Two Close Calls

It has been a snowy couple of days. As my loyal readers already know, I love playing in the snow. I love digging holes in the mountains that Ma and Pa build for me when they’re shoveling the walk; I love running up and down the driveway to discover just how far I can skid when I try to stop; and I love plowing through all the snowdrifts in the backyard at top speed like a crazy dog. In fact, I love the snow so much that I don’t even mind when Sister catches me being particularly silly. Take this picture, for instance…

Sister says that I look like a little old man with a fluffy white beard. Normally, I would take offense at this statement. I would question why she chose the picture she did rather than, say, this one…

…you know, one that makes me look majestic and even more handsome than I already am. But not when it snows. Nope, I have so much fun playing in the snow that I end up not really caring about looking foolish.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m posting today. Today I’m posting about two recent events that nearly ended in disaster.

Close Call Number 1:

Last Friday, the people Sister works with threw her a surprise birthday party. As a result, Sister came home with lots of nice smelling food (yay!) and a couple of menacing helium and latex balloons (boo!). I was a brave dog, and investigated the floating intruders once Sister tied them securely to the back of a chair, but, overall, I tried to avoid them as best as I could. Well, on Sunday, I sauntered into the kitchen only to discover that Sister had cut the latex balloons loose because they were weighing down the helium ones. To say I was not momentarily startled would be a lie (discovering giant globes rolling around your kitchen separating you from your food bowl can be quite off-putting), but I decided to be brave and ventured into the room to face, head on, the green and yellow balloons. I walked up to the first balloon, gave it a bunk with my nose, and watched as it rolled away from me. Then I walked over to the second balloon and gave it a sniff. Deciding that the balloon was not dangerous, I leaned over, opened my mouth, and…

“Rigby, no!” Sister screamed before I could sink my teeth into the giant green ball.

Close Call Number 2:

Can We Go Now?  How 'Bout Now?

Later in the day, Sister, racked with guilt that I had had three consecutive boring weekends, convinced Pa that he should take us to Belmont Lake State Park for an action packed walk. Ma bailed because she said it was too cold, but after a few agonizing minutes of waiting for Pa and Sister to put on six or seven layers of clothing, Pa, Sister, and I jumped into the car and headed to the park.

I had a ton of fun at the park. I sniffed lots of trees, sloshed around in a couple of mud puddles, and watched the ducks swim by on the pond. Everything was going swell when all of a sudden I saw them: two giant white swans wading through the water. I pulled toward the pond, but Pa pulled me back.

“Those birds are bigger than you are,” he warned, “they’ll beat you up!” Then he pointed toward a couple of swan boats docked around a bend in the pond. “Those are more your speed.”

I was not amused.

Joining Forces with Pa

In my family, everyone has a job.  I am cute and lovable and provide endless hours of entertainment to my family and all those who meet me.  Ma is in charge of making sure that my kibble never gets boring (she adds interesting flavors to it including, most recently, pumpkin puree which is really, really tasty).  Sister allows me to sleep on her bed.  And Pa, well, let's just say Pa is in charge of entertainment.

A Man and His Hound

Pa and I get into all sorts of trouble when we are together.  We go on long walks in the morning, we rough-house at night, and, when Pa gets home from work early, we enjoy a quick snack and a long nap.  But our favorite father-son activity, by far, is annoying Sister (and we're quite good at it, if I do say so myself).  We're so good at it, in fact, that Pa is still snickering, days later, over the last trick we played on her.

Here's what happened:

Checking Out My Crate

It was Sunday afternoon and Pa and Sister were in the living room watching television.  Unable to suppress my fun-loving personality and sense of humor any longer, I got up from my pillow and scurried into the kitchen looking for trouble or food, whichever I came upon first.  No food or trouble was to be found in the kitchen, so I moseyed over to the landing by the door and stared down the adjacent stairway to the basement.  Now, I'm not allowed in the basement (it is a below-ground "Land of No"), but I can climb up and down the stairs and there, perched on the third step from the top, was a pair of Pa's work boots.

Jackpot!

I scurried down the steps, grabbed one of the boots by its tongue, and climbed back up the stairs (which is not an easy task when the boot is so big and heavy that it bounces off each and every step as you climb).  Tail wagging a mile a minute, I scurried into the living room and showed off my treasure to Pa and Sister.

Pa and Me at My Estate

As with most ill-gotten gains, I knew that eventually someone would ask me to give up the boot that I had so rightfully found.  The question was, however, how easily would I give it up?  When Ma or Sister requests that I give them something I've got, they have a 10% chance of me spitting it out without a fight (this increases to 50% if they promise me a cookie but don't have said cookie on them and 95% if they show me the cookie).  Pa, on the other paw, has a much better track record with me.  For him, I tend to give up my treasures on the first request and without the offer of a cookie about 90% of the time.

On this particular day, it was Pa who got to me first.  From his chair he leaned forward, looked me in the eye, and said, in a calm voice, "Rigby, drop."

"Oww!" Sister squealed.

I had dropped the boot on Sister's foot.

Pa started laughing hysterically and I, in turn, started wagging my tail around in circles.  While Sister muttered something about Pa and I being really mean, Pa jumped up and, between guffaws, exclaimed:  "Okay, I'll pay for that.  Let's go get a cookie!"

Who am I to argue?

Obediently, I followed Pa into the kitchen to collect my cookie.  Meanwhile, Sister, always the drama queen, limped into the kitchen with the boot in her hand and tossed it, and its mate, down into the basement's "Land of No." 

What a spoilsport!

The Sliding Scale of Comfort

I'm a comfortable dog; a very comfortable dog.  I'm such a comfortable dog that I have actually developed my very own sliding scale of comfort.  Check it out:

1. Hardwood floor.
2. Rug.
3. Muddy patch in the backyard.
4. Clothing left on the floor (after I shred it, of course).
5. Plush toy (just before I rip out the stuffing).
6. Dog pillow.
7. Chairs (because they are smaller than a couch).
8. Couches (because they are larger than a chair).
9. Beds.
10. To be determined.

You might have noticed that I have not named the ultimate level of comfort.  Truth be told, I haven't discovered it yet.  The way I see it, I don't want to limit my comfort possibilities by declaring an ultimate winner without having tried out every surface available.  With that said, I believe that I might have discovered a runner up--a 9.5 you might say.  A couple of days ago, I discovered the level of comfort supplied by a full body pillow.

Aunt B gave Sister said full body pillow (a giant horseshoe shaped pillow which is supposed to support the body when sleeping) at Christmas, and as soon as she took it out of the box and tossed it on the bed, I was absolutely, 100% positive that I was not going to like it.  You see, when I say that the pillow's giant, I mean giant...it takes up nearly half of the bed!  Consider this: if I get 3/4 of the bed and Sister gets 1/4, adding a giant pillow should be mathematically impossible!  And then there's the height.  When the pillow is on the bed, I can barely see over top of it let alone jump onto the mattress (fluffiness, I admit, is a plus when it comes to pillows, but it is always smart to look before you leap).

So what does one do when one does not get one's way?  One sulks.  And sulk I did.  First, I spent a couple of nights down in Ma and Pa's room even though I'm not allowed to sleep on their bed and had to settle for my dog pillow.  When that got old, I decided to spend a few nights sleeping on my pillow in Sister's room with the intention of showing my displeasure by staring up at her with sad eyes and whining piteously.  Sister slept right through my act.  Realizing that a different approach was necessary I chose sarcasm.  The next night I jumped up on the bed (using the side without the pillow), curled up as small as I could on the furthest corner, hung my head off the side of the mattress to emphasize the lack of space, and sighed as loudly as I could.  And do you know what?  Sister was still able to ignore me.  Pillow 3; Rigby 0.

I decided then that passive aggression was not going to work; I was going to have to face my problem head on.  The following night, I marched myself up to Sister's room, approached the pillow from its side of the bed, and, with a mighty leap, propelled myself up and over its fluffy white side.

Long story short, I learned the meaning of the adage "don't judge a book by its cover" that night.  The full body pillow can stay; Sister, on the other paw, might want to go check out my dog pillow (remember Sis, its orthopedic!)

Thanks Mecki!

My bff Mecki is the best gift giver in the world!

On Tuesday night, Sister decided that it was time for me to open the Christmas present Mecki gave me (it had been living in the "Land of No" since just before the holidays).  Needless to say, I was ecstatic by this decision (and a bit relieved--I was afraid Sister had forgotten).  Bursting with excitement, I scurried alongside Sister as she entered the "Land of No," retrieved the package, and tore open the holiday dachshund wrapping paper (I must admit that I was a bit disappointed that I didn't get the opportunity to unwrap it myself, but I figured that Sister needed some excitement too).

My New Toy

Inside the holiday dachshund wrapping paper (which, by the way Mecki, was a very nice touch) was a plush dachshund toy complete with floppy ears and a tail made out of banners.
 My tail started wagging in circles and I began bouncing up and down trying to wrench the toy from Sister's hand, but Sister refused to give it to me.  "I have to cut the tags off," Sister explained, "then we need to show Ma and Pa your new toy 'cause it's never gonna look this nice again."

Up the stairs Sister and I ran to show off my new toy to Pa who was playing on the computer.  He chuckled and said it was a nice looking toy.  Then down the stairs Sister and I bounded and waited in the kitchen for Ma to come up from the basement where she was washing clothes (I'm not allowed in the basement unless I'm being dried off after playing in the rain--there are too many things for me to get into down there).  Ma admired the toy as well and said that it was really cute.

Then, finally, it was my turn.  Sister told me to sit and when I did (I always do my tricks when I'm sufficiently motivated) she handed me the toy.  As fast as my feet could carry me, I scurried into the living room (I skidded a few times on the hardwood floor--Ma and Pa really need to buy a new rug) and threw myself onto the floor to investigate my present.

And what a present it was!  It was soft and had a great squeaker.  I lay on the floor chewing on it and shaking it by its little ears for a good ten minutes before I heard the "pop" of my teeth penetrating the fabric (followed by an "oh no!" from Sister).

Let the fun begin!

Enjoying My Toy

In no time at all, the puncture wounds went from a couple a holes to two large gaping tears along the dachshund's back and belly.  This got me thinking...seeing that the toy now had two holes in it, what harm could come of me sticking my snout into said holes and snuffing around?  So, I stuffed my nose in one of the holes.  Well, one thing led to another, and within seconds I was surrounded by a pile of stuffing, broken squeakers, shredded material, and detached ears.  And let me tell you, those were some wonderful seconds!

It's Snowing Stuffing!

Now, I realize that Mecki and I have two very different techniques when it comes to playing with a toy.  He gnaws off limbs and swallows them.  I, on the other hand, like to pull out the stuffing (I don't eat it...I just make a mess).  Despite our differences, I felt, as I ripped the head stuffing out of the toy, that I was channeling Mecki and that he'd approve not only of the fun I was having, but the job I was doing.

The Remains

Thanks Mecki for the great toy!