Let me tell you about a girl named Tilly. That’s right, dear readers, it’s time to update you on our little Bostie babe, who has been with us nearly three months now. I know you are beyond excited to read yet another column about our puppy, amIright?
Right now, Tilly is sleeping beside me with one ear up and one folded over like a baby puppy’s. Tilly’s ears are a serious subject of conversation in this house as they truly seem to stand upright or droop over according to her many moods. The one up-one down look generally happens when she’s feeling particularly feisty, which she certainly was from 6:45 this morning onwards.
So feisty, in fact, that she promptly peed on the rug that lies beside the front door. Keep in mind, I was leaning over to open said door so she could go outside. But, nope, with the ultimate amount of both elegance and confidence, she squatted and stared right at me, as if to say, “Peeing al fresco is for peasants, mother.”
Of course, I wasn’t too pleased, but not surprised. This little pup is fighting potty training with all she’s got and, after a while, her stamina is actually a little bit impressive. She knows she’ll get a treat if she goes outside, so much so that she looks over at me expectantly — “Yes, I will take that morsel now, thank you, mother” — but ultimately, she’s admitted to me she’s just too busy to be bothered. And I’d better get used to it.
To be fair, she is very busy. Her brother Fitz keeps her on her toes and they play and play and play — usually by each taking a mouthful of toy and playing tug of war with it. Stuffed bananas, watermelons, mooses, teddies, piggies, balls, fishies, stuffed cookies, donuts and eggplants, Tilly has fun with them all. She’s even discovered Fitzi’s tickle trunk of old toys (which have been picked clean of their stuffing and squeakers) and has a blast with them. The other day, she sprinted past me with the Flat Stanley version of what was once a mighty rhino.
“Where are you headed, Till-Till?” I lamely asked.
“Africa, mother. Obviously.”
Hotfooting it around is not unusual for this girl, as the vast majority of our neighborhood has discovered. We’ve finally had to restrict her to a leash when she’s outside, but for the past 10 weeks, Tilly would run out of the yard from every direction to meet as many people as she could. Our house abuts a golf course and every poor Tom, Dick and Harry with a bag of irons got to meet this girl. Upon reaching them, she would twist and squirm like a fish, hoping to get some love and to express to them just how much she loves golf. “Take me with you,” I heard her tell one particularly fetching man in a pink polo. “I’ll be your huckleberry.”
These exchanges inevitably end with me rushing onto the golf course, tripping over my apologies. The best is on Saturday mornings when I’m still in my 10-year-old housecoat and Dansko clogs (which is all I have time to get on for my best chance at a potty outside), an ensemble that I’m sure those golfers really appreciate.
Of course, little Tilly has a second speed too, which I’m witnessing right now. Her chin rests beside my laptop as I type and she’s snoring away. When she’s not beating Fitz up (and bless him, he takes it), this one loves to be curled up right next to you almost every minute of the day. I have to admit that I absolutely love it, so may be a bit responsible for her neediness. However, when she’s asleep beside me, I can also be sure she isn’t eating windowsills (“Delicious stuff, mother!”) or army-crawling under the bed to chew on the bobbypins, wads of Kleenex and dust bunnies that perpetually reside there.
And so now you know the story of this girl named Tilly. She continues to be fearless, sweet and in love with her big brother, Fitz. And she continues to capture our hearts.