Guard Dog

So, it was about 7:00 am a couple of days ago...

I should have been fast asleep. In fact, I was fast asleep. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard a sound that didn't fit in with the whole natural-for-7 o'clock-on-a-weekday-morning scenario, and my eyes snapped open. Before I could even lift my head from the pillow, I heard Rufus' now-familiar warning bark coming from the backyard. Then I heard the @#*&%(*& weedeater.

Apparently, the lawn guys that do my neighbor's yard have figured that the best way to beat the summer heat is to begin when the sun's not up yet.

I called to Rufus, closed our bedroom window, and headed for the back door. By that time, one of the lawn guys was wheeling an industrial mower into our neighbor's backyard, clearly amused by the knee-high ball of fur menacing him on the other side of the fence. I wouldn't have been smug, though; Rufus has no fear whatsoever of lawn mowers, and by his body language, was debating whether he ought to consider the fence optional. He'd only met my neighbor a couple of times, but he was sure this wasn't her, or her cats.

When he saw me come out the door, Rufus visibly straightened; his ears and tail flicked up as high as they could go, and he hopped back and forth excidedly. At this point, I was trying not to laugh - he was basically saying, "Yeah! You'd better stay over there, mister strange-guy, or me and my dad will straighten you out, but good!" Striding across the lawn, I tapped the Woofer gently on his shoulder. He stopped barking and glanced over at me.

"It's OK, Rufus. You did good." I nodded at him, then at the back door. Apparently, he wanted to impress the interlopers with how awesome a team we were, and he quietly ambled back into the house with me. Since he'd worked so hard, I gave him an early breakfast, closed the dog door (to block out the noise of course, *ahem*), and headed back to bed to try and get my last 30 minutes of rest for the day.
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Dog With a Mission!

(But without a clue...)

We've read in several books that dogs have more fun if they have a "job" to do (appropriate to their breed). With Rufus'... er, well-diversified bloodlines, there are quite a few tasks to choose from. Our relative distance from any substantial water-source (along with his odd fear of his wading pool) bumps him from dock-dog work, and there aren't any sheep or cattle nearby for us to (well, legally) herd. And Schutzhund is right out, until someone gets a lot better attention-span and discipline. Which leaves the sled dog in his husky genes, and the war dog in his shepherd blood. Hey, carrying stuff can't be too bad!

Thus the mental conversation in my head went at the local pet store, at least. The end result was that Rufus got his first official backpack! Now he can adventure with us in style, and feel like he's holding up his part of the work. Or at least holding a couple of his toys, some poop-scooping bags and a treat or two.

Although he frequently lapses into episodes where he thinks his backpack is some clever "solitaire-tug-of-war" toy, most of the time Rufus seems to really enjoy it. Once he's a little stronger, I might add some weight in the form of a couple of freezer-packs to keep him cool. Given the volume-to-weight ratio of water, though, I may be toting the refreshments for the forseeable future.

There's plenty of room for him to grow into his trusty backpack for now. If he keeps on enjoying it, I might trick it out with some fun "adventure dog" stuff. Looking at the basic pattern of it, I'm thinking that when the weather gets cool enough, I may have to try my hand at making him a suit of hundepanzer (dog armor) as well - if only for a photo shoot.