Snowstorms and Video Conferences

I love the snow.  Nothing beats dig-dig-digging in Mount Puppy (a pile of snow Pa builds me from what he collects in the driveway), guffawing through the snowbanks (and occasionally face-planting when it suddenly gets deep), making dog angels in the grass, and skidding down the icy driveway.  It’s been a while since it last snowed any significant amount which is why I was super excited when I found out that it had snowed the night before.

Here’s some pictures from my snow day (while wearing some of my fashionable coats and sweaters).

 

 

But the fun didn’t end there.  Sister had her company Holiday Party Video Conference later in the afternoon and I, the self-appointed “Employee of the Year” for my excellence in Administrative Assistance, got to appear on camera.  And this wasn’t some quick photo-bomb.  No, sir.  Sister actually put the computer down on the floor and sat next to me so I could be in full view of the webcam.  Needless to say, her co-workers were in awe of how devilishly handsome I am.

I Think I'm on Mute

Communicating

My family says I’m bossy.  I disagree.  I’m simply a dog who knows exactly what he wants and is committed to getting it. 

And besides, what my family calls being bossy is actually just me communicating with them.  We don’t naturally speak the same language, my family and I.  They rely on words (and I’ve learned quite a few from sit, down, paw, and eights to squirrel, cookie, walk and focus (sometimes I get distracted when I go out to do business and my family has to remind me to focus on the task at hand)).  I, however, rely on barks, whines, and looks to get my points across.  The way I see it, both sides are talking, we’re just talking in different languages and making do as best we can.  They might sometimes find my way of communicating annoying, but do you have any idea how many times a day I have to hear them say the word 'sit'?  It gets old…quick. 

So that’s my opinion and my family's.  Now it’s your turn, my loyal readers.  Am I bossy or am I simply communicating my wants and needs?  Feel free to use the following as a guide.

Toys:

I want a toy!

There are everyday toys and then there are special toys.  Everyday toys are dull to play with, but good for greeting someone at the door with.  Everyday toys live throughout the house, scattered under tables, beneath chairs, in the middle of the room, and on stair treads.  Special toys, however, are fun to play with (and even more fun to rip to shreds) and generally live in closed off closets and rooms awaiting a special request.  I know where all those closed off closets are and when I want a toy, I ask my family by parking myself outside the door and barking hysterically.  If my family wants to hear the television, they pretty much have to give me a toy.

Bedtime:

When I’m ready to go to bed, I’m ready to go to bed and, what’s more, it is my firm belief that when I go to bed, everyone should go to bed.  Why?  Two reasons:

1. If I go to bed and my family remains awake, someone might decide to snack without me which is beyond rude. 
2. When everyone else finally decides to pack it in, they might assume that I’m not awake and waiting for my goodnight treat.  They would assume incorrectly. 

So what’s a dog like me supposed to do when he’s ready to go to bed and no one else is? 

I start with a combination of physical and vocal cues: I stalk into the bedroom, throw myself down on my pillow, and issue an exaggerated sigh.  Then I wait for my message to really penetrate my family's brains.  While I wait, I snooze--why waste the time?  This step usually lasts for about a half hour.

If, when I wake, my family still hasn’t called it a night, I up the ante and move to a more visible spot: the threshold of the doorway between Ma and Pa’s room and the hallway.  With my snout peeking out of the door, I give my family in the living room a distant side eye (when I'm not snoozing again) to encourage them to move along.

I'm watching you!

Now let’s say my family still does not submit to my demands.  If that’s the case, I get up, drag myself into the hallway, and shoot them the dirtiest look I can muster.

Staring someone down

Going through all these steps might result in my family laughing at me or saying that they are going to ignore me, but I know from experience that it is nearly impossible to ignore me when I give them that final “look.”  It’s only a matter of time before everyone starts fidgeting uncomfortably and eventually get up and head to bed.  Family 0—Rigby 1.

Go to Work:

Part of my job as Sister’s Administrative Assistant is that I am in charge of keeping a careful eye on the time clock.  If Sister is so much as a minute late coming back from lunch, I set myself up in her office and give her one of my disdainful looks.  Needless to say, she always comes running (though she’s usually muttering something about her being Bob Cratchit to my Ebenezer Scrooge).

Walks:

As I mentioned in a recent post, I’ve actually started to enjoy walks.  I mean, for the longest time I hated walks.  I hated being told to walk nice on a leash or, even worse, having to wear the snout guard.  And those punishment walks my family used to take me on (long walks designed to tire me out when I was becoming incorrigible)?  They were definitely not my idea of a good time.  But now, I actually demand walks whenever I’m out east.

Usually, when I want to go for a walk, I get all excited and start pacing the room.  That frantic energy doubles if my family shows even the slightest sign of daring to leave the house without me.  Sometimes, however, I have to take it a step further.  Here’s what I did a few weekends ago to express my excitement about going for a walk:

1. Barked frantically
2. Sneezed repeatedly
3. Retched loudly
   

Luckily, Ma got the message before I actually lost my breakfast.

Thanksgiving 2020

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

     ( )  _[]_   
(_` )_('>
(__,~_)8
   _YY_ 
 
❤ Rigby

Smart

Because of the pandemic, my family has severely cut down on their in-person shopping and has taken to relying heavily on online purchasing and mail delivery.  In fact, every couple of days, another package arrives in the mail and is left in the hallway for sanitizing and/or quarantining. 

For the most part, I ignore these packages.  Sure, I might sniff them as I walk by and bark at them if they block my way, but I know that they’re probably boxes full of boring stuff like stamps or people shampoo or grass seed.  But every once in a while, a package arrives that immediately piques my interest and holds my full and undivided attention.  But how do I know that one nondescript box is different from another nondescript box?  How do I know which will be of interest to me?  Here’s what Pa has to say on the matter:  

“You tell him [me] to ‘sit,’ something he was taught 11 years ago and is asked to do every single day, and he looks at you like you’re speaking another language.  But packages?  He can read the writing on the box and know it’s his.”

That’s right, my secret is no more.  I can read.  I can look at two boxes and realize that the one clearly marked “Chewy” is mine.

And boy-oh-boy do I get excited when the package is mine.  Until its opened, I spend all my waking hours barking at it excitedly and following it as my family moves the box from room to room.  When the package is finally opened, I anxiously pace nearby, waiting to be given whatever fun or tasty treat is surely inside.  I’ve even been known to rear up on my hind legs to get a better look at what’s going on inside the box.

Sometimes, however, my family does something really mean.  Despite the fact that the box is clearly marked “Chewy” and most definitely mine, they keep the contents away from me.  Of course, when this happens, I make sure to show my displeasure.  I become even more hysterical in my barking, pacing, and carrying on (incorrigible one might say)—insistent that I should be allowed access to what is rightfully mine.  Recently, my antics became so extreme with the arrival of a withheld “Chewy” box, that Ma actually had to take my package and put it outside—away from my persistent focus.  Hours later, when I was seemingly preoccupied with eating my dinner, Sister snuck outside, grabbed the box, and stashed it down the basement without me know (or so she thought).

Now, I won’t go down to the basement to retrieve what is rightfully mine (Santa’s watching, after all, not to mention the scary oil burner lives down there), but I haven’t forgotten.  No sir.  Eventually, I’ll get what’s rightfully mine.  I always do.

The Scary Oil Burner

Scary Leaves

Rigby in Autumn

It all started with a mean trick by Ma.  She took me outside in the backyard and, after I did a quick perimeter check, she tricked me into thinking that we were both going back inside the house when, in actuality, she wanted me inside the house so that she could rake leaves in peace (apparently letting me eat grass unsupervised until I vomit is not her idea of peace).

But I have my own not-so-secret weapons in my arsenal for just such trickery: a very good memory, a loud bark, and a high level of persistency.  First, I took a quick nap. Fully rested and recharged, I then went to the side door and started whining.  After a little bit, I switched over to my high-pitched bark.  Then, upping the ante, I escalated to my loud, drown-out-the-television, bark.  As expected, an exasperated Sister suddenly emerged from the living room saying “fine, I’ll take you outside.”

After Sister tracked down and put on her shoes (I had stolen one of them earlier in the morning so the pair were separated in different rooms), we went outside.

Upon exiting the side door, Sister turned left and went toward the backyard.  I, meanwhile, turned right and walked up the driveway toward the front of the house.  At the fence, I looked up the block toward the right.  Seeing nothing, I then turned left.  Nothing.  Finally, I scanned the area directly in front of me.  It was then that I started barking hysterically.  The house in front of me had three metal turkey decorations planted in the front yard looking all stiff and suspicious.

While I was giving the turkeys the what for, Ma came over and tried to assure me that they weren’t posing any threat and that I should leave them alone.  Begrudgingly, I gave the turkeys a few more warning barks, then turned and ran toward the backyard.

As soon as I reached the backyard, I found the giant pile of leaves Ma had raked up while I was still snoozing inside the house.  My eyes widened.

Now, I’m not one of those dogs who runs at top speed and dives into a pile of leaves.  No, I’m one of those dogs who moseys through a pile of leaves searching for the perfect stick to gnaw on.  Once I find that stick, I flop down in the middle of said pile to chew it and hamper any progress my humans hoped to make at cleaning up the yard.  Given the size of the pile, I figured that there would be a lot of sticks to choose from.  Today was going to be a great day.

So, I moseyed up to the pile but, when I was four feet away from it, I saw something.  There, in the middle of the pile, partially covered in leaves except for her head and shoulders, was Sister silently staring back at me.  Not expecting her, I jumped about ten feet into the air and landed in a quasi-play stance with my front end down on the ground and my back end up in the air.

Sister immediately burst out laughing.  Ma (who was in on the joke) did as well.  And me, I just started wagging my tail and sheepishly hurried over to Sister for an ear rub.

A Weekend Adventure

Between the pandemic and my two jobs (full time Administrative Assistant for Sister and part time Administrative Assistant for Ma and Pa), I haven’t gotten a lot of vacation time. On top of that, both the spring and fall Dog Days at my estate were cancelled and, while I have gone on more walks lately (and have actually come to enjoy and instigate them), I haven’t gotten the opportunity to meet a lot of new friends on those walks (both the two and four legged variety) as everyone is trying to avoid one another.

But Sister decided last weekend that it was time to take a break from my workaholic ways; it was time for me and my family to have an adventure.

All great adventures, at least for me, start with a car ride and after I was boosted in (I’m a little leery about climbing into the car right now), I paced and panted excitedly throughout the entire trip which was admittedly short, but provided me with enough time to drool on the back of the driver’s headrest and put nose prints on the newly cleaned windows.

After parking the car, Sister let me out of the backseat. I looked around. There was sand on the pavement and the distinct smell of water in the air. I was at the local beach!

Now, I’ve gone to the beach before (some loyal readers might recall my family’s failed attempt to get me to swim), but it’s not one of my usual haunts, so I was super excited to explore.

I pulled Sister all over the beach: up into the fluffy dry sand and down toward the rocky wet sand. I even dipped my toes in the water! And while I did all this, I also managed to produce my longest shoelace drool on record. 

 

There were only two disappointing aspects of the entire adventure. First, Sister did not alert me to the fact that there was a half-eaten fish on the shore that I would have loved to sniff if given the opportunity. The other problem was that no one thought to bring me drinking water. Now, normally, in November, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem—I’ve taken many a November walk where I waited until I got home to get a drink—but it was unseasonably warm (70 degrees) and well, fur coat. But despite secrets and a dry mouth, I persevered and thoroughly enjoyed my outing.

When we got home, Ma brought out a towel to wipe off my feet, a brush to brush the sand from my fur, and a big bowl of water. Well, I was so thirsty at this point that I basically dove into the water. I drank and drank and drank. Then, I stuck my foot in the bowl, dug at it twice, and drank some more. While I drank, Ma tried to wipe off my paws, but at this point it was kind of pointless because I was standing in a pool of drool and water. When I was done drinking, I circled my bowl twice and laid down next to it.

As soon as I got comfortable, my relaxation was immediately disrupted by the sound of my family laughing. I looked up at them wearily not immediately knowing what their problem was, but after a moment I figured it out: my ear was hanging in my water dish.

I considered moving my ear from the water bowl, but ultimately decided that if I wanted to sleep with my ear in my water then that was my prerogative. I was lounging on my deck, in the shade, in a pool of water and drool, and I had a bowl full of water so close that I didn’t even need to get up to get a drink. What else could a pup ask for?

The Protest

What?

The last time I posted, I wrote about Pa wanting to take away my air conditioner (okay, Sister thinks it’s her air conditioner) smack dab in the middle of the hot and balmy month of September.  I also wrote about Sister stepping up in my defense and demanding that the air conditioner remain in its window for the time being.

Well, for over a month, Sister and I worked together to retain control over our air conditioner.  Sometimes we stayed mum to avoid drawing attention to the magic cooling box in the window.  Sometimes, we whined piteously about how hot it was and boasted about how we would cool off in the air conditioning while the rest of the family sat around and sweat. 

But then Sister became a turncoat.  She started complaining to Pa that it was getting cold at night and that the air conditioner in the window was letting the cold air in.  Then, two days ago, Pa caved to Sister’s whining and climbed the stairs to her room armed with the empty air conditioner storage box.

Hot on his tail, I scurried up the stairs after Pa and watched in disbelief and horror as he removed the air conditioner from Sister’s window.  Inconsolable, I threw myself down in the doorway between Sister’s room and the hallway and did something that I never ever do on the second floor: I lay quietly. 

You see, when I was an obnoxious little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude, I used to get into an awful lot of trouble upstairs because I was under the impression that I could be extra bad when I was up there (I mean, I was a juvenile delinquent on the main floor and how I acted there paled in comparison to how I acted on the second floor).  In fact, my family even had a daily warning for me. “First floor rules apply,” they’d say.  Eventually, when I finally outgrew my terror years, most trips upstairs resulted in at least one howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging session.  Why?  Why not?  It’s fun!  And since my family’s been working from home, those sessions have only increased in intensity and frequency (I particularly enjoy howling and carrying on through Pa’s daily four o’clock conference call). 

Anyway, there was no howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging at this moment.  No, I just lay there despondently mourning the loss of my air conditioner and reflecting on Pa and Sister’s ultimate betrayal. 

But then I heard the words: “Uh, Bud, could you get up?”  Pa was behind me having pushed the air conditioner, in its box, from the window to the threshold of the room.  The air conditioner’s winter resting place was the room just down the hall, however, I lay between Pa and the air conditioner and the other room.  “Bud?” he repeated and I lazily lifted my head and looked up at him with my big brown eyes.  “Think you can move?” he asked. I blinked twice, lowered my head to rest my chin on my paw, and sighed a deep drawn out sigh. 

It was at that moment that Pa realized that this was not me being ornery or lazy.  No, this was me standing up (by way of lying down) in protest over the loss of my beloved air conditioner.