning just how to twist both of them around my tail. Life is so good I just love everyone - so please pet me. (engaging cute poodle stare) Pet me. Pet me. (engaging smart poodle nose-to-hand nudge) Come on, You can Do it. Peeeeet Meeeee.
Bio: Editor's Note: I have to say that Dawson is really a gentlemanly dog. He is so careful about where he places his feet and tries so hard to keep out of my way. As to how he gets those two hour belly rubs - he waits until you're distracted - reading a book, watching a movie. Then he lies next to you (on the couch of course), places his head on your knee and sighs. So you stroke him. Meanwhile, he's performing advanced calculus in his head to determine the optimum position of his belly relative to your stroking motion. Once that is figured out, he rolls over and wiggles into position. So, now there is no stress to your arm and his belly fur is soft, silky and does not tangle. Plus, there are soft sighs and quiet grunts and moans that keep you motivated to pet the belly. If you stop, he lies still and waits. You will be back. Next thing you know, you have spent the last two hours rubbing his belly. And he thinks I think he is stupid. Dumb Dog.
Forums Motto: Later inner poodle, it's MY belly rub.
The Groups I'm In: ***I"M*A*MUTT*&*PROUD*OF*IT***, ♥All Fur Fun♥, DAWGS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN!, Welcome Waggin' for Dogsters and Catsters, Counter Surfing Brigade, Fetch!, Lacy Belly Rubbers, Pawsome Pages, Pet-O-Nomics, Poodleville University, President Isabel's Animal Abuse Commission, Samuel Jacob's Pals, Sassy and Rusty's Wedding Group, Second Bananas Unite!, The Isabel White House, The Whomping Willow, Yappy Hour!
Isabel/Isobel '05: Secretary of Belly Rubbin'
Secret Pet Agency ID:
Secret Dogster Crush: Rosie. I will wait for you, my Lovely MountainRose.
Somehow, when my back was turned, okay so I was probably zoned out getting a belly rub, a vote was taken about whether or not a new puppy should be brought into the home. Apparently, when the votes were counted the answer was unanimously yes. I don't remember voting. Did I miss the poling date? Was there election fraud? Who stuffed the ballot box?
This morning started normally. Mom woke up late and rushed to get dressed. She didn't even make coffee, so I knew she was running late. She pushed me out for a quick pee and then ran off. She was gone for hours. When she finally gets home, who do I see trailing after her but this wee little red thing, looking like a chicken mcnugget with legs. What does Mom say then? "Oh, look Dawson! This is Ginger. She's your new sister."
WHAT!????? Hey Mom! I seem to recall something about my Only Dog Status. You know that it was supposed to be inviolate. Your lap was supposed to be solely available for me until further notice. What on earth am I supposed to do with this wee thing? You won't let me eat it. I snuffled it pretty good, and it doesn't smell very tasty. It smells like puppy pee. And what is this about it being allowed on the bed? It doesn't like belly rubs, does it? WHAT?!!!! It loves them?
**brushing off old want ad while grumbling***
WANTED: NEW OWNER. Must expel other dogs from household upon adoption. No Cats. No Camping. Will need to pass belly rub test. If you can't hack two hours rubbing a belly, don't bother.
Okay, Mom promised me I could be an only pup once my sister decided to go up and terrorize everyone at the bridge. I've had to adjust, and it isn't easy. I mean, Holli ran this household with an fluffy tail and an iron paw. I've claimed the bed, it's now my favorite place to nap when Mom's at work. The other night, she changed the sheets for me, and I hopped up smack into the middle of the bed, rolled over on my back and demanded belly rubs. Perfect Top Dog Behavior, right? Mom LAUGHED at me! Then she ran to get the camera, and well, I had to go see what she was doing... didn't I? And when we go for walks, I do my best to boldly lead where I want to go. March right off to the best place to do my business when I hear "Uh-uh, Dawson. Not the flower bed." I know Top Dogs don't let others decide certain things for them, but ... when I move away she says "Oh what a good boy! You're Awesome!". If I ignore her she gets this sharp edge to her voice and growls "Daaawwwwson!" and when I look at her she says "Come here, bud." So I go over, and she hugs me and I melt. Holli used to demand biscuits everyday, and I'd get my share. Now, Mom sometimes notices the cookie jar on the counter and says "Oh, yeah. Biscuits. Here Daws." I'm hopeless. I just can't stop myself from wanting to please her. I think I'm going to have to go rest my head on her knee and demand some quality pets. That is if she isn't too busy...
Okay, I got used to the fact that Mom would go get poodle puppy kisses every now and again. I've met Buddy and he is a cute kid, and respectful of his elders so it's okay if Mom gets kisses from him. It's really quite flattering to have this little brown and cream puffball trying to imitate me and the things I can teach him! But this past week Mom has gone overboard. Totally overboard.
I can understand wanting to rescue that little black kittie we saw loose in the neighborhood. I can understand making it a shelter, buying it treats, buying it toys, buying it more toys, and buying it more food. That's okay. I draw the line when Mom cuts short MY walk because she spies the kitty in the woods and wants to befriend it. I draw the line when she drags me away from the kitty food that I am snacking on claiming it's not mine. If Mom bought it and Holli doesn't want it, it's mine. Period. That darn kitty, which Mom has named Star, has to learn it's place in the pecking order. Okay, it's cold out and I don't want the kitty to freeze or anything so I'll let that pass.
I WILL NOT TOLERATE THE FRENCH KISSES BY A DOXIE NAMED ERNIE NOR THE ATTACK KISSES BY SOME GOLDEN LAB NAMED FREDERICK. That is just going to far. Those two pups are stealing my belly rubs. It's just not fair! I've been to the theatre, I was good, why don't I get to go back again? Huh? Why not? Because Frederick or Ernie are there. Mom gets kisses from them and ignores me. I'm going to go find the phone number for the Animal Cruelty Hotline. Perhaps she'll be fined to at home jail time and be forced to give my belly the rubbin' it deserves.
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