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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…!

Our Dogs’ Love Languages

thThe family’s two Scotties, Misha and Grisha, each have a language all their own.  I’d like to think of them as love languages, yet, sometimes, they’re anything but. 

Take, for example, Misha’s powerful nose hitting me in the back of the knee should I venture into the kitchen and not toss a tidbit his way.  Or Grisha, sitting on the high back of the sofa, up above our heads, falling asleep while slowly sliding down to rest on anyone’s neck, similar to a wrap-around pillow.

Usually, they’re trying to tell us that they want what they want… when they want it.sleeping-dog2

When Benedetto’s out of town, the dogs have a choice where to sleep.  Generally, Misha sleeps curled inbetween my legs, and little Grisha prefers my husband’s legs.  (They give a whole new meaning to early-morning arthritic pain.)  So if he’s gone, sometimes, both of them prefer to be sleeping by the front door, keeping watch over their flocks by night.

let-sleeping-dogs-lie-10Or, Misha may come in with me, and Grisha camps on the soft, squishy seat back of a chair immediately outside the master bedroom.  Occasionally they both come and plop on top of me.  I listen to their snoring (yet another love language), punctuated by heavy sighs and the every-once-in-a-while loud moan.

Twitching and jerking and quiet yelping add to the cacophony thwhenever they’re dreaming.

All that to say, last night neither one of them wanted to come to bed.  They preferred being on the living room couches until about 4:00 a.m. when Grisha the younger leapt up on the bed.  He sniffed around to make sure it was me, and started with the tail-wagging, happy-to-see-you greetings.

39845F62EFD046ADAF9A81B1339778DD.ashx“Grisha!” I whispered.  “Lay down!” I said, patting the blanket between my legs.

He came closer, sniffing my face, loving my minty-fresh morning breath.  He pawed at my arm.  I patted the bed space next to me, in case he wanted to snuggle closer to the pillow.  He kept pawing.

Then it dawned on me.  Maybe he needed to go out.  I wasn’t Dog-in-bedused to his language as much as Misha’s.  If Misha needed to go out and do his business, he would wake me and look straight into my eyes.  I think Grisha was trying to do the same, only they had never coordinated their Scottish Terrier language.

I threw on my robe, and went to get the leashes.  By now, the two Scotties trailed me like the Pied Piper.  Out on the back lawn, they picked up the scent of some creature that made them run this way and that, exactly what I didn’t feel like doing at 4:00 a.m.

426“Do your business!” I urged, while they merrily sniffed here and there for the next 20 minutes.  “Alright, enough, let’s go inside.”

They had tinkled a couple of times, but nothing major enough to warrant this middle-of-the-night jaunt.  I came back to bed, tried to fall asleep for the next half-hour and they walked all over me, trying to get comfortable, deciding to both sleep in the “V” of my legs. 

By 5:45, I had to rise, but the two of them stayed put, happy campers, nestling into the blankets, and letting me know that we all spoke the same love language.

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