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Destinations, Dreams and Dogs - International adventure with a fast-track family (& dogs) of Old World values, adopting the Russian-Italian-American good life on the go…!

Misha the Stick Slayer

Misha and Grisha, our Scottish Terriers with the Russian names (don’t judge me), have a thing for security.  They fit beautifully with our family, willing to defend us to the death.  Such friends or bodyguards are difficult to find these days.

Anyway, they have an obsession with “securing the perimeter”.  A wayward squirrel that dares to come near our yard, a jetliner crossing our airspace 20,000 feet above, or a stray leaf that blows anywhere near our property line is in for a proper Scottie scolding.

They bellow and bark, letting everyone know that the “big boys” are in charge.

Well, both of them like sticks.  But Misha has a thing for sticks that is beyond normal.  He must slay the stick, as the dragon-slayers of old.  He must conquer the stick, thrashing it soundly, even if it’s five times his size.

The other day, he went to visit a friend’s backyard, running here, running there, both of them informing the neighborhood that they were in town.  Benedetto had removed all balls, pool noodles, toys, any possible item that might catch our little guys’ attention.  And then, Misha spied a stick.

Not just any stick, mind you, it was a huge limb from a tree, practically the tree itself, in relation to his size.  He pounced on it with a flying leap, wrestling it into submission, whipping his head, and the stick, back and forth.  When he was sufficiently satisfied that the stick would cooperate, he put his nose underneath it, pushing it all around the yard, demonstrating who was in charge.

Then he settled down to chomp, chomp, chomp the stick and remove most of its bark, before picking it up again, and dashing ‘round the environs.

He must have ingested the bark.

There we were, late at night, driving back to our own domain, when Misha threw up all over my lap.  With sufficient dog and child experience under my belt, I happened to have my lap draped with a baby blanket for any muddy paws or other eventualities, which I held for the little guy as he began to heave and retch.  Poor baby.  Afterwards, I wiped his beard and comforted him, all in a day’s work.

He sighed, and flopped back down upon me, tired from a long day of overstimulation and travel.  But I think I saw under his bushy eyebrows, before he closed his eyes, that glimmer and twinkle that told me:  slaying the stick was worth it.  We were all safe and sound, and he could now take his rest.

Sweet dreams, Misha.

 

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2 Comments : Leave a Reply

  1. avatar Shelley says:

    Misha looks so fierce with the stick, not his usual dignified self when they pose so nicely indoors. Love their antics! Was Grisha there, too?

  2. avatar admin says:

    Grisha was there, clutching two balls in one mouth. That was after we cleared the yard of any doggy toys-?! Then a next door dog who was very tiny squeezed inbetween the six inches between two parallel fences and barked at both of them non-stop, along with half the other dogs in the neighborhood. Misha is usually quite dignified, it’s true, I’m glad he cleaned up well after a rather muddy and wild experience!

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