Harry was never much of a fun dog, spending most of his energy begging for food, following my wife around the house and snubbing the rest of us. But every once in a while, you could creep up on him on all fours, snarl at him, and he’d jump into a crouch, ready to take pretend snaps at your hands. He also was kind of fun to chase after. I’d yell “I’m going to get you Harry!” in a deep, evil voice and run after him. He’d skitter around the house, running in circles and hiding under tables.
This sounds like pet abuse, but Harry knew it was a game, sometimes initiating the chase himself by running up and hopping up and down. (Wow, I guess this is kind of late to consider this, but I sincerely hope he knew it was a game.)
Meanwhile in other geriatric Westie news, “a West Highland terrier has been dubbed a ‘canine carer’ after giving a lonely and housebound Ewell pensioner a new lease of life.” Read the full story.