Or should I call it Shiba madness?

I have three dogs, a german shepherd named Kai who is mostly good (though once he did attack a car), and two devilish fox-dogs (aka Shiba Inus) named Toby and Jezebel. Toby is two, Jezebel (Bel) is 8 mos. Toby is not terribly foxy looking to me (though others think he is) but Bel is very foxy in looks and behaviour.

If you don't know what a Shiba-Inu is, well, you can check out this webpage http://blackcrest.com/shiba1.html

which is the breeder who bred my beloved "familiar" Toby. Toby looks just like his sire: Tenku Go Etchou....(its a long name, forgive me for shortening it).

Shibas are the smallest and oldest of the Japanese breeds, basically a smallish Akita. They are cute, but as they always say at Westminster when announcing the breed: these are not the dogs for everyone. If you want a super smart dog with a killer's instincts (they were bred to hunt small game), a dog who tends to be aloof with strangers, a dog who steals things, a dog who won't come when called, well, then get a Shiba! Otherwise, you might want a more biddable dog, though shiba antics are always entertaining to those of us who love them.

An example of Shiba madness: for the recent equinox, I left some offerings on the altar. A bit of beer in a glass, some chocolate eggs. Bel, the puppy, is supremely interested in everything on the altar, and because she can leap about three times her height, well, things go missing. Sure enough, I went downstairs in the morning and found the beer glass neatly tipped over and empty, the chocolate eggs gone. (and yes, I do know about the dog/chocolate problem--so note to self--no more offerings of chocolate!)

While I suspect a little shiba puppy of this, as one of my friends said, the gods have accepted the offering--by way, perhaps, of a dog. And certainly, it was as if a wild fox-spirit had come in, rearranged a bit, and took the offerings.

When I figure out how to get my photos hosted somewhere I'll post pics of my fox-dogs.

I also promise poetry on this, so here is a start--a poem about Toby, from my third book (as yet, sigh, unpublished, though the poem was published in the mag. Zone 3):

Toby in the Garden

The devil’s in the garden

again. Trampling the herbs--

lavender and lamb’s ears.

When he’s done, he’ll pace

the window sill, scratching

to get in. Or leap to the roof,

surveying his domain. Sure,

he’s cute--curl of a tail,

and puppy swagger.

Sweet. Until he sinks

his teeth into the skin

behind the knee.

Little heathen. Devil dog.

Just like the men I love:

beautiful and fierce, trailing

just a bit of brimstone.

Keep your plaster saints.

Angels are overrated.

Who wouldn’t want

a devil in their garden?

That flashy charmer and the fruit

that flourishes in his hand.

He offers it all with a grin,

says, come, taste,

live a little. Sin.