But Where Do Pepperoni Come From?

Over the years, I've discovered quite a few odd things in my backyard including:

• half eaten peaches that the squirrels steal from the peach tree growing in the yard next door
• hammocks
• bunnies

But none have compared to the strange (and wonderful) thing I found on Monday morning.

It was a standard Monday morning.  Bright and early I woke up, stepped on Sister as I climbed off the bed, scurried downstairs, and demanded that I be let out to check the perimeters.  Into the backyard I galloped and joyfully jumped over the mountain of snow Ma and Pa have been building me from the weekly seven inches of snow that keeps blanketing our driveway.  Having stuck the landing (a perfect 10.0 if you ask me), I came to a complete halt in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath of morning air.

It was then that I smelled it; a wonderfully delicious smell wafting from the little Christmas tree in the corner of the yard.  Ever inquisitive (and always looking for a free meal), I scurried over to the tree, my nose high in the air, and determined that the smell was definitely coming from the top of the tree--a tree that, despite being short, was still taller than me.  I weighed my options and decided that, if I couldn't reach the top of the tree from where I stood, I would climb it instead.  There was just one problem...the branches would not support my weight.  Undaunted, I considered my options once again and came up with a plan B:  bark hysterically until someone comes to help.

Seconds later, I heard, a banging on the window and saw Pa motioning for me to stop barking and come in.  Seeing that it was breakfast time, I acquiesced and hurried in.

About an hour later, I was let outside again.  Immediately, I hot-footed it to the little Christmas tree and re-evaluated the situation.  I decided that, if I couldn't climb to the top, I'd rear up on my hind legs and investigate from a standing position (hey, it works for the humans).  Slowly, I rose off my front legs and--BANG--I hit my head on a low-hanging branch from the cherry tree growing a few feet away.

I was busy counting the little bunnies and stars that were circling around my head when I suddenly became aware of the familiar sound of laughter and discovered Ma and Pa standing in the window guffawing at my expense; they had seen the whole thing.  Annoyed, I decided to return to plan B and started barking hysterically until Pa enticed me back inside the house with the promise of a cookie.

A couple of hours later, after breakfast, Ma went out to investigate what was bothering me.  Cautiously, she approached the tree and discovered, right there on the top branches, was a half a slice of pizza (and here I was under the impression that pizzas came from some rude person who banged on our door ever Friday night but never stopped to say hello to me).

Despite making the initial find, Ma refused to share the pizza crop with me.  In fact, she had the gall of throwing the slice away without so much as a taste.  Still, now that I know where pizzas come from and that I have my very own pizza tree growing in my back yard, I know that, if I check every day, someday a new crop will grow and I'll be there to sample it.

Best In Show

Tonight was the second and final night of the AKC Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show.  It was also, in my humble opinion, the most important night.  Why?  Because the second night always includes the Sporting Group--the group that the Golden Retriever is featured in (though of course I always root for the Mecki dog in the Hound Group and the ZeeZee and Tink dogs in the Working Group).

Unfortunately, despite being the obvious star of the group, the Golden rarely wins (according to Sister's research, the Golden has only won the group once and has yet to win Best in Show).   Now, when I was a little puppy, I was highly troubled by this trend.  But, as the years have progressed, I have come to realize, understand, and appreciate the yearly snub of first place.  Here's the secret...

My Best Show Dog Pose

You see, as a breed, us Goldens are overwhelmingly concerned for the mental well-being of other breeds.  We know we are the number one dog, and, given the opportunity, could win each and every award and prize with one paw tied behind our back.  But, how would all those other dogs feel if we claimed the top prize year after year after year?  Therefore, in the interest of fair play and good sportsmanship, we routinely even the odds: we stumble when we walk by the judge, we turn at an odd angle to disrupt our silhouettes, we slouch (but of course, it goes without saying that we do these things very subtly so as not to allow the other dogs to catch on).

So, good job, Will (this year's Best in Breed Golden Retriever)!  Not only did you win a highly respectable 3rd place in the group, but you've maintained the generous and caring tradition of the Golden Retriever:  to allow other breeds, if only for a day, to feel that they are superior.

A Missed Opportunity

Little Girl

Ralphie

Mecki

Last year, I hosted a lot of friends and strangers at my house--Sister took in Little Girl, a little stray dog, back in June, Ralphie came over for a sleepover in September (though I only got to play with him for a little while), and Mecki spent two days and nights at my house back in December--and I had a ball doing it.  In fact, I had so much fun that, frankly, the last couple of months, completely devoid of four legged visitors, have been a bit of a drag.  But the really depressing part of the entire situation is the fact that my family, especially my Sister, appears to be totally oblivious to how bummed out I've been.  Consider what happened on Saturday:

It started off badly.  Sister was going out to do some errands and, despite the fact that I really wanted to go with her, she tricked me into scurrying out the side door while she slipped out the front.  Wildly annoyed, I rushed over to the fence and prepared myself for the longest and loudest barking session I've ever had, but stopped when I noticed Sister pause outside her open driver's side door and stare intently down the road.  A second later, Sister closed the door, hurried toward the gate, pushed her way past me (without apologizing for trying to leave without me), opened the side door, and asked Ma if she knew anyone on the block who owned a Boston Terrier.  Then, Sister pushed past me again (without an apology) and hurried down the street with Ma, carrying my leash, following close behind her.

Royally miffed, I watched as Ma and Sister converged on a house just shy of the corner.  I gave out one warning bark (you know, to inform them, and the entire neighborhood, of my displeasure) and prepared myself, once again, for that longest and loudest barking session ever.  But before I could begin, I noticed Sister bend down and scoop up a shivering black form.

It was a dog!  Sister was bringing me a friend to play with!  What a good Sister I have!

But then something strange happened:  A woman came running out of the house Sister was standing in front of and Sister--get this--handed the Boston Terrier over to her.  Then, without my new friend, Ma and Sister started walking back to our house.

Well, I went berserk.  I started barking hysterically at Ma and Sister as they walked toward the house and up the driveway.  How could they hand my new friend over to that woman without first letting me meet her (the dog, not the woman)?  I tried consoling myself by jumping on Sister and sniffing her coat all over as soon as she and Ma walked through the gate, but it just wasn't the same.

Later, Sister sat me down and explained to me that the puppy she rescued was a little old lady who was cold and blind and had wandered out of her backyard.  She also said that I likely would have, unintentionally, scared the bejesus out of the pup if Sister had brought her home; that I'm simply too rambunctious for such a little old lady.  How rude!