Scully, the Crazy Dog

He's a darn cute, little fuzzbucket.

Nathan feels that Crazy Dog has been absent from his fans for too long. Thus, this post is all about him. Scully continues to love Italy. He guards the perimeter of our house like a happy, fuzzy, gentle attack bear. Workmen (who are here often) and our landlord still ask at every single visit to the house: "The dog will eat me?" While I have repeatedly assured them that the dog will not eat them, and I desperately hope that what they're actually trying to ask is if he'll "bite" them, because otherwise, where on earth did they get their knowledge of house dogs...I forgot where I was going...oh, I have repeatedly assured them that he will not, in fact, eat them, but because our little Crazy can look scary and loves, loves, loves to sniff private parts extensively, I can see how they're a bit afraid.

With our recent news, we have wondered what Scully senses. He knows something is different and has turned into a little cuddlebug. His favorite thing in life used to be his toys, but now, his favorite thing is cuddling. Hugs, kisses, lying on the sofa to be my naptime pillow, sleeping with me in the mornings after Nathan has left. He's always been a sweet dog, but now, even more so. Unless you're a stranger walking by our house on the street. Or a cat. Then, he's a snarling, growling beast. I shudder to think about how we're going to manage back in the U.S. This house is our ninth in sixteen years (plus one six month residence in a hotel, so really, tenth), and it is the first with a fenced yard. We don't gravitate towards suburbia, where one might find a home rental with a fenced yard. But now, we may have to reconsider. That's right. We wouldn't consider moving to suburbia for our child, but for our dog, yes. If we treat our child anything like our dog, we are going to have one indulged, spoiled brat on our hands. Two, if we include Crazy on that list. Note to self: Do not spoil child, do not spoil child, do not spoil child.

I write this as I look out onto our terrace and see dog toys strewn everywhere. The dog has roughly 55 toys. The dog. But remember, toys used to be his favorite thing, so we just couldn't resist. Anything that squeaks and he can flop around and hit himself in the face is a winner with him (the moniker Crazy Dog is not in jest), but we have hit the jackpot. On our recent trip to the States, I stopped into our favorite, dog toy store in Alexandria, VA (The Dog Park on King Street), and there, I found a supersonic toy. The squeaker squeaks at a frequency that Scully can hear but we cannot. Yippee! So now, when I'm on the phone or friends come over, and Scully begins to act like a two year old wanting attention by squeaking his toy right-in-my-face, I can just sit back and continue my discussion. Hah! After four years, I have outsmarted the dog. I am going to be a fantastic mother.

It's the "Island of Misfit Toys."