Tuc's New Thing

The young Tucmeister has a fetish.

Yup.

We've got to face the bare truth here (and it is bare). Tuc, indeed, has problem.

Poor boy.

Yes, sir. Our Tuc -- our dear, sweet, retrieve-until-he-drops, bouncy baby boy -- Mr Butt-In-Ski and snuggler extraordinaire -- 85+ pounds of innocent-eyed exuberance -- Stoney Ridge's Sundancer Tucson (his registered name) is ...

(gasp!)...

(can I bare...oops...bear to admit it?)...

Tus is ...

(gasp)...

a strip-'em-right-off-the-girls collar thief!

He absolutely cannot tolerate the canine girls wearing their collars; he must have the wretched things - possess them. They have to be his, all his.

And it isn't enough just to have them; the world has to know he has them (well, all living beings in his world, anyway).

Poor obsessed boy.

He's not obsessed about his own collar, of course: just about those worn by his female pack members.

In stealth mode (the only way to observe a collar-fetished canine), I captured Tuc in action. Forgive the lack of crispness in the following images; they were taken through our windows, including double panes and screens.

They do, however, document Tuc's activities (hehe).


Notice the loot between his paws (Pinot's rolled-leather collar). He'd just wrestled it over Pinot's head.




















Oh, but possessing the collar wasn't satistfying enough. Nooooooo. The thief had to announce its capture. He tried barking to proudly proclaim his pilfering success, but the world ignored him.

No worries. Not for Tuc. He picked up his treasure (note collar in his mouth)...















climbed off the picnic table, loot in mouth...



















trotted over to where the rest of the canine crew were lounging in the sun (note loot in mouth)...

















and proceeded to flaunt his treasured possession, the object of his latest obsession, in their faces.

By then, said object's rightful owner had had enough. She wanted it back.






















Tuc, who is considerably bigger than Pinot, won the tug-o-war over her collar, and promptly fled to picnic table top to hide behind the umbrella (notice collar on table between Tuc's front paws).



















He may be a thief (all bluster, of course) and an imp, but he's also a tactical genius: the picnic-table-top ensures height advantage (as if height was ever a problem for him).

Did I mention that this is the very same picnic table I just spent four hours power-washing (cleaning every nook and cranny) and that Tuc has never shown any interest in climbing on before?

Aaargh.

Why?

So the Tucmeister has a collar fetish. If he keeps this up, it could get expensive.

And did I tell you? He's developed a second fetish (mercy me!). But I'll save that one for another post.

For now, I have to go find two collars: Pinot and Kenya just trotted in without theirs.

Okay, Tuc. Where'd ya hide them?

'Til next time,
Joan