August 2, 2010
I’ve been running Nala through the P90X tapes to get her ready for yesterday.
Yesterday we had a family gathering/BBQ at my brother’s house in Park City, and they have a big yellow lab named Moby. And when I say Moby, I don’t mean the DJ, but rather, more like, Moby Dick. If Moby Dick were a dog. A big, fit, rambunctious dog.
We walked Nala around the neighborhood every day for a week to meet big dogs to acclimate her but, excepting one Rhodesian Razorback who simply looked her into submission, none of the neighborhood dogs even wanted a piece of Nala.
She’s THAT intimidating.
So yesterday, after 15 rounds of getting the snot knocked out of her (which is actually useful, on account of her Pug ancestry), Nala was undaunted. Here she is, at the END of the couple hours of cage matches:
Yup, she’s still stalking Moby, who has largely lost interest by this time.
And she strikes! (In that weird “we’ll take them head on” strategy that Theoden employed—I’ve never understood that strategy, whether the opponent is a yellow labrador or a dozen charging oliphants)
But, it doesn’t last long. There’s no moment in this fight where I say to Nala “He’s worried! You cut him! You hurt him! You see? You see? He’s not a machine, he’s a man!”
This happened. Again. I think this was the six hundredth time.
But like Rocky and Drago, even if in our world (the real world) Drago is the winner, they ended it as friends.
Bonus pic from one of our endless training sessions: