Kate Giroux says she keeps working on getting Juno’s son, Ozzie, to lift his leg to pee. “Somehow, we have a communication problem. He lifted his right front leg this morning. Wrong leg. The only other time he lifted his correct leg was when he learned that squatting in 8 inches of snow wasn’t comfortable. Other than that, he just pees like a girl.”
Hardy climbs up behind “Dad” when he is working at the table and just sits there, happy to be with him, staring intently at the newspaper just like dad. Eventually, he will suggest going outside to play ball. He and his seven brothers all use their “hands” a lot, in a kind of “hey, notice me,” or “you gotta be kidding me!” kind of way.
Dax loves to watch TV, and sits rapt when the instructive dog training program comes on. He never gets tired of hearing “good boy.”
Ozzie’s arrival in the home was so traumatic for the “big sister” that she had to go on to a psychologist to help her adjust to the young upstart who was claiming her parents’ affection so suddenly. Now they are best friends.
Picasso follows his “big sister” to the door when she leaves for school in the morning, and mopes until she comes home. Strawberry, whose career as a “show girl” has had its ups and downs, is ever vigilant: if she sees the comb and brush come out, she runs upstairs and throws herself on the bed in what can only be described as a teenage fit over a bad hair day. If she could slam the door, she would.
Niko likes to play one parent off the other — or distract them by doing something naughty, like poking the fish in the pond. He likes to steal toilet paper; he grabs the roll and runs off with it, leaving a trail of white. He can open and close doors.
And Dax gardens, or helps out in the kitchen, when he is not watching James Herriott or the dog trainer on TV. He was Juno’s firstborn, and came out singing.
But one thing they all have in common? A serious obsession with squirrels, balls, and the crinkling of the treat bag. It seems these are poodles, not people, after all.