Jazz Jon, & Bess

b. 4/9/01, red/white, amber-eyed, 23 1/2″, 55lb, male

“A loner, an independent thinker, a does-his-own-thing kind of puppy…”

Current Team Position: Wheel since 2002, learning Lead

Jazz was named when I read his breeder’s description of him.  I knew it in my heart.  I tried to name him something else.  I tried to go along with the very good name she had picked out for him.  <G>  But he was my “little bit of Jazz” from the beginning.  “Ashes Tell Tales” is from a Harry Connick, Jr. song, my favorite contemporary Jazz singer.  

Day 1: 9/23/01
My new pup Siberian Jazz has a cool name picked out:  Ashes Tell Tales, call name Jazz — it’s a line from a Harry Connick Jr song, and kind of appropriate considering 9/11.

But the little brat is about to be renamed.

We took a sweet little bonding nap this afternoon, he laid with his head on my stomach and never offered to move.  When we got up, he sat at the computer with me.  If I moved, he was glued to my side.  The Siberians sniffed him over and since he ignored them, they ignored him.  The Malamutes are waiting on introductions for a few days.  Summer is either going to want to mother him or send him home…  The rest will follow her example.  Tom and Singer do what she says.  Egret does the opposite of what she says.  Train just loves everyone.

Apparently while darling little Jazz was crated next to Malamute Tom T., they had a little man-to-man chat.  (Really very funny in light of Tom’s recent neuter and Jazz is 5mo…)  Whisper-whisper-whisper and the whole time Jazz’s innocent little eyes got larger and larger…

Tom apparently explained things.  Because the minute the Sibes got out of their crates after dinner to go outside, Tom WINKED at Jazz and Jazz….

Well, let’s just say my sweet, quiet, clingy, aloof little darling is now officially home.  I guess I deserve a puppy that heads straight for the bathroom and STANDS in the toilet to drink.  Then digs all the water out furiously as I run into the bathroom.  Then jumps out, splattering everything, and drops his head and BASHES it into the tall skinny trashcan like a young bull, and then dashes between my legs and as he bolts, & GRABS something white from the hamper.  Which he scampers out the door and down the hill and all over the fenced yard carrying in his mouth like a BANNER while the other Siberians chase after him and traffic slows on the 4-lane highway in front of the house….

Any guesses what he was carrying in his mouth?

Wonder if his breeder would approve….. Panty Raider?

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