Not a RiverDog

So there we were, Ellie the RiverDog, yours truly the RiverHag and cousin Frankie.  Frankie is most assuredly NOT a riverdog.  We went to the Grove Street River Access, the closest and easiest walk we can take.

Ellie and I are accustomed to a lovely, unfettered trip.  Frankie must be leashed at all times.  Ellie drops in the river willy-nilly, either to fish, to cross to an island or even just to test the waters.


Frankie looked at her as if she were nuts, and refused to wade, except to taste the Chemung.


And I wish I had a shot of Frankie at the boat ramp, but he was too rambunctious, and constantly tugged the leash.  Here is a good comparative photo, with his VeggieGirl keeping him in check.

 Another brindle-dachshund mix.  Where Ellie is squat and chubby, Frankie is long and lean.  Ellie has coarse fur and Frankie's hair is like silk.  Ellie has tiny paws that betray her part-Jack Russell ancestry, while Frankie's are so huge, we wonder that maybe he's part Bassett, especially with the long, waggly tail.


We love them both, and it's been a pleasure puppy-sitting them together today.


Of course, RiverHag will also appreciate when they both return to my daughters, and I can clean my house and resume my midday naps.


pb
Little Pond