The Pollen Count Downer

The day started out great.

On Saturday morning my sister bought me a brand new toy.  What a great sister, right?  She always picks out nice toys for me; toys with odd voice boxes, toys with rattles rather than squeakers, and toys that are almost as long as I am.  Well, this time she bought me a frog.  But this wasn’t just some ordinary frog.  Nope, this frog had limbs that were twice as long as its body.  And if that wasn’t enough it had five squeakers (one in each limb and a fifth in its body).  Let the fun begin!

Because it was so nice outside, my sister decided that I could play with my new toy in the backyard.  That sounded great to me.  You see, it is a well known fact that playing with a new toy outside in the dirt ensures that it loses its clean new toy smell almost immediately.  That’s how you take a great toy and make it stupendous.  Anyway, I grabbed my toy and raced into the backyard, its spindly legs flapping behind me.  I chewed on it, I squeaked it, I shook it, and I rolled on it.  It was great!  Then my sister got involved.  She chased me and my toy and then grabbed two of its legs and played tug with me.  And when I flipped on my back she rubbed my tummy.  “It really can’t get much better than this!” I thought. 

After playing for about half an hour, my sister said it was lunch time and that we had to go in.  I’ve learned not to get excited about the word “lunch.”  When I was a little puppy I used to get a bowl of kibble at lunch time.  Now that I’m grown, lunch time means that my sister gets to eat and I get a pitifully small Milkbone cookie because I willingly came into the house when she called.  Today, however, it really didn’t matter; I had a new toy and I was going to get to play with it while my sister ate.  If only I knew how badly it was going to end.

It started small; a quick outward puff of air that momentarily disrupted my play.  Then there was a second and then a third.  By the fourth sneeze I was really starting to get annoyed.  What also didn’t help the situation was that my sister had gone from saying a sincere “bless you” to snickering.    I thought that was rather mean of her.  You see, I’ve always taken sneezing very seriously.  Every time someone sneezes I run right over to make sure everything is alright.  Sometimes I even give the sneezer a big wet kiss to comfort him or her.  Sneezing can be traumatic you know!  Anyway, after a few more sneezes I decided that perhaps I should put my toy aside, take a nap, and wait for my allergies to pass.

Well, they didn’t pass.  Instead they got worse…much worse.  From a dead sleep I was suddenly awakened by a series of small sneezes followed by three or four giant, jump off the floor, sneezes which seriously disturbed me and brought my sister to tears with laughter.  How rude!

Philosophical Me

I’m not allowed on the furniture.  Okay, that’s not entirely true.  I’m allowed to sleep on my sister’s bed provided I am supervised (you lose your mind a few times—shred a few papers, rip a few blankets and BAM! suddenly you’re no longer trustworthy) but that doesn’t really count.  Anyway, I’m always told that animals belong on the floor, but it just doesn’t seem fair.  I mean, statistically, I’m getting the short end of the stick.  The humans have the couch, the dining room chairs, the bed, the lawn chairs, the piano bench and a ton of other comfy places to relax not to mention an unlimited supply of pillows for lumbar support and blankets to keep them roasty-toasty.  Me?  I’ve got the floor.  Yeah, I have three “dog” pillows stashed throughout the house (two tuffets and a big square hand-me-down orthopedic pillow) but let’s be honest here, next to a recliner or queen size mattress, the floor is no comparison.   And what’s worse, my humans are so hypocritical.  If I’m not allowed on their furniture, why are they allowed to sit on my floor?  It just goes to show what a good-natured dog I am; my people can lie on the floor any time they want and I will happily snuggle up next to them and take a nap.  Come on people, a little reciprocation please!

Oops...Overslept.  Busted!

I’ve discovered in my nearly three years of existence that there are loop-holes to every rule.  You just need to be cunning and engage in some philosophical thinking.  Dogs aren’t allowed on the furniture?  Not a problem!  My response is:  If a dog sleeps on the bed, and there’s no one home to witness it, is he truly sleeping on the bed?  My answer:  Nope!  All I have to do is wait for my humans to leave the house, jump the pillow barricade that they line the edge of the bed with in hopes of discouraging me from jumping, settle in, and take a nap (oh, and droll on their pillows if I get the chance!).  So there you go…I get a nice comfortable nap and all I have to do is make sure I wake up and get off the bed before they come home.

My Estate and My Best Friend

Well, my sister was right…today was totally awesome!

Bright and early my entire family piled into my sister’s car (I love car rides).  We drove for a long time and with each passing block I became more and more excited.  After a while we turned down a tree lined driveway and stopped at a little house.  My sister showed the lady in the house something while I gave her my cutest look.  And you know what?  That lady in the house didn’t give me anything!  No cookie.  No “my, isn’t he handsome.”  Nothing, nada, zilch!  I was crushed.  My sister drove away and a few seconds later the car stopped again.  “We’re here,” my sister said.

My best friend Mecki!

I jump out of the car and look around.  Woo-hoo!  It’s my estate!  It’s Old Westbury Gardens and there are dogs everywhere!  Now, for some reason, despite the fact that this is indeed my estate, I’m required to wear a leash.  I’ve argued with Pa about this in the past and while I didn’t win I did manage to wear him down to an agreement that we both can live with; the use of my 12 foot leash.  Dragging my family behind me (considering how long their legs are they all move very slowly) I made my way up the hill toward my house.  About half way there I noticed a familiar high pitched whine and saw two women being herded by a little brownish-black scruffy dog.  Could it be?  Yes!  It’s my best friend Mecki and he brought along his mom Karin and a very nice lady who turned out to be Karin’s mom.  And, as if this entire day couldn’t get any better, Karin brought me a giant squirrel cookie!  My sister gave a piece to Mecki and me and told me I could have the rest later (I had it for my “I didn’t lick the dishes as they were being put in the dishwasher” treat).  After Mecki and I collected pets from the people we did not come with and after Mecki jumped on me a couple of times (I was good this year and did not thwap him over the head—he’s a real nice guy but can sometimes be a bit annoying) we decided that it was time to survey my estate.

Taking a break

We walked down the stairs and around the pond (I made sure to walk through all the plants looking for interloping creatures that may have made my estate their home since the last time I visited).  Next we walked through the lilac path.  And then something shameful happened.  I lost my mind, threw myself into the wild geranium plants, and rolled around like a fool.  I really don’t know what came over me!  Anyway, as good as those plants smelled initially, their scent—now radiating from my fur—really started to bother me so I found a patch of nice clean grass and started rolling.  Mecki just looked on in horror.  Once I was done, we continued on and visited the Thatched Cottage where I met a nice cousin named Emma and took some pictures.  Next my entourage walked around the woodland lake and we met an American Bulldog named Boss.  We then stopped off on the great lawn and relaxed.    After a little while we all started heading back to our cars.  I said goodbye to Mecki, Karin, and her mom and eagerly jumped into my sister’s car so I could start napping (I was really, really tired!).  Just as I was getting comfortable, Pa woke me up to tell me we were home and that I had to get out of the car.  I staggered into the house and collapsed on my pillow, waking up only long enough to eat my dinner five hours later.

Overseeing my property

My sister told me that we could go back to our estate tomorrow provided it isn’t raining.  I just hope we don’t walk by those wild geraniums again!

The Definition of the Word "Fun"

"You're going to have a lot of fun this weekend!" my sister told me this morning.


File this under
"Fun at the dog's expense"

Frankly, statements like that really make me nervous.  I've discovered that there are two types of fun:  fun at the dog's expense and fun that the dog will actually find fun.  Events that fall into the "fun at the dog's expense" category include baths, training sessions, and performing tricks that make me look stupid.  The category "fun that the dog will actually find fun" includes car rides and playing with (and sometimes destroying) things that don't belong to me like clothing, newspapers, and shoes.  My family doesn't really understand my idea of fun--if they did they wouldn't yell at me each time I grab the toilet paper or shred the mail (the act of shredding things is particularly pleasing to me).

I wonder which category of fun this weekend has in store for me.

Escape from the "Doll Hospital"

When toys break (through no fault of my own I swear) they go to the dreaded “Doll Hospital” which is located in one of the closets in my house. There they wait, next to the vacuum cleaner, until my drool has dried and the surgeon is ready to see them. Most toys are eventually released from the “Doll Hospital” but a certain number of patients are never seen again. It is this fear of fatality that leads me to occasionally orchestrate “jail breaks.” Today was one of those days.



My plush springy bird.

My opportunity came when my sister went into the closet looking for her coat. When she wasn’t looking I quickly scooted in and grabbed the first patient I could find (there was no time to play favorites!). It wasn’t until I had reached the side door that I realized that I had grabbed the toy the Easter Bunny left me this year (how a giant bunny got in and out of my house without me noticing is beyond me—needless to say I am quite horrified and embarrassed by this breach in security). The toy I had rescued was my plush springy bird (still too new a toy to have a proper name) with the broken “tweeting” plastic sound box (which now makes a beautiful crunching sound each time I chew on it). Because it wasn’t in too bad a shape (its two googly plush eyes were loose and hanging from their stitches), my sister (AKA the surgeon) decided that my toy was healthy enough to go outside with me. She opened the door and I sprinted outside, vaulting over the two steps connecting the side porch and the driveway, and hightailed it into the backyard. My bird and I had so much fun rolling around in the soft green grass (we also ate a stick or two for a snack)! My sister was very impressed how good a boy I was with my toy; how I refrained from yanking on the its dangling eyes.



Look at all the fun I'm having!

A Bad Taste in the Mouth

A most horrible thing happened on Saturday!  I was in my yard and I saw a lizard.  Now there are plenty of lizards around my house—in the flower bed just outside my gate and behind the garage where I’m not allowed to go, but very rarely do they venture into my territory.  "Why is this lizard in my yard?" I thought.  "I must run the intruder out!"  I know from experience that lizards are really fast and that I would need to get a really good jump if I had any chance of catching him, but I was ready for the challenge! Suddenly, the race was on.  Down the driveway and into the garage the lizard ran with me hot on its little green tail.  “Ha!  Now I’ve got him!” I thought as I cornered him in the garage.  Suddenly to my surprise the lizard made a run at me!  Out of self defense I snapped at him and you know what?  I caught him!  Woo-hoo!  Then something truly disgusting happened.  To my horror the lizard did what lizards do; it jettisoned its tail and high-tailed it out of the garage.  Now there I was stuck with a wriggling lizard tail in my mouth!  Ick!  I ran into the backyard and spit it out.  It was really gross—it just kept squirming.  Thankfully Dad came, caught it, and threw it out.

My foe!

The next day my sister (though we look nothing alike—she has two legs I have four, she’s brunette and I’m blonde) checked behind the garage and found my foe!  What gall—he was still hanging out on my property!  She seemed happy to discover that he was still alive.  I’m a peace loving dog but really…he cheated by dropping his tail!  She took a picture of him—I’m hoping she makes a “Rigby’s Most Wanted” poster for me.