Dawg did a “first” recently: he threw up while wearing the muzzle. So now we know for certain that the muzzle works just the way it’s supposed to — all the yuk fell out through the open cage and didn’t impede him in any way. Well, except for one thing. He’d just had breakfast, so the pile still looked like dogfood. Dawg’s been known to re-scarf in such a situation, unless he’s actually feeling sick. In this case, the muzzle prevented that from happening (not that he didn’t try!) — another reason for him to wear it.
We’ve had a change of situation with the groomer. Because she’s taken on extra work at a new Pet Day Care Center, she really can’t keep coming by our house for half a day just to groom Dawg. So we’ve set up a deal with her to groom him there. Apparently he can be kept isolated from the other dogs and people. And since she’s the only groomer there, we don’t have to worry about him taking a chunk out of some poor assistant. I hope this works out. It’s good for his socialization to get out and about, even if his contact with others is limited. At least he’ll get to experience lots of new and different smells, and that’s really important to a dog.
Right now he’s acting all sheepish. I finger-poked him in the haunch the other day while he was watching the cat. I’d been trying to get his attention so I could brush him and he was studiously avoiding me. But when I poked him, he spun around in place, growled deep in his throat, and opened his mouth all at the same time. It was obvious that whoever had spoiled his fun was going to get bit — until he saw that it was me. I just glared at him and he hunched down onto the bed and pretended to be real sorry. In fact, it’s been a couple of days and he’s still acting chagrined. All my ex-wives have always said that I have a really deadly “evil eye” and I guess Dawg agrees. It’s not something I do on purpose. It comes as natural as breathing, and has prevented more than one barroom brawl. For some reason, not even a drunk will bother me if I’m already in “a mood”.
Strangely enough, in spite of what you might think, I didn’t learn it from my jerk of a father. But my mother had a look that would slap you to the floor from across the room. She was young when her mother died, and she had to raise a family of older brothers pretty much on her own. I guess she learned to use what tools she had.
I remember one time I was visiting my brother in Arkansas (the one who died last year). We stayed up late, drinking beer and swapping stories. We were both at least “half in the bag” when my wife interrupted something I was saying and apparently I glared at her. My sister-in-law giggled and said to my wife, “I see yours has got it too: ‘the look’.”
My wife nodded and said, “Yeah, but it’s all bark and no bite. I don’t pay it no mind.” At that point I laughed and added, “For goodness sake, woman, don’t go giving away ALL my secrets!” When I told the story to my sister, her husband spoke up and acknowledged that she keeps him in line with “the look” and he’s a retired full-bird colonel! Come to think of it, my daughter-in-law mentioned that my son has it as well. I guess it’s genetic.
It’ll be interesting to see how long it works on Dawg. He’s pretty good at figuring out when something’s all bark. I just wish he was.