For the three persons following my photostream on Flickr (hi mom!), it will come as no surprise that we have been "blessed" (read: blessed) by the gracious though somewhat sudden appearance of a Boston Terrier puppy named Elvis von Rosenhoff. Elvis was born 20th of December 2011, and came to live with us in our Rosenhoff apartment one cold 10th of February, after an hour long drive from his comfortable estates in Eidsvoll. *cough* Or at least its close vicinity *cough*.
Elvis von Rosenhoff, Day 1:
I've ate, pooped and pissed. What Would Jesus Do Now?
Over the past couple of years both me and Lady C have been clearly over-worked, so eventually we thought; «What the heck, let's throw a dog into the mix!» I grew up with dogs, but being that I was growing up, I didn't really understand much of all the work my parents laid into bringing them up. I can tell you, I was taken by complete surprise as to how much the little puppy relied on us, on Lady C and on me, for every inch of security that it has built over time. Every day equals new adventures, and I think "dog parents" are not really recognized for the time and effort it takes. Except by the completely honest love and adoration of the King himself, of course!
My mother asked what the hell I was thinking, and all I could say was; «I'm a dog person. A person with a dog. Only without a dog. Until just now.» Nuff said.
Elvis is a well-born Boston Terrier of Norwegian and Italian descent, and we named him Elvis because he was the straight forward, easy going and quite the charmer of the pen. This was mistake number one. When you select a dog you want the middle ground, viz. the dog that is not rushing to meet you (Elvis) but not the one that is thin and nervous (Dead Meat), but the one in the middle. Despite his honorable heritage, large estates and titles to his name, Elvis is quite the rebel, who early broke off with his upper-class family and started the infamous punk-rock band called Rage Against Aberdeen that never made the studio. It didn't go very well from there, mostly due to the problems associated with split personality disorders.. Elvis is Dr. Jekyll on Happy Pills and Mr. Hyde on acid, as illustrated by the following couple of photographs:
Cuteness trumps $300 shoes
OH MY GOD I'M FULL OF STARS!
The constant intake of triple espressos doesn't help...
ANOTHER TRIPLE EXPRESSO TO GO! FASTER!
Timing is also everything, and at the time (really bad pun intended), it couldn't have been any worse. It was February. In Norway. Freezing cold with chilling winds that howl through the soulless streets of Oslo. Puppies barely have skin let alone actual fur, so Elvis picked up the tunes from his punk-rock days and yelped and moaned and made sounds that reminds me of ET getting hurt. You know, from the movie called ET. TWICE I have been accused of animal abuse because some schmuck on the sidewalk thought the sounds coming from the little puppy couldn't possibly come from a healthy puppy. He sounds fucking hurting!
«God dammit, leave him alone, he's a punk-rock singer ffs!»
Nobody understands. Life is pain. So is shitting in minus ten degrees with a bare bum half an inch above the icy snow. Elvis is all like: The grass may be greener on the other side BUT I WOULDN'T EFFIN' KNOW BECAUSE I'M CHIN-HIGH IN SNOW HERE! No big surprise he loves our English style fireplace:
Elvis' favourite geo-location..
Yeah, just leave me here, terrible humans. Can't be bothered, can you? Ehh...
Boston Terriers don't bark. What the brochure doesn't tell you is that they emit all other possible (and impossible) sounds that will freak you the hell out. Even when he's sleeping, Elvis will be mumbling like a gremlin, only to suddenly appear behind you when you're brushing your teeth, like the girl from The Ring, just staring at you. Because that's what he does.
We have umpteen dog books, of which I've read .20%. But Lady C has read them all, and continues to re-run old episodes of The Dog Whisperer in the background when I'm home. He keeps talking about calm and assertive energy but it might as well be that dogs instinctively know not to fuck with chubby Mexicans. I wouldn't either. Those dogs aren't just smart, they're street smart. Now every time I try calm and assertive energy, Elvis is all like: Me no hablo Ingles..
Elvis Jung-Il is not amused
Life becomes a mess when you have a dog. Your brain will smooth over the hard parts, like parents forget the post-natal hardships, or the 75th time you wipe up some hitherto unknown bodily fluid from the floor, so I have made sure to detail the event with photographs and Android video flicks to prove it.
1 dog 1 cup
It has almost been two months now, Elvis is twice as big as in February, and the weather has changed for the better. He's learning FAST. Boston Terriers are intelligent dogs. Which is sort of the point. I want a dog to the effect that I can walk into class at University and say: «Look, teacher. The dog did my homework. Better than me.»
Elvis was happy to discover the sun
It currently constitutes his favourite pastime
Anyway. It's been a long day, Elvis is snoring in the background, Lady C is cursing at the tellie, and I feel ready for the sack. I'll keep you posted on current events as soon as they're a couple of months old! I kid, I kid.
Oh, and there are more photos here: Photos tagged Elvis
(P.S. We really spent about a year going back and forth, reading lots of books and talking with vets and so, before we decided upon race and found a serious breeder. You must not buy a dog on a whim. You wouldn't get a kid on a whim. Or a massage from an old man. Or herpes. Well, perhaps herpes.)
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This page is a permanent link to The Internet, say 'Hello World' to Elvis von Rosenhoff!: http://www.sigg3.net/entry/1618
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