Me and my dog Moby, a Dear Abby question

Dear Abby,

Me and Moby, our American pit bull mix, have been friends now for 5 years.  Everyone loves Moby…he is adorable and he loves to be loved.  We nicknamed him Mobile and sometimes sing to him:  “I’m a wanderer, I’m a wanderer and  I love to roam around” or “Going Mobile” because when my husband and I are working around the house, he just follows us from room to room and then stops where we stop and sits patiently waiting and watching us.  When making dinner or doing the dishes, he is the best little companion ever.

Moby has a brother, Macadew, who has a different agenda in life and also dominates over Moby.  Macadew, too, is a love if you are on his good side but, one does not want to be on the wrong side of his canines.  He is a hunter… he leaps and bounds through the yard and woods, always on a hunt. When inside, each picture window provides  him with hours of mesmerization as he studies the surroundings for a movement…the hunt for the barn cat or the rabbit is his life’s directive.  After his job is done, Macadew simply rests with us and cuddles.
Back to Moby.  So all is good at the homestead until…my husband leaves the vicinity.  Moby, perhaps wandering or sleeping in front of the woodstove, hears the door creak.  His head rises, he stares blankly waiting, ears listening…I hear him thinking…is he leaving?  Rad says, See you later and shuts the door.  Moby lifts his head up and his body comes right over to me.  First, he wants me to pet him.  Easy enough, but then when I stop, he puts his right foot on me to engage me.

After that, I have to get my weapon, a squirt bottle, because if I don’t, all 86 pounds of him tries to get up into my lap and will not take no for an answer.  I rarely have to use my weapon, because Moby doesn’t like to get wet, and so he backs off.  But that is when round two starts, Moby starts his own pacing and hunting.

Back and forth through the house looking for cruched up paper towels to grab… he places his front paws on the kitchen island or table examining the surface for the scrunched paper towel and if not finding one, a magazine or piece of paper.  He proceeds then, to strategize how to get the object and as he stealthly calculates…I get up to beat him to it.

I then try to return to my book or whatever I am working on, but he aint having it.  Pacing continues back and forth until he finds something and scampers into Macaedew’s cage to rip it apart, or I apprehend him before he gets there.  I then unlock the jaws and retrieve the item.  Or Moby makes it in to the crate and I have to follow to retrieve the item before, it is devoured.

Abby, what can be done, how can we end this dance.  Me and Mobs are both getting grey…I know he loves this game but it is wearing on me.  Please advise…I need an intervention:-)


Drawing Moby

I took an art class
I wanted to draw my Moby
Here he is: cartoon!

The art teacher gave
me a rough time because his
brand of art: realism.


pic Moby






I’m Moby and this is what I do

Hi I'm Moby, the one with the face tilted, my day goes like this..
Moby looking quizzical_o
Moby and Macadew









I get up

I look at my food, walk away and sit in front of Radames

I wait, I wait, I stare…ok, he ain’t going to pat me, I will see about that…I hit him with my right paw til I get action…LOVE.

Claire comes down, repeat, but oh, Radames is leaving…well I think he is, I eye the door, maybe he isn’t, eye the door, nope he is.

I paw Claire; harder and then my ascent begins until I’m almost on her lap and she is reaching for that squirt bottle.

Next…walk or nap or go outside?

I like it outside…I do my business and then I sit and I look, its a wonderful world…the cars go over the rumble bump,

the neighbors pull in the driveway, the squirrel runs across the path.  It smells so good near the phlox.

Patrol time comes next, in the house now, I follow who ever is roaming around…sometimes Claire, mostly its Macadew, my brother, the pack leader.

He likes to stare at squirrels: this gets boring;

so I look out the window…I hop up on my little stool, put my head on the sill and stare out…I watch Radames gazing into his coi poind and the butterflies eating the nectar in the dahlias.

By now its noon time and nap time…back room, sunny spot, old rug —  I’m good to go until 3 and my 2nd little meal.

Then they eat, they putter in the kitchen, I like to hang out and watch…waiting for the little scraps that may fall from the chopping block;

usually I get tired of sitting, so I lay down.

If they try to squeeze by me, I just lie, they try to open up the frig, I’m motionless, they tell me to move, I don’t.

Sitting, resting supine, is great… people out there: running here, running there when wherever you go, there it is

the big, wide, wonderful world, right where you are.

There is more to say, but its late, time to go sleepy time…one biscuit and a big old chair with a white blanket…I’m on my way.

Moby sitting
Moby next to Macadew