[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="260"] Banjo, attempting to play with all of her toys at once[/caption] I keep telling this story so I figured I should commit it to writing. It really exemplifies life with Banjo. I think she's a doggie version of me, meaning she can be a real pain in the ass, but she is generally funny about it. Notably, she is reluctant to embrace a leash. The leash is fine to go from the door to the car, and it's fine to drag around the house, but when used to direct her along the edge of a sidewalk, the leash is THE ENEMY OF PUPPIES AND MUST BE REBUFFED. She will turn around and bite it; sit down and just let her neck stretch out (with, I fancy, a "fuck you" look in her eyes); or, most amusingly, stop mid-hop and fall on the ground as if she's been shot. I keep thinking the neighbors wait in panting anticipation for us to walk each evening so they can point and howl with laughter.
I pause to note that it is likely amusing to watch us go for walks anyway because even when she goes along without any leash-related antics, she hops because of her leg. She probably looks like a giant rabbit on a leash. She uses the leg more and more, but I doubt she'll ever be hop- or limp-free.
So. We were making our way around, and she was sniffing in a yard that had a plastic toddler's pool in it. I looked away for like a second and then she was inside of it, on her side, totally submerged except for her snout, poked up out of the water like a snorkel. I tugged on her while dirt and fur drifted away in the pool, and this had no result other than---I'm sure of it---a hint of a smile on her face. I, in a WHITE T-SHIRT, ended up having to haul a dead-weight 45-pound dripping wet dog out of the pool and stand her up.
At which point she looked me in the eye and shook water all over me.
Game and match to Banjo.