We were camping in Australia’s Simpson Desert. Just dog Rusty and me,
sizing each other up, finding new surprises.
They say dogs are creatures of habit. I say sometimes they are and
other times not - just as humans. Here is a case where habit won.
At home, the last excitement of the day happens in the kitchen. I
squat on the floor, Rusty at the other end. I flick a little dry
morsel across. He jumps at it and squeals, then chews mightily as if
it were a bone. He inflates the show and plays Big Time. So do I by
naming each morsel with a grave: Number One…Number Two…Number Three.
After that it’s bedtime.
Out in the desert, the car bonnet became the kitchen floor. The morsel
shoots through space. Rusty jumps and catches his trophy. Then he
sits and grins, ready for Number Two and Three.
One day, muddle-headed, I added a nameless Four. Rusty didn’t jump.
His eyes followed that mathematical aberration through the air, then
looked at me. He didn’t shake his head, but I knew what he was
thinking. That morsel remained beyond accepted norms. He didn’t
bother.
But you can’t typecast dogs. At home Rusty has made three places where
he sleeps and changes them at will. I only have one bed. As habit
goes: I am more of a dog than Rusty is.
Klaus and Rusty
http://www.oz-greetings.com.au
Nature & Wilderness, Quotations & Geology

Lots of info on you and your pooch.

I see you left out the part where you put peanut butter on the end of
your...