Imperial Buffoon

Today we went to Great Dane Drag-Your-Mom-Around-the-Woods-Until-Her-Biceps-Look-Like-Pythons-and-Feel-Like-Noodles Fun Day.  It really was a perfect day.  The weather was unseasonably warm for October, and the autumn colors added a festive, storybook air to the event -- leaves falling, the smell of an outdoor fire, and a pond too tempting not to splash in.  We met so many lovely people, affirming that Dane owners really are a special bunch -- and glad to now be a part of that privilege.

I think we saw every color, shape, size - all so unique in their appearance and personalities, which made me want to spend time getting to know each of them.  These animals have such a soulful depth in their eyes, like they are the ones being so patient in their teaching of us.  Their strength and power are obvious, but shadowed by the majesty of their demeanor.  Lol, I say that, but giggle when I picture Cash eating socks... or poop.  Try to resolve that dichotomy, would you?

My photography skills were tested and failed miserably while Cash pulled like an 80-lb Wahoo in a deep sea fishing expedition.  I did manage to get a couple of shots that didn't come close to doing justice to the pretty puppies we saw.  We also learned more about this amazing breed to give us lots to look forward to.  First call on Tuesday?  Obedience training.

Maybe just a quick break before I take off again.

EASY , Cash!

It must be tradition... or karma... no, tradition.  Every baby we've had initiates Daddy into parenthood with an injury.  With the kids it was always scratched corneas or a lucky shot between the legs.  With our pets, its been an uppercut to the jaw or even the infamous christening from our Dobie, Apollo.  I had always heard that Dane owners were often accused of being abuse victims because of all the bruises and injuries their clumsy babies cause, and while I have been no exception to this, Daddy got it this time.  When a spirited wrestle got a little rowdy, Cash used his hammer paw to play whack-a-mole with Daddy's face and sliced open the side of his nose.  Thankfully, it didn't need stitches and I think will look as good as new with some Neosporin and a week away from any more hullabaloo.  Maybe we could borrow some sparring gear??  Anyone??

If I told you once, I've told you a hundred times... this is MY chair!

Chew, Chew, Chew...

Just when I thought he couldn't chew any more than he already does... he starts eating the most random, gross, creepy things!  Top of his list is socks - ANY sock, swallowed whole and FAST!  Thankfully... expelled later, but scaring me to death waiting for that pleasant event!  The other fun surprise is when he spits it up in the middle of the night.  You can imagine how vigilant we've all become at sock guarding -- Guerrilla warfare vigilant.  Fur pillows, shoes, shoes, and more shoes, dish towels, rugs, clothes, weeds... and people.  Nothing is safe.  He has toys.  Man, does he have toys, but everything else is just too hard to resist.  Pretty soon, he'll think his name is "Leave it."

When he's all grown up, I'll remind myself how cute and charming this phase was (fingers crossed) and how short it lasted (toes crossed,) but until then... wait, wasn't I just wearing socks?!

Steve Madden?  Whatever, that just makes them taste better!

C'mon, G-Ma!  Is that all you got?!

This pork femur isn't too bad.  I'll humor them for a while, but my eye's on mom's shoes.