splish splash!

So, if you haven't been watching the news, it's rained here. Alot. After the squalls subsided, Wolf and Kire and I hopped in the car to investigate. We walked about two closed fjords in the parks and wondered at the speed and power of the river water that dragged along large tree trunks as if they were little twigs. Kire, hesitant at first (Basenjis hate water) decided she liked the after-rain smells as well as licking the water off the ground (which we tried to discourage, especially close to the river where the water was ... less than desireable ...).

We walked a little ways on the trail, and after a while Kire decided she didn't want to behave at all and was in tracking mode, so I picked her up on my shoulders and carried her across my neck like the natives do (see picture below). My decision to do was was well timed, as we soon passed a large, feisty Rottweiler that Kire certainly would have wanted to engage in an argument of sorts (Craig noticed that, though she didn't squirm from her post, her hock certainly rose). Further on we passed a gentleman walking his beagle who asked "What kind of dog-walking is that?!" I explained that it was "she's not behaving" dog walking.


History of the Basenji

So we got home, and both of us needed a bath, so I changed into a swim suit and prepared for the worst. In the shower she twisted and wriggled and pushed and pulled and finally realized she wasn't going anywhere until I was satisfied, and stood snuffing while I washed and rinsed. Then, trying to dry her, she kept walking off and shaking (and let me tell you, that curly tail straightens out when she shakes and slaps me in my legs and it leaves marks, it's like a whip!).

So now I have a tired, yet clean, Basenji girl. I was afraid she was going to start thinking of the bathroom as a 'torture' room, but after our battle was finished, she walked right back in without a problem. *breaths a sigh of relief*.

Nosey

So The Puppy can, at times, be absolutely wonderful and amazing and then a moment later be very very naughty.

She's decided that her belongings include not only the purple dragon and fleece camel squeak toys, but also the bed as well as my boyfriend's parents. She'll be nice and affectionate and happy with his parents, and then suddenly snap at them. She also growled at him a couple times when he came to say goodnight (although then she may have thought she was protecting me -- or the bed -- from some tall, dark, scary monster that ate her daddy's body). The bed thing we have figured out; if she growls at him, she spends the night in the crate. If she doesn't, she's rewarded by getting to spend the night with me (she's a pillow hog, by the way). As for The Boyfriend's parents, we're still working on it. We could have over-stimulated her when we brought her home, maybe giving her too much freedom too soon, and now we have to backtrack. We'll see. It's currently a work in progress.

She got a boo boo the other day; I noticed the tip of her nose was slightly bloody. Not enough to warrent a panicked, emergency trip to the vet's, but enough to make us wonder. We figured she had just scraped it on the bottom of the fence while eating grass. Well, today I found the REAL reason (I think). During dinner, I had put her in her crate, along with her food. She'll often howl and cry (as some upset Basenjis are wont to do), but she was yapping. Now, Basenjis don't bark, the closest they come is a sort of rounded yapish noise, or singular woofs. The fact that she was doing it in short succession made me wonder ... I found her nose again bloodied, and the inside of her crate smeared with it, along with numerous scratch marks. She didn't act hurt, quite the contrary; she seemed determined to get at whatever had hidden behind the wall behind her crate! Hunter indeed! We'll see if moving the crate solves the problem, but I'm definately calling the breeder tomorrow to see if there's anything else I can do!

And now for a funny and harmless anecdote; I was sitting on the bed reading Ella in Europe, a novel by Michael Konik about his six-week adventure taking his lab/greyhound mix around the European continent and examining the differences between American and European customs and habits regarding 'El Canidae'. Kire was loose in the room, sometimes curling up to lay by my side like a little brindle deer, other times grabbing up her fleece camel and subjecting it to a thurough beating. She'd throw it around, or nudge it with her snout, and then open her mouth wide and try to get as much of the toy in her teeth as possible, pulling back her jowls until there was more fleece than fur, doing all of this while trying to avoid squeaking it.

Yes, I do believe she hates the sound of the squeaker. She loves these toys, but plays with them in such a way that their beautiful SQUEAK -- SQUEAK is never heard. Reversely, if I or my boyfriend hold it out and squeak it continuously, she's all ears and eyes and trying to follow it and snatch it away so she can silence the dreaded noise! We'll weave it over our heads and behind our backs, handing it off to each other as she follows just one whisker behind, determined to tear it from the possession of two highly annoying humans and shut it up, if not forever than just for a little bit.

I should have realized something was up; the first fleece toy I gave her is all but destroyed, but the squeaker inside is left intact.

She's my silly girl, my little Miss Priss!