Nine weeks ago eight puppies were birthed by our dog, Orla. One was still born. We lost the runt, Little Guy, at six weeks. Three went to live with the breeder at six weeks, leaving us with the three pictured here: "Golden-nosed Girl,, Black-nosed Girl, and Big Guy" (left to right). Once weaned, they were Orla's playmates, She patiently accepted their pawing and prancing, tussling and biting. When she had had enough, a growl dispersed them. In the morning, their puppies bolted from their crate like a tiny herd of buffalo, stamping and running until corralled out the door to the back yard where grass and dirt to dig awaited them. Orla would also bait them. When things got too quiet, she would grab a sock toy and wave it in front of them, waiting for the inevitable four-way tug-of-war to start.
Two days ago, the remaining three pups went to live with the breeder, awaiting new homes. Now bereft of canine companionship, Orla is disoriented. She looks at the grass; no pups. She smells the toys they chewed. She comes to us and jumps or sways her head. It is playtime, after all.
Two days ago, the remaining three pups went to live with the breeder, awaiting new homes. Now bereft of canine companionship, Orla is disoriented. She looks at the grass; no pups. She smells the toys they chewed. She comes to us and jumps or sways her head. It is playtime, after all.