trapped

I'd like to go out on the porch and take photos of some more paintings, but Garrett has his girlfriend Wild L over here to "play", and I'm trapped in here. Without warning, their heavy wrasslin' explodes into dead-out laps around and around the studio. They like to play rough. Actually, calling it "play" is like Ahmadinejad calling his bombs reactors. Occasionally, they call a truce to drink, pant and pee, and I cautiously venture out to check for sports injuries. If I ever do have to go to the house, I run from pillar to post to get there. They're way too fast to shoot a video, but I did get some stills while Garrett chewed on her one afternoon...

He just happened to be on top at this moment; believe me, she gets in her licks, too.

In 2002, Someone apparently thought I was taking my lifelong trust of dogs for granted and taught me the lesson of a lifetime; two dogs, 180 pounds between them, accidentally slammed into my right knee. (Did I already mention this? Sorry, but it made a real impression on me.) They also were playing, but the ensuing 2 surgeries and 10 months of PT put the Fear of Dog into me, so now I let them have the field to themselves. I know it sounds totally out of control, but they'll stop on a dime the instant I call the game. 

A landscaper is coming tomorrow to restore what's left of the yard and has asked me to keep the dogs out of the garden. Right...  So one more round tomorrow morning. Their game is truly hilarious, and they have as much fun as I've ever seen two dogs have. I can wait and take my pictures tomorrow afternoon.