Anyway, one fine day he meandered down our street and our mother pulled out a camp chair and a bag of mozzarella string cheese and lured the little critter inside the fence, whereupon our dad shut the gate. But that dog wasn't going near any of the humans and didn't care all that much for we perros piraticus either. It was dark and getting pretty cold before our dad coaxed him into the house, which by now was filled with people for a Christmas celebration. Little Dweezil (that wasn't his name yet) settled right in on a couple of laps. The rest of us were a little aggravated by his special treatment---we NEVER got string cheese snacks and on that particular night we were confined to the Nargle because of the dinner party. I mean, we are dogs and have been known to mooch food.....
|Dweezil thinks he's just adorable|
|Petey Pablo aka Pablo Frijoles aka Pobster the Lobster|
That is, as long as our dad doesn't 1) raise his voice at us (we're dogs--there's the occasional mistake on the floor in the hall or by the kiva fireplace); 2) try to put one of his baseball caps on Dweezil's head (the rest of us are used to it; dad would never hurt one of us); 3) wear one of the plaid flannel shirts mom gets him at Christmas (he has three: Dress Campbell, Dress Stewart, Black Watch); 4) let the dogfood bag rattle while he takes it out to the garbage ( or rustles any other paper for that matter). Any of these puts Dweezil right into a tail-spin; he shakes, his ears get inside out, and he immediately rolls over into the submissive position. All we can figure is they must remind him of someone/thing when he was on the road. But he does have a classic howl, although he doesn't do that as much as he used to, which was every time a locomotive blew his horn at the crossing down the road. We figure it's because he's accepting his new life as a pirate dog and eventually he'll get over the rest of his phobias too. And you humans think we dogs don't remember----HA!!!
|Dweezil the Dancer|