The End

Rigby

May 31, 2009-September 30, 2024

You Don't Mess with Dinner

The Nose Knows All

I’m very particular about food.

For breakfast, I require an engraved invitation of sorts every morning.  Whoever makes my breakfast has to come to me to tell me that it is ready and sometimes they even have to provide me with “proof of sincerity” by hand delivering a kibble to sample.  And at dinner time, I get annoyed when the chef doesn’t serve my meal fast enough.   What do I do when dinner is running late?  I sarcastically check my empty elevated food stand and shoot dirty looks at the chef while I wait. 

And it doesn’t stop with meal time.  When I was a puppy there wasn’t a snack I didn’t first drag into the living room to sniff suspiciously before consuming (I was a rotten juvenile delinquent expecting my comeuppance) and to this day I refuse to accept treats from the vet (though I will accept (and frankly I expect) a cookie from the treat bowl at checkout). 

So, as I said, food means a lot to me and I do not appreciate when the process surrounding it changes.  Sadly, that’s what happened to me yesterday. 

Ma spent a good portion of the day giving the dining room a deep clean and part of that apparently included scrubbing the food particles and spit off of my elevated food stand.  Although a bit offended by the implied messiness of me, I took no offense and generally no notice.   But then dinner time rolled around. 

At 3:30 (yes, I now enjoy early bird specials), I wandered into the dining room to give my normal sarcastic glance at my empty bowl while Pa slaved away at my kibble only to discover that my food stand was missing.  Concerned, I turned toward Pa just as he finished adding pumpkin to my bowl, but instead of him bringing the food to me, he turned toward the door, my bowl in hand, and walked outside. 

With this, I started barking hysterically.  Where was he taking my food? 

A lifetime later (okay, it might have been ten seconds), Pa returned and beckoned me toward the door.  I refused and ran back to where my dinner bowl should be sitting.   Pa called my name.  I looked at him.  I looked at my bowl.  I looked back at him and responded by barking some more. 

Eventually, Pa gave up trying to get me to go outside on my own.  He walked over, hooked my collar, and ushered me out. 

Now I was really confused.   What was Pa’s game?   Why wasn’t he giving me my dinner and why was he forcing me outside?   Between frantic thoughts and worry, I heard Pa tell me to go eat my supper.  What was he talking about?   I was nowhere near where my bowl has been placed twice daily for 15 years!

Completely panicked and wasting away with hunger, I lumbered up the driveway and into the backyard.  Frantically I did a circle of the perimeter, then rushed back down the driveway toward the side steps which I leapt up. 

With a sigh, Pa walked over, hooked my collar, and guided me back down the stairs telling me to go get my dinner.  Up the driveway I lumbered again, more frantic than before, and did another loop of the backyard.  Then, just as before, I scurried back to the side steps and started barking to go in. 

Once again, Pa walked over, hooked my collar, and led me back down the stairs.  But instead of letting me go for a third loop of the backyard, he physically guided me halfway up the driveway saying, “you idiot, your bowl is right here.” 

And that’s when I noticed it.  My elevated bowl was sitting in the middle of the driveway, fully stocked with my dinner and fresh water.   I had run by it four times and hadn’t noticed it once. 

Now as my loyal readers have probably have already guessed, Ma and Pa were practically falling over laughing at me and my antics.  But you know what?   I didn’t care.  I had my dinner (and discovered that dining al fresco wasn't too bad).

The Paparazzi Interrupting Nap Time

A Farewell to Mecki

To my bff Mecki-

Words will never ever be able to express how much I’ll miss you. 

I’ll miss our walks through the estate, both of us competing to be slightly ahead of the other on the path.

I’ll fondly remember our sleepover where we kept stealing each other’s antlers (even though neither of us really wanted to chew on them), sneaking in to eat your breakfast (sorry…you snooze you lose), blowing out Sister’s eardrums with our barking and whining, and rough-housing in the backyard (even though it resulted in us both getting a bath).

I’ll miss receiving mini-Meck toys smelling of you (for that extra touch of authenticity). 

I’ll think frequently of that time I swatted you with my paw when you were climbing all over me and laughing when your Mom stuck you in a hollowed-out tree trunk for a picture. 

And Sister?  She’ll always remember your over socialized nature, the fact that you ran on belly rubs, that your tail never ever stopped wagging, and all those attack kisses (you really could get some air with those short little back legs). 

There’s so many memories and so many stories and I thank you for all of them (not to mention it was your blog which kick started this one). 

You were the best friend a pup could ever have and you will be so missed. 

Your bff Rigby

 

The Games We Play

Chillin' on Two Pillows

Ever since I was a pup, Sister and I would play a game where she would hold a cookie in one of her two clenched fists and I was tasked, when presented with these fists side by side, to pick out which one had the cookie using only my keen nose and my canine intuition.  Comparing the choices, of course, involved a lot of slobber transfer from my drooly jowls to Sister’s hands, but once I made up my mind, I would tap the hand of my choosing with my snout repeatedly (or, in my younger days, slash the attached arm repeatedly with my nails).  Sister would always try to trick me—she’d give me the option of switching hands one last time (Monty Hall’s got nothing on Sister)—but I always stood firm with my decision and most of the time ended up being correct.  “You’d be a great bomb sniffing dog,” Sister once told me, “if only bombs were made of cookies.” 

But that’s an old game, a game that Sister and I have played for years and years.  Recently, I’ve come up with a new game.  A game I play with Pa.

Each morning, after breakfast and my first perimeter search of the day, Pa gives me a beef flavored vitamin pill which I’ve happily scoffed down every day for years and years.  Well lately, I’ve been occasionally snubbing my vitamin, but not with any regularity.  I’ll accept the vitamin on Monday, but snub it on Tuesday and Wednesday.  And on Thursday, I’ll take it again, but spit it out on Friday (after breaking it into dust with my teeth) and so on.  There’s no rhyme or reason to my snubbing (at least my family hasn’t figured it out and I’m not telling), but I find the thrill of keeping my humans guessing is quite invigorating and the peanut butter used to persuade me to eat my vitamin on snub days is pretty nice too.

My Fifteenth Birthday

From these humble beginnings...

...grew a mature (and devilishly handsome) dog
who turns 15 years old today!

 

Bloopers and Behind the Scenes:

Hitch-Hikers, Sail Squirrels, and Flo

As a distinguished (and devilishly handsome) senior, one might assume that my days are filled with meandering walks, long naps in the sun, and hours of screaming “get off my lawn” at the top of my lungs at every passing squirrel, mailman, and figment of my imagination.  Well, my life is anything but structured and boring (though I do spend many an hour screaming “get off my lawn” at all creatures great, small, and imaginary).  Here’s three things that happened to me over the last couple of weeks. 

Hitch-Hikers:

Bumble bees have suddenly taken to landing on my back and hitch-hiking across the yard.  And it wasn’t a one-off thing…it happened twice in two days last week! I’m really at a loss for why this is happening; it’s not like I’ve recently received a bath and smell like that nasty lavender shampoo my family slathers on me—I’m pleasantly stinky thank you very much.

Flo:

Flo is the Golden Retriever who lives down the road who I routinely meet up with during my walks.  She mooches pets from my Pa and I mooch pets from her Pa.  Then we go our separate ways.  Well one day last week, I was hanging out inside the house and all of a sudden I sensed movement on my deck and started barking hysterically.  Turns out, it was Flo—she had wandered onto my deck when her dad stopped by to talk to my dad.  Anyway, Ma opened the door to see what was going on and would you believe it?! Flo just walked right into my house like she owned the place.  Now, Flo is generally cool (you’ve got to appreciate anyone who has trained the mailman to leave a daily delivery of chicken meatballs in your mailbox…not that I’m jealous or anything) but to just invite yourself in to someone else’s house?  That’s a bit much. 

Sail Squirrel:

On our daily walks, Pa and I come across a dead squirrel that has been decomposing on the side of the road for weeks now.  He’s been around for so long that my family has even given him a name, “Cadaver Bob.”  Everyday, I walk up to Cadaver Bob and give him a sniff.  Then I look up at Pa inquisitively.  “You can leave him,” Pa assures me and I’m like “Yeah, I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. Why hasn’t anyone done anything about the body yet?” 

 

Easter 2024

I tried.

I tried to stay up all night to watch for that stupid little white-tailed breaking-and-entering Easter bunny. I even went way under cover and dressed the part in hopes of luring him into a false sense of security before I chased him away and exposed him to the world as the scaredy bunny he is.  But as the night progressed, my eyes got heavier and heavier and I swear I only intended close them for a moment.

Well, long story short, the stupid bunny made it into the house without my knowing it and left jelly beans, marshmallows, and a chocolate T-Rex.  But, while I definitely don’t condone breaking and entering and it's not a treat I'm allowed to have, the bunny does get points for the dinosaur shaped chocolate (just don't tell him I said s0)..

 So, in the end, I'm wishing you, my loyal readers, a very

Happy Easter

and if that stupid little white-tailed breaking-and-entering Easter bunny managed to get past your security system this morning, don’t beat yourself up over it.  He’s sneaky.

 

 

 

 

Bloopers: