Life with Liesel

I have semi-seriously considered renaming my Belgian Malinbow-wow. Some of the names that are high on this list are:

  • Jaws
  • Stealth
  • Shake-n-bake

To me the names are self-explanatory.  When she lies on her back her gums reveal the mouth of a Great White.  Yes, somewhat on a smaller scale, but just as sharp and just as pointed. She likes to play (my word; not hers) tug of war with her black shirt.  She has a firm grip, a great head shake, and a growl that will one day frighten the pizza guy off the front porch.


Yes, those are demonic lighting bolts coming out of her eyes. She really gets into battle mode, and uses a number of stratagems to get the shirt all to herself.  She is not above pressing it against my calf to get a better grip. She doesn’t mind if she happens to bite down on denim, or something that tastes like me.

Not that she is in attack mode 24X7.


No, that’s not her tail! That’s part of the remains of an expensive toy monkey. It had (past tense) rope arms and legs. It also has had major incisor surgery to get to the squeeker. The patient is still living, albeit as a quadriplegic, and holding on with his last breath to his wheezy heart. Prognosis is not good. Yes, she is touching my foot with hers.  Like who could ignore that face? And if I do ignore her, she will chew the shoe down to the sock and beyond.

So, let me explain “Stealth”.  You would think with four paws full of sharp little toe nails that the pitter-patter of clicking on tile and hardwood floors would approximate the sound of a monsoon in full fury. Sorry, no.  She can move without making a sound.  I am considering a large collar bell, maybe the size of schoolhouse/school marm’s? My only worry is she would find a way to torture me around the clock. Mostly she goes outside to do her duty these days, but she can still make it ‘just’ to the back door and not go out.  Piddle puddles are always a happy discovery.  And she tracks up and down the floor.


Sorry, this image does not do the subject justice.  Blame the photographer.

I’m blaming the stealthy puppy piddler.





About tnman

I was born, then I was born again.
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