Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
“I see you up there little hawk and I’m sure you’re mighty hungry, but know this: you come for my hedgehog, you come for me. My name is Ellie!”
This picture is for my wife who loves Ellie’s soft, floppy ears. I forget what drew Ellie to attention, probably a bird outside or little Sam jumping onto the windowsill, but for a split second she raised her head (and ears) before resuming the serious business of squeaking her hedgehog.
I love this dog.
A few months back my wife picked up this hedgehog from Plush Puppies for our dog Ellie. If you bite its head it squeaks (who wouldn’t?), it grunts when you bite its hindquarters, and it even rattles when you shake it all about.
My advice to Plush Puppies? Put a warning label on your toy!
Something like:
Warning: After she plays with hedgehog, your dog will abandon all other toys. When you throw dear old goose, her first and favorite toy, she will look at you like you just stepped off the moon. Rabbit had a brief moment in the sun but no more. Poor mallard and pheasant never had a chance. It’s all hedgehog, all the time.
I have to say I’m surprised by how much she loves it. Goose was such a natural fit, it squeaks easily — Ellie has turned carry-and-squeak into an art form — and is the sort of quarry for which retrievers were bred. The round shape of the hedgehog makes it harder for her to carry and squeak at the same time, she often has to stop and place it on the ground for a proper squeaking before continuing. And I doubt very much that a dog has ever retrieved a hedgehog in real life.
But whatever it is, the hedgehog has it.
One thing I hadn’t anticipated is how much harder it is to get a good picture of Ellie compared to the cats. A trained chimp could point a camera at little Sam and get a nice picture but I’ve been struggling with Ellie. I expected it to be hard to photograph her black fur but hadn’t accounted for the difficulties of her larger size and how sad she looks when she’s relaxed. She’s holding one of her favorite toys, a plush rabbit that squeaks when she bites it. She has a similar goose that was her first toy and remains a favorite. When you toss them, our retriever loves to bring them back, and especially loves to bring them back squeaking all the way.
The other day Ellie had a roast. Not the sort of roast where we’d make fun of how she snores, but a pot roast kind of roast. The kind of roast that I was going to eat later. Somehow while we were enjoying the roast for dinner the leftovers disappeared from the counter upstairs.
And some leftover bacon a short while later and a tub of cookies last week. Fortunately there were no gastric disasters as a result of her dietary indiscretions. We were prepared to interrogate her when her legal counsel stepped in and told her not to say another word. Little Sam said we had no evidence that Ellie had actually eaten all of these things, for all we knew he had done it. The bacon, perhaps, but even he couldn’t eat that much roast, and the tub of cookies was bigger than he is. He then claimed that perhaps I had eaten all of these things and was blaming it on Ellie.
The outrage! I could eat that much roast but not that fast (some here say I’m a slow eater), so what jury would believe such a story? Sam pointed out that there is prior precedent, a certain night in which a batch of strawberries freshly dipped in chocolate didn’t live to see the morning. An offense for which I admit my guilt, and which I also admit could cause reasonable doubt in a jury.
All charges against Ellie have been dropped.
Boolie 