Dog Sitting Wrangler
He’s my grandson, I suppose, and he came by for a visit and sent Miller’s world into a whirlwind of grief.
Miller and Ollie are best buddies, of course, but I believe that Miller is thinking:
“That huge thing is too much dog for me.”
And you’d think that a dog that big would be imposing, but Wrangler is the biggest wussy on the planet.
If you clear your throat in the room he panics.
Which may be the direct result of being abused as a young dog before he was rescued.
That angers me, of course.
How could anyone neglect or hurt an animal?
So, Wrangler is getting the full grandchild treatment.
“He doesn’t get bones at home,” Kathy mentioned.
“Well, he gets them here.”
Wrangler destroys bones!
I went outside with him, and wondered if I could turn him into the athlete that Oliver is.
He watched me as I picked up a tennis ball and bounced it.
“Ready?”
His ears perked up, and I lobbed the ball in his direction.
He let it hit him right in the snout, and looked at it as it bounced away.
His paws look like bear paws.
His breath is a little rancid.
But it didn’t take him long to stare at me and move when I move.
He won’t be here long, and I’ll be back to throwing the ball for Ollie by tomorrow morning, but Wrangler knows one thing for sure:
He can have fun at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
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