Woody

This blog is about me and Woody. Okay, about me, Woody and the rest of my family (who put the FUN back into dysfunctional).

I adopted Woody in 1996, when she was a mere six weeks old and weighed 14 pounds. She was the runt of a litter of 7. Woody hit her pinnacle of girth at 114 a few years ago and now is a much more manageable 97 pounds. I think this is a normal size for a dog, but when she is next to other "normal sized" canines, she more closely resembles a mini-horse (more on mini-horses later. I promise).

Why is a female named Woody? Well, why was there a boy named Sue? Sheesh. My father's nickname was Woody, and he passed away about two weeks before the dog adoption. No, the dog is not named for my father. The kids (more on them later) thought it was a great name, and Toy Story being the hit kid movie of the year, well... I gave in.

Woody has been my one constant companion since 1996. Now the rest of you, you have been there, some most of the time, some part of the time, but Woody doesn't have much of a social life, so in all seriousness, she has been a constant companion.

In her younger days, she would hop the wall in the backyard (as soon as we all drove off in the morning) to hang out next door with a lesbian Black Lab, but aside from that, here she sits. I mean, here she lays. She's not much for sitting. Back to her fence hopping days - one day I came back to the house unexpectedly - and found my 100 pound dog balancing herself on top of the 3 inch wide block wall. She looked embarrassed that I was on to her secret shame.

Dog farts. Woody claimed Grand Pooba of Fartland status a few years ago. She can clear a room, peel the paint and give you that look like "what?" Sometimes she clears herself out of the room, too.

The vet says Woody is now in her "sunset years." She is 10.5 and starting to really show her age. Her markings are all white - even her eyelashes. She still has some bounce and energy - but for the most part, she is a couch dog.

Woody has many nicknames: Wooey, Wooey Woo, Woodmeister, Woodrow Wilson Dog, and others that are just too silly to post to the general public. She endures the constant baby talk yet understands some plain English vocab: bath, vet, walk, puppy crunchies. And her amazing hearing when a food package is being opened will ensure a large Akita head in your lap, regardless of what you are eating. She doesn't care for cucumbers, but grapes and bananas are fine. See "dog farts" above.