It's a boy!

The rescue stork dropped a little male poodle mix named Andy into my family. He's obedient, house- and leash-trained, and smart. My mom, stepdad, and at least one of my cats are thrilled. Dannyboy has adapted well while Jupiter is quite defensive about him. But that's the only hiccup. Andy is really good with them though. He doesn't snap or bark at them. And when Joop does his hissing/defensive stance thing, Andy just stops, looks at him, turns around and walks another way. With people it's a different story. Around strangers he barks. He's already bitten and punctured the skin around each other my thumbs. Here's a photo:

The rescue believes he's around five years old. They say he is a Westie/Poodle mix. I, however, think he's a French Bulldog/Poodle because of the similarity in perky ears. Neither Westies nor Poodles nor "Wee-Poo's" or "Westie-poos", their trendy hybrid, do either. And today, I saw a frenchie around my block that had identically-shaped ears.

According to the rescue, he once belonged to an elderly woman who left him in their home when she was moved to a nursing home. The woman's daughter found Andy starving and shivering a few days later while she was cleaning out the place. This is what he looked like when the rescue first got him:

I think you can see it in his eyes that he's had a pretty rough past. But that's all over now that he's been taken in by yours truly, M. Doolittle.

In other news, I was layed off from dogwalking on Sunday. I worked one business week. I was gonna ask for time-off anyway so it all works out. Just as it always does...

What made the dawgs hurt? Ooh ooh ooh

My feet are in pain. Kinda like when in the cartoons a character gets a foot caught in a mouse trap and then when they get it loose it's throbbing. That's me with both my feet. It's day two of the day job. (Yes, I have re-entered the economy. As a dogwalker. Which hurt my mother's ego more than my own. In fact, my ego is completely intact. She thinks it beneath me; akin to pushing artificial food and drink at the local fast food restaurant. It boggles her world that I can be a master's candidate and a poop scooper for dogs in the northern Manhattan. Such is life.) Since I started (yesterday) I've been shadowing people and geting acquainted with all of the clients--the dogs. I'm digging lots of parts of this gig. The increased physical activity is a nice change of pace after several months of molding the perfect loveseat tush. But ohh the dawgs, my feets be hurtin' by the end of the job.

Dannyboy urinated on my cellular phone and it died. I realize this right before a phoner for the only paying gig I have at the moment, thus, preventing me from conducting the interview and making me look flakey. Although, he did not squat directly on cell, I'm suspicious as to why he chose to pee in his toy basket where the phone lay charging in the first place. If the Buddha would have gotten his phone peed on, he'd most likely take as a sign that something good is coming. Hmmm...