Adopted!

It's official - Caesar has been adopted and is off to his forever home with some awesome folks.

Congrats to his new family!

I threw a party ...

but there may have been a few ... hang ups ... in the party planning phase.

Some background: As you may know, the foster-man has been pretty negligent in his blog-typing duties (he is tapping away for me right now) over the last few weeks.  I would come over and nudge his arm, per usual, to let him know I had a new adventure to tell everyone about.  But he would just give me a pet and keep staring and mumbling at his books.  A few days ago he left for a few days to go to the "Bar."  I've been thinking a lot about what that bad, bad "bar" is, and I'm pretty sure it must look something like this:

I think the "Bar" is near that fire-ball-eye.  Look for a foster-man with flash cards.

Anyway, me and little-hound foster-brother and foster-lady were pretty excited for foster-man to get back from the volcano-laden "Bar."  So foster-lady went out and got some decorations to have a party at the foster-house.  I love parties.  I helped foster lady hang up the decorations, helped make some good food (and kind-of, half-, sort-a thought about ways to help taste it), and, of course, looked out for any potential lion attacks.  Anyway, foster lady had some nice, shiny balloon-looking decorations.  I watched for the lions when she put them up. 

But then.  I discovered the shiny-balloon menace.  When foster-lady left the room, the shiny-balloons started moving and swaying and spinning.  All by themselves.  I knew at that moment that this was some kind of a lion-plot to trap valiant African Lion Hounds and kind party-throwing foster-ladies.  Something had to be done.

So I did what any reasonable, valiant, African Lion Hound would do.  I sounded the alarm.  And then I told those lion-balloons who was boss.  I barked.  And I growled.  And I protected little-hound foster-brother.  He was pretty useless.  He just looked at me with a funny look, let out a huff, and went out his dog-door-flap.  No help at all.  Then, foster-lady came back.  I tried to warn her and keep her from coming in.  I had to protect her from the shiny, spinning lion-trick.  But she wasn't listening to me, in that typical foster-lady fashion.  She went right up to that lion-trick and touched it.  And nothing happened.  I realized, the suburban Virginia lions are not very good at their own lion tricks.  Not like African lions.

So it was safe for the party.  But I made sure to keep an eye on those lion-tricks to make sure there was no trouble a-foot.  Lest those lions figure out how to better infiltrate this foster-house.

Yep, it was a good time.  I had a ball.  And was ready for a nice Lion Hound sleep afterwards.  With my ball, of course.

Ah, that was a good party. 

Yep...

Still here, at the foster-house.  Just 'n case you were wonderin'.

I keep asking foster-man to type up some new postings of me and my foster-adventures.  But lately he just looks at books and mumbles to himself about something called "the bar."  I don't know exactly what this "bar" is, but I do know we don't like it.

The weekend!

Well, it was a busy weekend.  I spent most of my time out enjoying the sun and grass with little-hound foster brother.  Oh, and chew'in on sticks too, of course.

 

My Morning Routine

One: wait patiently and quietly for foster-man to hit snooze for a half hour. Two: Wag tail and say hello.  Three: Head outside!  Four: Do a little dance and then sit by my bowl.  Five: Breakfast! and Six: Sunbathe on the porch!

Week One!

Well, it has been about a week since I first posted about my life as a homeless (but valiant and noble) African Lion Hound. I didn't know if many people would visit and get to know me.

But really, I should have known better. I mean, look at this handsome face:

I never try climbing up on that foster-couch. Especially not when foster-man is in the other room.

Anyway, so far this week we've had over 600 visits from all over the U.S. and as far away as Canada, the U.K. and Germany! Not too bad for a homeless big-brown-dog-from-a-dusty-Georgia-road.

But really, thanks for visiting, it gives me hope that I might just find a forever home (preferably one with something cushy for me...)!

Worry not little-hound foster brother

I will shall protect you from these thunderstorms!

 Mostly by sitting on you.

Washington weather.  From the Capital Weather Gang @ the Washington Post

Afternoon Doldrums?

Happy puppy romp memories cheer me up...

Crazy romp face at work.

Ah, feel better.

Helping out

Me and little-hound foster brother helping foster-man study for the bar.  Worth our weight in gold.

Yep, got it!  After acquired collateral clauses, and all that.

These fosters...

Don't even know about all the important things I do around here.  Every week, on Tuesday morning, these big, monstrous trucks rumble by with crews of unknown men.  They come and raid the bins at the front of our yard.  Every week they do this.  And these fosters seem totally unable to prevent it.

So, being the loyal guy I am, I decide to give them a good bark from my window and send them packing.  Then I go find that foster lady.  I sit near her and watch to make sure she is safe.  She says hi and pets me, which is great and all, but I try to tell her I'm working here!  Somebody has to look out for these people...  What if there were lions on those trucks?

Another Tuesday, another truck-man invasion repelled. 

Afternoons...

Make me so sleepy.  Can barely roll over for a belly rub...

I bet you feel like this at work right now too...

Yep, loyalty

I'm good at it.

Me and one of my favorite Lost Dog volunteers. OK, the favorite. Definitely out-ranks that boring foster man.

Hootin' and holler'in

"[R]ough treatment ... should never be administered to these dogs, especially when they are young. They go to pieces with handling of that kind." Francis Barnes wrote that in 1922 in the first Rhodesian Ridgeback breed standard. Here’s a picture of him, I like the ‘stache:

Now, I know that I am not necessarily a Ridgeback. If we want to get all technical about it, my breed is big-brown-dog-from-a-dusty-Georgia-road. But, I think I’ve got some of those good ‘ol lion-hunting genes in me. And what Francis said back in the day definitely applies to me. I may be a tough lion-hunting boy on the outside, but I’m really just a softie on the inside and don’t take well to rough treatment. I don’t quite know what happened in my early days, but if there is a really loud noise (foster dad is “fixing” something around the house) or someone gives me a loud reprimand for attempting to sneak a burger, sometimes I can’t help but run and find a place to hide and shake for a while. (and, really, I don't like it much when a motorcycle or big 'ol diesel truck rumbles by too close... so I give them a bark to let them know they startled me out of my lion hunting focus). This happened more often when I first got to my foster house and I wasn’t quite comfortable. I know it’s kind of a funny thing to do, for such a big and mighty guy as myself, but I just don’t like banging or anyone holler’in at me.

That said, once I get on a squirrel-barking tear out back with my little hound of a foster brother, sometimes my foster parents have to get a bit stern to call me in. A deep voice, a crooked finger, and a good evil stare out of one eye usually does the trick. But if I was real close to catching that squirrel, I might just make foster dad come out and get me by the collar. Sometimes I wink at him once he’s got me. (Oh, and if I come in right away, I usually get a nice treat - but I'd rather catch the critter most of the time!)

A noble, yet sensitive picture of yours truly after the break!

Ah...

A weekend well spent...

And free of lion attacks.  But I'm ready.  Just in case.

Rile up the foster brother

I love to rile up my little foster brother.  He barks at me.  I do my little dance.  And then it's wrestle mania.

(I don't know why that little dog has to make all those vicious growl-y noises when we wrestle... maybe he's pretending to be my lion opponent?)

 

 Play like this a time or two a day and I'm ready to nap (and chew on some toys).