Canine intuition

Abby has a sixth sense about her girls. She ranks with Carl among the canine caretaker elite.

Take last night. She was worried sick about Gwennan. Laying at her feet, whining {she is the talking-est dog we've ever owned}. Pawing at me to check on her my baby. So sweet, until...

Gwennan threw up on her, twice.

I wish I illustrated posts, so you could 'see' the scene without actually seeing the disgusting mess {no one should have to see that}. Since I can't even draw crappy pictures, you'll have to use your imagination.

Abby's bath brought our total to 6 showers in 12 hours {feeling fine, but not wishing to be left out, small one dumped her food over her head, twice}.

In case you stopped by searching for spiritual encouragement or a new recipe, they're in the works. Really. I have pictures edited and drafts in the works. But today, I am not in a romantic or creative mood. Blame the all night vigil anticipating another eruption.

If you want to feel bad for us this morning, that's fine. I'll take a little sympathy, just a little. Really, we are fine. Gwenny ate a big breakfast this morning that has blessedly stayed in place. Nobody else feels sick. Here's to an isolated incident.

If not, at least I have a superdog warning system in place. But next time I'll thank her for the head's up, then lock her in another room.

Does everything die?

Big one sits next to me at lunch, her fork pauses over her mac n' cheese. Mother, does everything die?

These are her questions recently, like where do babies come from. I figure it's best to answer her honestly. My "grown up girl" appreciates being taken seriously.

Hoping she's looking for a simple answer, Yep. Everything dies.

Here comes the list:

Do cows die?

Yep.

Do fish die?

Yep. {she should know this from personal experience}

Do people die?

Yep.

She looks around the room, Do dogs die?! I pause. I see where this is going, but she is too quick for me. Will Abby die?!

Me, scrambling, Not for a long time. We'll take good care of her.

Seeing right through me,  But she's going to die. And it will be our fault. I will be sad. I miss her.

More scrambling, It won't be our fault. She's not going to die any time soon. She's fine.

With a fatalistic air, Why did Daddy get me a dog?

I'm ready to give up when small one chimes in, Love Abby! Love my doggie!

That's why Daddy got a dog. Because you love Abby, and she needed a good home.

Big one shrugs, Yep, I love Abby. And her fork plunges back into her mac n' cheese.

Conversation done. She's un-phased. I'm slightly traumatized.

When I introduced Abby, I didn't have much info for you. She is 1 1/2 year old german retrieva-chow* from a local rescue. We'd owned her for a couple days. After a couple weeks.... I feel like we cheated. For $130 and a lengthy interview, we got a house-broken, child-broken, non-chewing, already-trained dog. The only things we have to teach her are to stay in our fence and stay off our bed. Amazing dog! She fits into our home like she's been here the whole time. An answer to years of praying for God to bring along the right dog at the right time. Thanks God!!

*The german retrieva-chow is not yet recognized by the AKC, but I think it could be the next big thing in designer dogs.**

**We have no idea what breed(s) Abby is.