Winifred the Mighty

Well, quiet little Winifred as definitely developed a personality.  I think for a minute, My Honey had the misconception that a little girl puppy wouldn’t be as much work as boy puppy.  If that was the case, the man was totally delusional.

I am currently writing this with a hole in my right palm. It’s in the perfect shape of a tiny little puppy tooth. I don’t know what I was thinking, putting my hand down there near her face.

Roscoe has decided she needs to be kept an eye on. She’s resting for a minute under the coffee table because she was racing full speed into the living room with a mouthful of something she wasn’t supposed to have and nearly knocked herself unconscious bouncing under the table.

She’s an absolute doll – when she’s sleeping. Once awake and fully engaged in a wrestle, her growl is the stuff of horror movie monsters.

Just now there was maniacal yipping coming from the bedroom. My Honey tells me she found another bossy little puppy in there, lurking in the mirrored closet door. Of course, that only kept her attention for a few minutes before, “Hey, is that a sock?” and off she ran.

The other day I tickled her nose with her tail and the look on her face when she realized that funky little thing was always there was hysterical. Unfortunately, now it must die. When she’s not chewing on Roscoe, she’s yanking on her own tail.

Speaking of Roscoe, who is easily five times her size, she is absolutely fearless.

Please don’t misunderstand. I adore her and am not in anyway complaining. Even when I have a hole in my hand. I’m merely reporting the facts. Except that I am 100% certain it’s not true, I’d postulate that she might have rabies, she’s such a lunatic.

If you come over, remember this advice and remember it well: don’t look her directly in the eye and don’t stick your hand down there. She’s 7 pounds of terror in a polka dotted collar.