A Bad Belly

I had a belly ache this week; actually, it was worse, I had a stomach virus.  I’m feeling better now, but let’s just say that this virus came with all the ugliness that usually accompanies such an ailment (don’t worry, I promise not to go into graphic detail).

As anyone who has had a stomach virus would know, this week wasn’t all that great for me.  Aside from feeling ill (which is bad enough on its own), I was cheated out of all treats (no cheese, no ice cream, no peanut butter, no leftover Easter pie, and no big Milkbone cookies), I spent most of Monday night and Tuesday morning outside in distress rather than sleeping, I was not allowed to be unsupervised in certain rooms of the house—mainly those with carpets, and Sister’s room upstairs was totally off-limits (Sister said it was because it was too far a trek, in the event of an emergency, from her bed to the side door, but I think she just wanted the bed to herself).

But you know what?  Some good came out of my stomach virus (I’m very much a dinner bowl half full type of dog, even though, now that I think about it, my dinner bowl is never filled to the level I’d like—such as overflowing).  My family was really sympathetic and kind to me when I felt sick:  Ma stayed up late with me on Monday night when I felt really bad and went into work late on Tuesday to make sure I was okay, Pa took me to the park at odd hours when I needed a change of scenery, and Sister made me rice for my kibble and played “No Mess In Here” every time she came home from work (what can I say…I love that game).  And I mustn’t forget about all the gentle belly rubs everyone gave me whenever I asked.

But like I said, I’m feeling much better now.  My energy level is up (I barked at every person who walked by my house today), I’m actively looking for trouble again (I stole a pair of freshly washed socks this evening), and I spent last night sprawled out on Sister’s bed.  Yep, everything’s good again.

You Look Different

I'm a bit of a control freak; I don't like it when things change without my permission.  That's why, whenever a new decoration appears at home (such as a stuffed bear wearing a Santa suit or a threatening greeting card) or a room's layout changes (my pillow or food container moves), I devote myself to sounding the alarm the only way I know how:  by barking.

Sometimes, however, I find myself at a loss for words when it comes to change and yesterday was one of those days.

Believe Me, the Resemblance is Great

Yesterday, Sister left the house looking like she normally does:  big puffy frizzy hair and long bangs that bear a striking resemblance to my bff Mecki's eyebrows.  An hour and a half later, someone who resembled Sister returned sporting slightly shorter hair that was blown dry straight and bangs trimmed in a way that I could actually see her eyes underneath.

Now it goes without saying that I was slightly taken aback by this change.  This person who walked through the door kind of looked like Sister, was wearing the same clothes that Sister was wearing when I last saw her, and sounded like Sister, but I just couldn't be 100% sure (identity theft, after all, is a major problem these days).

Remembering my position as Head of Security, I, cautiously, approached this Sister look-alike, reared up on my hind legs and placed my front paws on her chest.  Then I leaned forward (I'm not ashamed to say I took a little stretch in the process) and sniffed the hair draped over her left shoulder and then the hair draped over her right shoulder.

The shampoo and the hairstyle were different, but it was undeniably Sister.

I jumped down off of Sister and wagged my tail in greeting.  Then Sister leaned over, gave my snout a kiss, and scratched my ears.

Yep, definitely my Sister. 

A Fun Weekend, Except If You're A Flower

I've discovered that weekends come in three varieties:

1. Lazy Weekends at Home:  involves finding a warm sunny spot on the floor, taking a nap, waking up, finding a new warm sunny spot on the floor, and taking another nap.
2. Action Packed Weekends Out East:  involves chasing squirrels, going to the beach, running up and down the porch steps, and tracking deer.
3. Dog Days Weekends:  involves exploring Old Westbury Gardens with my favorite two and four legged friends.

Well, this weekend was a Dog Days weekend, and let me tell you, despite it being a little too warm for comfort (it has been a very cold, very snowy winter and I haven't gotten around to shedding my entire winter coat yet), I had a blast.

Here's a rundown of some of the fun stuff that happened this weekend:

Saturday: (Visiting the Estate with Ma, Sister, Mecki, and Mecki's Mom)

Mecki!

- Went berserk in the car when I realized that Sister had parked her car next to Mecki's and that Mecki was barking at me from the front passenger seat.

- Patiently listened while Sister brought to my attention the fact that Mecki was sitting, unrestrained, in his seat, next to an open window in a convertible, and was not trying to jump out (geez...you jump out of a moving vehicle one time and you never live it down).

Mecki Pulls Ahead

- Played follow the leader with Mecki (Mecki hates it when I lead).

Giant Water Bowl

- Hit up Mecki's Mom for lots of Pup-Peroni treats (and only once nearly took off her hand when trying to grab the treat).

- Inspected the biggest water bowl I have ever seen (Sister said it was a fountain, but I don't believe her).

- Drank out of Mecki's water bowl (I left him some water).

- Singled out one clump of daffodils in a sea of grass and peed on them (with an audience watching and, ultimately, moaning in distaste).

- Took some stylish (and less than stylish) photos.

Sunday: (Visiting the Estate with Ma, Sister, Tink, Zee Zee, and Tink and Zee's Mom and Dad)

- Met a Golden Basset (a weird combination, but she seemed nice enough--though a bit short).

Walking with Tink

- Jumped ten feet in the air with fright when Tink managed to sneak up on me in the Rose Garden (for a big dog, she's quite light on her feet).

- Got yelled at by Sister for trying to dip my feet in the communal watering trough (I saw no sign forbidding public bathing).

Tink and Me Staring At The Bird

- Settled for dipping my entire snout in the communal watering trough (hey, it was hot).

- Competed with Tink and Zee Zee to see who could retain the most water in his/her face (I had to admit defeat when I realized that my enormous jowls were no match for their absorbent beards).

- Conspired with Tink and Zee Zee to grab the remains of a dead bird we found next to where our humans were resting in the shade (sadly, we did not succeeded in our quest).

Later, At Home

My New Leopard Toy--Thanks Sis!

Spit Ball!

But the fun didn't end at Old Westbury Gardens; it continued when I got home. Sister bought me a brand new toy (a plush leopard that's longer than me) from the doggy toy store and Pa gave me an old baseball he found when he was cleaning out the basement (Ma took it away from me last night when I finally managed to tear off its outer shell).

All in all, not a bad weekend!

The Puppy Files: Rigby v. Rug

Welcome to yet another edition of The Puppy Files, a series in which I travel down memory lane to when I was an itty bitty little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude.

Today's tale is entitled:  Rigby v. Rug

It was a typical weekday afternoon.  Sister had just left for work after having spent her lunch hour entertaining me and I was planning on hunkering down for a well deserved nap.  But I was never going to get that nap; fate had other plans for me.

You see, rather than be visited by happy dreams and content yawns, I was suddenly overcome with the overwhelmingly urge to dig.

Dirt Hole, 2012

Water Hole, 2012

Now, my loyal readers know that I have a soft spot for digging.  Over the last couple of years, I've not only shared stories about at least two marvelous holes I've dug in the backyard, but I have also wowed my fans with tales of digging in the doggy pool.  I haven't, however, before today, disclosed the fact that I have been known to sleep dig (it's like sleep walking, only with digging--I get up in the middle of the night, find a carpeted corner of the room, and start digging frantically, completely oblivious to my family's attempts to wake me).  So, I have a history, but, with the exception of a few choice words muttered by the person who shirked his/her responsibilities and did not keep a close eye on me when they should have, my digging has always been harmless.

Anyway, I found myself stuck inside the house and driven by an overwhelming urge to dig.  I wandered around the first floor in search of the perfect location, but ended up being unimpressed with my options (you can't just dig anywhere!).  Then, all of a sudden, the answer came to me:  upstairs.

[I should take a moment to mention that, at this point in time, the second floor of the house had only just become available to me.]

So up the stairs I climbed and came face to face with the perfect digging place:  the landing (a three by three foot carpeted platform between two sets of perpendicular stairs).  As soon as I dug my claws into the carpet pile, I knew I had chosen the right spot.  Like a dog possessed, I hunkered down and started digging with abandon, completely oblivious to the world around me.

Minutes later, I came to my senses and looked down at the mess I had made.  The carpet was pulled back on itself, the backing was torn, and the carpet pad was shredded and deposited all over the stairs.  Only the tack strips-each of which harbored dozens of sharp upward pointing nails-remained on the newly exposed floor.

Panicked was an understatement of how I felt.  I had managed to do all this damage without cutting myself or tumbling down the stairs which was good (I was a bit clumsy as a pup), but I knew none of that really mattered if my family returned home and saw what I had done.  I needed to hide the damage.  But how?  Then, an idea came to me.

I ran down the stairs, skidded through the kitchen, and screeched to a halt at the dining room table.  Rearing up on my hind legs, I put my front paws on the table and grabbed an unopened envelope, a piece of scrap paper, and a magazine.  I then jumped back down onto the floor and hot-footed it back up the stairs to the scene of the crime.  I then proceeded to shred the unopened mail, scrap paper, and magazine into tiny pieces and deposited them neatly over the destroyed carpet.

Let's just say, my family was not fooled.

A Plethora of Pillows

I have the best Pa in the whole wide world.  “What makes him the best?” you might ask.  Did he make me my very own steak dinner last night?  No, that would make him the best Pa in the entire universe.  Did he rub my belly after dinner?  Of course, but that’s part of the nightly agreement.  My Pa is the best in the world because he went to the store and bought me a brand new pillow.

My New Pillow

I must admit that I have quite the collection of pillows.  I might even be considered a pillow connoisseur.  I have one in the living room (square with stylish stripes), one in Ma and Pa’s room (round, tuffet-like, tan and green), one in Sister’s room (an orthopedic square one which I rarely use because, let’s face it, if you’re given the choice between a pillow on the floor or a nice soft bed, the bed always wins out), and one out east (round and tan).

It is the pillow out east that this new pillow (round, tuffet-like, pale blue and gray) is supposed to replace.  You see, the old one is kind of falling apart:  the stuffing has gone flat, the cover is wearing thin, and the zipper has had to be sewn shut because someone keeps gnawing on it (not me, I swear...I blame the mole that lives in the backyard).

Old & New in Living Room

Old & New in Bed Room

But there's one major problem with replacing the old pillow with the new one:  I've kind of taken a liking to the new pillow living here at home.  Every evening, I whine and cry and bark until someone drags the new pillow out of Ma and Pa's room and into the living room.  And then, every night, when it's time to go to bed, I whine and cry and bark until someone drags it back into the bedroom (where I sleep on it for a little while before high-tailing it upstairs to Sister's bed).  Sometimes, I even whine and cry and bark until my new pillow is dragged into the kitchen when my family eats their dinner.

Now, I love my humans, don't get me wrong, but they can be such complainers.  You see, this influx of pillows has made life difficult for them; apparently, they find it very annoying to maneuver through the living room and bedroom when multiple pillows are present.  They also say that it makes each room way to small and claustrophobic.  I disagree.  I think it makes both rooms nice and cozy.  After all, who wouldn't want to be surrounded by fluffy pillows?