I was sitting here this morning doing my usual routine… drink some tea, have a bagel, check my email, Facebook, Google Reader… and I heard it.  The tell tale sound of Weston opening the closet door and rummaging through the shred box.  By the time I responded, which was actually pretty quickly, with my usual…. Weston, NO, get out of there, he had a piece of paper and was making for the hills.  Or in his case, more accurately, I should say his chair.  He looked up at me and then, miraculously, dropped the paper. Riley, our little girlie, just stayed in her bed the whole time looking at both of us like we were lame idiots.  She doesn’t play those games.

It made me think about them… our little lovelies.  They are so different, in almost every way save one, they sort of look alike.  And even that likeness has diminished as Riley aged and became more silver than dark gray.  They are beauties.  But then… we love them. And love might not even be a strong enough word for it…. but it’s all I’ve got.

Weston…  He is the oldest, so he gets first billing.  He’s our poet.  Our feeling gent.  He is ruled by emotion, no matter what kind, and acts on it purposefully and sometimes impulsively… or compulsively.  He loves people and wants attention and love constantly.  Always looking at you with those deep feeling eyes full of soul and pawing or nosing for a quick pet.  He’s a bit of a two personality guy… taken away from his mother at too young an age (not our choice but the breeder’s, who was wanting to get out of the puppy business and did it too soon) he suffers from not enough discipline when he was young.  We tried, but we weren’t his mamma and though he is ultra smart (sometimes the bane of our existence) he is equally as stubborn.  He will look at you, know he’s being told no, and still do whatever it is he’s doing.  Which mostly consists of being a thief of the highest caliber.  We’ve tried every form of discipline we’ve researched and though he responds best to being ignored for a time (he loves us you see and doesn’t like to be left out), he still won’t give in.  Stubborn.  A stubborn, very very smart thief.  He’s magic at it.  He can get things off countertops… standing on his little hind legs, using his paw to reach up over where he can’t really see that well, pull something over to the edge, then grab it with his teeth.  He opens closets doors, drawers, tips over trash cans, and jumps up in any chair that’s left out.  It’s hilarious… and sometimes aggravating.  We don’t really care.  In the moment you get mad at him, but then you think about all the cunning and planning and skill and you have to laugh.  His best, yet worst, thieving experience was when he opened a pocked in a backpack that was fully zipped closed, got out a bag of chocolate, and ate it all.  This is always what we worry about the most… that he will thieve something bad for him.  He tends to eat what he steals so you can’t get it from him.  He’s swallowed ear plugs, numerous kleenex, napkins, food of all kinds, q-tips… the list goes on.  The chocolate was the worst.  We called the vet and had to pour (to his great displeasure) some hydrogen peroxide down him to get him to throw it all up.  We did… and he did… all over the bathroom floor.  Yuck… but we were happy because he was safe.  He’s incorrigible.  And his feelings run deep.  He looks at you, as he’s flipping over onto his back and opening up his legs to get a good pet, with eyes that speak volumes.  Not all dogs are like this… but he is.  He’s the most feeling dog I’ve ever seen.  It’s amazing, the soul that pours from his eyes to yours.  Very expressive.  Very sweet.  Very deep and full of love.  He’s our boy.  Our little mister.  Our Woodsy (as Karen calls him).

Riley… our little girl.  She is a spitfire.  Confident in every way save one.  She’s afraid of the oven.  It’s true.  The minute the oven goes on, she makes haste to the family room and the back of the sectional that’s furthest from the door up to the kitchen.  She hates the oven.  We know it’s because it used to (before we unplugged this particular one) set off the smoke alarm.  We have another nearby that isn’t as sensitive and has stayed plugged in…. have to be safe and all.  When the oven door used to be opened, no matter what we were cooking in there, it set off this particular smoke detector… and the girlie hated it.  That isn’t a strong enough word.  Her ears are very sensitive…. we think it’s because her vision isn’t good.  So even now, with the detector not going off every time, when the oven gets turned on she makes for the other room.  She’s smart too… knows what that oven going on could mean.  And she doesn’t like it.  It’s cute and sad at the same time as she lays out there, a tiny ball, quivering.  It’s the only time she seems afraid.  Otherwise she’s a little ball of confidence, all ten pounds of her.  She knows who she is and owns her space.  Her little strut, and I will call it a strut, is so cute.  Head held high, barking occasionally at anyone or anything she feels like, jumping up to put her front paws over her brother’s back to show she’s in charge.  Confident.  She’s sometimes loud, barking crazy-like whenever we get home, or someone comes over, or she thinks she hears someone outside.  But it’s her… loud, confident, and so very cute.  She’s chalk full of personality… playing like a cat likes to play, spinning around, hardly able to contain all the energy inside her little body.  Yes, she sometimes tries to jump up (and she’s a fantastic jumper… so high for the size of her little self) up onto the couch or a chair and misses… her eyes again, not working as well as they should for depth… but she doesn’t let it stop her.  Bouncing off the furniture only to immediately jump up again.  She has moxy.  She’s full of it.  If only the rest of us could have half the confidence she possesses in her little self… fantastic.

And that’s them… our little cuties.  So many nicknames… the boy, the girlie, riles, ri-ri, girlie cutie, wooser, woodsie, westenheimer, riley-roosey… it goes on and on.  Whatever we happen to call them they are a big part of the joy in our lives.  We love our little schnoodles.  We also spoil the crap out of them… they eat great for them food, which we mix up, they have special beds all over the place, we buy them bones and bullies and toys, we take them for walks when it’s sunny (they hate the rain), we built up a really nice dog run/area at the back of our house including their own little door for going in and out with a gate we lock when we leave so that no one can accidentally let them out, we play ball (for Weston) and tug (for Riley) in the house when we can’t take them out for walks, and we love on them… all the time.  It’s all so worth it because they are precious… they love us and bring us immense delight.

How could you not love these faces?

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