He and Peter T. Dog are still getting along quite well. Playing chase around the house is all the rage with them, even though Clifford does occasionally forget what he's doing and wander off, mid-game. (It's the grasshoppers. They're very interesting. And so are fireflies.) When he does get distracted, Pete comes back, snorts something - I like to think it's "neener-neener, can't catch me" - then takes off at a slightly slower run to let Clifford keep up.
The kids and dogs play together very well too, but I think I've got myself two 4-legged babies now. I'm used to Pete coming to me for reassurance, but now there's two. Not a problem when I'm at my desk, or curled up on the sofa with a book. But in the kitchen, it's becoming quite the adventure.
This is a photo of the furry boys during my ironing the other night. This is pretty much how they land in any room where I stop for more than five minutes.My kitchen is a good old (except for the appliances) 1950's ranch house kitchen, meaning it's tiny. Pete's favorite spot is dead center of the stove-sink-refrigerator triangle. I'm used to stepping over his stretched out form, as he pretends to nap while secretly hoping for dropped food. With two dogs sacked out in the middle of the kitchen floor, cooking looks more like a strange new form of hopscotch. And, when you add children getting silverware for place settings and passing dishes to the table... think Twister.
Speaking of kitchens, the dishwasher just clicked off. It's time for me to take myself and the 8-legged furry obstacle course back into the kitchen.
Tomorrow morning is going to be Clifford's followup on his little suture site infection, along with Pete's annual checkup. After clean bills of dog/puppy health, it's into the bath for the both of them. They both have the hot weather dog smell about them, and Clifford's fur is a magnet for dust and pollen during his exploration below furniture and thick hedges.
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