Angus' grand day out

Angus, photographed by Leslie Plesser / Shuttersmack.

Angus' hind legs are slightly bowed, and when he walks, he struts. Doug says he swaggers like a Civil War general, and he has taken to calling him Angus S. Grant.

Yesterday morning (as you recall) began with Angus S. Grant full of piss and vinegar. In his first half-hour of being awake he ripped up some paper (authorized), peed in the bathroom (unauthorized) and knocked over Doug's morning glass of orange juice (absolutely unauthorized).

At ten we put his little red harness on him, stuffed him in the car crate (which he will be outgrowing all too soon) and drove four blocks to puppy class. Angus is now big enough to walk that distance, but geez Louise it was eleven below zero, so we drove. In the car, he is somewhere between Rosie and Riley. Rosie hops into her crate and is perfectly silent no matter how far we go or how many bumps we hit; she is content and there have been times when halfway up the Shore I have suddenly turned to peer into the crate just to make sure she is really still there.

Riley was terrified, for 16 years he was terrified, every time he went in the car. He stood and panted and could never relax.

Angus endures the crate but lets out little squeaks from time to time, just to let us know that he is not enjoying this.

It was a busy class--meeting other dogs nicely, practicing the name game, practicing sit, learning a new command (or trying to learn it): down, as in lie down, which at this moment he still does only randomly. But it's the long game.

For everything he does in class, he gets a treat: we had been using his kibble as treats, but this time we added Charlee Bears and some kind of soft thing that allegedly tastes like bacon. So he was full of food and starting to belch by the time we went home.

In early afternoon, back to the crate--time for the Leslie Plesser / Shuttersmack photo shoot!  Leslie is an old friend from Strib days; she left there about five years ago and started a photo business, which has quickly become very successful. One of her specialties is pet photography, and she had offered to photograph Angus for free because he is so adorable. (I assume that's why. Or maybe because we are friends.)

As we bounced along the potholed streets to Minneapolis, we heard little chirps and moans coming from Angus' crate and then, a mile or so from the Shuttersmack studio---there is no delicate way of saying this---a loud, thorough vomit sound, followed by a cartoon-like splat.

Stage mom me trying to get him to put his head on his paws.

Oh dear. Too many treats, too many potholes, too much in one day.

I worried that he was going to be hideous for the camera, but fortunately it wasn't Angus who took the brunt of the accident, but the blanket inside his crate. Ah, easily washable.

He recovered nicely, and as we walked up the sidewalk to the door of her studio, he had regained his strut.

A little smooch during the photo shoot.

For a half-hour, Leslie posed him--on a white shag rug (which he loved), on top of a white cube (which he was too afraid to jump off of), dangling from my hands (she wanted to get that swirly belly). It was so much fun, and he was completely relaxed. (She has had dogs all her life, and when I warned her that he's not yet housebroken, she just laughed. "If he pees, we'll clean it up," she said. That's the soul of a dog lover.)

Home again, and then an exhausted Angus went in his crate and slept for four hours. And I leashed up Miss Rosie, who needs her one-on-one time with us, and even though it was still one below zero, we walked and walked through the park. White snow, brilliant blue sky, no wind: a classic January day.