Another ode to Rocky, the little black nine year old pug I live with. He’s not feeling well today, on Day 2 of a three week treatment to help his skin heal from a run in with bacon grease. The medication seems to be playing havoc with his system; as I type, he is snoring on my lap, his fur undulating with each breath. He is finally recovered from his slipped disc situation, a result of his athleticism, despite his heritage; jumping off my bed apparently is not good for a 26-ish pound puddle of love. I am spending an inordinate amount of time with Rocky, due to my “in-between” occupational status. I am the primary dog walker in my family. Rocky is well aware of this. Our route to him is familiar as is my generous supply of dog treats. In the morning, we walk along a block that is filled with children and their adult companions walking them to school. For a short dog, he manages to maneuver his way through puffy jackets and shrill voices with aplomb. Every so often, a young child will ask to pet Rocky; when Rocky was younger he was not kid-friendly, but as he’s matured into his stout little body, he’s become quite the social butterfly across all demos. I always say yes, because Rocky appreciates affection, but I also, always crouch down to the child’s level, so that Rocky knows I’m with him too. It helps him, I think. There are, of course, some things that rile him up: a speeding-by-him skateboard, a garbage truck, sometimes even, a man running towards us. But in general, my little guy is sweet and friendly, and I just adore him. So there’s that plus so much more on today’s Barbmagazine, link in profile, please check it out. #barbmagazine #ladieslikeus #pugs #lovealldogs #feminism #parenting #dogs
