My Favorite Things

Before I begin, I just want to let everyone know that I am feeling much better after my tragic day last Monday.  To sum up the remainder of the experience, I moped around the house all Monday and straight through Tuesday afternoon.  By Tuesday evening, Ma, Pa, and Sister took pity on me (actually, I think it was more out of necessity--I was refusing to go outside) and took the bandage off my leg (after which I quickly ran to the side door to go out).  Wednesday found me playing in the backyard and on Thursday morning Pa took me to the vet where I received a clean bill of health.  Now I just need to wait for my nail to grow back in.  In the meantime, I'd like to give a shout out to my friends Mecki, who wished me well on his blog, and Rita, who gave me a get well peanut butter flavored Frosty Paws ice cream treat and a peanut butter cookie.  What great friends!

My latest victim

Now, due to my injury, I haven't really gotten a great opportunity to partake in any noteworthy adventures.  Basically, I've just been hanging around the house playing with my toys.  It was while ripping the arm off my frog (see the picture to the right) that it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn't introduced by loyal readers to my favorite toys.  After all, what better way to get to know a dog than through his toys?

Baby

Baby:  Baby is one of only two toys that have survived since I was a little puppy.  When I got Baby, she had a squeaker box that barked three times every time I bit it, but I took care of that fairly early on (the plastic box remains and provides a satisfying crunch each time I bite down on it).  Baby also used to have two ears (I ripped them off) and a tongue (see the aforementioned fate).  In both instances, Sister sewed up the holes (the damage from tearing out Baby's tongue resulted in Baby losing part of her nose in surgery).  With Baby now personalized to my specifications, I stopped ripping her apart.  Baby is a great meet and greet toy--she's big enough that people notice that I'm carrying her while I circle them with my tail wagging yet not large enough for them to try to take her from me (you see with your eyes, people, not with your hands!)

Nuclear Bunny

Nuclear Bunny:  Nuclear Bunny, who started out simply as Bunny, is the second toy that has survived since my puppy days.  I got Bunny from my Sister for my very first Easter (a consolation prize for not catching the actual Easter Bunny).  That day, I ripped Bunny's ears off and a couple of days later, after Bunny dried off (apparently it is hard to patch holes when a toy is sopping wet with drool), Sister sewed him up and gave him back to me.  Next I ripped open his chest and neck and pulled out his squeaker and some of his stuffing.  Sister took him back again, let him dry, reinserted the stuffing (but not the squeaker), sewed up the seams, and gave him back to me.  Then I started ripping out Bunny's eye.  For a third time, Sister put Bunny back together.  By this time, Bunny didn't look much like a bunny any longer and was rechristened Nuclear Bunny.  Having been given a new name, I immediately stopped mutilating him and he, like Baby, became a meet and greet toy.

Lyle & Monk

Lyle Lyle the Crocodile and Monkey Monk (AKA Lyle and Monk):  Lyle and Monk are my two "big boy" toys because they are nearly my size.  Both have had their Doll Hospital stays (Lyle has had three limbs amputated and Monk has lost one leg, both ears, and a nostril) but by and large they have remained almost entirely intact.  Although I sometimes use them for meet and greets, their large size makes maneuvering around visiting people difficult so generally I reserve them for playtime.  Sister says that Lyle is looking pretty grungy and needs to be replaced (I think he looks and smells pretty good), but since she has been unable to find a suitable replacement, Lyle remains.

Bill

Bill:  I got Bill for Christmas from my friend Jim who works with Pa.  Bill holds the rare distinction of being the only toy I own that has never needed sewing.  He also has a really cool squeaker that screams "OHH NOOOOO!" when I bite on it. Sometimes, just for fun, I squeak Bill while my humans are talking and let me tell you, they laugh and laugh when I do this.  Apparently I'm quite good at picking the most opportune moment to squeak Bill--his cry is almost always totally appropriate for the conversation.

Rudy takes a bow

Rudy:  A Christmas gift from Sister, Rudy the Reindeer has had a tough life.  For the longest time, Sister didn't have the heart to amputate Rudy's limbs as I tore each of them apart so she stitched even the smallest pieces of fabric back together as best she could.  Eventually, Sister had to admit that her sewing skills were no match for my gnashing teeth and amputated, throughout the years, Rudy's back legs and part of his neck.

Why are they all looking at me?

The Perpetual Doll Hospital Group:  Some toys are poorly made and break almost as soon as I get them (my family, mistakenly, feels that I am too rough with my toys, but I know better).  These toys spend most of their lives in the Doll Hospital awaiting surgery for an assortment of poorly assembled seams, ripped limbs, and "accidental" guttings.  Some have official names; most do not.

Rigby 2 : Gumby 0

Gumby:  The first one lasted me three days.  The second one only lasted a few minutes.  Now I'm no longer allowed to have Gumbys, but Pa seems to enjoy using them as office decorations.  They are quite the conversation starter.

A Really Bad Day

I shouldn't have gotten up this morning.

My horrible day started innocently enough when I was running around like a lunatic in the backyard after having returned from my walk with Pa.  During one of my laps, I suddenly noticed a severe pain in my paw.  Realizing I was hurt, I quickly assumed my "The Dog is Hurt" position of sitting right outside the side door looking pitiful.  Pa, noticing my mournful look, came over immediately and, after washing the mud off my feet using the outside hose, checked each of my paws.  He discovered that my right front paw's dewclaw had hooked on something while I was running which caused its outside shell to come off leaving behind the pink quick intact.

Notice How Sad I Look

Pa brought me inside and Ma called the vet to make an appointment to have my paw looked at.  Nursing my injured foot, I slunk off to be by myself.  It just so happens that that place I slunk off to was atop Ma and Pa's bed.  Ma found me on the bed a few minutes later, but by that time I had prepared my saddest look and positioned myself snugly between a couple of pillows.  Apparently, my sad expression got to Ma and she decided that she simply didn't have the heart to kick me off the bed.  If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have celebrated Ma's decision, but alas, my foot really hurt and I was in no mood.

Now, this isn't the first time I've either torn off or broken a nail.  In fact, I've had problems with at least two nails before today, and let me tell you, the experience never gets better.  The first time, the nail and the quick both came off leaving Sister with a bloody mess that could rival most slash 'em up movies.   The second time I cracked my nail while playing by the fence with the next door neighbor's dog.  That time there was no blood, but the nail had to be removed (this time by the vet) anyway.

Eventually, Pa went off to work and Ma woke Sister up to help her take me to the vet.  I was a little concerned that Sister would be annoyed that she had been woken up early on her day off, but instead she showered me with attention and commented on what a poor boy I was.  She also sat with me on the bed and rubbed my ears for a little while which I found comforting.  After a little while, Ma and Sister put my leash on and escorted me to the car (despite the pain I was quite excited--I do love car rides).

When we got to the vet's office I took my place in the waiting room sitting on the couch between Ma and Sister.  The receptionists oohed and ahhed over me (apparently, even in pain I'm exceptionally handsome) and eventually the vet called me into the exam room.  The vet checked my heart, my joints, my ears, and eventually my bad paw all the while saying extremely nice things about me.  Then she announced her diagnosis:  the quick had to be removed and in order to do so I would have to stay a couple of hours and be sedated.  I didn't like the sound of that, but because I'm always up for an adventure, I happily went off with vet into the back room.

The next thing I knew I woke up in a strange room filled with barking dogs and had a large ace bandage on my paw.  When I was a little less groggy, Ma and Sister came back for me and I greeted them by trying to jump into their arms.  Then I started pulling toward the door with all my might (and the vet said that I would be a little dopey from the sedatives--ha!).  I was so intent on leaving the office that I didn't even beg for one of the dog cookies the receptionists keep on their desk.  Eventually, Ma, Sister, and I piled into Ma's car and we drove home.

My Injured Leg

I spent a fair portion of the rest of the day trying to nap, but I never got much sleep because I couldn't get comfortable.  The bandage (which Ma said she might remove tomorrow morning because she thinks that I'll try to eat it while everyone is at work--I can't say it wouldn't happen) was always in my way.  Every time I tried flipping over, my bandaged leg clunked awkwardly on the floor (or whacked me on the head).  It was quite annoying.

Oh woe is me!

All Alone

My weekday lunchtime schedule is fairly predictable.  Sister leaves work at lunchtime to let me out, chase me around the backyard, give me lots and lots of cookies (sometimes I earn them, sometimes she just gives them to me because I have her so well trained), and clean up anything I might have destroyed while she was out (the amount of destruction depends on my mood and whether or not I could find a comfortable place to sleep).  It's a good system...a very good system and Sister is very careful not to stray from it.

Well, that is until today.  Sister didn't come home for lunch.  I was home alone, all by by lonesome, for about eight hours!  EIGHT HOURS!  Sister warned me that she wasn't going to be able to come home at lunch.  She said that she couldn't come home because she had an all day class to go to for work.  Personally, I don't think she tried hard enough.  I'm sure she could have rushed home, and, if not, if she had simply explained to the instructor that she needed to take care of me I'm positive the teacher would have understood (especially if she showed the instructor a picture of me--who can resist my handsome face?).

Anyway, when Sister first left the house this morning, I decided that I was going to spend the next eight hours thinking about how I was going to display my displeasure at being left alone.  Maybe I'd snub her when she came in--refuse to greet her at the door or acknowledge her return.  Or, perhaps I'd pick out something of hers to destroy.  After a while, maybe ten minutes or so, I was so exhausted from thinking that I decided to take a little nap (Ma and Pa were nice enough to leave the air conditioner on in the bedroom so at least I was nice and cool).

Lyle when he was new-2010

Seven hours and fifty minutes later, I was awoken by the sound of the side door opening.  "Someone's home!" I thought as I grabbed my Lyle, Lyle the Crocodile stuffed toy and ran to the door.  "It's Sister!" I thought as she walked through the door.  I wagged my tail, bunked her with my toy, and weaved my way around her legs.  She greeted me with a kiss on the snout and scratched my back as I walked around her showing off my toy.  After letting me out and rubbing my ears a bit, Sister brought me back inside and presented me with my dinner which I ate happily.  I showed my appreciation by wiping my slobbery chin on her jeans.

Obviously, I can't stay mad at Sister.

Weekend Fun

What was it?

Before I begin my post, let’s play a game.  Try to guess what the item in the picture to the right used to be before I got a hold of it this weekend and worked my magic on it.  I’ll provide the answer at the end of this post.

I’m sure that you’ve all realized, based purely on the carnage left in its wake, that this was an exciting weekend for me.  It included, after all, three of my all time favorite things…a car ride, water, and destruction. 

On Saturday afternoon, my family and I loaded ourselves into Sister’s car and made our way to Sands Point.  Pa, who was sitting with me in the backseat, said that I was a very good boy in the car that day because I remained seated for most of the ride (Pa did have to tell me to sit down when we were about a block away from the park, but that was because I had just gotten a whiff of where we were and was really excited and wanted to wag my tail in approval) and because I didn’t try to muscle Pa out of his seat too much (Pa says I take up too much room, I say that he takes up too much room, Sister threatens to stop the car unless the two of us stop arguing, and Ma just shakes her head and pretends she doesn’t know any of us).

Anyway, once at the beach, I made my way quickly to the water stopping only briefly to bunk noses with a rock climbing Jack Russell Terrier-like dog.  With Pa and Sister in tow (Ma, who likes to swim even less than I do, was waiting a safe distance away on the beach), I started to splash my way into the water until it was about chest high.  With Pa and Sister encouraging me forward from slightly deeper waters, I quickly turned around and ran back up on shore to where Ma was standing, dragging whoever was holding my leash behind me.  I did this many times.  It was really quite fun—especially when I dragged my barefoot Sister across sections of sand covered in shattered muscle shells (being so agile, I was always able to jump over them).

After escorting me into and out of the water a handful of times, Pa decided that if I wasn’t going to swim, he would.  Into the water he waded while I followed behind him at a close distance until I reached my usual chest high water depth where I went no further.  Pa, however, kept going.   I wagged my tail nervously while asking myself:  “What is he thinking?”  Then I thought: “If he doesn’t come back, do I get his portion of dinner?”  The next thing I knew, the only part of Pa I could see was his head…and it was coming straight at me!   I swear I wasn’t afraid…really.  Well, Pa swam right up alongside me and gave me a kiss on the snout.  I wagged my tail happily then raced back toward Ma dragging Sister behind me.

Taking a break from swimming, Sister introduced me to the game “Godzilla.”  Basically, she builds sand castles and I come along and crushed them with my paws or body.  I tried eating the castles too, but they tasted bad and the sand was a bit gritty so I settled on merely destroying each building that Sister created.

Aside from running in and out of the water, toppling sandcastles, and watching Pa swim, I also got the opportunity to be a “Free Dog” meaning that I was allowed off leash (well, I wasn’t off leash, but no one was holding the other end of the leash).  Here’s what happened:  Sister decided that she wanted to walk along the beach a little.  When she was about thirty feet away, Pa called out to Sister so that she would turn around and told me to “Go to Sissy!”  Jowls flapping, I ran like a crazy dog toward Sister and made a tight turn around her before running back toward Pa.  I didn’t stop there though.  I ran past Pa, made another turn a few feet away and skidded to a halt right in front of Ma who grabbed my leash.  Let me tell you, it was so invigorating to be free—not to be held back by my slow moving humans.

Considering all the fun I had, it's no wonder that I slept most of the way home on Pa's lap.  As is now the norm after a trip to the beach, I was given a bath as soon as I got home, but honestly I was so tired I didn't have the strength to put up a fight.  I figured that the sooner Ma, Pa, and Sister finished scrubbing the sand from my fur the sooner I could take another nap.

Any correct guesses?

Then came the destructive part of my weekend.  On Sunday night I was invited, along with the rest of the family, to Sister's room to watch TV in the air conditioning.  Apparently the show was really interesting because I quickly came to realized that no one was paying me the tiniest bit of attention.  With nothing better to do, I started to look for trouble.  Needless to say, I found it!  So, the answer to the earlier question of what did I destroy is...Sister's Nook's power cord (don't worry, it wasn't plugged in).

Stretch Rigby

When you wake up in the morning, do you stretch?  When you feel like all your limbs are in a knot, do you stretch your arms out in an attempt to loosen up?  Did anyone have to teach you?

Well, when I was a little puppy I didn't know how to stretch.  Whenever I tried to stretch my legs out behind me, I ended up falling over and was subsequently mocked by my family.  As a result, I found a different way to stretch.  I'd stand up straight and tall on my four legs and arch my back up in the center.  It was great; I didn't fall over and I got a good stretch.  Unfortunately, I was still mocked because apparently I was now stretching like a cat (at the time I didn't know what a cat was--now I'm truly insulted by the comparison).  "Shouldn't dogs know how to stretch innately?" my family frequently asked aloud.  I felt a bit depressed by my inability to stretch properly but, because I was too busy stealing things, ripping up things, and gnawing on people's hands, I didn't dwell on it too much.

It wasn't until I was a little over one year old that I learned how to properly stretch.  You see, that summer my family was going to take a trip to Maine and decided that I should stay at the home of my good friend Ken the Dog Trainer (Ken was instrumental in turning me into a well behaved dog which was not an easy feat considering I had, in my family's words "a bad attitude" and far too many large gnashing teeth) and the other dogs he was boarding.  Let me tell you, I had so much fun!  I boxed and chest bunked a boxer and learned to play nice with little dogs (that's why I get along so well with my best friend Mecki).  Ken tried to teach me to ring a bell every time I wanted to go outside, but, while I enjoyed eating the peanut butter off the bell, I felt that such a parlor trick was below me and returned to simply barking hysterically at the door or acting up whenever I wanted out.  Anyway, it was from Ken's four legged boarders that I learned my most valuable lesson from.  They taught me how to properly stretch.

When my family picked me up from Ken's house a week later, they noticed that I had become a stretching fool!  I stretched when I came out of my crate.  I stretched when I got up from a nap.  I stretched because I was standing out in the sun.  I stretched because it was Tuesday.  I stretched whenever I got the chance and with each stretch I got better and better at it until I no longer fell over and didn't have to resort to stretching like a cat.

That is, at least until today.

When Sister came home from work to let me out at lunch time, I took advantage of the warm sun and prepared myself for a massive stretch.  While stretching my neck out as far as it would go, I began to walk forward with my front legs leaving my back legs stationary.  I kept walking further and further ahead enjoying the stretch when suddenly my back legs scooted out from under me and I collapsed flat on my belly.  I looked like a dog skin rug what with my back legs sticking straight back behind me.

I glanced around sheepishly hoping that no one saw what had happened.  The laughter emanating from Sister confirmed my greatest fears.