I expected Grr to be excited about our trip into the suburbs and visiting with his little cousin Elliot while we stayed with my parents for a couple of days. I just failed to predict the scale of his excitement.
From the moment Grr charged through the front door of their house as if he owned the place, I could see a look of bewilderment in his eyes: space to roam, plushy carpeting, another dog to antagonize, and a quiet cul-de-sac outside with nary a bus or motorcycle, barely even any motor traffic at all. This was everything he wanted: his Eden, his Shangri-la, his Vegas.
Because going outside to pee or poop does not equate to facing an onslaught of sights and sounds, Grr now absolutely can not get enough of the friendlier, quieter outdoors. He purposefully drinks so much he waterlogs himself, then sits by the door, needing to go out every 20 minutes, at which point he'd pee, but also mill about, chew on sticks, and generally goofs off until I chase him back into the house. Heaven forbid I hesitate or flat out ignore the request; the consequences are dire. Grr definitely has the upper hand in this one.
Where Elliot is concerned, Grr acts like the little brother you wish would just leave you alone and develop a life of his own. Where Elliot goes, Grr follows closely behind. Not content with mere proximity, however, he would also bite at her heels as if to herd her, or nip at her cheeks, only to recoil and go into what Sam has coined the "puppy stance" when she responds: butt in the air, front legs down, and a face full of youthful exuberance while awaiting the craved-for attention.
I've always thought that Elliot was not-so-secretly annoyed with Grr, yet if he loses interest or finds a new shiny thing to focus on, Elliot would sashay across the room with a ball in her mouth, sometimes right in front of him, which is more than enough to entice him. Then they'd be off again to the herding, the nipping, the puppy stances and the growling.
In an effort to curb the at-home chaos, Sam and I took them both to a nearby dog park where they chased after balls, each other, other dogs, and riled themselves up to a point where they could barely keep their eyes open during the car ride home.
Of course, as soon as we barely took two steps into the house, they both miraculously recovered, eager to begin another round of their endless game. While they played, all Sam and I could hear were dog tags jingling, guttural growls, and gnashing of toenails on the hardwood floor.
I sat on the couch and marvelled at the sheer collision of dogs. The frenetic energy was just about all I could bear when miraculously, Elliot jumped up beside me and Grr did not follow suit. Instead, he trotted over to the rug, paced in a tight circle and plopped himself down.
And then it was quiet. Unfathomable peace, as if the last half an hour was the storm before the calm. I looked at Sam, not quite believing that we could actually exist in the same room with these two and still hear ourselves think and breathe.
I risked disrupting this delicate balance by sliding down on the couch and laying down. The silence just begged me to take a nap in it. I propped one leg gently on Elliot's back, smiled, and woke up an hour later to Sam saying, "Check out this video of three sleepy pups!"
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