Happy New Year!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to all my friends!

My New Year's resolutions for this upcoming year are...

1. ...to chase more squirrels (and, hopefully, catch one).
2. ...to eat more peanut butter.
3. ...to steal and shred into itty bitty slobbery pieces all future silly hats and costumes Sister buys me.

Christmas Roundup 2013

Christmas 2013

It’s a good thing Christmas comes only once a year; I’m not sure I could handle it occurring every month or so. Think about it from my standpoint. I spend an awful large amount of energy in the months, weeks, and days leading up to Christmas just trying to be on my best behavior (after all, you never know when Santa is checking in to see if you’ve been good). But that’s not even taking Christmas Eve and Day into account! Christmas Eve at my house culminates late at night with a special viewing of “A Christmas Carol” and a smorgasbord of tasty snacks including cheese and crackers. Christmas Day, on the other paw, includes a visit from Aunt B and the excitement of my family suddenly taking a page from my book and ripping brightly colored paper to shreds. Believe you me, this type of activity takes a lot out of a dog!

Lookin' Stylish

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Anyway, I got a lot of cool stuff this Christmas including a long limbed pink pig from my friends Tink and Zee Zee (I’ve already managed to rip the ear off and pull out its head stuffing—it is currently drying so Sister can sew it up again), a small red stuffed Christmas tree that Santa left in my stocking, and homemade dog treats baked by Mecki’s mom (cheese and rosemary flavored—yum!). And I mustn’t forget about my brand new stylish green cable knit turtleneck sweater! Sister says that I kind of look like Fred Rogers (from Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood) when I have it on, but I know that it will come in really handy when Pa takes me on my early morning walks this winter.

But do you know what? I haven’t even received half of my gifts! I’ve noticed that there is a suspicious bulge in the foot of my Christmas stocking, Mecki’s present to me is trapped in the Land of No, I’ve heard Ma and Pa talk of a ‘Ronnie the Rhino’ in the trunk of the car (I have no idea what a ‘Ronnie the Rhino’ is), and Sister’s gift to me is sitting on the entertainment center fully wrapped (it smells a lot like a replacement lunchtime squeaker toy which is good seeing that Ma threw out my old squeaker toy because I had spent the last couple of weeks ripping off chunks until it was half its size). My family says that I will get the rest of my presents later; that I should pace myself and save a couple of toys for a rainy day. That’s all well and good, but I’ve got a sneaky suspicion that that isn’t their only motive. I think they’re holding my presents hostage to ensure good behavior on my part.

Oh well, I guess a few more days of good behavior won’t hurt me.

A Christmas Eve Poem

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring ‘cept Daisy the mouse.
The stockings were hung four feet high off the floor
To protect against dogs eager to explore.
Said pup was asleep snoozing in Sister’s bed
While visions of squirrels ran laps in his head.
A sound in the parlor woke Rigby right up
He jumped from the bed, he’s Security Pup!
Down the stairs he did skid, barking his warning
Disturbing the household this early morning.
When, what to his wondering eyes did he see?
But Santa Claus standing there next to the tree.
He was dressed all in red, with white fur, and black boot
And over his shoulder hung a bundle of loot.
Santa put the bag down and opened it wide
While Rigby inched forward to check what’s inside.
And what he saw there he could hardly believe
More presents and boxes than he could conceive.
A package for Pa and a bag for Sister
A basket for Ma, a treat for the hamster.
With a broad smile, Santa pulled from his sack
A plush toy for Rigby that loudly squeaked “Quack.”
Rigs sniffed in the bag and noticed with glee
Packages for friends labeled Ralph and Mecki.
Thought Rigby “They’re next” and his tail gave a wag
His friends too were getting some Christmas time swag.
With more stops on his list and his work here all through
Claus gave Rigs a pat and up the chimney he flew.
Satisfied now that he had nothing to dread
With a stretch and a yawn Rigs headed to bed.

~ *  ~

To my fans near and far seasons greetings I send
Merry Christmas to all from Rigby, your friend!

Attack Garland

We all have a morning routine; something we do each and every day to get ourselves started.  My routine is:

1. Jump off of Sister's bed.
2. Stretch.
3. Yawn.
4. Scurry into the hallway, throw myself headfirst onto the floor, drag my face along the rug, and howl at the top of my lungs.
5. Get up, shake, and rush downstairs to collect my breakfast.

It's simple, it's elegant, and (perhaps best of all) it's loud.  Who could ask for anything more?

Well, today's routine didn't go quite as expected.

It started off fine.  I jumped off of Sister's bed when she woke me up (it's usually the sound of Pa roaming around the house that wakes me up, but since he and Ma are out east this weekend, the responsibility fell on Sister), did my stretches, and yawned a mighty yawn.  Because Sister was up (usually she's dead asleep when I get up) I sauntered over to her to collect a chin chuckle before continuing on my way.  I picked up speed as I rushed into the hallway and began to face plant into the rug when, all of a sudden, I felt a rustling by my tail.

Concerned that perhaps my bff Mecki had returned and was mounting a sneak attack (he does that you know, he waits until I'm distracted then rolls over top of me), I hightailed it across the room and turned to face my attacker.  But it wasn't Mecki.  There, in a crumpled heap on the floor, was a pile of shimmery silver rope.  My tail had knocked down the festive garland Sister had hung (insecurely, I might add) around her bedroom door.

Boy, did I feel foolish.  Here I was running away from a Christmas decoration; a decoration that I would have pulled down on my own and shredded had I noticed it earlier!  Hoping to save face and teach the nasty garland a lesson, I scurried back toward the shiny rope and was just about to grab it in my teeth when Sister, in an amazing burst of speed and agility given the early hour and the fact that her eyes weren't entirely open, pulled it away.

Now, in a perfect world, I would have been able to brush off the entire experience and continue with my routine as thought nothing had happened.  But this is not a perfect world.  The moment for rubbing my face and howling was over; it had passed.  It was best just to skip to breakfast (not that that's a bad thing).

But mark my word, I'll howl twice as long and as loud tomorrow!

Insurance

The Christmas season is one of my favorite times of the year; there is a certain crispness to the air (which is a big relief after a long hot summer), some days you wake up to the snow on the ground, a giant tree is tackled and dragged inside (I love wrestling), nice smelling (and tasting) food is cooked, and dozens of decorations are distributed throughout the house (and some are displayed at reachable, and therefore steal-able, heights).

But there is a particular hazard that arrives with the Christmas season:  Santa Claus.  You see, Santa, when he's not sewing up plush toys and casting rubber squeaker toys, spends a fair portion of his time checking in on all the pups throughout the world to see if they have been naughty or nice.  Unfortunately, it appears that there is a very thin line between naughty and mischievous.

As my loyal readers know, I am, overall, an angel of a pup, but the way I see it, it never hurts to ramp up the niceties just in case fun gets the better of good.  Call it insurance.  And who was the lucky recipient of my attention?  Pa (I know, what a lucky guy)!

Yep, that's right...I'm helping Pa water the Christmas tree.  Now, I'm pretty sure that the picture does not require any explanation, but just in case my actions and motives are not entirely clear, allow me to explain:

I am spotting for Pa.  You see, by choosing the spot that I did, I am in the perfect position to instantly realize if Pa needs assistance (you know, should the tree suddenly turn the tables and attack him).  Also, I have the perfect view of any vacating squirrels who might have taken up residence in the tree while it was living at the Christmas tree farm (though I'm pretty sure the 65 mile per hour ride home with the tree strapped to the roof of the car would have sent those squirrels packing a long time ago).

So, in closing:  You are very welcome Pa.  And Santa...I hope you saw this!

He Says, She Says

As much as I love my family, they have a tendency to exaggerate some of my antics.  Now, this wouldn't be bad if their stories made me out to be some sort of super hero dog, but, inevitably, I come off looking like the fool when they tell a tale.  I do my best to counteract their stories through this blog, but, and I know this is hard to believe, not everyone they tell their stories to are aware that I share my side of the same event here.

Below is a story that, depending on who you talk to, paints me in two very different lights.  Which is true, you ask?  Well, I guess that's up to you, the reader, to decide.  But allow me to take a moment to remind you that my trustworthiness is right up there with "Honest Abe" Lincoln and "I-Cannot-Tell-A-Lie" George Washington.

According to Me:
It was the middle of the night and I was sleeping quite comfortably on Sister's bed.  I really enjoy sleeping on Sister's bed in the winter because she always has a rather large collection of fluffy sheets, blankets, and comforters to snuggle up in.  Anyway, there I was minding my own business, having happy squirrel chasing dreams, when all of a sudden I was awoken by a sudden and violent shutter from alongside me.  Startled, I jumped off the bed and turned around just in time to see Sister sit up and look at me with a bewildered look on her face (I mean, she always has a bit of a bewildered look on her face, but this time it was an especially bewildered look).  Sister gasped and asked "are you okay?"  I looked up at her with concern and gave my tail a gentle wag of encouragement.  She then patted the spot where I had previously been sleeping and gave me the "up, up, up" command.  With another cautionary wag of my tail, I hoisted myself back up onto the bed, circled in place twice, and laid down.  Sister gave me a pat on the head then fell fast asleep.  I waited a few moments just to make sure Sister was alright, then I too closed my eyes and went back to sleep.

According to Sister:
It was the middle of the night and I was once again hogging all the blankets and all the available space on Sister's bed (already you can tell this is a lie).  Sister, meanwhile, was fast asleep hanging on for dear life to the small corner of the bed I had allotted her.  Suddenly, Sister was awoken by a rustling on my end of the bed and sat up just in time to watch me tumble off the bed and land, awkwardly, on the floor.  Sister gasped and asked "are you okay?" while I looked up at her with a stunned look on my face which eventually evolved into a look of complete embarrassment.  With a "nobody saw that, right?" wag of my tail, I accepted Sister's invitation to climb back "up, up, up" onto the bed, carefully circled in place twice, and curled up in a ball.  Sister gave me a reassuring pat on the head and went back to sleep.

So...who's telling the truth?

The Sleepover

Dead to the World

I'm exhausted.  Totally and completely exhausted.  Why am I exhausted you ask?  Well, I just lived through one of the most action packed fun filled weekends of my life:  my bff Mecki came to visit me on Saturday night and didn't leave until Monday afternoon.  We had a sleepover!

I've never had a sleepover at my house before.  Sure, Ralphie stayed overnight a couple of months ago, but I was out east with Ma and Pa so technically, Sister and Ralphie had the sleepover, not me.

So what did I think about my very first sleepover?  It was fun.  It was exciting.  It was...loud.  Here's some of the stuff that happened:

• I "accidentally" sat on Mecki's head:  I had an itch that I needed to sit down and scratch--I had no idea he was behind me...really!

  

  Chewing on Mecki's Antler
• I stole Mecki's squeaker toy:  You know, the one I got him for his birthday.  In my defense, he left it out (Ma ended up giving Mecki my squeaker toy to play with, but the joke was on him because I had already broken the squeaker on my toy and his toy was in pristine condition).
• I chewed on Mecki's antler:  I don't even like antlers anymore!
• I ate Mecki's breakfast leftovers:   I honestly thought he was finished.  He should have asked for a doggy bag.

  

  Empty Bowl

• I threatened Mecki with a shoe:  Mecki is too little and too long to hop up the side steps so, when I came in the house, I scurried past him, grabbed one of Pa's sneakers, and dangled it precariously over his head while he waited for Sister to give him a boost up.  Yeah, I got yelled at, but, well, you know...
• Mecki got a mini bath:  The yard on Monday was super wet so, after we finished rough-housing, Mecki's legs and belly were completely caked in mud.  When we came in, Sister scooped him up and put him in the bathtub where she splashed water on him (and boy did he hate it).  I was pretty muddy too, but I'm too heavy for Sister to pick up, so I just had my paws wiped with a damp paper towel.

  

  Antler Thief

• Mecki stole both of my antlers:  He collected them one by one, stashed them under the dining room table, and chewed on each.
• Mecki went horseback riding:  Mecki climbed up on my back while I was getting up and rode around like I was his own private pony.
  
• Mecki practiced sleep deprivation techniques:  Every time I collapsed on the floor exhausted, Mecki jumped up and started barking and showing off his best play stance.  Unable to resist the challenge, I got up and engaged Mecki in a round of rough housing.

  

  A Stolen Pillow

• Mecki stole my pillow:  Not only did Mecki steal my antlers, but he decided, on Sunday night, to chew on one while sitting on my pillow.
• Pack walk:  Ma and Sister took Mecki and me on a pack walk through the neighborhood Sunday afternoon.  Mecki's short legs kept us from having to take the extended walk that Ma usually drags me on.
• In Your Face:  Mecki and I developed our very own game called "In Your Face."  The game consisted of us sitting face to face while chewing on each other's stolen antler.

  

  In Your Face

• Rough housing:  Mecki and I are masters of rough housing.  Our specialties were chasing each other and head butting.  Sometimes, Mecki cheated and grabbed hold of my ear in his mouth and pulled.
• Bark-fest:  Mecki and I spent a fair portion of Sunday morning barking at the top of our lungs because Sister had separated us (we were playing too rough in the living room) and wasn't able clone herself so that both of us got her undivided attention (plus it was fun to make lots of noise).

So, to summarize, I had a ton of fun and would do it again in a heart beat...just so long as I get a couple more days to recover (have I mentioned that I'm really tired?).

The Sweet Smell of Venison

There are lots of smells in this world.  Some are every day smells (squirrels, lizards, and rocks) while others are special occasion smells (brussels sprouts, Christmas trees, and goat slobber).  The strangest smells, however, can only be found out east and I got a good whiff of one particular eastern Long Island smell when Ma, Pa, Sister, Aunt B, and I vacationed there over the holiday weekend.

The smell first struck me when I exited the car upon arrival, but, truth be told, I was too preoccupied with helping everyone carry their stuff into the house and, more importantly, making sure all my bones and toys were where I left them, to really take notice.  It wasn't until later, when Ma and Aunt B took me outside, that I got the chance to investigate the smell.

It only took one whiff for me to know exactly where the smell was coming from:  the yard just beyond the far fence.  I ran across the deck, scurried down the steps (I skipped only the final three steps in an attempt to appease my family--they yell at me when I skip four or more), and bolted across the yard toward the fence, my nose held high in the air.  When I got to the fence, I found myself faced with a major obstacle:  the smell was stronger than it had been up at the house (as I expected...my nose always knows), but I had no way of tracking the smell beyond the six foot wood divide.  Desperate to discover what was hidden behind the fence, I started running up and down its length looking for a missing post to peer through.

It was while frantically pacing back and forth in front of the fence that I suddenly became aware of a loud tapping noise coming from behind me.  I turned toward the noise and discovered that it was Pa and Sister banging on the window.  But they weren't just rapping on the glass.  No, Pa and Sister were also acting really weird.  You see, they were both making strange hand gestures; Sister held her hands up to the side of her head like antlers while Pa made some sort of bounding wave-like traveling motion with his hands.  They also took turns pointing toward the fence.  Weirded out by their antics, I decided to ignore my humans who had obviously lost their minds, and returned to my anxious fence pacing.

Although I had no idea what Pa and Sister's strange gestures meant, Ma apparently did and, after alerting Aunt B that there were deer in the next yard, she quickly ran over to the fence and peered over.

Allow me a moment to mention how truly angry I was at this sudden turn of events.  I did all the hard work--I sniffed the air, I determined from which direction the smell was coming from, I dashed across the yard at break-neck speed while Ma and B leisurely sauntered over, and I ran back and forth looking for a good vantage point--yet Ma simply strolled over and, using her height advantage, was able to get a good look at the deer hanging out on the other side of the fence.  It's just not fair!

Anyway, I'm ashamed to say that the overwhelming smell of deer and the building frustration from my short stature eventually got the better of me and, essentially, short circuited my brain.  Even now I don't remember what happened, but I've been told that I suddenly starting racing around the backyard as fast as my legs could carry me.  At some point, my front legs got tangled with my back legs (hey, you try keeping track of four legs and a tail) and I had no alternative but to skid on my chest for a lap or two (and let me tell you, you haven't seen grass stains until you've gone skidding through the grass on your chest at a high rate of speed).  As though possessed, I weaved through the trees and, on one of my numerous laps, narrowly missing a full on collision with Aunt B.  It was only after jumping on Aunt B in an attempt to steal her gloves, that the fog finally lifted and I became aware of my surroundings.  Sheepishly (and hoping that Pa hadn't seen my faux pas), I scurried back toward the house.

The deer won this round...the next one would be mine!

I just have one question:  What's a deer?

An Ode to Sleep

Napping on Sister's Bed

Sleeping is one of my all time favorite activities.  In fact, sleeping ranks right up there with causing trouble (which includes, but is not limited to, stealing, ripping, crushing, and shredding), eating, destroying all evidence of the trouble I've caused (usually through consumption), and chasing squirrels.

Ideally, all naps would take place on a bed or a couch (or at least a nice sunny spot on the upper floors of a house), but I've learned to adapt over the years and have developed a series of techniques that allow for ultimate comfort and, in some instances, function. 

Here are four of my all time favorite sleeping techniques.  Please feel free to use and adapt them to suit your own personal needs and situations.

The Steamroller Technique

The Steamroller Technique:
A favorite when I was a little puppy, this sleep style involves rolling on one's back and flattening out as though recently backed over by a steamroller.  A true professional displays expert form by allowing legs and ears to sprawl out in all directions.  This technique is ideal for taking advantage of a nice cool spot on the floor during a warm summer day.

The Support System Technique

The Support System Technique (AKA The Intruder Prevention Technique):
Ideal for dogs interested in multitasking, this technique requires the sleeper to use his/her body to either support a load bearing wall or prevent intruders from entering through a doorway (as I'm demonstrating in the picture to the left).  This technique also ensures that no one can slip out of the room without the sleeper being made aware.

The Prince & the Pea Technique

The Prince and the Pea Technique:
In a slight variation of the classic fairy tale, this technique requires the sleeper to take advantage of a newly purchased pillow and a family too preoccupied to discard the previous one.  This technique is not without fault, however.  Due to the height of two pillows stacked one on top of the other, toys have been known to routinely fall off the cliff and the sleeper runs the risk of having all his blood rush to his head.

The Mecki Induced Coma Technique

The Mecki Induced Coma Technique:
Come to think of it, this really isn't a technique but instead an example of a devilishly handsome dog being so thoroughly exhausted from playing with his bff Mecki that he literally collapses in the middle of playing with a toy.

The Puppy Files: A Tail's Tale

Welcome to the fourth installment of The Puppy Files; the series where I beguile you, my loyal readers, with stories from my life before I began this blog.

Growing up, I had a rather strained relationship with my tail.  You see, very early on, I noticed that it had stalker like tendencies.  Everywhere I went (and I mean everywhere...the park, the toy store, my crate, etc) it was there, trailing along behind me.  And if its stalker like tendencies weren't disturbing enough, I also had to deal with the fact that it seemed to have a mind of its own.  You see, whenever I was up to no good, my tail would start beating up against whatever I was standing next to and alert the family of my naughtiness.  See?  Not only was it constantly following me, but it was also tattling on me (or should that be TAIL-tling?)

Anyway aside from learning at an early age that my tail was no good, I also learned that my family didn't really seem share my concerns.  In fact, if they had to choose sides, I would guess that they would have chosen my tail.   Perhaps it was the aforementioned fact that it alerted them to my bad behavior, but in hindsight, I think it might have been that my tail did not bite (the other end of my body, as my loyal readers know, had a bit of a propensity for biting).  Honestly, I don't think I can blame them.  As I've said before, I was a nasty little puppy.

Whip-Like Tail

Starting to Grow In

Realizing that I had to deal with my tail problem on my own, I decided that the best and easiest course of action was to yank it clean off.  When I was really small and had a whip-like tail, this involved reaching across my body, grabbing hold of the tail itself and, while trying not to fall over (I was a bit roly-poly which resulted in balance issues), pulling with all my might.  When I got a little older and my tail hair started growing in, I would reach across my body, grab hold of the fur, and, while trying, once again, not to fall over (perhaps I'm just clumsy), pull out chunks of hair.  Then I'd spit the fur onto the floor before going in for another chunk.

My family was absolutely horrified by this behavior.  Whenever they saw me yanking on my tail they would rush over, pry my tail out of my mouth, and ask me what my tail ever did to deserve such treatment (I thought the answer was kind of obvious--I guess you need a tail to understand).  So what does a smart (and devilishly handsome) puppy do in such a situation?  He waits patiently until his family leaves the house before attempting to settle the score with his tail!  But even this plan wasn't fool proof.  You see, when my family wasn't around, I was free to tug on my tail all I wanted, but I was never able to keep them from figuring out what I had been up to while they were away.  The piles of long tail fur on the floor not to mention the unevenness of the fur still connected (then, of course, there was the slobber) always gave me away.

A Fine Example of a Tail

Over the years, my tail and I have reached a strained yet functioning relationship.  I leave it alone and it tries not to get stuck in closing doors or stepped on.  I've been told that my dad (my four legged dad, not my two legged dad) had a similar issue with his tail when he was a pup, but that he eventually outgrew it too.

I still don't like my tail, but he and I have figured out how to co-exist.

Just Beyond My Reach

Have you ever had one of those days?  You know, one of those days where nothing goes your way and you wonder why you even bothered to get up off your pillow?  Well, yesterday was that type of day for me.

It should have been a much better day than it ultimately was.  Sister was off, so she and I got to sleep in late (Sister and I enjoy having contests to see who can sleep in the longest--I'm winning).  Then she took me for a nice walk to the park and gave me a cookie when I obligingly agreed to come back inside the house.  And then, just when I thought my day couldn't get any better, Sister gave me my lunch time squeaker toy.

I love my lunch time squeaker toy.  It is a near perfect toy.  It has an obnoxious squeaker, a gummy texture, and is nearly indestructible.  The only thing keeping it from being 100% perfect is the fact that it does not taste like bacon.

Anyway, everything was going great when all of a sudden, this happened:

That's right, my squeaker toy rolled under the couch.

But it didn't end there!  Sister retrieved my toy for me, but it promptly rolled back under the couch again and again and again.  It was on the fifth retrieval that Sister finally had the bright idea of using couch pillows as bumpers to keep my toy within reach.  But even that didn't solve all my problems. You see, every time I got comfortable, this happened:

And you know what?  Sister was less than sympathetic this time about me not being able to reach my toy.  She told me that I should just...this is so hard to say...get up and get the toy myself.

Talk about a bad day!

Helper Dog

Introducing Daisy

Before I begin, allow me to introduce the newest member of the family: a hamster named Daisy. Daisy came to live with us after Meri the hamster passed away last Tuesday. Despite our differences (somehow, I always got the bum rap whenever she was around...she got to go to the nice warm library after Hurricane Sandy while I stayed in the freezing cold house and I received a brand new nickname—Brute—when I accidentally ate the pumpkin seeds Sister was going to hand feed her), I'm still going to miss the little rat.

And now, on to my story…

I’m a helper dog. I love to help Pa with plumbing projects (nothing beats sticking your head under a sink with your human while hoping that he forgot to turn off the water so that all of a sudden you both get squirted in the face) and any project that involves screw drivers are a dream come true (screw drivers, after all, are easy to pick up and scurry off with). I've also been known to help Ma and Sister organize papers by lying across them and acting as their very own non-jamming paper shredder.  Well, this weekend I out did myself on the helpful scale. I managed to help both Ma and Pa in a single twelve hour period.

Supervising Pa

Helping Pa:  Pa’s Saturday morning task was to put together the new fireplace screen he had bought and I immediately saw it as a project worthy of my special brand of help. I climbed on (and popped) the bubble wrap, and tried to run off with the little bag of nuts and bolts that came in the package (Pa shooed me off before I could succeed).  Coming to the realization that I wasn't going to be allowed to actively help, I decided to do the next best thing:  supervise.  I think I did a pretty good job (notice the tennis ball I'm holding in the picture...that's the sign of a good supervisor...the ability to multitask).

Helping Ma

Helping Ma:  Ma decided that she was going to sweep all the crunchy leaves off the deck and, well, what can I say...I felt that it was my duty as the family dog to lend her a paw.  But how?  There weren't any large sticks on the deck so I couldn't help by being a one-dog-wood-chopper and there weren't any large branches so I couldn't drag them out of Ma's way and into the yard.  I hate to admit it, but I almost gave up.  I was just about to turn around and see what Sister was up to, when a gentle breeze blew through my golden locks and gave me an idea.  Ma was surely going to have problem with the leaves blowing away, so I decided to help by acting as a paperweight.  Another job well done!

So, as you can see, I was a very busy dog Saturday afternoon and because I had been so busy, I did not feel at all bad about taking an extra long early evening nap.

Nap Time!

Halloween 2013

Trick or Treat!

Happy Halloween to all my two and four legged friends!

I had a very busy day today.  You see, in addition to keeping an eye on Ma and Sister who both took the day off from work (and believe me, keeping them out of trouble is a full time job) I...

• stole and punctured Sister's witch hat.
• shredded a pumpkin place mat.
• raced Sister for a runaway Gobstopper (Sister got to it first, but only because she actually saw where the candy landed--I only heard it bounce).
• barked at all the little ghosts and goblins who came begging at my door for candy but didn't offer me a single belly rub in return (some people can be so rude!).
• spit all over the front storm door while barking at all the little ghosts and goblins who came begging at my door for candy but didn't offer me one single solitary belly rub in return (can you tell I'm insulted?).

But that's not all.  At Sister's insistence, I also posed for a few Halloween pictures (and let me tell you, Sister is lucky I'm such a good sport--I hate dressing up, yet I always humor her just long enough for her to snap a few pictures).  Here are a few of them:

And while I might be good sport, Sister needs to learn the concept of quitting while one's ahead because...well...this happens:

RUN!!!!

That Which Caught My Eye

Staring Intently

What am I staring at so intently?  What am piteously whining at in that high pitched cry that I've been told goes right through my family and that at any decibel seems to drown out whatever program they are watching on television?  Why am I merely seconds away from launching into a frenzied full voice barking session?

Don't worry.  You, my loyal readers, will know shortly.

If you weren't already aware of this, I'm a very observant dog.  I notice when there is a little crumb left from a sandwich in the middle of the tray table (and I bark at it until someone gives it to me).  I notice the big fluffy Christmas bear sitting on the shelf in the living room (and I bark at it until someone takes it away and hides it in another room).  I notice the squirrels using the fence outside my door as a thoroughfare (and I bark at them until someone pulls the shade down).  I notice when the vacuum, stored in a darkened room, seems particularly menacing (and I bark at it until someone moves it from my sight).  I notice the distinctive smell of dog biscuit wafting from someone's pocket (and I bark at them until they give it to me).  And I always notice the ant walking past me while I lounge in the driveway (I snuff him up rather than bark at him).  In short, nothing gets past me (if you ignore all those times my family has managed to sneak into the house and catch me napping on the couch).

So, it was Friday afternoon and Sister was in the living room trying to eat her lunch and watch TV when all of a sudden she heard my patented whimper emanating from the kitchen.  At first, she ignored me.  You see, my family does that a lot; they ignore a fair portion of my whimpers and whines saying that I'm always yapping at something real or, more likely, imaginary (hurtful, I know).  I try not to feel bitter about this treatment, but what can I say?  I'm an excited (and devilishly handsome) dog who lives life to the fullest and wants nothing more than to share each and every one of my experiences with my beloved family.  Is that too much to ask?  Anyway, when Sister didn't respond to my sad little whimper, I kicked it up a notch and let out a sad mournful cry.  Nothing. "Fine," I thought with a sigh (I'm also known for my sighs...I'm quite good at them).  This time, I let out an even louder cry followed by a yip.  This, at least, got Sister's attention.  "I'll let you out in a second, Rigs.  Let me finish my lunch," she called back from the living room.  "Aha!" I thought, "I've almost got her."  You see, I know from experience that as soon as someone acknowledges my actions, I've got them right where I want them--they won't be able to ignore me for much longer.  Taking a deep breath, I let out my longest, loudest whimper followed by a high pitch bark.

That was all it took.  Seconds after barking, Sister left her lunch to investigate what my "beef" was (I'm ashamed to say I did not quickly circle back into the living room to grab whatever was left of Sister's lunch...there's always tomorrow) and, after scanning the room, finally figured it out.

What I Saw

I was staring at a plastic Halloween pumpkin glowing in the afternoon sun.  Sister laughed at me (why is she always laughing?) and told me ignore it; that it wasn't for me and I wasn't allowed to have it even though it kind of looked like a bally-ball.  Life's so unfair sometimes!

Changes

The Birthday Boy!

Happy birthday to my bff Mecki who turned three years old today! I can't wait for your mom to come back to work so she can deliver the presents I got you (I wanted to slobber on them so that you’d know they were from me, but Sister assured me that you’d know because my name was on the card)!

And now, on to my post:

Some changes are good: An empty dinner bowl, for instance, changing into a full dinner bowl or a worn out marrow bone being replaced by a brand new one. Other changes are bad. One can only hope that one comes across more of the former rather than latter.  Lately, however, I have not had much luck in this area. I endured three very disturbing events in one single day a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve only just regained my composure enough to blog about them.

The Rug:

Never underestimate the power of a nice smelling rug. I mean, talk about comfort; there’s the smell of unwashed dog, cookie pieces, not to mention years of dirt that was tracked in on shoes and paws alike. One such rug is the one in Ma and Pa’s room. But that changed a couple of weeks ago when Pa lugged up from the basement a machine that looked, and sounded, a lot like a vacuum cleaner on steroids: it was the rug cleaner. Now, I would be amiss if I did not emphasize that I did my best to protect my rug. I sprawled out in the middle of it and, even when the rug cleaner got a little too close for comfort and I had to abandon my post, I regrouped in a different area and prepared for the next assault. Sadly, however, despite my brave efforts, Pa’s mission was set and eventually I had to admit that I was no match for him and his noisy rug cleaner.

The Couch:

So there I was, lounging in the living room, mourning the loss of my smelly rug, when Ma and Pa walked in armed with an obvious purpose and a couple of hand tools. Shocked beyond belief, I watch as Ma and Pa systematically tore apart the couch and armchair.

Now, that couch and I have had a long history together. I have spent many an hour curled up on it even though Pa had made it perfectly clear that I was not supposed to sleep there (Ma and Sister always pretended not to notice me when I climbed up to take a nap). And on multiple occasions I had managed to physically muscle Ma and Sister out of the armchair so that I could snooze comfortably (which was not an easy task…Ma and Sister really didn’t want to give up their spot to me). Then, there were those fun filled encounters with Pa where I’d jump up on the couch, watch as Pa would get up from his armchair to shoo me off, quickly jump off the couch, and then race Pa back to the chair he just vacated (which was nice and warm…what else could a dog want?).

The Other Rug:

But Ma and Pa’s blood lust was not quenched by the cleaning of the bedroom rug or the destruction of the living room furniture. No, they needed more, and as soon as the couch was at the curb, they returned to roll up the living room rug and drag it out to the curb as well. 

No dog should endure what I have endured. There is a void in my life now. I have no living room rug to drag my snout upon after eating and now no one will allow me to snooze on the new sofa. And the bedroom rug, well, it’s finally starting to smell right again, but once it does, what’s to stop Pa from cleaning it again?