As mentioned earlier, we’ve a new addition in our home, a young Westie pup named Sophie. Sophie came into the family to support our downhearted male Weim, Dash, after the death of his housemate and my well-loved female Weim, Tessa.
As also mentioned earlier, Dash doesn’t play. I guess he never learned how, or perhaps it’s not in his genes. As we adopted him as a yearling, I have no knowledge of his puppyhood. All I know is that despite Tessa’s best efforts over 7 years, Dash never played with her or any other dog who claimed his attention.
Sophie’s previous attempts to entice Dash to play ended in failure.
Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, right? Well, evidently the boy is trying hard to please his new housemate.
If he looks as though he’s longsuffering, he is. Dash puts up with a lively pup who jumps on him, nipping his ears and lips to goad him into play. Sophie races out the front door and waits at the bottom of the steps for Dash to descend, this to attack him for more play while the poor lad’s only interested in relieving himself. He sidesteps her handily and patiently puts up with her high-spirited harrassment.
It’s no wonder I call him Saint Dash.