Touch me baby one more time

Hannah and Dante are opposite ends of a spectrum. In fact, if they were people I might say they had some kind of… disorder.

Hannah doesn’t like to be touched, except by specific people, and then often in limited quantities. She is a great dog, except I can’t snuggle up to her and pet her. Sometimes, she both wants and doesn’t want to be touched, such as when somebody is smacking her butt. She likes to have her face scratched when I come home but that’s enough, thank you. And I’ll admit for honesty’s sake that I’m not one of her favored touching people; noooo, I only feed her and play with her and let her go outside but it’s the long-lost pack members she loves to cuddle with.

Dante, on the other hand, really likes to be touched. It’s been hard teaching him ‘Move’ as a command because while Hannah got the message after being pushed aside a few times, Dante’s all, ‘ooh touching touch me more  yes please’. Even pushing him aside roughly brings him back for more. He loves to stick his head wherever my hands are, meddling with whatever I’m trying to do, whether that’s typing or digging through laundry for some clean socks. He’s far more underfoot than Hannah because hey! accidentally being kicked means he was TOUCHED.

When they’re dozing on the floor, they’ll slowly move in little circles, as Dante scooches closer to Hannah and Hannah wriggles away.

Excuse me, Dante’s found me. His tongue is dangerous on a keyboard!

Everybody, pay attention…

It’s nice to know that when I use my ‘freak my shit out’ voice, the dogs pay attention.

I wasn’t actually freaking my shit out, but I was close, after a long day running errands and feeling more pregnant than usual. Full of anxiety about the state of the house and the money situation. Overall, the people who live with me should be very glad that they were not present or I almost certainly would have given them one of my painful little lectures on how we need to Get Stuff Done.

It was a nice day, so I left the front window open a bit when I left for errands. When I came home, Dante was so excited to see me, he knocked the screen out. Luckily the window was just high enough that he resisted the impulse to leap out and race around. Which surprised me, honestly; when he was younger (much younger, back in Kirkland), he leapt down from at least that high once.

This was not the trigger of the almost-freaking-my-shit-out. No, it was muddy feet again and the dogs racing inside past me later without the usual pause to have their feet wiped. I shrieked and they both turned and returned to me like boomerangs, all licky and eager to show me I was boss.

Dog Voodoo

When Hannah was younger (and to some extent now) she would respond to our absence by hiding food and precious things (to her) in our bedroom. She seemed to believe that we’d left because the den wasn’t nice enough. And sure enough, if she acted this way, we’d come back. Magic!

Dante has always been deeply interested in clothing, especially pants, but also other garments. He is interested in them on and off the human form. He pays keen attention and notices changes to garments.

I think I’ve figured out why.

People who wear pants have the knowing of how to open doors. And acquire fresh cold water. And dogfood. But mostly, all the doors open for people who wear clothes. Magic! I’ve caught him dragging off clothes I was about to put on before detouring to the bathroom, all the way down to the front door. He’s always very interested in the dressing ritual, practically encouraging it when he’s locked in the bedroom with me.

Clothes, it seems, are Power.

In other Dante news, he loves snow. He really loves snow. It provides him with endless hours of amusement.