I've long wondered what Portuguese Water Dogs are bred for. It's not boating. Like Ed before her, Dex merely tolerates the boat. Eh, he seems to enjoy it. I'll do it for him.
It's certainly not swimming. The only time Dex has swum in her life was when I waded out too far for her to be right next to me without swimming. Dad! Yo dad! How am I supposed to glom on to you like molten flypaper if I have to do this—um, what's the word—foot... paddling... thing?
It's not retrieving. Dex prefers to let other dogs do the work of running and picking up the ball. She contents herself with barking and snarling in their ear while they do it. She's rather like her Aunt Dorkass that way.
Which brings us to this morning.
I used to find Madam and Eve's mouse obsession funny. And then I found mouse crap all over my liquor cabinet. This morning marked a new milestone: me, walking through my kitchen barefoot; mouse, sitting next to Dex and looking at me.
Next to Dex.
NEXT to Dex.
This dog officially has no function in nature.