Round One ended with an OOF

Dustin and Davin came down not long ago to join Wayne for some Jeep crawling in Moab for a week-end. Dustin brought down his beloved dog, Bronco, to stay with me while they were away. Now, Bronco is a beautiful German Short Hair Pointer! He's got more personality than 99.2% of the dogs on the planet. He's genuinely funny! And he's a pretty well behaved pup. You may know what I mean here, almost always comes after you've called him a dozen times or so. It should have been fun having him here to run and chase with Pogo, our generally sweet mutt. There was only one reason it wasn't a particularly good time....what am I saying? It was a royal pain in my sit spot. Our gentle by nature, happy little Pogo, seems to absolutely hate Dustin's bird dog. If they get within four feet of each other, Pogo snarls and growls and lunges and does his utmost to rip Bronco's throat out.

Bronco could take him...easy. And he knows it. However, that obvious fact, somehow, eludes our pup. It takes no less than an Olympic wrestling team to pull them apart.

So...since I am but one aging woman, with all the strength of your average hula hoop... I had to make sure they never got within sight of one another unless they were heavily chained to fence posts at opposite ends of the pasture. It was NOT a good time. If I put Bronco in the garage, he'd bark and howl and whine and slam his body against the door...for HOURS. So, I put Pogo in the garage and brought Bronco in with me at night.

Now, I can't even begin to explain how miserable it is having this animal sleep with you. He will NOT stay on the floor. Pogo will. He will NOT sleep at the foot of the bed. Pogo's lucky if he gets the chance. He will NOT stay on his own side of the bed. He will NOT stay on top of the covers. He has to crawl under the sheets with you and sprawl his two tons of dead weight across your legs... that is, until he decides to cram his head and co-co-cold nose into your jaw, throw his chest across your shoulder blades pinning your arms in place, and settle in for a while. I pushed and pleaded, "UGH"ed and "OOFed" half the night before I finally gave in, grabbed a gardening magazine I could barely reach off my nightstand, and pretended to read it until morning light.

Will I ever, ever, EVER be caught tending this nutty dog again? I'm pretty sure I will. So... the question is, I guess... Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who's the nutty one after all?