Rudy and I spent the weekend "babysitting" for Auntie Sandy's two pups. Well, they're not exactly pups. Rudy is still the pup. They actually are more like older cousins and they allowed us entry into their domain. I don't think they'd take too kindly to the "babysitting" word.
Aunt Sandy was in Kansas getting her boychild married off. He really is a catch, Ashley, no matter how crazy he might tell you his mom is.
This is Carmel. Carmey for short.
She is the ruler of the little kingdom. Rudy followed her everywhere, much to her annoyance. She would probably be surprised to find out that it was actually a kind of hero worship with a bit of "She's my human, not yours!" thrown in. By Sunday, Carmey was actually tail wagging with Rudy. Given another day or two, they might have even played tug with the rag bone. Maybe. Carmey may just be too cool to play with babies.
For most of the weekend, though, Carmey wanted on my lap or as close to it as she could get when my knitting needles were going. But then, of course, so did Rudy.
Because of her low tolerance for the kid, she usually gave up and went to the end of the couch. Poor girl. I tried. I really did, Carmey. What are you going to do?
This is Scooter. He has issues. Not of his own making.
Both Carmey and Scooter are rescue dogs. That's right. They rescued Auntie Sandy and Uncle Don from a petless life. But before that, Scooter may have been abused. He is just now, after several months, starting to let me pet him on my terms. OK. Maybe still on his terms. But he does let me pet him and I even got a smooch or two this weekend. (Sorry Cuddle Buns.) He curled up in my lap once before Rudy caught on. Scooter spent much of the weekend here:
Burrowed under his blankie. Beats competing with a little rat-like thing that doesn't even want to use the doggy door.
PS...I had a great weekend knitting and reading and being quiet and dog wrangling. And eating chocolate chip cookies.