My "Pal" Woody

You may recall from a previous post or two that the lady used to pet-sit for the former landlords' dog, Woody. He would come down to our place for a visit and I liked him even though I was a bit wary.

Woody with Butters the cat.

Woody and I enjoying the shade (last year).

Woody was diagnosed with bone cancer and three weeks ago he had his right rear leg amputated. The lady helped take care of him the past few weeks and she is happy to report that he is doing very well and is almost back to his old self!

A couple of days ago.  Just returned from a walk.

He gets around just fine on three legs. I won't be able to visit him anymore because we moved away and I am not a "traveling" cat, but I wish him the best.

Thinking of the "old days" with Woody.

hangdog

Adjective
dejected, ashamed, or guilty in appearance or manner

Collins Essential English Dictionary 2nd Edition 2006 © HarperCollins Publishers 2004, 2006

Woody, the landlord's dog, is a bit depressed. I guess his feelings got hurt when he found out that I named the landlord's two cats in a post, and the only mention he got was in the post that had my list of 10 honest things about myself, and his name was not even mentioned--he was only described as "the landlord's dog". To add insult to injury, I said that he yelped when I jumped on him with my claws out (well, he did!!).

And that is not the only reason he is moping around.

He now has to be on a long leash while the landlords, S and J, are at work. Woody used to have the run of the place up there, but he blew it, man! There is fencing around a large area near the landlord's house. This helps deter deer and other creatures from venturing in. Unfortunately, no matter how S and J tried to Woody-proof the fence, he kept escaping and running down the road to the neighbor's house to visit his dog girlfriend, Lola. And, when they get together...whoo-eee. Trouble. At their latest tryst, just for fun, they killed the landlord's chickens.

Now, Woody is sort of okay for a dog, although I don't quite trust him. I mean, as indicated by the aforementioned chicken episode, he can easily fall prey to a bad idea. A few times when he has been down here, he kind of tries to corner me...sort of like he wants to play (oh, he always acts all innocent), but I can never quite tell what his intentions are. I'm afraid I have to err on the side of caution (or, clawtion [heh, heh]). Which brings us back to the claws-in-the-back incident. I was up on my deck, minding my own business, when Woody walks up the steps and is looking in the screen door. First of all, that is MY job. Secondly, he just stood there like he owned the place, and way past any grace period I might have given him. So, I took a flying leap off the table right onto his back. Ooo-wee. You should have heard him yelp. He ran down the steps and headed toward home. Total overreaction (on his part, not mine). I didn't draw any blood. It was just my way of telling him to get off my balcony. Well, it must have worked, because he has never come up those steps again!

Anyway, I do sort of feel sorry for him. He is a good watchdog--he barks to keep away the bobcats and mountain lions, raccoons and who knows what else.

So, Woody. As my way of making amends, I am calling you by name in this post and I am including some photos of you. But, you still can't come up the steps. Seriously.