I’ve discussed about how Thursdays always seem to suck for me. Well, last Thursday sucked so bad that I didn’t even get to put up another Thursday Inu Post (as I’ve come to think of them). It was actually kind of fascinating to see the small spike in traffic from people who were expecting a new post. I imagine that both of my loyal readers were completely devastated.
Nonetheless! This week, I’m making up for it. Cuteness continues below the fold.
This is Charleston.
No, sorry, that’s Carlton. My bad. This is Charleston:
Charley is our current foster (after Kona went on his merry way). Charleston is a somewhat bizarre name for a Shiba; he was thus named by the staff at our vet’s office, whose motives for such a thing remain mysterious. Charleston’s name has put him at odds with
some most all of our other fosters. For those of you not in the know, the owners of Shibas have a peculiar penchant for giving Shibas Japanese names. It’s not that this doesn’t make sense, it’s just that it doesn’t seem strictly necessary. While it’s true that I once met a German Shepherd named Edelweiss, I’ve also met a whole lot of them who weren’t named Hans, Fritz, or Helga. How many English bulldogs do you know who are named Reginald, Oliver, or Basil? Compare this with dogs (all Shiba Inu) we’ve rescued over the past couple of years:
You could say that the little guy doesn’t fit in. Then again, he never has; we’re fairly certain that Charleston was kicked out of a puppy mill. He ended up in the Dallas Animal Shelter, terrified, full of heartworms, and trying to bite each and every one of the animal control employees so they would know that he wasn’t messing around. He’d have been fearsome if he wasn’t seventeen pounds and sickly. Anyway, we got him cleaned up and he’s turned into quite the little sweetheart. Every once in a while he’ll freeze up like one of those feinting goats – usually when things are happening too quickly for his liking. After a few seconds he sorts himself out, but it’s still interesting to watch his little mind work through it all.
In a lot of ways, you can’t help but feel for little Charleston. For the first years of existence, he knew basically nothing about life in the puppy mill except for (if you’ll pardon the expression) fucking and fighting. Now he’s out in the world, and there are rules and he has to have manners and people skritch him behind the ears for no reason except that he’s got fluffy widdle ears. Sometimes I think he thinks we’re all aliens trying to control his whole world.
I get the sense I’m bumming you out. Here, have another dog picture.
This is Yuki with another temporary houseguest we had recently, Koji. Koji wasn’t a foster; we were just watching him while our friends went out of town. In this picture, you can see that he and Yuki are being mostly still and looking fairly majestic. This is a nice illusion that I’m loathe to spoil for you, but in reality Koji just. never. stopped. playing. The whole time. It was two weeks of slobber, howling, and chasing each other around the coffee table. When he left, Yuki was so exhausted that he slept for a week straight. True story.
Have a damn good Thursday, everyone.