This is The Face of Evil

Don't let his goofy pose fool you. He's armed and dangerous.

Pensive? Self-controlled? I think not.

 

Do NOT look him in the eye or he will eat your brain. Just because he wears spectacles doesn't mean he's an intellectual.

 

I think these pictures speak for themselves: We're all in trouble. You can read about some of this hound's malfeasance in the October issue of O, The Oprah Magazine. After you do, go hug a toddler or a bunny.  Or pour yourself a stiff drink -- you'll need it,

Dinner at the Delaunay Diner

It was broiled salmon, roasted potatoes (left over from last night, truth be told), and honeyed carrots.

Lars liked it. The Hellacious Hound thought he would too, if given half a chance. He sat and gazed upwards at Lars, eyes the most eloquent brown, with just a bit of a white ring around them.

Melting eyes.

"Give him a little salmon," I urged.

Lars looked stern. "His kind is not served here."

"On the floor, then."

Lars raised his left eyebrow. "He has a bowl full of kibble. On the floor."

Hellacious tilted his head.

"Is your heart made of stone?"

"Granite."

I made a furtive hand gesture at the Hound. He noticed immediately and snaked between Lars's feet, popping up beside my plate. He gave me an intense stare. All of him quivered, even his fluff-ball tail.

"Get down," warned Lars.

I pushed him off. I knew if I fed him even a morsel of that salmon I'd get a lecture. A German lecture. Which is bound to be bad news. So I ate the salmon myself, under two reproachful canine eyes.

When Lars had scraped every last dried-on piece of salmon from the serving dish (I can't tell if this is a German or an idiosyncratic madness) he allowed me to place it before His Nibs.

His Nibs got right to work on what remained -- mostly butter. When he'd finished he leaped onto the couch and did his trademark wriggle into the pillows.

"Get your buttery snout out of that pillow!" thundered Lars. Up popped a doggish head. I whipped out my iPhone to take a picture but he always flees when I do that.

I have had "buttery snout" on the brain ever since dinner, so I thought I'd blog about it. Sorry there's no photographic evidence.

Hellacious Nail-Biter

I thought you might enjoy a snapshot of the Hellacious Hound biting his nails.

Happy Thursday.

Commenting on this Blog

Dear Readers,

A faithful follower of this blog reports that she can NEVER leave a comment on it. There seems to be some sort of blogger-glitch afoot.

Would you do me a favor? If you have tried to comment and not had success, would you shoot me an email at anna.delaunay@earthlink.net and let me know?

Now, it may be that my sparkling prose simply does not elicit much reader response. But in case people like the aforementioned Follower are trying and not having any luck, I would like to take it up with the good folks at Blogger Support.

It is always thrilling to hear from blog readers. So please, when you drop by, say hello!

Or the Hellacious Hound will sit up on his throne and SNARL.

Hellacious Hounds and Other Furry Quadripeds

Our Hellacious Hound is a moody fellow. I suppose this can be attributed to his age: he's more or less a teenager in dog years. When he's in a positive space he's waggy and cuddly and generally sunny. But in a flash he can become growly and nip at your flanks. He is a wonderful watchdog but at the same time a barking nuisance -- and his bark is loud and shrill.

This is the HH we love:

This is the HH who disturbs the crap out of us:

(Dramatization)

When you have a kid with severe sensory issues, a kid who can't bear loud noises or disruptive, unpredictable behavior, a dog like Hellacious does not always work. And yet, we adopted him (adoption can be a bit like Russian Roulette), gave him a warm, safe home. We love him in spite of his character deficits -- just as we love each other in spite of OUR character deficits (and all four of us have some, believe you me). And you know what? He loves us back. We're his family. His home.

I can't bear the thought of betraying him by taking him back to the shelter. And yet. Benjy often talks about the dog he wishes he had. The dog who is all his, who is always gentle and quiet and sunny. Who never nips at his heels or growls. Whose only desire is a boy to love.

(Remember her?)

I wish I could get him that dog -- if she exists. But I don't think that dog and OUR dog would mix -- and as imperfect as our is, he's OURS. Benjy would be a pretty sad guy if Hellacious were suddenly gone.

So we'll make do with the sunny/barky/growly/waggy hound we have. We'll wield the corrective spray bottle. And sometimes, when we're not cuddling with our extremely fluffy guy, we'll all just have to plug our ears. 

Chocolate helps at times like that.

Hellacious Him

The Hellacious Hound is sitting as close to me as he can without being in my lap. And he's warm. And soft. And softly panting. Keeshonds rule!

Life. Is. Good.