At night

In the morning Angus is well-rested and mellow. A good time for training (except for the fact that we are racing around like madmen, getting ready for work). He plays well, he sits nicely, he remembers not to bat at my hand when I offer him a treat (and when he does bat, I pull the treat away and we try again).

But at night--oh, at night, he is a monster, a creature, a wolverine!

When Rosie was a puppy she had long wolverine episodes, usually when she was over-tired or when she was in a growth spurt. Angus is nowhere near that frantic. (Plus, he's always in a growth spurt; his whole life is a growth spurt.) But he's been cooped up all damn day, except for a half-hour when the dog walker lets him out, and he's ready to rock and roll!

In the morning I can carry him around the house and he will lick my face, but at night he's just as likely to try to bite my ear. It's always alarming to be snuggling with the little furball and then have him rear back and I see his mouth, wide open, heading toward my face, all those little teeth sharp as tacks.

My goal is always to get the two dogs to play, and they did last night for a long time, Rosie with an orange tug toy in her mouth and Angus rolling around on the floor, exposing his beautiful pudgy marbled belly, both of them growling like a couple of wildebeests.

And then at 9:30 he races up the stairs with us, we toss some treats into his crate, sing, "Angus, go to bed!" and he goes to bed.

And now it is morning, and because he slept extremely well (up at 4:15 and then again at 6:30, what bliss of sleep), he is raring to go. It's like night Angus instead of day Angus!  He has already peed on the bathroom floor, knocked over Doug's orange juice onto the carpeting, and is currently destroying some papers, I don't know what papers, I don't even care at this point what papers.

Puppy class is in a few hours. Here's hoping it wears him out. I want my day Angus back.