A Christmas Tune

Merry Christmas to all my fans.  Please enjoy this year's Christmas carol set to the tune of "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas." *<[:{)

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And in case you wonder why
There'll be guests and Santa Claus
Caroler's passing by.

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Lots of people I can greet
Holding bags and lots of gifts
I'm hoping for a treat.

Oh, ho, plush squeaker toys!
Meant to last the year
But when they meet my teeth
They don't last I fear.

Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And to all my friends I say:
"Oh by golly have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Today!"

Abandon Ship

I am a coiled spring. I spring to life from a dead sleep in order to alert the neighborhood of a slamming car door two blocks away, I can hear (and respond to) a peanut butter jar opening despite being outside and otherwise preoccupied chasing a squirrel, and seconds after the cheese drawer opens in the kitchen I can be found right by the snacker's side.

But perhaps even more impressive than my ability to quickly respond to a situation involving an intruder or food is my ability to spring into action when my own self-preservation is on the line.  Allow me to explain with two specific examples:

The Fire Alarm:

I'm not insinuating that their cooking is bad (actually, it is usually very good), but my family has a habit of accidentally setting off the fire alarm when roasting a large piece of meat or a particularly fatty bird.  Now, the logical response to the smoke detector's sudden sirens and mechanical female voice shouting "fire, fire, fire" would be to gather one's belongings and quickly vacate the premises.  Well, my family doesn't do that.  Instead, they split up: one person opens the window in the kitchen, the second person grabs a dish towel and begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector, and the third person gets a step-stool and takes down the screeching, talking, flying saucer like device.

Now, I frequently worry that my family is not taking a potentially serious threat seriously when it comes to the smoke detector.  The smoke detector isn't like someone telling you to sit or stay or lie down or say "howdy."  You don't just smile at the smoke detector and pretend that you don't understand what it is saying.  No, you react.  Here's what I do:

As soon as the mechanical female voice issues her first warning of "fire," I jump up and head straight for my favorite toy which I pick up in my mouth.  With my toy now secured, I quickly make one attempt at herding my family toward the nearest exit.  As I am not a herding dog and herding my family is like herding a group of cats, I usually fail miserably at this endeavor.  Then it's on to Plan B; I head toward the door, toy in mouth, and anxiously wait for someone to come and open the door for me (yes, my escape is hindered by the lack of a thumb).  And what happens if no one opens the door for me?  I start pacing, hoping that someone will notice my concern and finally wake up to the potentially deadly situation that is ongoing.

Now that is the proper way of dealing with a fire alarm!

Attack from Above:

It was two o'clock in the morning and I was hours into a very pleasant dream in which I was chasing squirrels through a huge backyard while taking periodic breaks to eat Milkbone flavored ice cream.  Suddenly, there was a fluttering sound and something landed right next to where I was standing.

"The sky is falling!" I thought.

I was at the zenith of jumping ten feet straight up in the air from my initial prone sleeping position when I fully woke up.  And when I landed back on my pillow, out of breath and completely on edge, I immediately went into emergency evacuation mode.  I quickly scanned the room.  Both Ma and Pa were awake--the combination of the fluttering sound and my crash landing woke them--so I figured that they were smart enough to get themselves out of the building on their own.  I only had to focus on getting myself out of the house.

My Light-Up Squeaky Ball

Next to me lay my new favorite squeaky ball (it used to light up and squeak, but now it only hisses when I chomp down on it but it is still good).  I scooped it up and made a beeline to the side door.

Within seconds of reaching the door, Ma came up behind me.  She told me that everything was okay and that I should go back into the bedroom and "check out" what scared me (I later found out that what had fallen was the dust jacket to Pa's book--a breeze caused by Pa shifting his blankets must have dislodged it from its spot on the night table and sent it hurtling to the ground).  I wasn't falling for it, though.  There was a threat and I was determined to abandon ship while I still had the chance.

Eventually, Ma made a deal with me.  She agreed to take me outside to do business if I agreed to come back in afterward.  I wasn't happy about it, but nature won out and I was committed at that point.  Once I was done, I cautiously returned to the bedroom and lay down on the far side of the room; far away from my pillow and the scene of the crime.

New Shoes

Those who know me know that I have a thing for human footwear.  I take great joy in stealing sneakers and work boots from the basement stairs and flinging them about the living room.  I love rooting through Ma's closet and liberating her slippers.  And one mustn't forget all those insoles I ripped out of Sister's shoes.  Over the years, I've gnawed on flip flops, sneakers, snow boots, pumps, slippers, flats, booties, and water shoes and if you had asked me, I would have said that I've tasted/destroyed every type of shoe imaginable--every size, color, and texture.

Turns out, however, I was wrong.

It happened last week.  There I was, minding my own business, gnawing on my squeaky ball while lounging on the couch when all of a sudden Sister jumped up from her chair, declared that she was cold, and quickly ran upstairs to her room.  I must admit that, while startled, I really wasn't terribly interested in what Sister was doing.  After all, like I said, I was preoccupied with chewing on my squeaky ball and I knew for a fact that Sister didn't keep any food in her room (I've checked). 

A few seconds after scurrying upstairs, Sister made her way back down the stairs.  Calmly, she walked into the living room and stood behind her chair which, I admit, was odd, but certainly not odd enough to distract me from my toy.  When she got no rise from me, Sister called my name and, when I looked up at her, she leaped into the middle of the room.  Immediately, I gave her my best perplexed "what is wrong with you?" look.  Nothing (aside from Sister's behavior) was weird; her hair was the same, she wasn't wearing a hat, and her clothing consisted of her usual ensemble of jeans and a shirt (they weren't even new, I could see the slug trail of drool I deposited on her knee earlier in the day).  Then I saw them:

They're slippers!  They're plush toys!  And after I pounced on them from atop my spot on the couch, I discovered that they squeaked too (okay, that might have been Sister screaming in alarm as I dove for her feet, but a squeak is a squeak, right?).

Over and over again I pounced at Sister's feet, each time grabbing hold of a snout or an ear and tugging.  Sister, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically (as was Pa).  Every once in a while, Sister attempted to wrench the slippers (and her feet) away from my gnashing teeth, but it became quickly evident that her heart really wasn't in it.  After all, if she was really so concerned with getting those slippers away from me, why did she keep wiggling the piggy snouts at me by wiggling her toes?

After lots of laughs and numerous of rounds of tug of war, Sister eventually called the game off and put away her slippers.  If I wasn't so exhausted from all the fun I would have been disappointed to see the game come to an end. 

Of course, now that I know about Sister's pink piggy slippers, I am going to have to make it my life's mission to find and shred them.  Wish me luck!

A Thanksgiving Wish and Goal

Wishing all my two- and four-legged friends a very happy Thanksgiving filled with good company and tasty treats.  And remember, you haven't eaten nearly enough tasty treats if you don't look like this when you're through:

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Puppy Files: An Honest Mistake

Welcome to yet another edition of The Puppy Files, a series in which I travel down memory lane to when I was an itty bitty little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude.

Street fairs are a big thing in my neck of the woods.  At least three times a year, a major street in my neighborhood is shut down and all the local vendors, store owners, and (my favorite) eateries spill out into the middle of the street and the whole town shows up.

For the first fifteen months of my life, I only heard about these shindigs and while they sounded fascinating (especially the food part), I was never especially interested in checking them out.  Why?  Well, it was twofold.  First, I was too busy biting and disobeying my humans to care about much else.  Second, walks back then involved the Gentle Leader (AKA snout guard) and, as my loyal readers know, I truly despised wearing that.

But then, one day in my sixteenth month (when my gentle Golden Retriever genes started kicking in and my behavior became almost tolerable to the general human population), Pa, Ma, and Sister suggested that I accompany them to one of these fairs.

Needless to say, I was really excited about this outing.  Little did I know that my excitement would multiply exponentially in mere minutes.

My first surprise?  I didn't have to wear the Gentle Leader. Granted, I did have to sit through the whole, "you're a big boy now and you're going to walk like a big boy, right?" speech, but I saw it as a small price to pay for my freedom.

With a bound and a leap I jumped into the car and off my family and I drove to the site of the fair.  After parking, receiving yet another "pep-talk" about being a good boy, and patiently waiting for the okay to jump out of the car, my family and I made our way toward the fair--me walking like a model doggy citizen.

The smell struck me immediately.  There was food everywhere:  sausages, zepoles, popcorn, cheese steaks, hamburgers, pickles, hot dogs, cotton candy, and ice cream!  I didn't know where to look first or, for that matter, where to pull first.  Yes, despite the multiple "big boy" speeches, I started pulling toward the food trucks pretty much immediately.  This resulted in a series of stern "no"s from Pa after which I resigned myself to walking like a good boy (while pledging to pounce on and swallow up anything even remotely edible that happened to cross directly in front of my path).

After a few short minutes, my family and I made it past the food carts and while you might think this would have been a bummer for me, you'd be wrong.  You see, there were dogs and people all over the place!  Immediately, I straightened up, shook once to fluff my fur, and proudly pranced down the street--wowing the crowds of people and dogs with my devilishly good looks.

I was so busy showing off that I almost missed it.  Almost.  A few feet away from me were two giant swan-like creatures.  "Wow!  I didn't know they made plush toys that large!" I thought.  "They're human size!"

Throwing dignity and obedience aside, I lunged at the closest five and a half foot tall swan catching Pa completely off guard and wrenching his shoulder.  I also, in the process, frightened the swan who unexpectedly sprung to life, screeched, and jumped backward away from me.  Almost immediately, Pa gained control of the situation, apologized to the giant swan (who took it fairly well despite the scare of a lifetime), and dragged me away all the while scolding me for having been a bad boy.

I found out later that that pair of plush swans were actually human members of an acrobatic team that was playing at a nearby venue.  For a brief moment, I contemplated asking Pa if we could buy tickets to the show (can you imagine...a stage full of giant plush swans?!) but I ultimately thought better of it.  I figured that Pa wouldn't appreciate my suggestion given the most recent development.

Needless to say, it was a long time before I was allowed to go to another street fair and when I was finally deemed "mature enough," the swans were nowhere to be seen.

Now, flash forward about seven years to a week ago last Monday--also known as Halloween.  There I was, minding my own business in the side yard (you know, eating grass, hunting lizards, and patrolling for squirrels), when what did I see literally crossing the road but a giant white chicken!  Now, I knew it wasn't a real chicken, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have an overwhelming desire to run up to it, grab it by the wing, and start plucking its feathers out.  As an alternative, I decided to bark hysterically at the giant chicken.

Alerted by my manly bark, Sister stuck her head out the door to see what was going on.  She was just about to call me a "Barky Boy" (a compliment in my eyes) and bribe me inside with a cookie, when she herself noticed the giant walking chicken. What could she do?  How could she tell me not to bark at a giant walking chicken?  With a shrug, Sister went back inside the house and left me to bark until the chicken strolled out of sight.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

^^..^^

A Scary Story

Boo!

A Forward by the Author...

In hindsight, I should have figured it out long before I found it; long before I stared into its cold dead hollow eyes.  But I didn't.  I was too busy being my charming self to put all the pieces of the puzzle together until it was too late.  Here's my tale.

Monday: 

6:30AM:    The entire household is awake--even Sister who is definitely not a morning person.  Not only is everyone awake, but there is a certain feeling of urgency in the house.  Suddenly, Sister drags a suitcase down from her bedroom.  Pa grabs it and puts it in Ma's car along with a knapsack.  I get a hug and a kiss from Sister.  Pa rubs my head, calls me "Squirt," and tells me to be good.  Ma grabs her car keys and informs me that my breakfast will have to wait until she gets back.  Disappointed, I head back to bed as everyone else leaves the house.

7:30AM:  The side door opens and I am greeted by Ma and only Ma.  Pa and Sister are nowhere to be found.  I'm not overly concerned.  I'm often left home alone during the day when my family goes to work, and while I would have preferred to have my entire pack stay home with me, I'm glad that Ma appears to be keeping me company today.  Ma settles down with her coffee to watch TV and I join her on the couch.

12:00PM:  Lunch time!  This is the time of day that Sister usually comes home, eats her lunch, and then lets me out into the backyard to work on my holes.  But Sister never shows.  It's just me and Ma.  Ma makes herself some lunch.  It smells really good, but she doesn't offer me any despite my assurance that Sister always shares at least 3/4 of her sandwich with me (perhaps I was pushing it with 3/4...maybe I should have only said 1/3).

1:00PM:  Lunch is over and Ma takes me outside to sniff around in the yard.  Since it isn't nearly as large as the yard out east, I finish quickly.  Bored, I look for fun in my number one digging hole--the one underneath the forsythia bush.  Ma is distracted--she's talking with our neighbor--and doesn't notice me digging.  She also doesn't notice that I have found something in my hole besides the usual dirt, rocks, and tree roots.  I extract my find and carry it out into the middle of the yard to examine it.  I have two jaw bones, complete with teeth.  "That's odd," I think.  Suddenly, a hand emerges from above and snatches the jaw bones away from me.  Startled, I look up and discover Ma standing over me examining the bones.  "Where did you find these?" she asked with, I swear, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

5:00PM:  Work is out, yet Sister hasn't come home yet.  Ma makes me my dinner.  Why do I hesitate before eating?

10:00PM:  It is time for bed and yet Pa and Sister are still not home.  I curl up next to Ma on Pa's side of the bed.

Tuesday:

7:00AM:  Ma wakes me up by banging on my breakfast bowl.  I'm exhausted.  I didn't sleep well last night.  I kept thinking about those jaw bones and wondering where Pa and Sister were.  Neither are home.

10:00AM:  Ma is changing the sheets on the bed and washing some laundry.  I've seen her do this thousands of times, yet I find this activity oddly suspicious this morning.  Is she trying to hide something?  Still no sign of Pa or Sister.

The Skull and Jawbones

2:00PM:  I've decided to return to the scene of the crime; I need to search for answers.  Ma is once again distracted by the next door neighbor so I have the chance to continue my search.  I start to dig.  I jump back in horror.  I've uncovered a skull!  A bit queasy, I pick it up and carry it into the yard. The skin is gone--it is just bleached white bone.  I stare into the hollow eyes.  It stares back at me.  Do I recognize the face?  No, but that doesn't mean anything.  With dread, I realize that I must be staring at either Pa or Sister.

Something makes me look up and I'm startled to find Ma standing over me.  I grab the skull and she grabs me by my collar yelling to "drop it!"  I do as I'm told.  Ma picks up the skull and examines it.  She doesn't seem particularly troubled by the sight and merely stalks off angrily toward the garage.

My mind is racing a mile a minute.  What has Ma done?  Was that Pa or was that Sister?  Then a sickening thought pops into my head.  If Ma was driven to do in Pa and Sister, then what chance do I have to make it through this madness?  Sure, I'm better looking and much friendlier than Pa and Sister, but I'm not sure these attributes are enough to spare my life.  Let's be honest, I do have a bit of a barking, drooling, and shedding problem.  I am doomed.

2:05PM:  Ma emerges from the garage; the lopper in her hand.  She marches toward me.  My life flashes before my eyes:

I see myself as a cute little puppy, throwing up in the back seat of the car on the way home from where I was born.  I see myself gnawing on my family's hands, jumping out of a moving vehicle doing 30 mph, and threatening to drop Pa's sneaker on Mecki's head.  I see myself digging holes, picking up voles, and barking at horses.  It was short, but it was fun.

I'm done.  This is it.  It will be my skull that the police find in the hole under the forsythia.   I close my eyes as Ma gets closer.  I don't want to watch.  I don't want to watch!

But nothing happens.

Cautiously, I open my eyes.  Ma isn't there.  Suddenly I hear a loud "crunch."  I jump with fright.  I turn around and find Ma.  She is angrily hacking away at the forsythia bush.

3:00PM:  Ma puts down the lopper and stands back to inspect her work.  The forsythia lives, but all the hidden nooks and crannies that I used to hide behind are gone; Ma cut away all the low hanging branches.

Suddenly, Ma turns around and looks at me.  I try to be brave, but I can't help but cringe a little.  "You're filthy," she says, "you need a bath."

I'm led to the side of the house by my leash.  Ma pulls out the hose and picks up a bottle of what appears to be shampoo.  But is it?  Is the shampoo shampoo or is it bleach?  Is the hose there to wash away the mud or the inevitable blood?  Ma rolls up her sleeves and...

3:20PM:  It was worse than I expected:  I got a bath.

5:00PM:  Pa and Sister are still missing and all my holes have been filled in in the backyard.  I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to get back to them to investigate further; now that I'm clean, Ma won't let me out on my own.  Resigned to my current position, I eat my dinner.

11:30PM:  I sleep in Pa's spot again this evening.  Ma has a sneezing fit.  I jump each time she sneezes; they sound like gunshot.

Wednesday:

8:00AM:  I'm still missing Pa and Sister.  I eat my breakfast then go back to bed.

1:30PM:  "I'll be right back," Ma tells me as she gives me a cookie and walks out the door.

1:50PM: I wake up to the sound of the side gate clicking open then shut.  I hear the key in the door and the door squeaking open.  This is it.  I know it.  I feel it in my core.  It is my turn to join Pa and Sister under the forsythia.  Despondently, I get up.  I might as well face my fate head on and not slip into oblivion while sleeping.  I drag myself out of the bedroom, into the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the side door which Ma is holding open for me. The bright light of the sun blinds me at first, but then my eyes adjust and I see...

Pa and Sister!

I'm so excited!  I run to Pa.  He scratches my ear.  I run to Sister who kisses my snout.  I return to Pa for another scratch and then run back to Sister.  I do this two more times before I suddenly remember...the skull!  I hot foot it into the backyard.

While I sniff around under the forsythia, I hear Ma tell Pa and Sister (both had been sightseeing in Philadelphia) about my discoveries.  She leads them to the garage (I wander after them).  She shows them the bones which she's kept hidden since I found them.  Everyone is shocked by my find, but after careful consideration, they come up with a "logical" explanation.

The skull belonged to a long deceased opossum.  You see, over the last few weeks, a raccoon's nest has been falling piece by piece from the tree overhead.  The skull in question must have fallen from that nest (the remains of a meal long ago eaten or perhaps a tacky wall decoration) and embedded itself in the overgrown forsythia which was then deposited into my ever growing hole as I brushed past the low hanging bushes.

Do I believe this story?  I don't know.  All I know is that everyone in my family is safe and the only victim (well, aside from the owner of the skull) is me.  I'm the one, after all, who got a bath!