Puppy Power

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So, I spent a few minutes relaxing after dinner, and Oliver was being quiet so I decided to reward him with a few minutes of playing catch outside:

Just me and him.

Nice and easy game of fetch.

I threw the ball the first time and he brought it right back to me and dropped it at my feet.

“Good boy!”

I bent to get the ball and he jumped at me, nipping the back of my left calf.

“No!” I yelled and threw the ball in the direction of the garage. I was a tad irritated with the calf bite so I never looked at where I was throwing it.

I shattered the globe of the exterior light.

Oliver ran in the direction of the exploding glass and rather than picking up the ball, he grabbed a shard of the plastic globe.

Took off with it in his mouth!

Now, I’m not sure that anyone has seen me run in the last ten years, but I took off in his direction.

(Not a pretty picture).

He was whirling around like the Tasmanian Devil. Turned right into me.

I got him by the snout and he dropped the shard into my hand.

Went back in the direction of the rest of the pieces on the ground. 

I beat him there.

Picked up the nine huge pieces, but as he jumped at me, I cut my pinkie finger.

Blood raced down my hand.

Oliver took off. He ran straight down the stairs (for the first time ever! Yay!)

Ran up the basement stairs, saw poor Miller at the top of the stairs and bit the poor meowing cat in the ass.

I caught both of them as they ran up to the second floor.

Oliver’s heart was racing.

A million beats a minute.

Despite the fact that I had a lot of blood all over my hand, I pulled him in close.

If he could talk he might have said:

“Holy shit! That was awesome!!”

Five minutes later, Jake popped his head in:

“Did you, by chance, let Oliver out after dinner?”

Kathy laughed.

I laughed.

“I only ask because he’s sound asleep down there.”

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