Life With the Boys

by Steve on February 27, 2008

Three labs in the backyard can be challenging in many ways. Getting out the gate alone, getting in the door alone, handing out treats while maintaining a ten digit count, and keeping your boots clean. Lately though things have become strange. Something is in the air. Literally.

Hormones, pheromones, something’s up. The black dog, a road rescue of questionable lineage, was neutered at an early age so he’s clueless. And apparently he’s not emitting something that should clue the other two hounds into certain anatomical facts. Poor bastard. In a disturbed Pavlovian response he now sits with the speed of a whip whenever he senses a nose approaching his backside. If pushed beyond his limits of tolerance, he erupts into a Tasmanian devil spin attack.

The old man is continually sniffing and whining while Moose, the two-year old linebacker, is bristled up like a porcupine. When Moose gets tired of pacing around all spooled up he goes into invisible mode. He shoves his head behind a chair oblivious to the fact that his other eighty pounds are totally exposed and often in the way. He can’t see anyone else and therefore nobody can see him. I’ve learned not to argue with a hormonally spiked, steroid enhanced canine right up until the point where I have no choice but to re-establish my position as the pack leader. The big one, he doesn’t like to be scolded much less pinned to the deck in a half-nelson. Sends him straight back to puppy-hood and he retreats to the safe zone he knew when he weighed in at fifteen pounds: right between my feet. There’s something unnerving about a brown Labrador Retriever the size of a Shetland pony convinced that he can hide between your legs. If you’re not ready for it he’ll take you down to the ground.

Somewhere within sensory range of my labs there is a bitch in heat.

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