Dear Hubby and I thought it would be fun to teach the pups to raise their paws in the air when we say, “stick ‘em up.”  Patty caught on in no time.  Gavin is still working on it.  He hasn’t the balance that Patty has.  Maybe it’s his bottom, could it be that his is more round than hers is?  Gavin tries but we usually end up accepting a paw shake from him instead.  He can’t seem to get both paws up at the same time for more than a fraction of a second.  However, he’s the best darn paw giver out there.  He’ll give a paw to anyone who has a cookie.

     In contrast, Patty has decided that ‘stick ‘em up’ is more fun than giving a paw.  She’ll throw her paws into the air with great enthusiasm sometimes stretching them up so far that she nearly tips over backwards.  I say not bad for a five-year-old.  When Patty first arrived as a rescue four years ago, we thought she might be a little slow on the uptake.  We were wrong.  Once she’d settled in here, she proved to be the smarter of the two dogs.

     Mind you, Gavin is no half wit.  He’s quite bright but he’s also ten times as stubborn as she is.  He was the most dominate puppy I’ve ever dealt with in the twenty eight years I’ve had Bull Terriers.  It took a full year for him to accept that Mom was top dog.  Both dogs think of DH as another sibling.

     Gavin jumped into the car as eager to go for a ride as always.  When we arrived at the vet’s office, we could see the ‘oh no’ expression on his face.  Dear Hubby waited in the car with Gavin while I went inside to let them know we were there.  It wasn’t long before they told me to bring him inside they were ready for him. 

     To say that Gavin is embarrassing in the vet’s office is an understatement.  In the waiting room, there were two dogs, a Westie, a Chocolate Lab, and an invisible cat in a carrier.  Now one would think a sixty plus pound Bull Terrier would walk in anywhere with an air of confidence.  Not Gavin, he paused to lift his leg on the bottom step of the porch, trotted up the stairs, walked through two doors, and then all confidence ceased.

     Down went his head, his tail tucked under him, his front paws splayed, and he stopped dead in his tracks.

     “C’mon Gavin.  Cookie.”  I dragged him forward a few inches.

     Westie woman said, “Aw isn’t he cute.”

     Gavin flattened to the floor like month old road kill.

     “C’mon Gavin they’re waiting for you,” DH said.

     Gavin scrunched his eyes closed.  {If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.}

     The Chocolate Lab man started to chuckle.

     I waved a cookie under Gavin’s nose.  “Let’s go.”

     He opened one eye.

     “Gavin, you’re making a scene.  Get up.  You’re not going in front of a firing squad.  They’re only going to take out your stitches.”

     The lady with the invisible cat looked away and stifled a giggle.

     In his best Shakespearean tragedy performance, Gavin stood and skulked to the exam room.  Once there he cringed in a corner, waiting for heaven knows what. 

     It took the technician only a few minutes to remove the stitches from Gavin’s ear.  When it was over, he gave her his paw several times for several cookies.  DH opened the door to the exam room and Gavin couldn’t get out of the room or building fast enough.

     I went back inside to pick up heartworm medication for the pups, and as I was leaving, I told the gals in reception, “Bye.  Hope we won’t be seeing you too soon.”  With Bull Terriers, you never know.