My 4th Birthday!

The Birthday Boy!

Today’s my 4th birthday and so far it has been awesome! The day isn’t even over yet and I’ve already been taken on an adventure, been fawned upon by my admirers, and been given more presents than I could ever expect.

My "Replacement"

The day started first thing this morning when Sister, who is desperately trying to make up for the fact that she brought home a ‘replacement me’ from the city yesterday (see picture on right), asked if I wanted to go for a ride. “Of course I do,” I thought, wagging my tail with excitement as Sister grabbed my traveling T-shirt and a bag of cookies. With my collars and shirt on (which was a little annoying considering how it’s been pushing 85 degrees these last two days), I burst from the house and ran to the front gate. It was then that I realized that Ma and Pa had taken their cars to work which meant that the only car left was Sister’s—you know, the one I’m not allowed in. Anyway, I glanced up at Sister with a warning “you don’t expect me to walk in this heat, right?” look. “Don’t worry,” she said, “we’re taking the car!”

At first I was a bit hesitant to get in the car. Despite being given the go ahead, I figured that Sister probably would be less than thrilled if I drooled all over her dashboard. A cookie chucked into the front seat, however, made me forget all my worries and soon we were off (after moving Sister’s rear view mirror with my head and causing the spring loaded sunglass compartment to pop open).

The Library was great. I collected pets and complements on my appearance and temperament from Karin (my bff Mecki’s mom), both Dianes, Shana, Elaine, Theresa, Lori, Rita (Brandy and Ralphie’s mom), Mary, Al, Vito, and Gary. Then Mary brought me a big bowl of water which I happy drank (sadly, Sister insisted on wiping my chin after I finished drinking so that I wouldn’t slobber on everyone too much—doesn’t she understand slobbering is my way of showing affection?). And if getting all the pets in the world wasn’t enough, I realized very early on that the Library was air conditioned! No wonder Sister spends all day there!

After saying our goodbyes, Sister and I headed home which was okay by me because I was exhausted. Nap time was calling my name and I was eager to respond.  

Mini Mecki

Real Mecki

A few hours later, after I got in a nap and Sister visited Old Westbury Gardens and picked up lunch, Sister took me outside and told me it was time to open my first birthday present. From a plastic bag, Sister first removed a greeting card with a picture of a very majestic (though not nearly as majestic as me) Golden Retriever. “This is from your bff,” Sister explained and I wagged my tail with excitement (Mecki always gives the best gifts). Next she pulled a box of cookies out of the bag. I stood on my hind legs to get a better view as she pried the box open and gave me one (on a side note, I would have done a much faster job opening the box and would have eaten a lot more cookies if she let me handle it). Anyway, the cookie was very tasty! Then Sister pulled one final thing out of the bag. It was a brand new Mini Mecki toy and, what made this Mini Mecki better than last year’s Mini Mecki is that this one smelled like my bff too. “Mecki rolled on it,” Sister explained. No wonder it smelled like him!

My New Toy

The Fan, Mini Mecki, & I

Anyway, with my Mini Mecki clenched in my mouth, I scurried into the backyard and flopped down in a nice shady spot to play. And boy did I play! Even with the oppressive heat, I managed to gnaw on the toy, flip it up in the air, drag it through the dirt, and roll on my back while holding it over my head with my paws. I had so much fun! But, it was kind of hot outside so, after a little while, Sister suggested that I take my new toy inside the house. I happily complied and once inside I discovered that Sister had set up a fan in the living room (I really wish she had dragged the window air conditioner up from the basement instead, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers). Anyway, I scurried into the room and threw myself and my toy down in front of the fan.

Sister says there are more presents to come, but I have to wait until later which is fine by me because I’m still having a lot of fun with my Mini Mecki. Everyday should be my birthday!

Thanks Mecki!

Reflecting On My 3rd Year

On the eve of my 4th birthday, I thought I'd take a minute, as I did last year, to reflect on a few life lessons I've learned this year.

1. You Don't Know What You've Got Til It's Gone:  RIP dew claw.  Alas, I knew thee well.
2. When the Going Gets Rough...The Rat Will Abandon Ship:  Sure, it was getting cold in our house without electricity and heat, but why did Meri the hamster get to live at the nice warm Library after Hurricane Sandy and I didn't?  Oh well, at least Pa let me sleep on the furniture during those two weeks--even though he only let me do so because he was using me as a foot warmer.
3. Table Manners:  Never mistake a brand new couch for a napkin...ever!

A Ruined Day

I got a bath yesterday. I hate baths. I work long and hard at becoming stinky and while I do appreciate the attention I get when I am clean (apparently my movie star good looks truly shine through when I’m not caked in dirt) I just don’t feel (or smell for that matter) like myself when I am. I think, however, that the most disturbing part of getting a bath is not the “clean” smell that clings to my fur or even the funny looks I get from the other dogs in the neighborhood. No, it is actually the full out betrayal from my family that bath time brings. Let me explain.

Yesterday morning I was sprawled out in the hallway watching Ma as she cleaned the window in the back room. Okay, fine, I was watching Ma in hopes that she’d absentmindedly lay down the paper towel roll she was using and I could swoop in, grab it, and rip it to shreds (hey, we all need a hobby!). Anyway, there I was minding my own business when Pa walked by and told Sister that it “was time.” I cocked my head in Pa’s direction and stared up at him with mournful eyes; experience has taught me that such statements never bode well for the dog.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, my ears were cleaned, my everyday collar was exchanged for my choke collar, and I found myself standing outside (outside! I didn’t even get to go to the relative privacy the doggy spa) in the driveway with Pa holding my leash, Sister armed with the hose and a bottle of shampoo, and Ma hiding in the house pretending that she didn’t know what was happening to me. With family like them, who needs enemies, right? While cold water started pouring down my head, I came to the realization that my day was official ruined.

I put up with the bath. I wasn’t happy about it, but I put up with Pa and Sister dousing me with cold water and scrubbing me with stinky (and not in a good way) smelling shampoo. I made sure, however, to show my displeasure once they were finished. Their eardrums will never be the same.

Breaking Into the "Land of No"

Almost immediately upon being adopted by my two legged family, I was introduced to the “Land of No.”  The definition of the “Land of No” is kind of self explanatory, but, basically, it’s specific places in the house where things I’m not supposed to have access to are kept in an attempt to keep them safe (notice how I used the word attempt here).  When I was a little puppy, the “Land of No” included the back room, the basement, the entire second floor, and the items kept on top of my cage.  As time progressed, and I became more trustworthy, the number of permanent “Lands of No” decreased significantly leaving only the basement (well, Sister’s room is also closed off to me unless I’m supervised, but I don’t think that counts in this instance).  Temporary “Lands of No” however are always a possibility and can sprout up at any time.

The current “Land of No” is the back room and, let me tell you, it is a smorgasbord of shoes, doodads from Ma’s current painting project, and to-be-folded laundry.  Over the last couple of days the room’s door has been pulled closed which is kind of odd seeing that the standard “Land of No” procedure includes a baby gate, but, given what happened today, I guess this change worked out to my benefit.

I broke in.

Now, what really happened was that everyone had left the house and I thought I heard something from behind the closed door.  Casually, I sauntered over to it and gave it a gentle nudge with the top of my head (everyone says it’s the hardest part of my body so I might as well use it) to see if perhaps the door wasn’t closed all the way.  My curiosity was rewarded and the door swung open.

Now, some more troublesome dogs would rush into the room and start gnawing on everything in sight.  Not me, however.  Nope, I am a respectable and mature dog and I know that my responsibility dictates that I keep everything quite business-like and simply peruse the room in search of anything out of the ordinary.

That being said, the shoe attacked me.

I did what I needed to:  I grabbed the shoe, I shook the shoe, and then I slobbered on the shoe.  Once I felt that the shoe had had enough, I dumped it in the threshold of the door and walked away.

The “Land of No” was safe once again.

Chasing Shadows

I don't like it when it gets hot outside.  You wouldn't either if you were born with a full (and devilishly stylish) fur coat.  Well, yesterday it got really hot really quickly, and I guess my brain got a little fried in the heat because, well, let's just say I did something a little foolish.

It started with Sister taking me outside at lunch time.  It was only a little past noon, but it was already hot and sticky outside.  In fact, it was way too hot and sticky to do my normal lunchtime chores (hunt for lizards and patrol the perimeter for bunnies).  So, I decided on my standard hot weather activity:  I scurried into the backyard, found a nice shady patch of cool grass, threw myself on that grass, stretched, then rolled around on my back (don't tell Pa, but while I was wallowing and stretching in the grass I might have "accidentally" pulled up a few clumps of grass out of the ground with my nails and rubbed my head in the freshly exposed dirt). 

Not Just Drool This Time!

Dirt All Over My Head!

Having gotten this doggish behavior out of my system, I stretched one final time and jumped up.  Almost immediately Sister started to laugh.  My head was smeared with dirt and I had those stringy things that fall from the oak tree hanging from my jowls and tangled up in my tail.  Sister said I looked like I was dressed in camouflage gear.  I wagged my tail in agreement.

A little while later, Sister and I were standing in the middle of the driveway; she was flipping through the mail and I was standing directly across from her trying to will her into giving me a cookie (sadly, it didn't work...I guess I'm going to have to work on my telepathy skills).  Then, all of a sudden, a big black bird shaped creature skimmed across the concrete.  I gave chase, as any good Head of Security would, but the creature was too fast and magically disappeared as soon as it reached the grass.  I looked back at Sister to make sure she was okay (I'm always keeping an eye out for my family) and found her doubled over laughing.  "It was a bird's shadow," she told me between guffaws. 

What can I say?  I was crazy from the heat!

The Puppy Files: Home Alone With Sister

Welcome to the second installment of the Puppy Files.  As my loyal readers will recall, last month's installment of this series found me harking back to the days when my family serenaded me with "The Fleeing Song" each time they left the house.  Well today, I will recount the story of when Sister and I were left home alone for the very first time.

My tale begins on Tuesday, October 6, of 2009--Ma and Pa's wedding anniversary.  I was four months old, forty pounds of wiggly muscle, and, even at such a young impressionable age, already totally engrossed in my "Terror Puppy" mode (I've said it before and I'll say it again...despite being a well mannered and respectful dog now, I was an absolute nightmare growing up). 

Anyway, Ma and Pa, because it was their anniversary, had decided to go out for dinner thus leaving Sister and me alone together for a substantial amount of time.  First, however, they laid down the law: Sister was in charge and both she and I (they really meant just me) were to be on our very best behavior.  Above all, we were to try to get along.  Everyone involved knew that this was an extremely tall order.  Sister and I, after all, didn't have the best track record up to that point.  Our usual encounters first involved me jumping on her, then her yelling, then I'd start biting, and eventually I'd end up locked in my crate in a time out while Sister nursed her hurt feelings.  Still, despite past experiences and better judgement, Ma and Pa waved goodbye and sped away in their car.

The peace lasted for about twenty minutes--just long enough for Sister to eat her dinner.  Then I started acting up; first by jumping on her and then biting her hands, my sharp pin-like puppy teeth scratching at her flesh (I was always careful never to draw blood).  In hindsight, Sister tried her best to cope with me and my bad attitude.  While I misbehaved, she tried getting me to play with one of my toys, to chew on one of my numerous bones, or practice my sits and downs.  When that failed, she moved on to massaging my neck in hopes of calming me down (which, on average, worked, but only for a few minutes).  Well, I was in rare form that night--nothing worked.

Frustrated and exhausted from a half hour of struggling, Sister finally gave up trying to exorcise the savage beast from within me and decided that I needed a time out in my crate.  Hooking me by the collar, Sister tried to lead me out of the living room and down the hall into our parent's bedroom where my crate was housed.  I, however, had other ideas and proceeded to go into a death roll (you know, like alligators do) with my teeth showing.  Eventually, Sister managed to get me up on my four feet and, after hooking me under the chest, started to half pull half carry me out of the living room and into the dining room on the way to my crate (why she didn't take the shorter path of the living room to hallway to bedroom rather than the living room to dining room to kitchen to hallway to bedroom is beyond me).  Meanwhile, I, in full tantrum mode, fought her the entire way.

We never made it.

Passing between the dining room and the kitchen, one of the nails on my front right paw got caught in the jam between the two rooms.  With a mighty yelp (and I never yelp), Sister and I both stopped in our tracks and looked back to the scene of the accident.

There was blood everywhere:  on the floor, on the walls, on Sister, and on me.  And right in the middle of the bloodbath was the nail, completely detached from my foot (for those keeping track at home, this was nail incident number one). 

Now, for those who are unfamiliar with canine anatomy, the quick is the blood vessel that juts into the nail.  If this blood vessel is cut, nicked, or torn (as in what happened with me or if a nail was trimmed too low), it bleeds like crazy.  I mean murder scene crazy.

A momentary and unspoken truce occurred between Sister and me while I padded around in the kitchen confused by the blood pouring out of my paw and Sister, trying to keep me in the kitchen so that I wouldn't ruin the rugs, considered her options.  Sister knew how this sort of injury always looked a lot worse than it really was, but something needed to be done to stop the bleeding and patch up my paw.  I needed to go to the vet.  But how?  Sister knew she wouldn't be able to get me into her car and to the vet's office without everything being covered in blood.  Her answer:  call Aunt B.  Wasting no time, Aunt B called my vet's office and told them to stay open until I got there, then jumped in her car and raced to my house.

Meanwhile, Sister contemplated how to stop and/or contain the bleeding.  First, she tried adding pressure to the wound but, while I wasn't biting her, I certainly wasn't being helpful and kept pulling my foot out of her hand.  Next, she thought about trying to tie a tourniquet around my leg, but decided that it was probably a bit of an overreaction.  Finally, she decided on wrapping my foot up.  But with what?  It was then she saw it, a laundry hamper with clean white socks in it.  Grabbing a pair of Pa's socks, Sister managed to wrap one around my injured paw and then jammed the paw, along with the sock, into the other (okay, it took four or five attempts before I cooperated enough to allow Sister to do this).  Sister didn't know it at the time, but by the time she succeeded in wrapping my paw, the bleeding had stopped.

Then Aunt B arrived and it was time to go to the vet's office.  Sister scooped me up (I really didn't like being picked up and carried, but I let Sister do it this time because I was injured) and the three of us piled into Aunt B's car leaving behind a murder scene worth of blood, a number of bloody paper towels on the floor, the television blaring, and every light on in the house.  While in the car, Aunt B commented that she hoped our parent's wouldn't come home while we were at the vet's office because they might think that Sister and I were murdered.

My First Cast

A half hour later I was back home, completely tuckered out, and sporting a stylish orange cast with smiley faces all over it.  I dozed peacefully while Aunt B and Sister cleaned up the mess in the kitchen (apparently they missed a spot because blood was found on the wall behind the server two weeks later) and looked appropriately sad when Ma and Pa came home later that evening.

Needless to say, it was a long time before Sister and I were left home alone again.

A Winning Combination

I'm not picky when it comes to food.  I love human food just as much as I love dog food.  I'll happily eat steak, fish, turkey, cold cuts, cheese, pasta, carrots, celery, green beans, oranges, apples (I particularly enjoy eating apples directly from the core), bananas, peanut butter, bacon, potato chips, ice cream, frosting, bread, cereal, dried fruit, berries, and tomatoes and I'll certainly never turn up my snout at Milkbones, kibble, and special flavoring (canned dog food Ma and Pa mix into my dry kibble to make it extra special--Sister refuses to give me any because she says it smells bad).  Then there is the ever tasty 'questionable' food group:  grass, sticks, ants, and pieces of paper.  I guess you can say that I'm an unprejudiced eater.

Anyway, recently I was introduced to one of the most delicious things I have ever tasted.  It's a combination food that I'm willing to, right here and right now, declare as my absolutely positively favorite food ever:  Peanut Butter Ripple Ice Cream.

I know, it sounds delicious, doesn't it?  In fact, it's a best of both worlds situation.  You get the cold creaminess of vanilla ice cream and the peanuty goodness of the peanut butter (I'm told that there are also chunks of peanut butter cup candy mixed in, but Sister is quite efficient at picking them out).

I was first introduced to this spectacular conglomeration of ice cream and peanut butter a couple of days ago by Sister.  You see, tradition in my house dictates that each family member is required to leave me a taste of their dessert when they are finished eating.  Pa and Sister tend to be a bit stingy with their leftovers while Ma, on the other hand, is very generous.  Anyway, on this particular day, I sauntered over to Pa and collected my taste of Klondike bar and then consumed the left over Haagen-Dazs chocolate ice cream Ma left me.  Then I turned to Sister.  "You're really gonna like this," she said as she held out her dish.  With one lick I was hooked.  It's ice cream!  It's peanut butter!  It's both!  It was love at first taste!

Now all I need to do is learn how to break into the freezer while everyone is at work and polish off the rest of the pint.  Wish me luck!