Saturdays are grand

My mother has two German Shepherds and loves them to death. Appropriately, they love her back just as much. Every Saturday morning, rain or shine or snow or apocalypse, she takes them to tracking training, and they romp about in a field trying to learn to follow by scent, and also acquire the discipline of performing a controlled bite on a protective sleeve.

The older of the two, Fenris (picture left above), was a pound puppy lucky enough to be adopted by an experienced dog breeder who always dreamed of having German Shepherds. His life was pretty much perfect, until my mother acquired a second German Shepherd, whom she named Cairo, and who boasts a damn fine pedigree. Fenris is jealous—undeservedly so, as my mother still coddles him like the gangly dweeb he is. (My mother is great at coddling gangly dweebs.) The following anecdote, narrated by my mother herself, should illustrate the intensity of Fenris’s jealousy.

Saturdays ARE grand. Just got home. Let’s see. I took Fenris because when I was in the yard getting ready to leave with Cairo and Fenris was looking out your window and crying, I stupidly called out “Hier!” to Cairo (since he very much needs the practice). So. Fenris got to come because any dog that comes through a glass window to get to me when I say “Hier!” deserves attention.

Are these guys hardcore or what? In other news, Cairo the runt graduated to a soft sleeve today, and he got to take a pillow prize home with him for training during the week.

If that picture doesn’t make you giggle and shake in adoration of its cuteness, you have a medical problem.

I hope your Saturday was as grand—though hopefully less disastrously eventful.