20 March 2017

I . . . Was . . . Running!

Each day we teach Penny valuable life lessons. I've explained the danger of snapping at flying insects. Penny understands the importance of being seated before dinner. Her grammar, a private matter between only the two of us, is impeccable; and she grasps the concept of too many pronouns and too few antecedents . . . even at her tender age. However, Penny’s real take-away from her grammar lessons is that too many personal pronouns make mommy crazy. The puppy is prodigious, I tell you -- a reliable vocabulary of over 30 words at just four months of age.

Last week Penny learned never to touch any Costa Rican toad . . . a lesson that could save her life. A few days later we all learned the lesson of what a tarantula bite will do to an eight-pound puppy. Yes, a late-night emergency call to Dr. Delgado was involved . . . and as Murphy's Law would have it, the electricity was off so she was cared for in Rusty's arms by lantern light. Luckily I'm good in a crisis and it wasn't until the next day that my melt-down came. A few days prior to the spider lesson I learned how painful is a bee sting smack-dab in the center of my palm. Now I'm not saying that I cried like a little girl . . . but neither would I deny it. So our world has become a small mommy and me learning center.


A few weeks ago Penny learned the lessons of the ocean as she was introduced to the blue Pacific. Prodigy though she may be, naturally Penny initially experienced some misgivings. Soft sand feels differently than grass under foot. Waves, even at low tide, crash with an unfamiliar sound. Though Penny braves the sounds from our howler monkeys without so much as a blink, roaring waves at Playa Carrillo revealed a more tentative terrier.

But any Costa Rican terrier worth its salt must learn about early morning beach runs; and soon Penny embraced the surf, snapping at the retreating waves and running at rocket-speed with Rusty. The animal exhibits lightening-fast speed, even as she totes the weight of a soggy, sand-laden rope.

Now for any lovers of a wiry terrier coat, there is actually a great deal of red wire underneath what little remains of that fluffy puppy coat. It's what we call her Pomeranian coat. So it’s a poor photo, not a poor stripping job. Really.

When eventually we switched leashes and put Penny on 25-feet of rope the fun began in earnest. The following Monday saw a very tired puppy. As we've always said: tired terrier . . . good terrier.

This animal is adored, despite non-stop watching her every movement to ensure that she won't find or interact with spiders, amphibians, flying insects, or chocolate bits dropped during my baking jamborees.

A major breakthrough was had yesterday at the beach in Samara where Penny met big dogs, horses, and scampering children. She's now put two-and-two together and understands that packing the car means a trip to the beach. Prodigious, I tell you. Next lesson? The split infinitive. Lo que hay.