Still a puppy... still a puppy...

Still a puppy. There are days when I keep reminding myself that Savannah is just eight months old. And there are other days when I question my sanity and decision-making capabilities.

I sort of knew that on a morning such as this one, with crisp air and a stiff breeze and leaves blowing around the road, that the puppy would come out of my old-soul Savannah as soon as her paws hit the pavement. So I was ready for the antics of  Her Royal Puppyness as we started out on our morning walk and within sixty seconds, I was shaking my head in disbelief at the downright stubborn behavior of a certain Border Collie/Great Pyrenees.

We hadn't even gone halfway up the road when one of the neighbors pulled out of her driveway on her way to work. Savannah sees this particular car just about every morning... and I usually hold tightly onto her leash because she sometimes will try and chase any car or truck that drives along our road. This morning, however, Savannah was walking in the grass and sniffing and smelling and looking for the perfect spot for her morning 'deposit.'  Thinking that she was so involved with her task, I had just a light hold on Savannah's leash. The neighbor waved, I waved back... and a split second later, Savannah decided she wanted to get that car.... and she lunged towards it, front paws in the air as if she intended to jump into the passenger side window.

Thank goodness for quick reflexes. I pulled that pink velvet leash tight and yanked her down towards the road and away from the back wheels of the neighbor's car. What in the blessed world are you doing, Savannah?!  That's about what I shouted out at this crazy puppy. And she looked at me with questioning eyes and then watched the car going down the hill while I caught my breath and told myself that tiny little dogs do have their advantages. (Mainly, you can just pick them up when they attempt to do something totally stupid.)

On we continued with our walk... both of us having calmed down a bit. Then there was an egret down by our pond that caught Savannah's eye.  The bird had just landed on the bank of the pond near the shallow end and Savannah got to see his giant wing-span and long legs helping him balance at the edge of the water. Well, Savannah thought the bird and his water-ballet was just too good to ignore... so she lunged towards the pond.  For the second time in less than 5 minutes, I think my right arm was stretched to its limit, and I wouldn't at all be surprised if that particular arm is a bit longer than my left one.

Savannah's eyes were on that egret and that's all she was interested in. So there I was walking this puppy for the next fifty feet or so, with her paws moving forward and her head turned back towards the pond, and I was practically pulling her the whole way. Give me a blessed puppy break.

Now we were at the end of our walk and coming up to our driveway, and there's our outside cat Gatsby waiting by the garage for us. Gatsby usually walks calmly towards the mailbox to nuzzle up against Savannah's legs, and then all three of us walk to the back porch.  Such a simple little plan, but that was not going to happen this morning. Maybe Gatsby felt the crispness in the air just like Savannah did, because that cat decided to tease Savannah by running a few feet away from her, then prancing back towards her, then running away again. How could any puppy possibly resist that?

While this little cat and puppy dance was going on, I had to keep such a firm hold on Savannah's leash that I had wrapped it around my wrist three or four times. Big mistake. By the time I got to the back porch, my wrist felt like it had been through a 14th century torture device and of course my right arm must have stretched another inch or two.

Then Gatsby decided to run up the porch steps at full cat-speed... which of course got Savannah's attention and she followed suit.... you can add another inch to my right arm for that little trick. Needless to say, I was furious by the time I walked into the back door, once again questioning my sanity for deciding to get a dog that will eventually top the scales at the same weight as a miniature pony when she's full-grown.

My husband was in the kitchen when I got into the house. One look at my face must have told him that Savannah's morning walk was not a pleasant one, at least not for me.

"Do you need a hug?" my husband asked me. (That centuries-old question from husband to wife when the husband doesn't know what else to do to stifle a possible explosion. Men need to learn that women hate, absolutely hate with a passion, that ridiculously stupid question.)

In a split second, I decided to let him slide on that one. After all, Christmas is coming, and he had recently bought us two front and center tickets to Barry Manilow's last concert in Houston for early next year. So I just smiled.

"No. I don't need a hug. I need a teeny tiny little dog that I can fit into my purse," said I.

At that moment, Savannah slowly rose up on her hind legs and ever-so-gently put her front paws on my chest and rested her face near my shoulder.  Give me a blessed break.