Hi ! My name is Duffy and I am a wheaten colored, female Cairn Terrier. I just turned 13 years old in August! However, everybody I meet on the street says I still look and act like a puppy! I was born in Arkansas but when I was 12 weeks old, Barry and Carla took me to their home all the way in New York City. That was quite a change, but pretty soon I thought: "Hey, I can learn to like this!" They gave me lots of love, attention, toys, but most importantly: RAWHIDE CHEWIES AND BONES !
Let me tell you about my favorite activities. I have lots of toys. All kinds of balls in different sizes and colors, rawhide bones and chewies for chewing, a frisbee and little stuffed animal friends (most of them missing ears, noses or tails). But what I like the most is my "squeaky raccoon". This is a soft stuffed animal that makes squeaky noises when you punch it or throw it. Just say "squeaky" and I get all excited! It is even more fun when my mom or dad throws the raccoon and I can chase it. I won't bring it back though. Hey, I'm not a retriever! I could play with that toy all day!!Being a Cairn Terrier makes me a natural digger and chewer. I just love doing these things. But since we live in an apartment there isn't much to dig. However, you have to be creative and that's why I play the "pretend to dig and bury my chewy game". It goes like this. Every week I get a new chewy (sometimes two), but I won't chew on it right away. First, I want to hide it and save it for later. Don't ask me why, it's my instinct. Anyway, I take my chewy and start looking around the house for a place to put it. When I find the perfect spot, I start digging very carefully since I don't want to ruin the carpet or the cushions of the couch. Then I put the chewy in the "hole" and cover it with imaginary sand with my nose. Once finished, I look at it a moment or two and think: No, this isn't the right spot. So I take my chewy again and start looking for another spot. This process repeats itself a few times but once I'm done I feel great pride. My mom and dad must think so too because when they see me doing this, they are always smiling and hugging me and they say that I'm such a funny dog!
Go Here for some of my puppy pictures. Cute !
Even Cuter! !
A SCARY STORY. . .
On May 4, 1996 something terrible happened to me. And it wasn't even my fault! On the morning of that Saturday, Barry and I were taking a walk in one of the streets of our neighborhood. It is a nice street. With lots of grass, trees and squirrels. So we're just walking there and I am sniffing my favorite spots and just minding my own business. When suddenly out of nowhere a big rottweiler comes running towards us and bites me in my behind! I didn't even know what was happening because it happened so fast. But I heard Barry yelling so something must be wrong I thought. Also, the big dog's mom comes to us and says she is sorry and writes something on a piece of paper for Barry. I hear one of the bystanders saying that maybe I should see the vet. The vet?? I don't understand. Is something wrong with me? I must have been in shock because I didn't feel any pain, and I just walked home like nothing happened. Once home, Carla looked at me and said that I was bleeding and that we had to go to the doctor immediately. I don't like going to the doctor much. Mind you, my doctor is really nice and he knows me from when I was a puppy, but I just don't like it there. Sometimes I go there and they won't let me go home.
Anyway, I'm at the doctor's and he says it is really bad. He shaves away a lot of hair and now you can really see that it is a deep wound. Barry and Carla are real sad. The doctor says I have to stay. No! I don't want to stay! I want to go home! But they bring me to the hospital because the wound has to be drained to prevent further infection. I had to stay in the hospital for a week! Barry and Carla called every day to see how I was doing. Finally, on May 10, I could go home again. Fortunately, I didn't feel any pain and I would be perfectly happy if it wasn't for that stupid lampshade kind of thing that they put around my neck. Why is that? I can't see a thing from the left or right, I bump into everything and it is very difficult for me to eat. But at least I am home and that makes me happy.A few days after I'm home the bad dog's mom comes to visit. She is very sorry about what has happened and offered to pay the whole doctor's bill. That is very nice because the doctor cost a lot of money. She says she can't understand that her dog would do such a thing. But she thinks that maybe her dog thought that I was a grass mower or a vacuum cleaner. What!? Hello-o-o! A grass mower? Me? I may bark sometimes but I don't sound like a grass mower. Also, that isn't a reason to attack a small dog like me. Big dogs just aren't so smart, I think.
Fortunately, this story has a happy ending. My wound healed well and my hair grew back relatively quick. After a few months it seemed like nothing had happened. The only thing is, we never take walks in the street where the big, bad dog lives anymore. Too bad. Because I am not afraid! No way!MESSAGE TO OWNERS OF BIG, BAD DOGS: "PLEASE KEEP YOUR DOG ON THE LEASH" !
SOME OF MY FAVORITE LINKSTHE TERRIER CLUB
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