The strength of the pack is der pudelhund. The strength of der pudelhund is the pack.

I am not a poodle person. Not by any means. Luckily my new dog, of whom I have had custody now for a week, has no idea that he is a poodle. Lucifer is only twelve inches tall, but he jets it at the dog park like a prince among men. Huskies and Weimeraners cower at his dwarfish majesty. Bullterriers are put soundly in their place when they invade his comfort zone. He is like the Richard III of dogs. I am hoping to grow his hair in such a configuration that he can pass for a Schnauser.

This is him at the moment:
















I hate those people who buy their dogs sweaters and treat them as though they are humans. I will never refer to myself as Lucifer's "daddy" because that implies interspecies copulation or some other biological monstrosity. I am slowly being convinced, however, that proximity with me is screwing up his behavioral patterns. He has recently worked out that the way our pack (he and I, that is) signals approval and affection is not by nuzzling, jawing, or other typically canine activities, but by the strange action of stroking another pack member with a forepaw. So he's been experimenting with trying to pet me. It's clearly difficult for him because he has no opposable thumbs and the muscle control isn't quite right, but he keeps lifting himself up and concentrating on gently petting my leg with a forepaw. It's not scratching or batting, it's an atempt to pet. All of which means he's either a genius dog or a psychopath dog, I reckon.