Our pretty, peculiar, puzzling, and perpetually attention seeking Phoebe…
If ever there were an example of a dog who doesn’t fit the mold, our Phoebe is it.
** She loves uncooked angel hair pasta. Adores it. She’ll delicately take the noodles from your hand and scurry away to crunch her heart out. But pick them up off the floor if they tumble while being broken into the pot? Absolutely not. That just wouldn’t be right.
** Phoebe is the first dog we’ve had who lives for love and praise. Sure, she’ll accept a treat if they’re being passed out, but that’s not what motivates her. Cuddles and “good girl!” is what this one craves.
** She’s no pushover. (Though the people who’ve seen her launch her bundle of butt wagging joy into their laps might disagree.) Phoebe’s willing to love you, but when she first came home she was a bit…let’s call it wary. She and T-man had a few run ins while he learned her personal boundaries – again, personal boundaries for a dog – but she adores him beyond all reason now.
** I’m not a short girl. I’m solidly 5’5″, but when Phoebe’s excited about getting outside she easily clears my chin with her pogo stick imitation. Want a challenge? Try to unlock and open a door while a dog springs up and down between you and the doorknob.
** Phoebe knows how to throw down some serious drama when one of us goes out of town. She’s mournful. Clingy. Always on edge, listening for her missing human to come home again.
** A couple of months ago we began feeding Phoebe separate from Gracie. Not at different times, but they eat in entirely different rooms. Phoebe eats at a snail’s pace, dog-wise, and Gracie inhales her food. In all honesty Phoebe was plain old tired of having Gracie up her a** while she nibbled in her bowl. I empathize – I hate to eat with someone hovering over my shoulder, too – so it seems perfectly reasonable to give her space for meals. Although now that I write it out, this does sound a little diva for a dog.
** There’s no other way to say it: this dog completely and utterly loses her sh*t if someone enters the house while I’m sleeping. That doesn’t sound like a bad thing until you factor in the detail that I enjoy an afternoon nap, and it isn’t unheard of for my kids to bring a friend in for one thing or another. There’s nothing like bolting upright from a dead sleep to the sound of Cujo attacking the door.