Biscuit (The picture was shamelessly stolen from Honey’s blog. But then this morning Honey said that I shouldn’t sue her because what’s mine is hers and vice versa. I’m not sure she wants to take credit for some of my brighter shirts, but whatever. Anyway, Biscuit…):

went with us to Honey’s parents’ place this weekend. Biscuit LOVES Honey’s parents’ place. We call it the Ranchito and it’s 90 miles east of us in the “high desert.” Biscuit thinks it’s great for a number of reasons. First, there are the really big hooved dogs she likes to sniff. Second, there are gophers. Third, there are no leashes. Fourth, there’s the golden retriever to dominate. Lately her primary love at the ranchito has been aforementioned golden retreiver’s squeaky toys. I gave Biscuit one of the late great Red’s sheepskin squeaky toys. She immediately started to try to disembowel it. I took it back from her, informed her that it was Red’s and that even though he was dead, she couldn’t just destroy it. I may have cried a little. Red’s passing still makes me really sad.

Anyway, Biscuit thinks the rubber squeaky toys at the ranchito are beyond fab. She squeaks them and squeaks them.

I bought her one. This one:

She heard it when I had an accidental squeak bringing it inside. I gave it to her and she really went to town on it. I made it longer than my mother would have, but finally had to put it up high on a shelf. She sat there looking at it. When I went in the other room, she came in, looked at me and then went back in to stare at it. Then she came back in to look at me, then went back in to stare at it. When Honey shut the door to the room with me and the toy in it, she whined and whined. When honey opened the door and I came out, she went in to stare at the toy some more. She had separation anxiety from a rubber football.

And I, I am mean. I bought it and now dole it out. Still, I like that when I get home tonight, I can give it to her and produce the kind of joy only dogs have. And then I can take away the joy and feel bad. Which is so human. The good news is that I can then give her the joy back. And then take it away again. They say baseball is designed to break your heart (and it does). Spaniel mixes are pretty good at it too.

Still, she’s a pretty fantastic creature. Once more for the awww factor:

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