That’s my dog, Elsa, meeting a horse for the first time. (A friend rode over to our place from his house a couple miles away.) Elsa also squeezed under a fence to say hello to three shaggy, indifferent cows. She tried to meet a fawn, too, but it made such a fast escape I could only see a little white-tailed blur. She did a double take like a cartoon character, scratching her head in confusion as she tried to puzzle how the new toy in front of her nose had vanished into thin air.
Elsa, in her own words:
Cool! Something new! Um…WTF? Wow, I’m a little nervous because I get a headache when I think too much. But, hey, I’m cool! Can I sniff your butt? I actually have no f-ing idea who or what you are but that’s okay, I’ll just wag my tail a lot. Hey! I like you! Can we be friends?
Meanwhile… the little black speck in the photo, below, is our tyrannical narcissistdachshund, Rudy.
Here’s Rudy, on meeting an animal approximately 100 times his size:
“Okay, so, it’s actually, Rudolph. Thanks. So, I’m gonna move in pretty aggressively at the outset, just to let that uppity horse know who’s boss. I’ll do about ten minutes of barking at my usual feverish/obnoxious/ceaseless pitch. Then, I’m going to try the encirclement strategy (it worked pretty well for the Russians at Stalingrad): I’ll run in berserk circles around her for a few minutes like a total spaz. (I know, it’s demeaning but I’ve got a plan.) I’ll yap at that stupid clodhopper’s hooves for a while, really get up in her grill (okay, I’m actually nowhere near her “grill” but I’m talking metaphorically here.) If I still don’t get results… well, actually, I’m not really sure what I’m aiming for, exactly… there’s a lot of distractions out there… but, let’s just say, ‘after a fair interval’ (i.e. when my moron ‘owner’ (sic) has stopped yelling at me and giving me incredibly f-ed up mixed messages about how cute and monstrous I am) I’m going to feign a dramatic retreat. I’ll go for one of those Napoleon’s-army-wintering-in-Russia moments. I might even lie down in the “submissive” posture (p. 219, Dachshund Tactical manual, volume one) while I plot my next move. (I understand the dork herbivore lives nearby.) By the way, I actually really resent the way she’s chewing up our lawn with such a nonchalant flair and the “family” is just taking it. They’d be all over me if I pulled a stunt like that. Omg, she’s got her head bent to ground for, like, 20 minutes, she’s not even making eye contact for crying out loud. What a loser! Hey, nice predator instinct, doofus! Happy foraging. Hahaha.
My “people” (sic) just made a a little joke about what a threat I’m going to be to Vermont’s bear population next spring… If they only knew…
