Christmas Roundup 2023

It’s been nearly a week since Christmas and all I can say is this: “Christmas is a young pup’s game.”

I am exhausted.  Totally and completely exhausted.  I’m so worn out from Christmas festivities (late night snacks and movies on Christmas Eve and presents, company, and limited naps on Christmas Day) that I’ve been walking around like a zombie ever since.  I’m so tired the dark circles under my eyes have dark circles.  I’m so pooped that I completely lost track of what was going on and found myself gnawing on Puddle’s head thinking it was a bone.

Puddles and me.

Puddle's no worse for wear.

But boy oh boy did I have fun on Christmas!  Here’s a quick rundown of some of the festivities:

I shredded wrapping paper.

I annihilated cardboard.

I played, gnawed on, and rested my eyes with all the toys Santa, my family, and Gina (and her pups Baci and Rocky) gave me and sampled all the cookies and treats I got from Santa and Karin (and her pups Mecki and Bastille).

So, like I said, Christmas was great.  My only complaint was that no one “accidentally” dropped a meatball for me at dinner time.

While I Was Out

This was an odd month.

It all started three Fridays ago (yeah, Sister's been kind of negligent when it comes to recording my stories...you just can't get good help).  Anyway, three Fridays ago, Sister got up earlier than usual (she's about as much a morning person as I am, so her getting up early is always a surprise) and rather than pack her work bag, she packed her overnight bag, kissed me on the snout, and left the house.

A few hours later, she sent me the following video.

I was confused.  That barking in the background?  It sounded really familiar, but I just couldn't put my paw on it.  Those deer, however, definitely looked familiar (actually, I'm pretty sure I've barked at them before).  And that backyard?  Not only was it familiar, I knew exactly where it was.  It was my backyard out east.

A little later, Sister sent me the following picture and things suddenly started to make sense.

It was my bff Mecki and his little brother Bastille!

But then I started thinking...what are Mecki and Bastille doing in my house out east?

I learned later that Sister and Karin had spent the weekend out east eating Reubens (they didn't bring me a doggy bag), hunting for treasure on the beach with a metal detector (they dug up a quarter without my help), sightseeing (the last time I went to Greenport it was 95 degrees and Pa and I spent an hour looking for a shady tree to sit under), and painting rocks (if you recall, growing up, rocks were "my only friends").  And when they weren't directly included in the fun, Mecki and Bastille lounged in my house and barked at my deer!

Collar Bling

Two days later (and smelling like Mecki and Bastille), Sister came home and brought with her a peace offering for me--some bling for my collar.  Now, I was a bit annoyed that I wasn't invited on the trip, but Sister's gift was just so me that I couldn't be too mad at her for very long.  I mean, look at it!  As my loyal readers know, I so don't get fetch!

Anyway, as the new week began and life got back to normal, I kind of forgot about the previous weekend (except for the occasional fits of laughter that came about whenever Sister described Bastille lunging face first at the glass window and sliding down it cartoon style).  In fact, by the time the following weekend rolled around, my concern and bitterness had disappeared completely.

Which brings me to two Friday nights ago.  After they had returned home from work and finished their dinners, Ma and Pa whisked me into the car and we headed out east.

When I got there, I immediately ran inside the house and hot footed it to my pillow where my toys are usually kept.  But they weren't there.  Ma, thinking quickly, grabbed a squeaky ball left on the table and tossed it onto my pillow.  I lowered my head to grab the toy, but stopped inches from the ball.  My pillow smelled like Mecki.

I looked up quizzically at Ma who was watching me expectantly.  It was then that I realized that there was a wafting smell of Mecki and Bastille bombarding me from all directions.  I sniffed my way around the living room, then into the kitchen and the dining room.  I circled back into the living room (sniffed the bulging eye/nose smudge left on the window by Bastille's leap) then made my way to the guest room and bathroom.  Their scent was all around, yet my four-legged pals were nowhere to be seen.

Ma suggested at this point that we should go outside and check the perimeters, and do you know what?  Mecki and Bastille's scent was all over the backyard too.  I went around sniffing every tree and following every trail.  I sniffed high and low and even circled back a few times to sniff a spot again.  I was so preoccupied with the task of tracking my friends that I didn't even realize that I had wandered out the side gate until I heard Ma screaming my name.  She found me in the neighbor's front yard, hooked a finger under my collar, and escorted me back into my yard.  After a few more sniffs, Ma and I went back inside the house.

Once inside, I followed Pa, who seemed distracted by something, into the basement where I discovered that even that part of the house smell like my bff and his little brother.  I didn't get a great chance to really investigate because after a minute or so Pa hurried up the stairs to report that the heat wasn't working (I didn't notice, but then again, I'm always wearing a coat) and I felt like I needed to be present at the troubleshooting session that would surely follow the news.

An hour later, a knocking came at the door.  I started barking furiously expecting the knocker to be Mecki or Bastille showing up to end this game of hide and go seek.  Well, it wasn't Mecki or Bastille, but instead a repairman who made his way through the living room, then the kitchen, the dining room, and finally down into the basement to fix the burner.

Great, I thought, another trail to follow!

Imortalized in Art

The mom of my BFFs Mecki and Bastille is a talented artist.  I've shown some of her work before, a homemade birthday card or two, but recently, she out did herself.  For Christmas, she gave my Sister four beautiful works of art based on four of my most iconic, cute, silly, and pensive photos.  I mean, check out the baby picture!  She even managed to capture my abnormally long and glamorous eyelashes!  Thanks Karin, you're the best!

           

Fall Dog Days 2018

Surveying My Estate

It's the most wonderful time of the year!  No, not Christmas (though that is a lot of fun with all the food, wrapping paper, and toys).  This last weekend was Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens (AKA my estate) and while I wasn't able to hang out with my pals Mecki and Bastille (their mom is vacationing in France), I did have an absolutely wonderful time.

The day (Saturday) started as any other day that promised an outing would; basically, I was crazed.  As soon as I realized that I was going somewhere, I started running through the house, pacing back and forth, eager to get going.  I barked loudly when either Ma or Sister slowed us down by doing such pointless things as packing my traveling bag, checking the weather on TV, and putting on shoes (I don't bother with shoes, why should they?) and when my collar was placed around my neck and the side door opened, I bounded out toward the car.  I even huffed, drooled, and paced in the backseat of the car during the twenty-minute ride to the gardens!

Sister and Me

Ma, Sister, and I spent nearly an hour wandering through the gardens that morning.  I stopped to sniff random plants, I posed for pictures, I bunked noses with a couple of pups, and even showed off my prowess by jumping over the cement bench Sister wanted to pose with me on for a photo. I even stopped long enough to sniff the tree that Mecki and Bastille are routinely photographed in (and yes, I did thank my lucky stars that I'm too heavy to be picked up and put in that tree).

Liberty, Me, Baxter, and the Rest

Eventually, Ma, Sister, and I made our way to the great lawn out back behind the house where I was met with a fun surprise:  three Golden Retrievers (two under the age of one and the other eight years old), a big fluffy black dog, a German Shepherd, and their humans.  I was first greeted by the big fluffy black dog who was off leash and made a bee line straight for me.  He was obviously the welcoming committee.  Anyway, the black dog and I bunked noses then the three Golden Retrievers ran over to say hi.  The two young-ins (one was named Liberty) ran straight to Ma and Sister and began begging for pets and belly rubs.  The older Golden, Baxter, walked over to me to say hello.

The final part of the trip was perhaps the best.  I got to see my Old Westbury Gardens pal Emma Rose.  My readers might remember Emma Rose as the Golden Retriever “cousin” I first met all the way back in 2011.  Since then, Emma Rose and I have run into each other, always unscheduled, at every single Dog Days weekend.  My pal is eleven years old now and had had a serious health scare a couple of weeks ago, but I was happy to see that Emma Rose was feeling better and acting like her old self; calm, quiet, and reserved.  Emma Rose and I bunked noses and hit up each other’s humans for pets.  Then our humans came up with a spectacular idea.  We needed a picture together.

Emma Rose and Me

After saying goodbye to Emma Rose, Ma, Sister, and I made our way back to the car and headed home.  I was completely and totally exhausted, but it was so worth it!

He Steals Seashells by the Side Door

Before I begin with my latest tale, allow me to take a moment to thank my bff Mecki, his little brother Bastille, and their mom Karin for all the birthday presents they gave me last week.  I must say, they were some of the most well-thought-out gifts I have ever received.  I got...

Birthday Gifts

From Mecki:  A brand new Mini-Mecki toy

(that he rolled on so that it reminded me of him)

From Bastille:  A box of Milkbone cookies

(because the pup on the box looks just like Bastille)

From their mom:  A bag of bacon and cheese treats

(because we both really love cheese and bacon)

Thanks a million Karin, Mecki, and Bastille!

And now, on to my story.

Besides being devilishly handsome, clever to a fault, and highly talented with the written word, I am also exceedingly mischievous.  I’m always thinking.  Thinking of ways to get in trouble.  Thinking of ways to have fun.  Thinking of ways to gain attention.  I’m quite the pro.

Of course, on occasion I do get the feeling that my family can read my mind and foretell my mischievousness.  How else can one explain all the times Sister has told me “no” to digging on the carpet or under the forsythia bush when I've only just taken a single step in the direction of said corner or plant?  It’s clairvoyance I tells ya!.  

Anyway, even despite the fact that sometimes my mischievousness is thwarted, it never stops me from trying.  Here’s my latest:

Out east, Ma and Pa have two terracotta planters on the porch; one with rosemary growing in it, the other mint.  Now, normally I don’t have much interest in potted plants.  I might sniff them as I go by or watch a bee do its little bee thing, but then I quickly move on to other more interesting subjects. Well, a couple of weeks ago, when I checked out the planters, I discovered that in addition to the plant, the dirt, and the little plastic thingy that says what's been planted in that location (which, by the way is a lot of fun to chew on), Ma and Pa had also added seashells as decorations.  Now, every time I go out onto the porch, I immediately saunter over to the planters and snatch a shell in my mouth.

There are essentially two endings to this mischievousness:  either the shell makes it and can be returned to the planter with only a thick layer of slobber on it, or I crush it into dust.  Which outcome depends entirely on whether the gate connecting the porch and the backyard is open or closed.  When the gate is open, I take my ill-gotten gains and scurry down into the grass where I proudly prance and play keep away from whoever is inevitably chasing me to retrieve the shell.  Rather than give up the shell, I end up grinding it to dust while running to and fro.  When the gate is closed, however, I usually give up the shell fairly quickly (and in one piece) because I have far fewer options when it comes to dodging and skirting whoever is trying to get my stolen prize away from me.

Either way, once I am relieved of the shell (be it through a "give" command or the destruction of the shell itself), I make a bee line back to the planter ready to start pilfering again.

Spring Dog Days 2018

It's been a while since I've been able to partake in the fun and frivolities that is Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens.  I'm not even one hundred percent certain when I was there last.  I know I didn't go last year.  In the spring I was supposed to meet up with Karin, Joan, and Mecki, but I ended up with an angry belly and not really feeling up to going.  There was another Dog Days event in the fall, but I must have been busy that weekend because I didn't make it there either.  Looking back into my blog's archive, the last time I appear to have gone was back in 2016.  Is that possible?!  Wow, time really flies!  But anyway, no matter when I last went to Dog Days, I went twice last weekend and had the time of my life both days.

The Moment I Found Out

Going into Saturday morning, I had no idea that it was a Dog Days weekend; Sister had managed to keep it a secret from me.  In fact, I only figured out that we were going somewhere about a half hour before we left the house when I witnessed Sister packing Ma's car (because Ma's car is the official "Rigby Road Trip Car" as it is permanently stocked with a seat protector and doggy seat belt system) with cookies, newspapers and bags, leashes, her camera, and multiple bottles of water.  While I watched her pack the car (and occasionally tried, unsuccessfully, to force my way into the front seat), Sister told me where we were going and that my bff Mecki and his mom were going to be there too.

I don't think I need to describe how excited I was.  I think all my loyal readers know me well enough to anticipate my reaction to being told that I was going to go for a car ride, visit with my bff Mecki, and wander through my estate so I won't describe my reaction to you.  Instead, I'll show you a video of what I did for the entire half hour between realizing I was going somewhere and when I actually got in the car.

In the Car

So, after what felt like ten years of barking and carrying on, Sister slipped my collar on over my head, attached my leash, grabbed the car keys, and opened the side door.  A moment later, we were strapped into the car (I rode in the back seat--sadly, Sister did not let me ride shotgun) and driving towards Old Westbury Gardens.

Usually, Mecki and I meet at "Rigby's Wall" which is an outdoor stone wall located right outside the mansion's front door (and where my profile picture was taken years ago).  He usually gets there first and I can hear him howling and carrying on all the way back in the parking lot.  This time, however, we met in the parking lot which meant we could start our pack walk even earlier.

My bff Mecki!

We met tons of dogs on Saturday, Mecki and I, including a half dozen Golden Retrievers of various ages (one was only five months old!) and a pup who looked a lot like Bastille (Bastille stayed home during this adventure because he can be a bit of a handful).  In all, Mecki and I spent almost two and a half hours walking around the lake, up and down the stairs, and through the Rose and Walled Gardens which are usually off limit when it comes to my species (sadly, the Woodland Walk, home of the tree that Mecki and Bastille are always pictured in, was closed due to storm damage).  As is our custom, Mecki and I spent a fair portion of the day vying for pack leader status--scooting in front of each other at every bend of the path.

Surveying My Estate

But then something funny happened.  Mecki, Karin, Sister, and I had made our way to the vendor booths to check out all the bandanas (thankfully, Sister didn't buy me one...she did once and, let's just say, it didn't go over well), dunk our snouts in all the complementary water bowls, and glom pets from anyone who would give them.  Suddenly, a nice lady from behind one of the booths stepped forward and asked Sister if she could give me a sample of one of the home made treats she was selling.  Sister said "Sure," but warned her that I was a bit of a picky eater.

I know, I know, you just did a double take on that sentence.  You might have even heard an old timey record needle scratch.  Yours truly is a "picky eater"?!  Well, in a way, I am, but it's complicated and rather than explain my issue, Sister usually just leaves it at "he's a picky eater."

Smelling the Flowers

Undeterred, the nice lady went back to her booth, picked up a cookie, and handed it to me.  I sniffed it once then turned my head away refusing to take it.  Sister then expanded on her initial statement and explained to the lady that I'm just not a fan of taking food from anyone but my own family. 

And that's where it gets complicated.  You see, I rarely take food from anyone who is not a family member.  I've even been known to spit out carrots (which I love) given to me by Mecki's mom (though I've also been known to root through her bag in search of cookies which I then inhale).  I don't mean it to be impolite or ungrateful when I do this; I guess it's just a little quirk I have.

"Okay," said the nice lady trying desperately to save her sale, "you give it to him then" and she dropped the cookie in Sister's hand.  Sister took a deep breath and placed the cookie in front of my nose.  "Hey Rigs, want a cookie?" she asked though I know what she was really saying was a simple chant of "Please eat the cookie...please eat the cookie."

I tried my best.  Really I did.  I tried to convince myself that the cookie was from the bag of Milkbones Sister had her in her pocket.  I even managed to take the cookie and bite it in half, but that was it.  I ended up spitting it out and sniffing at it suspiciously before walking away while Sister apologized profusely to the nice lady.

Mecki Rollin' In the Grass

Shortly thereafter, I said my goodbyes to Mecki and Karin and climbed back into the car.  While Sister drove, I snoozed in the backseat.  When we got home, I threw myself down on my pillow, fell into a deep sleep, and only got up when it was supper time.

Sunday morning came bright and early the next day--maybe even a bit too early for me who was still recovering from the fun and frivolities of the previous day--but even still, I was up and raring to go when Sister told me that we were going back to my estate.  Into the car I climbed and off we drove, but this time, Sister went the wrong way.  Instead of turning right at the end of the block, she turned left.  Immediately, I became concerned.  Where were we going?

Posing

A minute later, Sister pulled over to the side of the road and the passenger side door opened.  Much to my surprise, my friend Joan climbed into the car.  Now, I haven't seen Joan in a really long time (not since that BBQ at Mecki's house) so I was super excited and by the time we pulled into the Old Westbury Gardens estate, I was pacing back and forth in the back seat with anticipation.

Sleeping in a Pool of Drool

Like Saturday, my estate was packed with dogs and once again, there was a plethora of Golden Retrievers to bunk noses with.  I even got to say hello to my old friend and fellow Golden Retriever Emma Rose and her mom and grandma.

Needless to say, by Sunday evening I was completely and totally exhausted.  Once again, I only woke up long enough to eat meals and I'm not ashamed to say that I was kind of looking forward to my family going back to work the next day because it meant that I would have a good seven hours to really catch up on sleep.  But as tired as I was afterward, I wouldn't have missed Dog Days for the world (and I probably would have still passed on that cookie). 

Outtakes:

Standing Up For What's Mine

Don't get me wrong.  I know that I'm a very fortunate pup.  I have a loving family who sees to my every need.  I get two meals a day plus all the food I can grub.  I have a warm place to sleep and I have even worn down the powers that be to gain a permanent spot on the couch (which was a long hard fought fight).  But despite that, sometimes I just can't help but feel that I don't always get my fair share.  When we drive out east, Sister takes up way too much of the backseat.  My friend Bastille gets nearly as much or more kibble (depending on whether or not he eats his brother Mecki's kibble too) than I do each day and he's about 50 pounds lighter than me.  Then there is cheese.  When one of my humans has a piece of cheese, they take 7/8th of the slice while I must attempt to savor a measly 1/8th.

I'm a firm believer, however, that if you don't speak up and make your concerns known, then nothing will ever get better.  That's why I recently decided to put my foot down and insist on what was rightfully mine:  I decided to fight for a larger piece of the couch.

It was late in the afternoon and my family and I were hanging out, watching TV, and trying to squeeze in a quick nap before dinner.  Sister was in her chair, Pa was in his, and Ma was sitting at the far end of the couch.  I, meanwhile, was hunkered down on my end of the couch with my head draped over a decorative pillow (the sheet that protects my end of the couch from fur, dirt, and "black drool" was also covering the pillow--I have always found it a tad insulting that I have to have a protective covering on my end of the couch while the humans don't, but I'm willing to overlook it so long as I can sleep on the couch without being hollered at to move).  Now, Ma might dispute this (she'd, of course, be lying), but I have discovered over the years that Ma is a notorious couch hog.  She starts off occupying a generous 1/3rd of the couch, but eventually stretches her legs out into my territory.  So, while I might fall asleep stretched out in my 2/3rds of the couch, I will wake up to discover that suddenly I'm sharing my pillow with her knees and her calves are beginning to resemble bumpers along the outer length of the couch.  So anyway, instinctively feeling a bit cramped, I woke up from a particularly nice dream to discover that I was once again blocked into my spot by Ma's legs.  It was then that I decided that I had had enough.  I was going to win back my couch.

Nonchalantly, I stood up on the couch cushion and did a quick mini-stretch (there wasn't enough room for a full one) and yawned.  Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I looked around to see if the coast was clear (ideally, everyone would be asleep (they weren't), but at least they were preoccupied by the television) then, without hesitation (you hesitate you miss out) I made a bee-line for Ma's 1/3rd of the couch.  First, I stepped on the pillow, then I stepped on her stomach (she made a loud "oof" sound when I did).  Still standing on her stomach, I turned around twice and threw myself down with a "thud" (from her and from me).  In the end, my butt was situated on Ma's upper stomach and my front end was resting on Ma's knees.

Then I heard laughter.  My entire family was chucking, including Ma though her laughs were more shallow and tinged with pain (apparently the human torso is not made for a full grown Golden to trod and flop down on).  I didn't care that they were laughing at me, though.  I was comfortable and I had sent a message that I'm sure Ma won't forget anytime soon.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to my dream.

Christmas 2016 Roundup

Posing with the Tree

It's official.  I was a very good boy last year.  How do I know?  Well, Santa doesn't lie and between him, my family, and my two and four legged friends, I really cleaned up this Christmas.

From Tink and ZeeZee I got a filleted snowman with a rattle in its hat, a squeaker in its stomach, and crinkly plastic in its base.  I was given this toy on Christmas afternoon and I immediately ripped a hole in its hat, shattered the rattle with my teeth, broke through the fabric divide between the snowman's hat and head, and started ripping out its stuffing by the mouthful.  I intended to do further damage, however, it was at this point that Sister took the snowman away from me which was definitely depressing.

Scruffy Mini-Mecki

My BFF Mecki and his little brother Bastille gave me a box of cookies (I've already added them to my cookie jar) and a brand new Mini-Meck that was not only scruffy like its namesake, but smelled like him and his brother too (apparently, something happened during the wrapping phase of this gift, but I won't go into that).  Anyway, I was given my Mini-Meck a couple of days ago and it is already in the toy hospital awaiting surgery.

From Santa I got two new light-up squeaky balls (one for home and one for out east) which I squeaked straight through Christmas dinner (to the chagrin of everyone in the room with me) and a bag of treats which I sampled almost as soon as it came out of my stocking.  And while I'm on the topic of stockings, it finally dawned on me this year that all good things come out of them (I have always thought it weird that my family would hang giant socks from the living room/dining room doorway, but I just wrote it off as a human oddity much like saving leftover food for later rather than eating it immediately).  As a result, I spent a fair portion of Christmas Day barking at the over-stuffed stockings despite my family repeatedly telling me that only one of the stockings was mine and that I had already played with all the toys and sampled all the food within.  I, however, didn't care and continued to bark.

From Ma and Pa I got a couple of squeaky tennis balls which I immediately shredded into tiny little yellow fuzz and brown rubber pieces.  Sister got me a plush polar bear toy, but I've yet to lay eyes (or teeth) on it.  According to Sister, it is quite cute which means that I'm going to have to keep my eye on her lest she declare it a stuffed animal ("stuffed animals" are off limits to me).

Cookie from Jack and Sadie

Finally, I received the surprise of a lifetime when loyal readers Jack and Sadie sent me two giant decorated Christmas cookies.  Jack and Sadie are the four legged companions of Ma's co-worker Dianne.  I was super surprised by this generosity and, well, the cookies smelled so good that I kind of ate one of them before Sister could take a picture of the two.  That being said, here's what the second cookie looked like just before I ate its head.

Of course, I didn't just receive gifts.  Oh no.  I gave plenty of fun gifts too.

Twins!

I gave Tink, ZeeZee, and Mecki their very own light up squeaky balls and Bastille, because his mouth is so small, got a squeaky bone that smells like bacon.  My four legged friends also got a box of cookies to share with their respective siblings.  Pa, however, got the piece de resistance of Christmas gifts.  I got Pa a red and white scarf which, get this, came with a matching one for me!  Now Pa and I can walk around town like we're twins!

But Christmas isn't just about giving and getting gifts.  It is also about having fun times with family and friends.  I spent my Christmas Eve and Day with my Ma, Pa, Sister, Aunt B, the hamsters (Mittens, Skittles, Neville, Brownie, and Eddie), and the Library gerbils (Bonnie and Bay) who were visiting for the long weekend.  And even though I got yelled at a couple of times for being a little too exuberant with the shredding of the wrapping paper (there might have been a few near misses between my teeth and the recipient's fingers) a fun time was had by all.

So, to all my friends and family, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

An Ode to Kibble

I mentioned in an earlier post that my recurrent tummy troubles recently resulted in my family switching me over from the dog food I had eaten since the day I graduated from puppy chow to a new brand that I found to be even tastier.  I'm afraid that I might have undersold my appreciation and love for this new food in that post and therefore I would like to rectify it now.

But before I do, I just want to say that I have never had any complaints about my previous brand of dog food.  I ate it twice a day every day without fail and enjoyed every morsel of it with or without the occasional addition of pumpkin, steak, carrots, and rice.  In fact, I'd happily eat it now if a bowl of it were put in front of me.

But, like I said, now I'm served something I like even more.  It smells yummier and tastes even better than it smells (my family has even commented on how delicious it smells...hopefully they won't decide to start sampling it)!  In fact, it is so lip-smacking good that I'm finding it more and more difficult to mind my manners when breakfast and dinner are served.  You see, with the old food, I was trained to sit about a foot away from my bowl and wait for the "okay" from whoever was serving me to dive in and start eating.  Now, every day, I find myself inching a little closer to the bowl.  I predict that soon my family will have no choice but to pour the food directly into my open mouth while I sit in my food bowl's spot.

I do, however, have one complaint about my new food:  the quantity.  I know for a fact that the bag says that I should be getting way more food than I'm actually being given.  And to make matters worse, my family has actually slightly decreased my daily allotment of kibble from one cup twice a day to about 3/4 of a cup twice a day (in their defense they do make up for the 1/4 cup difference with yummy pumpkin which Ma actually warms up in the microwave for me).  But still, what gives?

Me and My Birthday Present

And speaking of food, I'd like to thank my bff Mecki and his little brother Bastille for the yummy birthday cookies they gave me for my birthday.  Sister is limiting me to one cookie a day, but if it were up to me, I'd eat the whole bag right now!

Snow Day

Walking Through The Snow

It snowed this weekend—a lot. In my neck of the woods, the total snowfall amounted to almost two feet which was great because I love snow and, in my view, the more the better. Of course, I am always concerned about my more vertically challenged friends like Mecki and his little brother Bastille in storms like this, but their Mom posted some videos of them playing in a shoveled out spot in the yard, so they seem to be doing okay.

I think perhaps the reason I enjoy snow so much is because it allows me the opportunity to unleash my wild and crazy side. Take this recent storm. When Ma and I went outside first thing yesterday morning after the blizzard was over I:

• bunny hopped around the backyard in circles at top speed (bunny hopping is the only way to get through such deep snow efficiently)
• located and ripped out a rosebush branch that dared to peek out from underneath the snow 
• did my business wherever I pleased. 

But hidden just behind these happy moments of frolicking through the snow and doing business wherever I saw fit, dark forces were brewing.

Balancing Snow On My Snout

Later that very afternoon, Sister and I went outside to play in the snow. After chasing me around for a little bit, Sister and I went our separate ways; I found a nice stick to chew on and Sister decided to build a snowman. Sister spent a lot of time sculpting the snow while I, having finished with my stick fairly early on, watched patiently from afar. Once the three layers of her snowman were built, Sister retrieved a scarf, a carrot, and a couple of walnuts (she didn’t have any coal) that she had brought out with her earlier and had left on the patio table. She wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s neck, but never got the opportunity to insert the eyes and nose.

You see, that’s when I pounced!

What's That Over There?

Sister's Snowman

Like a bat out of hell, I charged the snowman and, propelling myself upward by launching myself off of its bottom sphere, plowed straight into its head. The snowman’s head popped off on impact and dropped to the ground in one piece (Sister is obviously very skilled at making snowman heads). Wasting no time, I pounced on the head and immediately started pummeling it with my paws and breaking it into pieces with my mouth. Oblivious to Sister’s screams and riding high from the fun of beheading the snow creature, I then turned around and threw myself at the snowman’s torso. Digging like a fiend (my loyal readers know how much I enjoy “dig, dig, digging” on the mountains of snow my family build for me when clearing the driveway), I tore apart the snowman’s chest, leaving behind a gaping hole in my wake. Satisfied that the snowman was indeed dead, I ran down the driveway to bark at someone who had the gall of walking by my house. Sister remained behind, mourning her decapitated and disemboweled friend.

Covered In Snow

The remains of Sister’s snowman still stands in the middle of the backyard and, while I’m looking forward to going back outside to finish him off, I can’t help but wonder one thing: Whatever happened to that carrot Sister was going to use as a nose?

My 6th Birthday

The Birthday Boy!

Happy birthday to the smartest, most handsome pup I know:  Me!  

As my loyal readers know, last Sunday was my birthday.  I am now six years old and let me tell you, as time goes by, my family and friends have really impressed me with their ability to make each birthday more spectacular than the last (though I don't believe they'll ever be able to surpass my first birthday in impressiveness--it's not every day that the entire town holds a parade for you (for those who don't remember, a summary of that day can be found here)).  So, as I was saying, this year's birthday was a real hoot.  Here's what happened:

My special day started with some quality time lounging on the deck out east.  I love deck time—lying on the wooden planks soaking in the nice warm sun and watching the world go by.  I love it so much that I’ve even worked it into a kind of tradition when we're out there.  You see, when Pa goes out first thing in the morning to buy the newspaper, I insist that Ma and I go outside onto the porch and wait for his return.  It’s a great system (and a great start to the day).

Later in the day, after Pa, Ma, and I drove home, Sister greeted me with a pretty package that Mecki and Bastille’s mom had dropped off that morning (I was a bit bummed to learn that I had missed Karin because a) she’s really nice and b) she always has a pocket full of treats).  Like the good boy I am, I waited patiently as Sister took her sweet time removing the tissue paper from the bag (I might have jumped up on her a couple of times to speed her along, but I honestly don't remember...the whole event is a bit of a blur to me now).  Anyway, once she finally got through the tissue paper, Sister reached into the bag and pulled out my birthday present!

That's right!  Mecki and Bastille gave me TWO brand new Mini-Mecks (for those not in the know, Mini-Mecks are plush squeaker toys that bear an uncanny resemblance to my bff Mecki).

Wait, Where's the Other?

My and My Mini-Meck

Sister immediately gave me the orange Mini Meck which I quickly carried into the backyard to gnaw, roll, and slobber on.  But, despite all the fun I was having, I knew that there was a second Mini-Meck waiting for me and I eventually hurried over to Sister (with the orange Mini-Meck still securely in my mouth) to retrieve it.  That's when my perfect day became a little less perfect.  Sister said I couldn't have the second Mini-Meck right then and there; she said that I'd have to wait until the next time we went out east because it was a special toy that required a big yard for an optimal playing experience (its neck is a slingshot of sorts which means Sister can send it flying across long distances).  I wasn't fond of this explanation, but I managed to get over it by concentrating on the Mini-Meck I had and my task of ripping out its squeaker which I managed to do just about 12 hours later (it's currently in the toy hospital drying out and awaiting surgery).

My Purple Hedgehog

A few hours later, Sister presented me with the birthday gift that she bought:  A purple hedgehog squeaker toy with a tennis ball stuck in its belly.  Just as I had with my orange Mini-Meck, I carried the hedgehog into the backyard and proceeded to gnaw, roll, and slobber all over it.  And let me tell you, I can't express how surprised and pleased I was when I finally managed to pry the tennis ball out of the hedgehog's belly.  My one toy had morphed into two!

Needless to say, after all that had happened, I was dead tired by the time evening finally rolled around.  But to my surprise, my birthday celebration was not over yet.  You see, after my family ate their dinner, Pa cut up some of their leftover roast beef and gave it to me along with the leftover juices and a little bit of gravy.  It was so tasty, but I couldn't help but notice that he had forgotten to give me some of the potatoes they had also had with the meal.  I'm sure it was an honest mistake.

So, like I was saying, this birthday was a particularly good one.  I got great presents, I got tasty food, and I was even given the opportunity to lounge on my porch out east.  The one thing is, I think I might have had a little too much fun as evident by the following pictures Sister took of me wearing my party hat.  What do you think?