Dobermann Pinschers – Family Members
Step one. Find the deepest puddle in the yard and scrunch down. Then look for a target to eye ball and entice into the game.
Step two. Keep your cool and wait until your friend is close enough before you make your big move.
Step three. Close enough! Jump up and yell, “Boo!”
Game over. Hold hands, er I mean hold tails and laugh together.
Thanksgiving day was an eventful time at Fort Doberdale.
The main thing I wanted to do was to get my director’s chairs out of the storage shed. When I opened that shed’s doors, OmG! There were rats. It seemed like they were everywhere. So I shut the door and wondered if I could pretend what just happened, didn’t.
Nope.
I called a friend to ask her what she’d do if she wanted her chairs and was suddenly in the middle of the movie Ben. She said she would flush out the Bens and get Ben poison. OK, well, I can’t do the poison thing for the sake of my children, but I could do the Ben traps in little boxes so all I have to do is take the boxes away when they are done.
I wanted my darn chairs, though, and was getting irritated that those rats were in MY shed in the first place. I thought I had gotten rid of them a year ago when they ate all my wonderful and favorite rolling type of luggage. All that wonderful luggage chewed up by those beasts. Now I was really mad.
So I let the dogs come with me and I opened the doors thinking all the rats would be gone in a minute. Uh huh. We had generations of rats living in here. Not likely.
There was even a petrified rat, which is where Raven’s adventure into ratting started and ended. We didn’t see much of her after this picture. She is more into shoving toys into my flesh than doing anything purposeful, like keeping our home safe from predators.
The mama rat was protecting her nest. Note the white vertical blind which goes down from the top story to the next. I watched a rat slide down that blind, right in front of my dogs! They missed it due to looking elsewhere. The sliding rat ran under the shed, but the dogs did follow. Well, up until the point where they couldn’t fit under the shed. These rats set up that whole shed for their complete comfort. The mama rat is peeking out from under one of my director’s chairs.
Next, we have the nest itself. Let me make it clear that an unused director’s chair is in that messed up stinking devoured box. I was the one who had to pull that box off the top of the shelves, and it was not till the point where the first rat in that nest jumped out and across my shoes did I yell.
I’m in south Florida. Do you think anyone so much as blinked an eye or asked “Are you OK over there?” when the woman next door was screaming bloody murder? Nope. Nada. No.
Well, thank goodness for my Rat Posse Inspectors. They got busy checking out all parts of the shed looking for the rats.
Inspector Pippin is the bravest Dobergirl. Really, she is. I’ve seen her swinging a snake by its neck – a snake as long as she! She is probably a German Pinscher. She’s a little – no A LOT – fiestier and hyper about hunting than the average Dobermann. And she’s the smallest Dobie in the Posse.
Here she is with her nose in the nest!
Meanwhile, all my director’s chairs were ruined. I was especially fond of one I had purchased at the Dalmatian Specialty in Anaheim way back in the 80’s. It was ruined, too! It had a Dalmatian type canvas. Oh well. I would have shared a picture, but I didn’t take one due to the fact I was appalled.
Would you look at this one? Some amphibian used it to lay and hatch eggs, for crying out loud! Does the insult ever end?
That’s my stuff! These wild creatures have a whole yard to use. Yet, they have to invade my space and my stuff? That’s what the shrubs, trees, and plants are for.
Listen, I can say that I have a pretty big open space in my heart for wildlife, but this bunch have really gone too far. So when I saw what Bouchard had, well, let’s say I didn’t shed a tear. I took some pictures instead.
I rather doubt the Frenchmann was the Posse member who did the beast in, but he is first in line for capturing these things once they are dead. And rather proudly boasts about being the possessor of these trophies.
Once Bouchard started to chomp it, though, I asked him if I could have a piece, and when he said, “Mais oui,” I scooped it all into the doo-dee bag instead of tasting it. I’m not fond of rat breath. Are you?
Then I removed the nest and whoever else was inhabiting it to the front yard under the ficus hedge. I figure the neighborhood cats have a good ol’ time peesing on my bushes, so let them do some work for that privilege,
and guess what she said when I went out to the front yard to take a photo of the moon?
What else would a cat say? But she’s right on the job. Magnets…rats are cat magnets, I say! I’d have a cat or two except for the obvious reason why I cannot.
Meanwhile, inside the house, at the time I finished fixing everyone’s dinners, we all were quiet and I said Grace. When I say we all were quiet, that’s true. Even Raven! Then an even more amazing thing happened. As I said Grace, on the radio, Judy Collins sang, so beautifully, one song I never hear enough. Amazing Grace. It was such a beautiful moment. And Judy sang throughout the entire time I served dinners…and thensome.
Thereafter, the Queen Mother rested from the exertion. Even when she’s resting, she looks like a super model. Look at this will you? It’s as if there is a breeze passing over her beautiful self.
And Pippin? She will never fill the Queen Mother’s shoes, nor should she. However, she is the resident pip, which is a very important position to hold.
Here is the gorgeous Fort Doberdale Thanksgiving sky…
…and the Thanksgiving moon. Ahhh.
We at Fort Doberdale hope your Thanksgiving day was full of Ahhhs, too.
This morning, Regis leads Baby in the Dober Tango.
Luigi’s current favorite Cuz ball is in everyone’s possession but his.
Baby Diva is sporting coconut hair in her teeth.
Lilian passes by with a reproachful look at Baby’s hairy tooth as if Lilian, queen of hairy teeth, should talk.
So as a retaliatory move, Baby, The Queen Mother, moves Lilian to the “do not touch me” list. This means Lilian is allowed to stand by, hold her ball, and watch the QM play; however touching The QM is forbidden until further notice.
Bouchard licks off Z-snail juice from grass blades.
Luna bird watches.
Bird dog watches.
Such a lovely Dove.
Ginger catches snowflakes. (OK, pretend.)
Raven flung her bells off the door this morning, then she and the herd trampled them. Guess who’s going to be reshaping Raven’s jingle bells this afternoon. The Dobermaid.
And Annie Bananie has been labeled.
Baby, aka The Diva, Mother Superior, and The Queen Mother (QM) was at her best last night. Wow!
The Dobergirl with the QM personality basically wants what she wants when she wants it. Baby has always had that motto. She is the type of girl who will pick and choose her friends and if you are not on her friend list, then you may not touch her. And if you are on her friend list, and she is not in the mood, you may not touch her. If you are on her friend list, she will undoubtedly want to pull your leg. That goes for dogs.
Now she likes humans, and because she is a Diva, she especially likes men. She has embarrassed me more than once with her flirtatious overtures at men.
I used to take her to the dog park, but that stopped when she decidedly chose another family to buddy up with, and no matter how many times I would go over to her to pull her away, she returned to them. I believe this was retribution for something I may have done to her that she was keeping score on. Because I pretty much was picked by Baby to be her mom. She was the one who jumped into my lap when I was sitting on a sofa and she was charging through the door at warp speed. This was before we were even on a first name basis. But we adopted each other and I will tell you I have never had a better puppy than Baby – ever! And especially right now <cough cough>.
Baby was my first Dobermann, though I’d admired them all throughout my life. My mother was afraid of them, so until her passing, I had other breeds. The closest I could get looks wise to a Dobermann was a Dalmatian. I adored my Brandie Girl, but she was not a Dobermann and she was the hardest puppy I ever had. She was a puppy well into adulthood. Seven years into it! I hope to God that Raven doesn’t break her record. Meanwhile, and once I lived with Baby, I found it easy to adopt and Doberparent more homeless Doberkids.
I do have an Aussie, and love her to pieces. She has a more independent intelligence than my Dobies, and a lot more fur.
But Dobies are the stick-to-my-heart kinda dog.
Because of Baby, I am the mother of a lovely family of Doberkids. I would like to point out here, that if I had adopted Raven as my first Doberchild years ago, I would probably, most likely, OK positively not be writing the same story. Raven is definitely one of those … er … I don’t want to say freaks of nature, er … what is it? She’s a Doberanomaly. Yes, that sounds better. But all the Dobies I have adopted are definitely due to Baby’s magnificent influence.
The Dobies, too, have proven consistent to the breed’s intelligent, dedicated, personable standards. (Until you know who.)
So this brings us to last night. Bedtime. It was the first chilly night of the season, and I asked Baby three separate times (that’s 3) to come to bed instead of sleeping on the sofa. She rolled her eyes at me, ignored me, and shifted on the sofa, so I figured it was not going to happen unless I manhandled her, which isn’t a good thing to do if you want to maintain good relations with a QM. So I went to bed and three other smart Doberkids found their way into the warmth of the bed, as well.
Sometime deep in the night, I would say far after midnight, but hours from sunrise, the QM suddenly decides that she DOES want to be on the bed. She barked at me and chopped her ever-flapping jaws. I told her to leave me alone, and just shut up. Yeah, I know. I have nerve. I’m gutsy when I’m sleeping.
This is how the QM looked, but it was darker in the room and she was right at eye-level by my bed. I took these pictures of her this morning when she wanted her Frisbee NOW. Same attitude, different time of day.
We argued. Baby was persistent and I didn’t want to have to rearrange anyone because of her lack of deference to my good judgment previously. But she IS the QM, so I put another plan into action. That plan involved my having to get up out of bed, which I dredded, but I did it for her sake. I put two (that’s right, 2) dog comforters on the floor for her, and I doubled them, so it was a four-comforter thick comfort bed. I thought that was a fine and comfortable compromise, so told her so and went back to bed.
By the time I was tucked in again, Baby was back chopping at me and giving me what for. She was cold and wanted to be on that bed! “Do you not understand me?” says she.
Yeah, I understood her. I apologized to the “lesser” Dobies, and I say that from Baby’s perspective, not mine, but two of them had to evacuate the bed so Her Highness could stretch out upon their toasty-warm spots. I am so certain that in Baby’s mind, the spots were warmed especially for her until she was ready to take possession of the warm spots.
Baby jumped on the bed, the others found the dog blankeys on the floor appropriate for their use and I got back to doing what I was doing earlier. Sleeping!
Baby settled into sleep and dreamed of beautiful Diva-like things.
