Daisy Rescue Dog, Let the Fur Fly # 6

Two steps forward, one step back. Things seem fine, and then the new Jack Russell rescue dog named Daisy attacks the raised-from-a-puppy lab/border-collie/pit bull mix named Pepper. What the fluff? What happened? Things were going so well.
The advantage of having a white dog is that you can see every scratch and bite on it. The skin is so thin in places it’s pink when backlit by the sun, such as the webbing where each leg attaches to the body. I used to think the dogs got along when I’m not home, but then the white Jack Russell stands on the edge of the hot tub, and I see pink scratch marks on her legs and feet.
I’ve had boyfriends like Daisy. Instead of asking they sidle into your life, into your fridge, and into your bed. Yes, Daisy waits till I am in a deep sleep before she slides under the covers, just like a needy boyfriend. I like the ones that wait to be invited, the ones less like a rescue dog.
I still stand between the two dogs when they eat, and if I’m not careful with treats, one or the other bites my fingers, being sure they get it before it drops to the floor. When giving them the core to my apple, I cut it into fourths, tease out the seeds, and deliver the apple pieces airmail, first to Pepper, then Daisy, and repeat.
My sis is away right now, so there is just the one lap to fight over. If I sit in the recliner, Daisy usually gets onto my lap first. But lately Pepper has started asserting herself. She climbs up, Daisy jumps down, Pepper gets settled, and then Daisy comes back up and settles in, her butt on the arm rest, her head under my arm and on Pepper’s body. Now I’ve got over 75 pounds of dog on me. There is no way I am going to stay awake for the hour long show. Before you know it, all three of us are snoring (I imagine, anyway).
When I come home, the dogs go berserk as though I’ve been on a trip around the world, only if it’s been just an hour or two. Whenever the caregivers come over, the dogs treat them like long lost friends in need of a full-blown reunion.
Walks are daily, and the earlier the better. They will not rest until they’ve had one. As soon as Daisy sees her leash she grabs on and shakes it violently, like a child who is too excited. Someday she is going to whack herself in the head with the metal clasp. She’s already gotten me in the shin with it.
I’ve been bitten, scratched, bruised, and bumped by my two dogs. Yes, they are pains in the butt, always underfoot in the kitchen or when I am trying to walk down the hall. Every time I start moving it means a treat, a walk, or something good might be coming their way.
I guess I’m part of the problem. I am too good to them. After all they are indoor suburbia dogs. In a dog-eat-dog world, it doesn’t get any better than that.

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