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Posts Tagged ‘dogs’

Mischa sleeps a lot these days. He sleeps more and more. But his heart still beats, and he still loves his food – and his cuddles. In that order.

DSC_3912copyrightI just hope I know it when he is ready to go.

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Dance of the crazy dogs

Winter finally caught up with us here too. We all blame Siberia for -11°C with a freezing cold wind and snow. That dreaded snow. The worst of it is the many times I have to hear that as a Norwegian I am supposed to both be used to it and like the crap.

Mischa likes it. No, wrong. He LOVES it. But there is a slight problem with snow here. It is treated like an enemy, and the house owners have the pavements covered in salt at the slightest hint that there may be a snowfall. And we all know what happens to dogs when they get salt in their paws? They limp, and they look at you with that sad dog-look that says “Why-oh-why-is-this-happening-to-me?? I’M IN PAIN AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!” So we’ve bought doggie boots for them.

Orion was remarkably quick to get used to his and is long since an old paw at striding confidently down the street in his boots and coat which makes him look like an English lord. He’s the worst limper of the two. When the salt appears on the streets he tends to end up flat on his belly writhing and refusing to walk at all. So he’s long since used to his boots. Mischa had his on for the first time today and in order to get them on without him protesting too much I put them on him while he was still in bed. When he finally appeard out of the bedroom he did the classic walk of lifing each paw awkwardly and plonking them down equally awkwardly.

The excitment of the snow got the better of him, though, and once we were outside he broke into a gallop to get to the park where he knew there would be even more snow. The procession went as follows: Mischa galloping in his boots on the snowy-salty goop which had his paws irregularly slipping from under him; Orion in hot pursuit, slipping just as much as Mischa on the goop with his long legs doing odd movements in odd directions; and me last attempting to keep up while people tried to get out of the way before getting run down by the clumsy trio.

In the park Mischa danced around like an oversized demented puppy with Orion looking down his long nose at him with a slightly puzzled expression. We criss-crossed the park with Mischa seeking out as much untouched snow as possible, rolling here and there and sliding around in his boots. Eventually we headed home. A Russian lady clearing the pavement of snow broke into a large grin and shouted “Stiefel!” [boots] as she threw large handfuls of salt around without much thought as to where it landed, the nearby cars generously included in the spray. “Yes”, I thought. Let spring come, please.

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