Dogs will be dogs

My Blondie and Gary's Sheba became fast friends. Blondie, my pound mutt, had long blonde hair that would blow in the breeze as she trotted by my side. In the winter, I dressed her in a pink turtleneck sweater that she loved. Sheba was a beautiful example of a pure bred Dobie with her muscular frame and powerful, toned body ripped with muscles that actually bulged when she moved, showing every detail of her thighs, chest and shoulders. Her pointed cropped ears stood straight up and her subbed tail wagged only when Gary spoke. Carrying herself with complete self assurance, she acted as if she owned the park and everything in it.

Sheba looked at once menacing and loving at the same time. Gary rarely had to correct her or put forward any commands. They seemed to have a relationship that went beyond words; it was as if Sheba could heard her owner's very thoughts and act accordingly. I never saw her growl or snarl but I could imagine how scary she could be if someone happened to run into her on a dark street. There was no messing with Sheba. 

Blondie and Sheba were quite a pair. They didn’t play with the other dogs at the park. Oh sure they would greet other canines but neither was into playing with a ball or catching a Frisbee. They stood on the sidelines, watching the other dogs run and jump. It was as if playing was somehow beneath the two of them. Instead, they stood together, side by side, looking as though they were laughing at the other canines behaving like mere dogs.