That hound is possibly watching a green, white or black bug that is walking across the painting, and getting ready to deal with it by digging it out of the scene with both front paws; in the vertical plane. Which could bring the whole damn painting down, setting off alarm bells and automatically shutting and locking all exits and summoning the police and fire brigade.
Could well be that it’s all happened before in the hound’s experience. A fun time. Maybe it could all happen again. Worth a try, surely.
Heard this presumably true story once (or something like it):
A man was taking a walk in an unfamiliar area and, as he approached a warehouse, an attack dog suddenly came running out and towards him, teeth bared, growling low, and clearly ready for blood. Terrified, the man froze, and then said the first thing that popped into his mind.
“Where’s your ball? Huh? Huh? Where’s your ball? Can you get it? Can you? Go get your ball! Go get it! Come on …”
The vicious dog stopped in its tracks, hesitated a moment — and then started to wag its tail, bounce, bow, spin around — and run back to the warehouse.
Sastra, that story could be about me. Some punk tried to sic his pitbull on me once and I had that lovely pittie rolled over for a belly scritch before he could catch up with her. “Ooh, who’s a cutie? You are! Who has a really dumb owner? You do!”
Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t misgender that poor dog! They’ll never get over it! I do have a tendency to call dogs that remind me of my dog “he” because my dog is a he, but that doesn’t mean all dogs that remind me of him are.
Awww, that’s lovely! Thank you!
Lovely! And it made me laugh.
That hound is possibly watching a green, white or black bug that is walking across the painting, and getting ready to deal with it by digging it out of the scene with both front paws; in the vertical plane. Which could bring the whole damn painting down, setting off alarm bells and automatically shutting and locking all exits and summoning the police and fire brigade.
Could well be that it’s all happened before in the hound’s experience. A fun time. Maybe it could all happen again. Worth a try, surely.
I thought that was a photograph, at first.
From the back he looks like my Irish terrier, which gave me an additional smile; I could imagine him doing just that.
iknklast: Then you might like the following from Australia’s master story-teller, Henry Lawson (1867-1922).
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Loaded_Dog
Omar, I suppose that painting is working for you if it’s so remarkably suggestive.
https://www.tommosserdesign.com/museum-series
He or she! There’s a Golden just up the street from me and she’s as ball-focused as any dude Golden.
Heard this presumably true story once (or something like it):
A man was taking a walk in an unfamiliar area and, as he approached a warehouse, an attack dog suddenly came running out and towards him, teeth bared, growling low, and clearly ready for blood. Terrified, the man froze, and then said the first thing that popped into his mind.
“Where’s your ball? Huh? Huh? Where’s your ball? Can you get it? Can you? Go get your ball! Go get it! Come on …”
The vicious dog stopped in its tracks, hesitated a moment — and then started to wag its tail, bounce, bow, spin around — and run back to the warehouse.
Heh I think I know that dog!
Sastra, that story could be about me. Some punk tried to sic his pitbull on me once and I had that lovely pittie rolled over for a belly scritch before he could catch up with her. “Ooh, who’s a cutie? You are! Who has a really dumb owner? You do!”
lol
Oh, dear, I hope I didn’t misgender that poor dog! They’ll never get over it! I do have a tendency to call dogs that remind me of my dog “he” because my dog is a he, but that doesn’t mean all dogs that remind me of him are.