She is sweet, kind, caring, smart, and forgiving. Some days she is my only friend. She is my confidant, and a mood-altering gift. She is patient and her love is without conditions. She is my world, and I am hers. When I come home, it is her exuberance that greets me at the door. She is my blessing.

She will please and please, and be kind and loving, with 90% of people alive right now. However…a few…just afew…she just doesn’t care for, and she will COMPLETELY ignore them – if she doesn’t like you…you are a mouth without a voice. To her you are hands with nothing to say. W HATEVER…she says.

The Sis and I the other night are kvetching over the phone, and the dog conversation of course comes up. So we share our stories du jour. Her with her youthful black, and me with my golden one. They have the same beards, they have slightly curly fur, and its longish…they are somewhat alike…’cept Stella is black, and Irish is white. And Irish was born in 2008, and Stella last year.

So the ol’sister then brings up a convo she’d had recently with her neighbour, who’s also Dad’s bestfriend.

Here’s the story…the Irish Lassie last year got out one night and like a bullet ran over to the neighbour’s and beat the living snot out of his female medium-small golden cockapoo-poodle {or some such}…the only real damage done was the neighbours dog broke a nail. However…that wasn’t apparent at first…with all the blood everywhere.

Ol’neighbour’o…well he grabs Irish, and hanging from her neck by her collor, the ol’neighbour’o drags her back to our place (Irish and I lived at my sisters last year) next door.

So I’m not so happy about this turn of events…and not all that pleased with o’neighbour’o’s over reaction. AND the worse part…as he dragged Irish over, he had a gaggle of little girls crying and howling “IRISH, IRISH“.

Good grief. Poor ol’Irish being dragged away like a sack of potatoes was just too much for their innocent hearts, as poor Irish was beautiful, and kind, and loving, and that’s the only way they’d ever known her to be. Actually, I don’t think they actually saw the whole dog fight, just the aftermath.

SO…the sister tells me that ol’neighbour’o I guess felt mighty bad afterwards. He said not a week later he was over, and didn’t she go right to him, and licked his hand? He told my sis that he’s never met a nicer dog. Well, “‘cept for that trying to kill my dog part“…but…this neighbour’o can maybe understand that…ahem.

Yeah, she’s sweet. I love that story. Another convert. She wins you over, this one. She’s not just the average dog, she’s definitely a blessing.

However…at my sister’s The Golden One shed hair like a dead Christmas tree, and kept getting into the garbage. UGH…and she up till last year had the disgusting habit of snacking on Ladies Special Sushi rolls. NumNum. Nice, eh?

Really can’t say my sister took a shine to her.

Here though? I leave the garbage out in the kitchen in a bag…she never goes near it. Ever. Completely ignores it. I never told her to either. Something changed, but it wasn’t anything I did…least not consciously.

I think at some point or other, ol’Irish converted my sister. Or, and more probably so, lil’Stella and all her puppy exuberance and messiness, won Irish some marks.

Then again, if it had not been for Irish, there would not be a Stella in their home. SO…after shedding all over the house, eating the garbage, and being a general nuisance at times, they still wanted a dog.

These furry beasties, they mess you up, and in the best ways.