Daughts’ New Dog…

Daughts wanted a dog of her own.  She and her Hubs have a well trained, well behaved, lovable, miniature schnauzer, the fearless, amazing, intelligent Titan!

But he belongs to Sam and was around before Daughts…so they have history together…

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Fearless Tites

“I want a puppy that belongs to me,” she explained, “one I can hold and snuggle with, one I can baby and train, one that’s not too big, not too small,” she continued with her specifications, “preferably a poodle mix so we don’t have to worry about shedding…”

“That’s a tall order,” I commented without pointing out that Titan filled all those requirements, except the poodle-mix part, although he hardly sheds at all, but as she’d already reminded me,

“He’s Sam’s dog, I want my dog!”

I nodded, gently easing Tites off my lap where he was snuggling and cuddling, onto the floor where he looked at me with those limpid eyes of his pleading for a quick game of fetch with his favorite tennis ball before leaving…

Titan

“Also,” Daughts added, “Tites is six years old now and we have to start thinking about the future…and he can help train the new puppy.”  With that she called him to her side and headed back across the drive to Barnlights.

After several weeks of searching she eventually came home with an adorable bundle of fur,

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bundle of fur

“He’s a toy Aussie-Doodle,” she told me, “so he won’t get too big!”

He definitely had the markings of some kind of sheepdog, the curly poodle hair and weighed less than 4 pounds at 8 weeks.

A promising start.

Hubs and I jumped at any opportunity to let him out during the long days they were both at work.  I loved trying to catch photos of him as he was buffeted and blown by the winds like a furry piece of tumbleweed,

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a furry piece of tumbleweed

He’d come over to our house with his new owners and quickly discovered the cat bowls and carried them around when they were empty, (hint hint).

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He had a big personality and began terrorizing my cats whenever he visited, wrestling them to the ground like big brother Tites did to him.

Then all of a sudden he had a name that stuck!

Hendrix, Drix for short…he was a keeper.

As time went by Hubs and I both noticed his feet were growing disproportionately to the rest of his body; when he ran he loped.  It was funny to watch him trip over his paws on the gravel drive but, like a toddler, he’d scoop himself up to continue hurtling after his best, best buddy.

Drix idolized his dog-bro, followed him around the garden, sniffed when he sniffed, wagged when he wagged, laid down when he rested and fetched stones around my feet when Tites was chasing his ball clean across the meadow, knee deep in prairie grasses, dangerous territory for a Toy.    

At about 4 months old he was cleared of worms and other nasties and his scrawny little body started filling out.  

His food settled on his bones,

He outgrew two cages,

His tail lengthened and began sweeping cups and magazines off the coffee table,

He climbed onto couches and chairs to offer doggie kisses to his humans.

He thought he was still a Toy…

…then this happened,

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“My friends with real Toys post pictures of their adorable pups on instagram,” Daughts said.

“‘Tinker-Bell at 2 months old and 4 pounds; Tinker-Bell at 6 months old and 10 pounds.’” she giggled.

“I should post ‘Drix, at 8 weeks old, and 4 pounds; Drix at 6 months old and 44 pounds!’” We laughed.

“A Toy Dane perhaps?”  I suggested still captivated by his rather large plates of meat.

Her 6 month old Drixie has ‘some ‘splaining to do!’

“He’s just my kind of dog,” I said one day.

“You’re not having him…” she scolded jokingly.

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Drix the Toy…Dane

Maybe one day when he outgrows their apartment!

There’s nothing wrong with dreaming…

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