Tiger-Pit

Greetings to you all from Tiger! It's been almost a year that he's run the house and he's a real pip. Actually, he's a pit, but "pip" seems to fit him better. And he's one of the funniest dogs we've ever had -- smart, alert, watchful, protective, stubborn and damn funny.

He has a routine -- when he's awake and up in the morning, Debra's awake and up. First, it's the little nails clicking on the floor, then it's that god-damned whining. Covering my head doesn't work -- he jumps up on the bed, pulls back the covers and licks my face, tail thumping and entire body wagging madly. Moan. Groan. He waits by my flip-flops while I stumble around looking for my clothes. First time out, it's just to pee and pick up the newspaper. I can read through a cup of coffee, and then it's time to walk. So, we walk. Back to the house. Now, it's time to get Cliff up (for those of you who don't know, Cliff worked afternoons for many years and hasn't been able to break that strange habit -- 3:00 a.m. to bed; 11 or noonish, up and at 'em). Whimper at the door. Wait. Stamp foot. Wait. Bark. Wait. Wag tail against door. Wait. Eventually it works. Cliff is allowed one cup of coffee and then it's time to play ball. All I can say is I hope he never decides to run away, because neither one of us could catch him. He chases the ball until he's absolutely exhausted and then he's good for the day.

The other evening, we were finishing dinner when the phone rang -- I was in the process of cutting up a few scraps of pork roast to put in his bowl. I went to answer the phone and forgot about my plate on the table. When I got done talking, I walked past the table and remembered, but there wasn't a single piece of anything on the plate -- it was licked spanking clean. I thought I was losing my mind -- had I put the meat in his bowl? Then I realized the chair had been moved to accomodate someone with shorter legs than I (and twice as many), and the plate had nary a scrap of food on it, not even a shadow! I had to laugh -- he had moved the chair so he could get to the plate, and quietly licked it clean while I was on the phone.

We miss Bossman dearly, but this pup has stolen our hearts. A friend says he'll keep us young, but I sometimes have to wonder if my 92-year-old Aunt Nina was right when she said, "A puppy? At your age? Have you lost your mind?" Don't know, Aunt Nina, don't know!