This is Loki, well, WAS Loki, approximately 10 years ago. Now he’s about 100lbs and while he still puts on a sweet face, he’s also kind of an ass hat. This dog has eaten more sticks of butter than Paula Dean can cook with. He has escaped more times than you’ve watched Andy escape from Shawshank Prison. (If you haven’t watched Shawshank Redemption, I don’t think we can be friends any more) This dog has also blown enough fur coats that could have been spun into dog-wool and knitted into socks for all the poor kids in Siberia.
Why do I write about him now? What has he done this time? Nothing in particular, it’s just because I love him dearly, the Bigger Captor despises him, and the fact that he is 10. Huskies are not known for their longevity. Loki is happy and healthy though, this much I am pleased to report. If he keeps stealing chicken carcasses from the counter or turkey bones from the trash can, we might have a different story. Same thing applies for the next time he jumps up on to the bed and the Bigger Captor is around. It’s a battle of wits, I tell ya! Sometimes Loki wins and the Bigger Captor just gives up which is HYSTERICAL. The Bigger Captor says if it ever came down to me choosing between him and the dog, I’d pick the dog. “Which is complete bullsh*t,” he says.
I’ve decided it would be fun to do a mini series featuring the handsome, always tuxedo clad, blue eyed, gorgeous creature that stalks my kitchen. He’s always full of antics, and if you’re not the one they are happening to, the stories are usually pretty funny. But when you’re the victim, you *probably* think otherwise.
So here goes, mini story # 1 (warning, not in chronological order)
When I first picked this house, I inspected the fence. It seemed secure enough, and fatty is too fat to jump over it. And too lazy. Loki is a criminal only when presented with the opportunity. He doesn’t go looking for trouble, but when it shows up at his paws, he can’t help himself. He’s like the guy who keeps going to the ATM at the casino to get more cash, and ignores the signs that point out the warning signs of obsessive gambling. In Loki’s case, it’s excessive attempts at trying his luck.
Like I said before, fence was secure, and we had ZERO problems with him getting out until we came back to the states for Pop pop’s funeral. It was then that he decided he would bolt out the gate and run up and down the street for hours while the house sitter chased him to and fro. (This is Loki’s favorite game)
Then when it was time for the Tiniest Captor to arrive, he found a weak spot in the fence and flew the coop. Once the week spot was covered with rocks, poles, whatever we could find, he would find another spot. He’s like the velociraptor in Jurassic Park, he just keeps testing the fences until he gets to a new hole. Jerk face.
Well, now it has snowed. A TON. And in my wisdom, I thought, he can’t get through the fence with all this snow! Stupid me. It doesn’t snow UNDER trees, where this one particular hole is. So needless to say, as I looked across the backyard and noticed there were no fluffy creatures bounding around in the powder I kicked myself, opened the door and yelled for Loki just as I noticed him attempting to race across the neighbors yard.
Notice I said “attempting.” Loki in his old age has gotten too fat to really exert any energy, (other than stealing things from the kitchen counter) So when I ran out the front door in the Bigger Captors cowboy boots, fell down the front stairs in front of the garbage men, and called for the dogs, they came right to the gate, panting as if they had just run the New York Marathon. Thankfully the only thing hurt this day was my pride. Now I have packed the fence with tons of snow on both sides, but I haven’t dared to let Loki alone in the yard again. I can’t handle another stair tumble (I shoveled them off, so now it would REALLY hurt!)