The Murphinator Lives. And Wheezes.

Dudley got a little too playful this morning with a cranky, middle-aged Yorkie who does not wake up in a good mood, and I had to break up a very fierce beat-down before I was fully awake myself. Dudley was screaming in terror. It's hard not to laugh when it's over and no damage was done, because the Murphinator is 10.5 pudgy pounds at the moment (we are going to work on that now that the heat is starting to break a bit and we can resume walkies). Murphy gets winded fast and was probably in more danger of a heart attack than of inflicting actual damage on Dudley, but Dudley screamed and shrieked like he was being killed. I broke it up, checked for damage, and thought I was going to have to make Murphy breathe into a paper bag because he was hyperventilating. Dudley was freaked out and spent the next 20 minutes wiggling and nervously kissing Murphy to apologize for upsetting him. Dudley didn't have a scratch on him, of course. He's a screamer. My daughter accepts that her boy is "delicate" and has pretty much given up on his future as a stud dog. His hormones should be raging at this age, yet all they do is sigh now and then. He should be at the peak of his youthful maleness and should have responded to defend himself, but he is not that way. He likes soft blankies and scented candles and babies and cookies, and he cries if Murphy is mean to him. He will have the Big Boy Operation, because there is no point in letting him keep things he has no talent for using commercially, only to end up a middle aged dog with a prostate condition.