Tuesday, we went en famille to visit Madison's breeder. Madison was put in her place -- troublesome teenager -- by her mother, Ariel, and played with the sweetest little girl puppy, Happy, from the new litter.
Cynthia said that Madison looks beautiful, but perhaps a little "hocky," which I reported to our doggy-type friends the next morning at the dog park.
Not "hawky," "hocky" I had to clarify. No, not like a giant bird. Conjuring images of pork products. Miss Piggy.
"That must be the thighs, like she has 'thunder thighs,'" someone observed. We all stared with a mixture of appreciation and confusion at Madison's muscular upper legs. She looks like an athlete. There was mention of women who play sports. Swimmers' shoulders. Sprinters' thighs.
"Yes, her butt is getting big," was one comment.
But, no, "hocky," would be large or long in the hock, which is basically the calf, or the lower portion of the leg. Not "calf," as in beasts that need to be tended and herded. Calf. The lower leg, not the thigh.
As in, you have "cankles." Or "those aren't calves, they are steers." Chortle.
Nick the Rottweiler is still staring at her admiration. "Great gams," he may be thinking. Those are real calves, great stems. Not hocky in his view.
Sigh. Madison is depressed today. She is moping. This will pass.