Bastille

Every once in a while, someone in my family comes home smelling like another dog.  For some dogs, jealousy might kick in; "My [fill in the family member's name] betrayed me!  How dare he/she!"  For me, however, I feel...well...jealous also, but in a different way.  You see, whenever I detect another dog's smell on one of my family members, two thoughts go through my head:

1. Hey!  [Fill in the family member's name] went to work and met another dog there.  Why wasn't I allowed to go to work?
2. Hey!  Why did [fill in the family member's name] get to play with another dog and I didn't?

And the jealousy levels really spike when that dog my family member smells of is one of my friends.

Of all the members of my family, Sister is the one who comes home smelling of other dogs the most (I can't count the number of times she's come home from work smelling of my bff Mecki).  In fact, this happens so often that, over the years, she and I have come up with a system.  You see, originally, Sister would come home from work at lunchtime after playing with a dog in the morning and expect me to leave her alone long enough to eat her lunch before I was allowed to sniff her all over.  Well, it doesn't take a genius to know that that rarely worked.  While she would be desperately trying to eat, I'd be climbing all over her sniffing her from head to toe (and occasionally trying to take a bite out of her sandwich when she wasn't looking).  Not the best plan.  Now, with our new plan, as soon as Sister gets home from playing with another dog, she immediately lies down on the living room floor and lets me sniff until my heart's content and then eats her lunch.  Much better.

Well, when Sister came home from work today, she immediately assumed the "I Played With Another Dog So Sniff Away" position.  I ran over to her figuring that she had been playing with one of my Library friends (Mecki, Ralphie, Tink, Harry, or Zee Zee) and discovered, with just one sniff, that Sister had been playing with a new dog.

"That's Mecki's new little brother, Bastille" Sister explained while I sniffed her all over, my tail wagging furiously.  Bastille is a French Bulldog, Sister explained, with really big ears that point straight up to the sky.  She told me that he is super cute and really tiny (to view pictures and watch videos of Bastille, check out Mecki's blog).  She also told me that his Mom said that he, unlike Mecki, eats all his food (so I guess I won't be able to steal his leftover breakfast like I did to Mecki when he slept over) and has already figured out how to smack Mecki upside the head with his paw (just like me--I'm so proud).

So welcome, Bastille, to the pack!  I can't wait to meet you in person (sniffing is good, but it pales in comparison to actually bunking noses) and keep an eye on those dew claws (I'll explain when you're older).

Clean Up

It is my overall goal in life to be comfortable.  I want my tummy to be comfortable so I am always in search of a snack I can steal, beg for, or (and this is a last resort) earn.  I want my body to be comfy so I seek out the softest place in the house to sleep (and yes, that means sleeping on the furniture).  And finally, I want to be emotionally comfy which is achieved by having all of my favorite things around me wherever I go.

That is why I have toys in pretty much every room of the house.  For instance, last evening Monkey-Monk was lounging in Sister's room, Nuclear Bunny was in the kitchen, Baby and Lenny the dinosaur were hanging out in the dining room, my toy box (filled with bones and stolen tennis balls from the park) as well as my latest Mini Mecki were in the living room, and Ma and Pa's room was playing host to Lyle-Lyle, Rudy, my red dinosaur (he has no name--no one thought he would survive long enough to require one), and the hippopotamus that my friend Ralphie and his mom gave me.

Unfortunately, my family has other definitions regarding feeling comfortable and, apparently, they include a certain level of neatness, organization, and clear walking paths.

It was just before bedtime and I was doing my best impression of "Puddle Dog" or "look-at-me-I'm-melting-from-the-summer-heat-oh-please-oh-please-won't-someone-turn-on-the-air-conditioner" on the living room floor.  Now, for those unaware (mainly those lucky people and dogs who live in central air), to accomplish this impression properly, one mustn't leave one's prone state unless absolutely necessary (after all, it doesn't make sense that one can be dying of heat yet completely capable of jumping up at will and scurrying away for trivial reasons), so one must choose one's location carefully.  Over the years, I've discovered the perfect spot; a spot in the living room which allows me to keep an eye on everyone in the room as well as anyone who heads toward the bedroom with the intention of turning on the air conditioning (air conditioning is always worth getting up for).

Anyway, on this particular night, Ma got up from her spot on the couch and headed into the bedroom.  Unwilling to give up on my impression of a "Puddle Dog" prematurely (I've been tricked before and now know that I cannot assume that just because someone goes into the bedroom it means that the air conditioner will be turned on), I watched for the tell tale sign of air conditioner use (the closing of the windows, the deliberate walk to the air conditioner, and the closing of the door).  Sadly, Ma showed no indication of turning on the blessed relief that is the air conditioner.

But something was happening because a minute or so after Ma went into the bedroom, she emerged carrying Lyle-Lyle, Rudy, the red dinosaur, and the hippopotamus all the while complaining that there was no room to walk because my toys were all over the floor.  She then unceremoniously dumped all four toys into my toy box.  Adding insult to injury, she then circled through all the other rooms on the first floor and systematically picked up all my toys and deposited them all into the toy box as well.

Well, I was shocked, appalled, and dismayed by this predicament.  I was so shocked, appalled, and dismayed that I gave up on my "Puddle Dog" impression, scurried over to my toy box, grabbed my hippopotamus, and hot footed it into the bedroom.  Once in the bedroom, I tossed my toy back onto the floor and walked away.

Ma was not amused by my antics.  Sister, on the other hand, laughed and told me that I was a good boy.  Pa, however, won my favor by calling me back into the room and turning on the air conditioner.  Thanks Pa!

Another Bunny Tale

Henry

As my loyal readers know, there is no love lost between me and rabbits.  I have been hounded by them for years, especially by Henry who has been known to take up residence in my family's vegetable garden where he gnaws on the pepper plants.  Now, Henry hasn't made an appearance as of yet this year, and while most would consider this a good thing, I do not.  You see, without the constant concern and anxiety associated with the idea that a stupid little fluffy brown bunny with a white tail might wander into my yard, I've lost my touch.  And now a new stupid little fluffy brown bunny with a white tail is menacing me, and his name is Herbert.

Herbert

Herbert lives out east.  For weeks now he's been sitting outside the fence grazing on the clover in the front yard.  While I don't particularly like the idea of having a bunny anywhere on my property, I understand that a bunny needs to eat and, so long as he stays on his side of the fence (and completely out of sight), I've decided that we should be able to get along.  I call it our "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" Policy (didn't know I was literary did you?).  But this last weekend Herbert broke our "GFMGN" policy; he ventured inside the gate.

It was a beautiful day out east and Pa and I were playing outside with my squeaker bone.  The way our game works is Pa throws the bone as far as he can, I run after it (trying to avoid trees) and grab hold of it, then I plop down in the grass and wait for Pa to come and try to get the toy away from me.  Now, early on in the game, when Pa gets to within a few feet of me, I quickly jump up and scurry off with the toy in an attempt to prevent Pa from throwing it again (which leads to a rousing game of keep away).  After chasing after the thrown squeaker toy a few times (Pa always manages to wrench the toy away from me and throw it across the yard), I move onto the second (and far less strenuous) phase of keep away which includes clenching the toy firmly in my teeth, rolling on my back, and trying to distract Pa with the offer of a belly rub.

Anyway, Pa had just wrenched the toy away from me and, from the back corner of the yard, threw the squeaker bone toward the front gate.  As is customary, I took off after it, but this time Pa also started running toward the toy and he was yelling something at the same time.

Being the superior runner (sorry Pa), I got to the squeaker bone first, but when I grabbed the toy, plopped down in the grass, and looked toward Pa, I noticed that he was still running toward me while screaming that something should "run!"  I looked around to see if I could figure out what was bothering Pa, but saw nothing but cool green grass and purplish clover.  Then, all of a sudden, I noticed a pair of bunny years pop up from within the grass.  Herbert, trying to remain unnoticed in the grass, had given away his location by twitching his ears.

I jumped up and ran toward Herbert who also jumped up and ran toward the chain linked fence that runs between my yard and the yard next door.  Trapped by the fence, Herbert turned, screeched, and then did something very strange.  He ran straight at me and right through my front legs.  When I turned around, he was gone.  It was magic!

Sister has shown me this trick before; she can make my toys magically disappear.  One second we're playing with a plush toy such as Nuclear Bunny or Denny the Dinosaur and suddenly, after passing the toy through my front legs, the toy disappears (Sister later pulls it out from behind her back).  Now, I don't know how she does it, but I guess Herbert knows the trick too.  My one concern is:  When Sister does the trick the toy reappears behind her back, but, since Sister wasn't around this time, where did Herbert end up?

Hopefully, he's on the other side of the fence (and completely out of sight).

A New Crop

When I first discovered the pizza tree growing in my backyard (see story here), I was excited.  I hoped that that one single slice of pizza would go to seed and produce hundreds and hundreds of pies.  Neapolitan!  Sicilian!  Grandma!  Deep dish!  Ahh, the choices would have been endless (and that's not even going into the different types of toppings I'd grow as well as my eventual side crop of garlic knots).

Sadly, however, I believe I got ahead of myself.  You see, I've recently come to the sad conclusion that my pizza tree is a dud.  In the five months since I discovered the first slice, no additional slices have appeared (and believe me, I've looked).  It goes without saying that I was, and still am, quite bummed over this fact.

But a few days ago something happened to lighten my mood.  I discovered that perhaps I really do have a "green thumb" (even though I don't have thumbs, per se, and the only way my fur turns green is when I run around like crazy in the backyard, trip, and end up with grass stains from skidding across the lawn on my chest).  You see, I might not be able to grow pizzas, but I can, apparently, grow burnt English muffins.

I discovered my burnt English muffin bush quite by accident.  It was late one night and Ma and I were outside for my final business trip.  Try as I might, however, I was unable to concentrate on the task at hand because of the wafting smell of burn bread emanating from the backyard.  I followed the smell like a bloodhound and tracked it to a flowering bush three spots down from the debunked pizza tree.  Seeing that the muffin was perched on top of the bush (which was quite tall), I implemented Plan A (climb the bush), but I quickly gave up on the plan because the branches were not sturdy enough to hold my weight.  Then I moved on to the ever successful Plan B: bark hysterically until someone comes to help (this plan always works, especially late at night or early in the morning when my family is afraid that I might wake up the entire neighborhood with my vocalizing).

As expected, Ma came to my rescue and, armed with a flashlight, cautiously approached the bush (she later told me that she had no idea what I was barking at and was afraid that I might have cornered an animal).   She peered into the bush and, upon realizing what I was barking at, reached in and pulled the burnt English muffin out.

Then Ma did something horrible; she carried the burnt English muffin into the house and threw it out in the garbage without even giving me so much as a crumb.  I mean, what gives?!  I found the muffin!  I tracked it!  I tried climbing the bush!  And just because I couldn't reach it I lose out?  It's just not fair.

Me and My New Toy

But I guess everything works out in the end.  I might not have gotten the chance to chow down on a burnt English muffin, but my friend Ralphie and his mom did give me a new toy which I've really been enjoying.

Wild Kingdom

There is no shortage of strange animals in this world, and I've come to the conclusion that most of them live on the east end of Long Island.  For instance, within the last couple of years I have seen, smelled, and/or barked at deer, giant chickens, bunnies, and goats.

But as strange as those animals are, they do not come close to the weird animal I encountered this past weekend.

It was Saturday morning and Ma and Pa left the house bright and early to attend a town meeting.  This meant that Sister and I were going to have to occupy ourselves for a couple of hours while they were gone.  Now, generally, whenever Sister and I are left alone, we take up our favorite joint hobby:  napping.  We're both really good at it.  I think it stems back to when I was a nasty little puppy and the only way Sister and I could get along for any extended amount of time was if we were both sleeping (fast forward five years and while we get along just fine now, we have both come to appreciate the importance of a good nap).  Anyway, by some weird twist of fate, both Sister and I were bright eyed and bushy tailed that morning (well, I was bushy tailed) and eager to go outside and enjoy the cool morning air (we planned to retreat into the central air conditioned comfort of the house the moment it got too warm).  Sister planned on reading a book while lounging in a lawn chair.  I, on the other paw, planned on preventing Sister from reading by any means necessary (some of my options included digging a hole, barking at figments of my imagination, and stealing Sister's bookmark).

As a special treat, Sister decided that we'd use the basement door to exit the house rather than the side door.  Now, I absolutely love using the side door because it means that I get to run down the flight of stairs linking the deck and backyard at top speed (and then run back up it afterward), but there is something about using the back door (which involves two steps up and directly into the yard) that is even more exciting.  I'm not sure why it's so exciting, but perhaps it's because from day one that exit was referred to as "Rigby's door" (gotta love anything with your name attached to it).

Anyway, Sister and I raced down into the basement and skidded toward the back door.  Lawn chair in hand, Sister threw open the door and three things happened simultaneously:

Turtle Knocking on the Door

1. I jumped over the two steps and dashed into the backyard.
2. A turtle tried scurrying into the house.
3. Sister almost screamed (but managed to close the door before the turtle could crawl in).

Curious as to what was going on, I quickly backtracked, but by the time I got to the door, Sister had already created a barrier between me and the turtle with her lawn chair.  She then jumped over the chair, ran toward the steps leading up to the side door (I chased after her), and into the house.  Half a minute later (though it seemed like much longer from where I stood on the outside of the door--and don't worry, I made sure to voice my displeasure for being left outside as loudly as I could), Sister emerged from the house carrying a cardboard box.  The two of us scurried down the steps and back toward the basement door.  Sister then jumped the barricade, knelt down, picked the turtle up, and deposited him into the cardboard box. 

The Release

I spent a fair part of the next hour hovering around the shady (and fenced in) area where Sister stashed the box and turtle.  Later, after Ma and Pa got the chance to admire the visiting turtle, Sister released him (he was now formally dubbed Mr. Turtle) into the front yard where he scuttled under a hostas plant.