Way Too Hot!

Door Leading to the AC

Summer is here—unfortunately.  Don’t get me wrong, there a number of things about the summer I really enjoy.  I love splashing in the doggy pool, I look forward to spending evenings sitting outside watching lightning bugs, I adore lounging in the air conditioning (when it’s on), and of course there are all the outdoor BBQs which bring about a drastic rise in the number of edible items accidentally dropped on the floor.  But summer also brings about uncomfortably hot temperatures (made even more uncomfortable by the glamorous fur coat I was born with) and equally uncomfortable sleeping conditions when my family decides not to use their air conditioners (it really is such a wonderful invention—I wish someone would figure out how to air condition my backyard too).  Last night was one of those uncomfortable nights; it was downright hot (had been for a couple of days) and my family refused to use their air conditioners.

My night began on the first floor in Ma and Pa’s room.  As bedtime approached (okay, technically I began three hours before bedtime), I started hovering by the door, hoping that my sad mournful looks and deep sighs would provoke someone into turning on the air conditioner.  They did not.  Then, at bedtime, I made sure I gave Ma and Pa my saddest “I’m melting!” look, but all they did was give me an ear scratch good-night and turn off the lights.

To say I was despondent would be an understatement.  “Why are they doing this to me?” I thought, “Why won’t they turn on the air conditioner? Hey, is the room getting stuffy? Are the walls closing in on me? Air! I need air!”  I ran to the window and raised my snout to the gentle breeze wafting in and immediately felt better.  But just because I felt better didn’t mean that I wasn’t still annoyed at the predicament I was in.  To show my displeasure, I started panting wildly into the window hoping to wake Ma and Pa up and convince them to turn on the air conditioner.  Sadly, my plan failed (Ma and Pa merely snickering at my attempt).  “Fine!” I thought, “I’ll see if I can guilt—I mean talk—Sister into turning on her air conditioner.”

Up the stairs I climbed (I think stairs multiply in the heat) and discovered Sister huddled in front of a teeny tiny fan in her room.  “This won’t do,” I thought as I stalked back out and into the hallway, “but at least Sister is an easy sell” (if there is anyone who despises the heat more than I do it is Sister).

With a thud, I threw myself against the wall and, leaning against it at a 45 degree angle, started digging at the carpet while whining and howling hysterically.  Eventually Sister emerged from her room and sat down next to me on the floor while I continued whining and barking.  "Have you gone crazy from the heat?" she asked rubbing my head and back until I eventually stopped digging and calmed down.  I looked up at her with my saddest expression and eventually she asked:  "Do you want to go to sleep?"  I wagged my tail and ran into her room.

But the air conditioner still wasn't on and it didn't look like Sister had any intention of starting it.  Obviously, I was going to have to carry on a little bit more to get my way.  First I scurried over to my pillow and started digging.  When Sister told me to stop, I hurried over to the corner of the room and started digging again, this time on the rug.  "Come on Rigs," Sister pleaded "I know you're hot, but just lie down already!"  Finally, I grabbed Sister's hair brush, flopped down on the floor, and began to gnaw on it (the bristles tickle my tongue).

That was all it took.

"OK, OK," Sister sighed.  "You're not going to be happy until I turn on the air conditioner are you?"  I wagged my tail (I have such a smart Sister!).

A few minutes later I was sprawled out on Sister's bed finally cool and comfortable.

But then Sister did a very mean thing.  Once the room was nice and cool she turned off the air conditioner, opened the window, put the fan back on, pushed me over (apparently she felt I was taking up too much of the bed), then climbed in to go to sleep.  At first everything was fine; there was enough cool air left in the room to keep it comfortable and a gentle breeze was coming in through the window.  A few hours later, however, the cool air had dissipated and I was forced to head back downstairs to find a cool spot on the kitchen floor.

The Puppy Files: Moving A Building

Welcome to the third installment of the Puppy Files!  This episode takes place a few years ago when I was one and a half years old.

It was early morning and Ma had just taken me outside for my post breakfast jaunt around the backyard.  Usually Pa takes me outside after breakfast, but on this particular day he had to go to work super early and since I’m not a morning dog (I need my beauty sleep after all) I waited until Ma woke up at a more reasonable hour before starting my day.  Anyway, first I checked the perimeters of my backyard for any rogue squirrels (this was before the bunnies invaded the area) and then I munched on some grass (all meals, in my opinion, should end with a nice fresh salad).   But before I could finish my salad, I heard a suspicious noise coming from the front of the house and decided to run to the front gate to investigate.

Now, overall, I’m pretty good at spacial relationships.   I know exactly how much room I need to scoot between a table leg and the leg of a person seated at that table (of course, if there isn’t enough room I simply push the human leg out of my way) and I can squeeze myself past a barely open door to bark ferociously at the pizza guy (he always gets my order wrong…I want a pizza with extra cheese and dog biscuits--is that too much to ask?).  My talent really shines, however, when I’m negotiating small spaces while running at high speeds.

So anyway, I was running from the backyard to the side gate at top speed.  Before me I saw only two obstacles in my way; Ma and the house.   As I ran, I did a quick calculation in my head factoring in how close Ma was to the house (three feet), the wind speed and direction (winds from the south east at 5 knots), how fast I wanted to get to the gate (immediately), and the condition of the terrain (dry concrete) and made my decision as to whether or not to pass between Ma and the house or go around her on the other side.

Unfortunately, I left out one vital calculation:  the movement of Ma.

Disarmed by my speed and perceived lack of control (I was in complete control the entire time I'll have you know), Ma panicked and rather than abide by the safety rule which states:

“When running, the dog, regardless of how out of control he may appear and in spite of the fact that his legs might be flailing in odd directions, his large, drooly lips obscuring his vision, and he appears possessed by a thought that is completely lost to the human, the dog is, in fact, in complete control of his body and knows exactly what he is doing.   The best course of action for any human who unfortunately finds him/herself standing in the path of such a dog is to remain perfectly still and allow the dog to continue on his way without interference for it is his intention, from the start, to avoid running into said human.”

…she tried to get out of my way by taking a step toward the house.

Unfortunately, I had already made my decision to run between Ma and the house and, despite the fact that the distance between the two had just dramatically decreased, it was way too late to chance course.  I was going between the two and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

I felt it immediately, the corner of the house banging up against the side of my face, just to the left of my left eye.   Realizing I was injured, I immediately scurried over to the side step and sat down in my “the dog is hurt” position.   Ma ran over and checked me out then said “I think I should take you to the vet.”

My Injury

The vet cleaned my wound and told Ma that the injury really wasn’t all that bad:  I had lost a couple of layers of skin and fur, there was some blood, and the area was a bit swollen, but overall, nothing horrible.  She said that Ma could let the wound heal on its own which might result in a small scar or she, the vet, could put in a stitch or two.  Rationalizing that I’d never be a show dog (how does she know?) and that a scar would enhance my “bad boy” image (everyone knows it would), Ma decided on the former rather than the latter and she and I went home.

Once at home, I cautiously approached the scene of the accident and sniffed at the bricks. I could smell blood, my blood.  Making a wide berth, I scurried past and went inside to take a much deserved nap.

A couple of hours later Pa came home from work and surveyed my injury.  He was very sympathetic—he gave me lots of ear rubs and said nice things like “you poor boy.”   But then, with a tone in his voice that sounded suspiciously like laughter, he asked “Rigs, why did you try moving the house with your head?”

No respect I tell you (but the faint scar is kind of cool)!

Meeting, Greeting, and Saying Goodbye

The House Guest

It has been an exciting and exhausting couple of days.  Over the last 504 dog hours (also known as 72 human hours) I have graciously opened my home to a little brown and white four legged guest, shared with her my dog biscuits, my family's affections, and three of my tennis balls, and barked words of encouragement to a nice couple who came to adopt her.  Allow me to chronicle my experiences during these action packed days.

As I reported in my last post, Sister brought home a little brown and white runaway dog from the Library on Tuesday morning, but because the pup was so nervous, I wasn't allowed to meet her.  All I got was a quick nose bunk through a baby gate (what kind of greeting is that?). 

Well, by Wednesday morning I was practically beside myself with curiosity and driving my family crazy with my exuberance.  Who was this little dog?  How long was she staying?  Was she my replacement?  Did she bring any food to share (a good guest will always bring something to share with the host, after all)?  I guess my family realized that I wasn't going to relax until at least some of my questions were answered (and as a result I wasn't going to allow them to relax either) so at lunch time, after I was taken for a long walk around town and the pup was taken for a walk around the town she was found in, Ma declared that it was high time for the pup and I to meet.  Channeling Cesar Millan (she's a big fan), Ma announced that the pup and I were going to go for a pack walk around town. 

I was a bit confused.  Yeah, I had watched Cesar with my family dozens of times before, but, truthfully, I had spent most of my time watching the dogs and not necessarily listening to what was being said (after all, I'm an exceedingly bright and well trained dog and I have my humans well trained as well--I don't need any of Cesar's hints).  Anyway, Ma put my leash back on me and, after a brief moment of protest (I had just come home from a walk, I didn't want to go for another one), led me out of the house.  When we got out to the street, I was shocked to discover that Sister was already waiting for us and she had the little pup on a leash as well.  Super excited and super curious, I lunged toward the pup and sniffed her all over.  Then, after our hellos were said, Ma and Sister took both of us for a short walk around the neighborhood and, with the exception of when the pup startled me by sneaking up on me from behind, we walked rather nicely together (though Sister did have to tell me to stop whacking the pup across the face with my tail--perhaps she shouldn't have been walking so close to me to begin with).  Mercifully, when we got home, it was nap time.  The house guest went back into her room and I found a nice cool piece of floor in the kitchen.

Me and the House Guest

Later that day, when Pa came home from work, I got the chance to meet my house guest again.  Only this time, we were off leash in the backyard.  We ran around a bit at first, but then Pa did something very strange:  He picked up one of my tennis balls and chucked it across the yard.  I turned to give him a quizzical "why did you do that?" stare, but I was immediately distracted by a brown and white blur streaking past my eyes.  I chased after the blur and when it stopped running I was shocked to discover that it had actually been the pup--she had gone running after the ball Pa had just thrown and was picking it up.  Then she did something even weirder.  She walked back to Pa, spit the ball out onto the grass, and backed away, her tail wagging, as though she expected something.  I had no idea what she wanted, but, for some reason, it appeared that Pa actually did!  He picked up the ball and threw it across the yard again.  Just as before, the pup shot across the yard at a breakneck speed (I scurried along after to observe what was happening) and just as before she picked the ball up, carried it back to Pa, spit it out, and backed away expectantly.  This continued for what seemed like hours.  Pa kept throwing the ball, the pup kept bringing it back, and I kept chasing after the pup.  Eventually, I completely ran out of gas and sought out a nice cool patch of grass to hunker down on.  From my spot, I racked my brain trying to figure out why Pa and the pup continued to engage in this strange throwing and retrieving activity (I still don't get the point of the activity, if the Pa wanted the ball so badly why did he keep throwing it away?). 

Eventually, when Pa's pitching arm was tired, it was decided that we should all go back into the house.  "Great!" I thought, "I'm really looking forward to a drink of water, a cookie, and my early-evening-before-bedtime nap."  It wasn't meant to be, however.  Ma and Pa decided that we four (five when Sister came home from work a couple of hours later) should hang out in the living room together.  So, long story short, my nap was replaced with me trying to keep the house guest from monopolizing the attention of my humans.  Every time she tried to get a scratch from my Pa, I pushed my way in, slobbered on her head, and demanded a scratch myself.  And every time she jumped up on Ma, I pushed her away and tried jumping into Ma's arms (Ma was not thrill and said something about me being a "Big Galoot").  And when she tried climbing onto Sister's lap, I threw myself onto Sister's lap (Sister, for some reason, was not thrilled with this situation either and said something about me having eaten too many dog biscuits--I disagree with that statement whole-heartily). 

Finally, it was bedtime.  The house guest and I were both taken outside to do our business then she retired to her room and I collapsed in Ma and Pa's room.

The next day, Thursday, I woke up with the hope that the day before had just been one big, long, exhausting dream; that I was once again an "only dog."  I discovered that it was not a dream when Sister woke up early (which she never does if she can help it) to make breakfast for and walk the pup.  In a temporary fit of desperation, I ran after Pa when he walked to his car in hopes that he'd take me with him to work.

Now, don't get me wrong.  It's not as if I disliked the house guest or anything.  She was very polite (except for when she tried to hog my family's attention) and very never made a sound (I don't want anyone attempting to out-bark me).  Not to mention, all my loyal readers out there know that I love absolutely love participating in doggy play dates.  I guess, ultimately, the notion that a good house guest is one who knows when to leave holds true. 

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was odd but, ultimately, fairly uneventful.  At lunch time Sister came home and she and I ate lunch together--alone--in the backyard.  Then she let the pup out to play too and I watched in horror as she did her business right in the middle of my backyard (there is a designated spot alongside the driveway for such needs).  In protest, I dug a hole along the side of the house.  Then I was sent inside and Sister and the pup had solo play time (the same throwing/retrieving activity Pa and the pup were participating in the night before).  The pup was then sent inside and I got the final solo play time with Sister before I too went inside for a nap.

I could just feel that something was different when Sister came home from work that evening.  First she let me out and chased me around the backyard.  Then she called me over to her and told me a secret:  "It looks like Ma found a home for our little house guest!"  I wagged my tail happily.

A little while later, a car that I didn't recognize pulled up into my driveway and a couple got out.  It was Tricia (someone Ma works with) and her husband Pat and they were interested in adopting the little pup.  Now, I knew that the little pup had a nice personality and that, with the exception of her strange fascination with that tennis ball (nope, still don't get that), she would be a perfect match for these nice people, but I decided that I should help her make her case by barking, at the top of my lungs, all of her attributes. 

In no time at all, it was official.  The little dog was adopted by Tricia and Pat and they drove off into the sunset with the pup comfortably resting on Pat's lap. 

But then something sad/good happened.  Ma found out today that while Pat was walking the pup around his neighborhood, someone stopped him saying that he thought he saw a picture of the little pup on a "Lost Dog" sign.  Now the little pup (if it is indeed her) might be heading back to her real home.  I feel so bad for Tricia and Pat and for what has happened.  As much as I know that the first priority was always to find her real owner, I also know that the little pup was perfect for them.

No matter what happens, I wish the little pup luck and I hope she's happy and well taken care of wherever and with whomever she's with.

A Visitor I'm Not Allowed To Greet

Yesterday was a very exciting and, in a way, very disappointing day.  I had the opportunity to act as the household's Official Welcome Wagon, but ultimately wasn't allowed to perform my duties.  Allow me to explain.

Tuesday started like any other morning:  Ma, Pa, and Sister, after much dawdling, finally left the house for work leaving me to my early-morning-after-breakfast nap (it is said that breakfast is the most important meal of the day and if that is indeed true, then just image how important the after breakfast nap is).  Anyway, I wasn't even halfway through that nap, when, all of a sudden, I was awoken by Sister's car pulling into the driveway and the side door being unlocked.  I ran to the door to greet Sister with my normal exuberance, but found her somewhat distracted--she patted my head once, released me into the backyard, and then quickly ran back into the house, slamming the door behind her.  "What's wrong with Sister?" I thought as I scurried to the side door and voiced my displeasure by barking loudly.  It was then that I noticed Sister walking along the opposite side of the front gate toward her car.  She had snuck out the front door!

Now, it goes without saying that I was highly insulted by Sister's behavior.  How could she trick me?  Why would she trick me?

The Little Brown and White Dog

I watched with annoyed intrigue as Sister opened the back seat door of her car, took hold of a red and white rope, and called out "Okay, let's go."  To my surprise, a small brown and white dog suddenly jumped out of the car and followed behind her as Sister walked back into the house.

I did the only thing I could do given the situation:  I erupted into an excited stream of high and low pitched barks, whines, and whimpers (like I said, I love playing with other dogs and it's not every day that Sister arranges a play date for me).  Just to illustrate how excited I was, Honey's mom (the next door neighbor) actually came over to see if something was wrong.

After what seemed like forever, Sister finally let me back inside the house and I ran from room to room looking for the little brown and white dog.  Eventually I found her; she was standing behind a baby gate in the "Land of No."  I ran up to her and bunked noses with her.  "Be gentle," Sister warned, "she's very scared."

"No problem," I thought, "just let her loose and I'll show her around the house and teach her how to shred toys, hide the tell-tell butt indentation left behind on soft surfaces dogs are not supposed to nap on, and drool."

But Sister didn't let her loose.  Instead, the little dog remained in the "Land of No" while I ran back and forth hoping to sneak into the room when Sister's back was turned.  And when Sister did let the little dog out, she first jockeyed me into the backyard so that she and the dog could sneak out the front.

The Little Brown and White Dog

I was so confused.  Why wasn't I allowed to properly meet our new guest?  Sister explained to me that the little dog was a runaway that Diane (a co-worker friend who always gives me lots of pets when I go visiting the Library) caught yesterday morning.  Sister said that she had volunteered to take care of the dog until her owner came to get her or a more permanent home could be found.  Sister then said that I wasn't allowed to play with the dog because she was a gentle pup who might be frightened by my exuberance and rough play style and Sister didn't know if she was a dog's dog like I am.

I was disappointed and, frankly, a little hurt.  After all, I wasn't allowed to act as the household welcoming committee (what our visiting dog must think of me!), I wasn't going to get the opportunity to play with a new friend, and Sister gave the little dog one of the dozens of tennis balls I had rightfully stolen from the local tennis courts without asking my permission.

Still, I know the value of a good home and I know that Sister, Ma, and Pa want to do what's best for the visiting dog (and me) and if that means I'm not allowed to introduce myself I understand (of course, it doesn't mean I won't try to get a sniff in every once in a while--I am a dog after all).

Feeling Left Out

Despite being the well behaved, handsome, courteous, handsome, witty, and, well, handsome example of dogdom that I am, sometimes, just sometimes, a different word can be applied to me:  jealous.  It's not a very nice word and I'm certainly not proud of it, but I feel that it is my responsibility to show my loyal readers that, while I may appear to be perfect on the outside, I, occasionally, am not.

Meri the Hamster has been getting a lot of attention lately.  Yesterday, she visited the vet to have some food removed from her cheeks (you'll never see me storing food in my cheeks...no sir...everyone knows the best place to store food is in one's stomach) and ever since her trip she's been collecting all the attention that is usually devoted to me.  I can't even count how many times Sister has gone over to her cage to check on her and stroke her back.  And while I certainly wish Meri well, I have to admit that the jealousy bug got to me and, well, let's just say it resulted in my own trip to the vet.  Allow me to explain.

It all happened yesterday as I scurried over to Sister, who had just finished eating lunch, for an ear scratch (okay, let's not kid ourselves, I was checking to see if she had dropped any french fries).  Just as I reached her, however, I felt a twinge in my back.  It was really painful--so painful that I let out a little cry, my back arched upward, and I veered off away from Sister to lay down a few feet away.  After a little while (and an aspirin hidden in a wad of chunky peanut butter), I managed to walk the pain off, but not before I was showered with pets, kisses, and all the attention that was rightfully mine from the start.

While Sister scratched my ears I listened as Ma, Pa, and Sister discussed what they should do next.  Right off the bat, Ma lay down the law saying:  "I'm not going to the vet's office twice in one day...someone else will have to go."  "Thanks Ma," I thought glancing up at her with monkey eyes, "don't be surprised if you find one of your shoes chewed up by morning."  Anyway, my family ultimately decided to forgo the trip to the vet to see if the aspirin would help.

Well, the next day--today--I ended up in the vet's office.  The diagnosis:  muscle spasms.  I was given an anti inflammatory and told to take it easy for a couple of days (which is much harder than it sounds--I forgot the doctor's orders this evening and ran across the yard to bark at a little dog that walked past my house).

Needless to say I'm feeling much better now and Meri and I have agreed to share all the attention from now on.

A Guest Blogger: Meri

As my loyal readers already know, aside from Pa, Ma, and Sister, I also share my house with a little dwarf hamster named Meri.  Over the last couple of months, Meri has been asking me if she could write a post on my blog, you know, as a guest blogger.  At first, I must admit, I was a bit skeptical.  I'm a highly evolved and exceedingly clever (not to mention devilishly handsome) dog so of course I can have my own blog.  But a dwarf hamster?  I explore the world, I go on adventures.  She spends her days eating sunflower seeds and running on a wheel--what could she possibly have to say?  Not to mention, does she even have the body mass to type?

Anyway, I discovered today that Meri's life isn't all that boring and I thought "hey, let's give the little rat a chance."  So, without further ado, here is Meri the Hamster.

Meri's Day Out

by Meri 

Let me introduce myself.  My name is Meri.  I am a dwarf hamster.  I love to burrow under my bedding.  I like to climb mountains made out of my bedding.  I enjoy playing 'stuff the cheeks' with my Mom (A note from Rigby:  Meri's Mom is my Sister.  My Ma is Meri's Grams).  I also like to run in my wheel.  Mom and Grams chose me out of a litter of all my Sisters almost two years ago.  I don't remember how many of us there were.  We all enjoyed burrowing under our bedding.  We rarely saw each other in the light of day.  Oh, and I'm also nocturnal.

A couple of days ago I noticed something was wrong.  The food I stored in my cheek pouch wouldn't come out.  It was very uncomfortable.  Mom noticed the bulge in my cheek too.  She didn't realize it was stuck.  She thought I had just stuffed food there.  Yesterday, Mom realized that the bulge hadn't gone away.  She was afraid it was a tumor.  Grams suggested taking me to the vet.  Grams took me to the vet this morning.

First Grams needed to fill out some paper work for me.  I have my own folder now!  At first there was some confusion.  The receptionist thought I was a cat.  Grams corrected her.  Then I got to meet the vet.

The vet seemed really nice.  She reached into my cage and picked me up.  She held me by the scruff of my neck.  I was a little shocked.  Mom and Grams rub my back, but never pick me up.  I nibbled on the vet a little.  She didn't seem to mind.

The vet checked my heart with a stethoscope.  It was bigger than me!  Then she felt my tummy.  Next, she took a little flash light and shone it in my mouth.  She said she saw something.  She put me down on the exam table.  It was very big.  It was very shiny.  I stayed still and looked around.  The vet turned to Grams.  She said that she didn't think it was a tumor.  Then the vet scooped me up.  I sat in her cupped hands.  The vet said she'd take me in the back.  She said she'd look in my cheek then.

Someone else held me by the scruff of my neck.  The vet stuck a tiny tool in my mouth.  She removed all the stuff in my cheeks.  Then she brought me back to Grams.  She put me back in my cage.  The vet showed Grams all the stuff she removed.  It was my food.  There was a giant corn kernel.   There was also a half digested red kibble.  Grams was amazed.  The vet said my cheek was a little red.  She said it was irritated.  She thought about giving me medicine.  She decided not to.  She said that if Mom and Grams though I needed it they could call her.  She also said I wasn't allowed to have corn kernels anymore.  Then it was time to go home.

Grams carried me through the waiting room.  She saw a furry dog that looked like Rigby.  Her name was Gracie.  Gracie came running over to Grams.  Grams put me down.  She rubbed Gracie's belly.  She talked with Gracie's family.  Then we drove home.

Mom bought me new food.  All the pieces are chopped up.  I checked it out when Mom put it in my bowl.  It smelled good.  I stuffed my cheeks.  Then I ran on my wheel.  I am very sleepy now.  I've had a long day. 

The Sound of Music

I'm a very observant dog.  I can see (and want) a crumb left on the table from ten feet away, I frequently watch airplanes pass overhead (this really freaks out my family), and I can hear a car door slam two blocks away (which I bring to my family's attention with a thunderous series of barks).  I've also been known to watch people walking in the stands at televised sporting events.  Yep, I notice a lot of things and yesterday was no different.

Last night, after dinner, my family and I congregated in the living room.  Ma, Pa, and Sister decided that they were going to watch a movie but, because the story did not involve a dog (which was probably a good thing seeing that the movie was about zombies and everyone knows that zombie dogs are scary and definitely not good citizens) I quickly lost interest.  But what was I going to do while my family watched their movie?  I scanned the room and noticed that Sister was busy with a crocheting project.  Nonchalantly, I sauntered over to her and tried to steal her ball of yarn, but she was on to me and snatched the yarn from my still open mouth (sometimes it seems like Sister can read my mind--scary).  Disappointed, I scanned the room again for another option.  It was then that I noticed my brand new Mini Mecki toy (which is now missing his inner tube, is covered in mud and slobber, and has a couple of rather large wounds in his fabric brought about by my pearly white teeth) laying alongside the hope chest.  Without hesitation, I pounced on my Mini Mecki, threw myself down onto my pillow beneath the television, and started gnawing away. 

After a little while of chewing I noticed something:  there was a buzzing of sorts; something I both heard and felt through the floor.  I stopped gnawing on my Mini Mecki and looked around the room, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary.  Convinced that I must have imagined the sound, I went back to my toy, but as soon as I bit down on the squeaker I heard and felt the buzzing again.  Just as before, I scanned the room to determine the source of the sound and just as before I found nothing amiss.  Three more buzzes and a new sound was added to the original:  the sound of Ma, Pa, and Sister laughing at me. 

"Silly dog" they told me, "it's the movie's soundtrack you're hearing!"

Boy, did I feel sheepish.  Lucky for me, however, the music stopped shortly thereafter and my family's attention returned to the movie.  After gnawing on my Mini Mecki a few more minutes, I put my head down and fell fast asleep.

It wasn't until today that I found out that my bff Mecki was also troubled by this movie's music.  Obviously movie composers should consider the dogs of the world before they score a film.