There's Something Under the Bed!

There are some places in this world that a little dog should not investigate; places that are way too scary regardless of how brave he is.  One of those places is under the bed.  Think about it, it's a big dark expanse where any number of scary things could lurk such as garbage cans, sewer grates, and smoke detectors that scream “Fire, fire, fire” in a menacing voice (okay, I’ve never personally seen any of the aforementioned items hiding under the bed, but you never know when one might take up residence).


Taking a look under the bed: 2009

Anyway, I've always made it a point to avoid the dark void under the bed.  The only exception being, of course, when I was a little puppy and didn’t know any better (see the picture on the right).  However, being as close to the floor as I am, there are times that I can’t help but take a gander in that general direction (if Pa would allow me to sleep on top of the bed I wouldn’t have this issue...hint...hint).  And it's under these circumstances that I get in trouble.

It happened last Monday morning when I was lying on my pillow in Ma and Pa’s room eating a giant Milkbone cookie.  You see, my family and I have a bit of a routine that we follow every weekday morning.  When Pa is ready to leave for work, he gets a giant cookie from the Milkbone box in the dining room and tells me to go to bed (a trick I was taught so that my family could leave the house without me trying to race them to the door and sneak out—normally, I would find it offensive that my family would ever want to leave the house without me, but the giant cookie helps me get over the pain).  Anyway, I usually gallop into the bedroom, throw myself down on my pillow, and lay there drooling while I wait for slow-poke Pa to finally deliver the cookie which I then happily consume.

So there I was, happily finishing up the last crumbs of my cookie when my eyes were drawn to the space under the bed.  At first, I saw nothing, just a dark space with a couple of harmless boxes (its behind the boxes that things lurk, you know).  But then, all of a sudden, I saw something with large white eyes and sharp pointy teeth.

As any good watchdog would do, I immediately sounded the alarm by jumping up from my pillow and barking at the top of my lungs.  Apparently (and I’m definitely going to have to address this at the next family meeting), Ma and Sister thought my cries were a false alarm and did not drop everything to investigate the disturbance.  In fact, it was only after a full minute of frantic barking that Ma finally meandered into the room to see what was going on (Sister, meanwhile, slept through the alarm).

At first, Ma thought that I was barking because a piece of my cookie had escaped me and rolled under the bed (a legitimate assumption especially in light of that time a piece of cookie rolled under the dresser and all I could do was stare at it for hours until my people came home) and started looking under the bed for the missing piece.  But there was no piece of cookie to find and I was still barking hysterically.  That’s when Ma started to become concerned and wondered what I could be barking at and whether or not she really wanted to know (I guess she was concerned that there might be a smoke detector under the bed).  “There’s nothing there” she told me with a noticeably shaky voice.

It was then that I decided to take the entire matter into my own paws.  To Ma’s amazement, I dropped to the ground and started crawling, on my belly, toward and under the bed.  Now, I could only manage to get my front half under the bed (I guess they purposely make beds low to the ground so as to deter large garbage cans from taking up residence), but it didn’t matter because my display of bravery apparently instilled some in Ma and she came down to my level and took another look.

Ma looked around.  “There’s nothing there…” she began but stopped when she saw the big scary eyes and large gnashing teeth.  “Oh, is that what you see?” she asked as she got up and walked around to the other side of the bed.

“No Ma! Don’t be a hero!” I thought.  From my spot half underneath and half outside the bed I watched as Ma knelt down and pulled the creature out by what I could only image was its long scaly tail.  “Nice knowing you,” I thought as I backed myself out from under the bed.  I really felt sad because Ma’s always been really nice to me and I’d hate to see some big giant under the bed monster jump out and attack her.

But I didn’t hear any screams.  Instead, all I heard was Ma saying: “Hey Rigs, is this what you saw?”

Completely amazed and relieved, I cautiously walked around the bed and saw that, in Ma’s hand, was not some big scary under the bed monster, but instead my alligator toy named Allie.  With a wag of my tail, I ran to Ma’s side, grabbed my toy, and scurried into the living room.

So, do I still believe that big scary things are living in the dark recesses of the area under the bed even though there was nothing there on Monday?  My answer:  a resounding yes.  There just weren’t any there that day because Allie had scared them all away.

Silly Me

Lookin' silly.

I wear many hats. Sure, my main job is to be noble and show off my devilishly good looks to the world, but I am also an author (I expect someday to win the Nobel Prize in Literature), a companion to my family, a watch dog, a vacuum cleaner for dropped foodstuff, and animal control (got to keep those squirrels and bunnies from taking over my backyard) to name only a few. This week, I’ve taken on a new role: court jester.

You see, I’ve come to the conclusion that my family has been too serious lately and that it is my responsibility as family dog to try to cheer them up. Therefore, I’ve decided to hang up my noble and refined persona and allow my wild and crazy side to shine through. Here are my most recent attempts at making my family laugh.

My family and I spent last weekend out east. On Saturday, I happened to walk into the kitchen (okay, I didn’t just happen to walk into the kitchen…I was trolling for bits of leftover bacon from breakfast) and came upon Ma, Pa, and Sister talking about some truly boring and terribly uninteresting topic. I stared up at them, following the conversation with my eyes, all the while flexing my jaws on the tennis ball I had picked up in the living room (I think of it as endurance training—it takes a lot of effort to chew all the bones I chew). When I got tired of listening (and believe me, it didn't take that long), I scurried past and stepped up to my water bowl. With a splash and a thunk, I spit my bally-ball into my water dish and started drinking around it. By the time I had quenched my thirst and simultaneously filled my jowls with lots of water which I planned on dribbling all over the kitchen floor (stone floors are especially slippery when wet and one of my favorite pastimes is watching my family go skidding across the room), my family was laughing hysterically. I wagged my tail with approval and reclaimed my ball from Ma once she had plucked it from the water.

A couple of days later, I decided to allow my crazy side to appear again.  You see, recently I've had this thing with my collar where I insist on holding the tail end in my mouth despite the fact that it is really hard to do and I have to bend and crane my neck in odd angles to grab hold of it.  Well, this time, rather than grab my collar, I made sure to accidentally get my bottom canine tooth stuck in one of the beautiful blond curls located on my chest (I tend to get a bit knotty there because my drool fuses my fur together).  At first Sister thought I was having a fit, but as soon as she realized what was happening she laughed and called me over to help.  Once she detached my tooth from my chest, I wagged my tail as she rubbed my ears.

Yeah, I've looked foolish this week, but you know what, if it makes my family laugh, I guess it's worth it.

False Alarm

I blame Pa. It is that simple. I was a perfectly happy, carefree, dog up until Pa came home from work last night. Since then, everything has been going bad.

Yesterday, Pa cleaned my ears. For all my friends without floppy ears, let me first say that there is nothing enjoyable about having your ears cleaned. First, you’re tackled by a family member with a crazy look in his/her eye and cotton balls in his/her hands. Next, cold liquid is poured into your ears which is beyond disturbing. Step three: an ear massage. Now, on face value step three might seem to be an enjoyable activity, but, when it’s purpose is to slosh liquid around in your ear canal, the entire action is less than pleasing. Finally, the scrubbing begins. I was told yesterday that my ears were really gunky, that a shovel would have been a far more appropriate gunk remover than the cotton balls. Luckily, my humans were only joking.

The entire experience took a major toll on me.

I spent the rest of the evening lying like a dead thing in the middle of the living room floor while Ma rubbed my side. I was so exhausted that I didn’t even bother to get up to say hello to Sister when she came home from work (I just lifted my head up and made her come to me to say hello) and I didn’t follower her up to bed later in the evening (too many stairs to climb not to mention I’d then have to actually jump up onto the bed).

Then, when this morning came, I discovered that I was still really tired. Yes, I trolled around the house with Pa when he got up, got my bits and pieces of cold cuts and tomatoes from his and Ma’s sandwiches, and wagged my tail at Sister like the good dog I am, but honestly, my heart wasn’t in it and I was actually kind of looking forward to everyone leaving for work so that I could get a nice nap in.

Let me just say, right off the bat, that it was a spectacular nap. I found a nice warm, sunny spot on the second floor, stretched out, and fell into a very deep and relaxing sleep. I was completely unaware, however, that this wonderful nap would prove to be quite embarrassing for me.

I never heard her car pull up into the driveway. I didn’t hear the gate click open and shut, or the side door open, or her voice calling out my name. The only thing I did hear was the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to my sleeping spot and they woke me with a start. Down the stairs I ran, barking hysterically with my best watchdog-like bark. To my humiliation, however, I discovered that the intruder I was barking at was actually Sister.

Desperate to cover up my mistake, I scurried into the living room, grabbed my zebra toy, and bunked Sister with it. She laughed, then told me that it was okay; that I did a very good job protecting the house and that I was a very good boy. She then scratched my ears, and, when I rolled over onto my back, she rubbed my belly.

And all this embarrassment could have been avoided if I didn’t have to have my ears cleaned.

When Pa's Away the Dog Will...Sleep In

I'm a very comfortable dog.  I love lounging on the bed or on the couch (provided I don't get caught) and I especially enjoy snuggling up beside a warm human or a fluffy blanket.  I'm also a world class sleeper.  If sleeping were an Olympic sport, I'd win the gold metal every time.  I'm not particularly fond of waking up in the morning and every evening I try herding my humans to bed at 8pm (very rarely do I succeed and I show my displeasure--what can I say, I'm a poor loser?--by whining, barking, and ripping up my toys).  Still, despite not being a morning dog, every weekday I wake up when Pa does and help him eat his breakfast, make lunches, and then I take him for a walk (don't tell him I told, but he gets cranky if he doesn't get his morning walk).

This morning was different though; this morning Pa woke up early because he was due in at work before his usual time.  As a matter of fact, I was rudely awoken by the sound of Pa wandering around in the kitchen at some ungodly hour of the morning, but, after groggily lifting my head up from Sister's bed, I made the executive decision that it was way too early even for me--Pa's kind hearted, handsome, and ever faithful pup--to get involved in anything he was doing.  So I did the only thing I could do:  I sighed, snuggled up closer to Sister (I also gave a her nudge to see if maybe she'd roll out of bed thereby allowing me the opportunity to spread out), and went back to sleep.

A couple of hours later, I heard Ma in the kitchen.  Groggily, I jumped off Sister's bed, stretched, yawned, and meandered down the stairs to where my breakfast bowl was waiting.  I looked inside it and couldn't help but sigh with disappointment.  Now, don't get me wrong, I love kibble almost as much as I love Milkbones (which is my favorite treat), but you can't blame a dog for wishing that just once there would be a giant filet mignon lying in the bottom of the bowl or that there would be at least three times the amount of kibble normally there (need I mention again that my bff Mecki gets nearly as much food as I do each day?).  Anyway, my disappointment was short lived:  I ate the kibble.

After finishing my breakfast, I appeased Ma by agreeing to go outside to do my business and patrol the perimeters of the property (got to make sure the squirrels don't take over, or worse, start digging in my snow mountain).  As soon as I was finished, I scurried back inside the house, walked right past Ma, and went straight up the stairs to Sister's room.  I jumped onto the bed, circled three times, and curled back up next to Sister.  I didn't wake up again until after Sister did an hour later.

It's a lot of hard work taking care of Pa every morning.  I personally think that I earned my reward of sleeping late.

King of the Mountain

I have mentioned lately that I love playing on my mountain of snow?

Taking in the view.

What's not to love?  You can climb it, you can dig in it (and not be yelled at like when you dig in the grass or in the vegetable garden), you can view the world from atop it, you can jump over it, you can eat it (and be yelled at for doing so), and provided that the snow doesn't melt, it can be rebuilt over and over again for hours of entertainment.

The downside, however, is that you might find yourself witness to a family member (ahem...Sister) using it as a slide.  Talk about embarrassing!

Snow!

Remember last summer when I wrote about how long it's been since I got to play in the snow--a real snow and not some light dusting?  Well, today my dreams were answered by about a foot of white fluffy snow.

But I didn't know it at first.  You see, I woke up bright and early this morning wanting to go outside for, well, personal reasons.  First I went to Ma and barked at her, but she showed no sign of getting up.  Undeterred, I then went to Pa, jumped up on the bed, and stood on his back.  Nothing.  "Fine," I thought as I scurried into the kitchen and started banging my head against the door (I've been told my knobby head is the hardest part of my body).  Eventually, Ma got up and opened the door for me.

It was then that I saw it; there was snow everywhere!  Whoo-hoo!

Barking with joy!

I had great fun playing in the snow.  First, I ran around like a crazy dog in the backyard and then I proceeded to bark at Ma and Pa for a half an hour while they shoveled and plowed the sidewalk (and just so everyone knows, I was reminding them that they should lift with their legs and not with their backs).  I even succeeded in waking up Sister, asleep in her room, with all my barking.  What an added bonus! 

Now, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little concerned that Sister was going to come outside angry because I woke her up, but it turns out that I was completely wrong this time.  In fact, I had even more fun once she joined me.  She chased me around the backyard and threw snowballs at me while I ran around her trying to pick-pocket the mittens out of her coat (which, sadly, I never did succeeded in doing despite multiple attempts).

So much fun!  So much fun!

A little while later, after they had finished digging out our house and the neighbor's house, Ma and Pa got involved in the games Sister and I were playing.  First, they threw shovel-fulls of snow at me while I ran around the backyard at top speed.  Next they built me a snow mountain on the side of the driveway which I dug apart just as quickly as they built it.  I had so much fun!

Attack snowballs!

Then it was time to go in.  Now, I'm not sure how many of my loyal readers are aware of this, but there is one very troubling consequence of playing outside in the snow:  attack snowballs.  When I got inside the house I realized that I had dozens of tiny snowballs stuck all over my legs, under my arms, and down my chest.  While they didn't hurt, I will admit that the ice balls yanking on my fur was less than comfortable, not to mention, very, very cold.  But Sister saved the day.  She knew that I was going to have an icing problem and had a hair dryer all ready to start the melting process.  Seconds later, the ice balls were gone and I was nice and warm.  I curled up in a ball and prepared myself for a well earned nap.  I was awake just long enough to hear Ma and Pa talking about how much more snow fell out east; almost three feet in some places!  I dreamt of playing out there.

I went out a couple of more times during the day.  I helped Sister chip the ice off her car (and tried climbing in when she opened the door to get the ice scrapper--it's really not fair that that car is off limits to me because it is too new and too clean), played fetch with Ma, ate ice, and ran around in the backyard with Pa (which included running chest first into a now much icier and harder snow mountain--but don't worry, I bounced off). 

Oh what fun!

It goes without saying that I am going to sleep well tonight and that I can't wait for the morning to do it all over again!