Good morning! That's the game or ritual that became the means for me to get Bonita to let me touch her.
Who would have thought that the pink pawed miserable little creature we met in January could blossom into a lovely yearling/adolescent. Isn’t she pretty! I gave her the name with the hope she would grow into it, that was my wish for her.
Competition for resources caused her mother to be so harsh with her that when we started feeding her she would not touch food that was next to her mouth for fear of her mother’s wrath. She was dying.
The suffering pup in this photo has been fed for two weeks.
Blondie still is not good about sharing, but she has improved. They get a kibble now, so perhaps it’s not worth a fight like they would for the raw food diet they were getting.
Bonita and her mom, Blondie have become the home team; they work well together. Bonita often takes the lead in defending the turf. I can hear the excitement in her bark when she leads the charge successfully after which she struts around like a jock that scored the winning touchdown.
Last March when Bonita was going back to life, she decided to sample our ottoman, which Storm and sometimes Blondie sleep on at night. This was a big bold move for her. She fell asleep on an ottoman.
Now you know what happened; she fell off! I hear thud followed by a scared to death, yipe, yipe, yipe, then a tough but scared little dog, ruff, ruff, ruff for almost an hour. Really and truly I had to laugh, but I felt so sorry for her on her first venture into boldness. God, there’s a metaphor for life.
Yesterday Bonita had a real teenage/adolescent moment with Lance. She went all girly on him. She forgot all about home team, sat up on the porch and watched like a little sweetie.
Lance ever the hero, let’s Snow White get dominated by big bad Blondie, while he wizes ceremoniously staring at the lovely Bonita. Our girl is all grown up, Pa, git your shot gun!
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