Henry had surgery today to have his testicles and dewclaws removed and a chipped tooth sanded down. As a reward, he was given this fashionable new collar to wear for the next two weeks.

Unfortunately, Henry's not not really into fashion. Unlucky dog.

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Henry's first spring!

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Audrey's momma went out of town, and she is *not* happy that I'm making her sleep with in the same room as Henry.

You cannot see her beady little black eyes in that picture, but I assure you they are shooting daggers at the camera.

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I'm teaching Henry to appreciate sunsets.

It's a work in progress. He still prefers squirrels.

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And the first dog to bite me in 2022 is not the puppy but Dad's Rambo. Admittedly, it was partially my fault for having the temerity to attempt drying off his back legs after a long walk on a damp afternoon. He was probably sore. He *is* 12 years old.

I could be mad, I suppose. He bit down hard, leaving pretty good puncture wounds on both sides of my right forearm. It certainly hurts. (Honestly, it hurts a lot.)

I wish he had politely said, "please don't do that, it hurts," but he's never been much for manners. Dad did name him Rambo for a reason. The warning is in the name.

But there's no point in kicking the dog, literally or figuratively. What's done is done: lesson learned, muzzle ordered. And frankly, given the choice, I'd rather have a dog bite puncture wound than COVID.

That said, it's not the great start to 2022 I was hoping for. (And I sure hope it didn't give Henry any ideas!)

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I think it's safe to say that Henry enjoyed his first Christmas.

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Sometimes you go looking for something on the web and you find it.

Sometimes you don't find what you were looking for but you do find something far, far better. Something like this:

Twitter helpfully describes this image in their version of a 404 Page Not Found response as "A primped poodle with a bow in its hair sitting in a chair like a human."

Well, of course! How else is a poodle supposed to sit in a chair? (Perhaps like this. Or maybe like this. I guess my point here is there's no wrong way to seat a poodle.)

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Meet Henry.

I told my family I was in the market for an adult female rescue standard poodle. My aunt found a 7-month-old male. But he is a rescue standard poodle.

One-out-of-three sounds like my kind of odds. I think I'll keep him.

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Today we put down my father's 7-year-old poodle Scarlett because we discovered that cancer had eaten her liver. She'd been lethargic for the past week, had stopped eating, and at the last, her skin and eyes turned yellow. But she didn't complain. She wasn't that kind of dog.

Scarlett's last haircut, Oct 5, 2021

Scarlett loved chasing squirrels, walkies (especially when she was stalking a squirrel), belly rubs, and escaping through open gates to chase the squirrels who wouldn't stay inside her fence, probably in that order.

Scarlett wasn't my dog, but she kind of was. And I miss her. Even the trouble.

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I had to change the latch to our picket fence gate because Scarlett learned that she could put one paw on the handle and push to let herself out of the yard.

My irritation at having to track down a muddy escaped poodle was tempered by my appreciation that she learned how to escape just from watching us come and go.

Never underestimate a determined poodle.

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