A Barky Boy

My family thinks that I bark way too much and for no good reason.  I beg to differ.  I do not bark that much, but when I do bark, it is always for a perfectly legitimate reason.  Here are some of the instances when I bark (and the reasons why my barking in each scenario is completely justified):

• A dog passes by my house:  I'm simply extending a friendly "hello" to the passerby; to say nothing would be impolite.
• A person walks by my house:  See previous reasoning.
• A squirrel walks by my house:  I'm sounding an alarm to the rest of the block that a suspicious character with four legs and a bushy tail is wandering around the neighborhood.
• Someone slams their car door:

1. It is impolite to slam doors.
2. I call shotgun!

• I want my toy:  Tradition dictates that I get a special treat every night after dinner and to deny me my chewy bone or squeaker toy because I a) am obsessed with ripping it apart, or b) have already ripped it apart the previous night and am unaware that it has been thrown out, is cruel.
• My toy just rolled out of reach:  It is exceedingly upsetting when one of my toys rolls a full foot away from my mouth.
• I want to go out:  Because I haven't yet figured out how to open the door by myself.  And yes, the first time I go out is to do business, but every hour after that is to make sure that the squirrels haven't taken over my yard.
• Good morning!:  It is polite to greet the morning (and the world) by going outside and issuing a hearty "hello" bark, regardless of the time. 
•  Good evening!:  It is equally polite to end the day by going outside and barking a clear, crisp "goodnight" to the world, regardless of the time.
• I see crumbs on the table:  

1. One human's trash is another dog's treasure:  You don't want the crumbs and I haven't eaten a thing in like twenty minutes!  It's a win/win for everyone!
2. Tidiness:  Me vacuuming up your crumbs helps to keep your house neat.  You're welcome.

• I just ate my breakfast/dinner:  I'm howling my complements to the chef.
• There might be something there:  As the Head of Security, I take "see something say something" so seriously that I am almost legally obligated to draw attention to all potential threats (even if those threats prove to be less than threatening or completely non-existent).

Now, I think that my list speaks for itself (that I don't bark too often and that when I do open my mouth it is for a perfectly good reason), but in case some of my loyal readers find themselves siding with my family (it's okay...I'm not insulted...not one little bit), I'd like to mention that, statistically, I spend way more time eating, looking for trouble, and sleeping than I do barking.  But does my family call me a "Sleepy Boy?"  No.  They call me a "Barky Boy."

The Open Gate

For a brief second last weekend, I thought that my family had had enough of my high jinks and mischievous ways. I thought, perhaps, that I had shredded a few too many shirts (but I so love ripping buttons off of dress shirts), woke up a few too many people a few too many times with my 3AM snout rubbing, digging, and yodeling sessions, or had ripped up a few too many pieces of (important) paperwork.

How did I come to this conclusion?  Last Friday night and Saturday morning, while I was checking the perimeters of my backyard out east, I discovered that the side gate had been left wide open.

Being the good boy that I am, I was not tempted by the sweet smell of freedom beckoning me into the wilderness (of course, the knowledge that that very same wilderness contained scary things like deer, beach ball sized chickens, and fish that fall from the sky might have played a part in my decision).  Instead, I merely stuck to my normal routine of sniffing all my trees and pining for the squeaky toy that the dog next door tauntingly leaves right next to the fence.  But despite my calm cool demeanor, the seeds of concern had been firmly planted in my mind.  Was my family tempting me to leave?

When Pa came outside to see what I was up to, he was shocked.  He closed the gate then told me that I was a very good boy for not running away.  Then he told Ma and Sister about what a good boy I was. After some discussion, my family came to the conclusion that the landscapers must have accidentally left the gate open the last time they were there.

I'll admit that I felt better after seeing my family's reaction and hearing their explanation, however, try as I might, I just couldn't shake the concern I felt about whether or not the gate had been left open intentionally.  After mulling the situation over again and again, I decided that the only way I could put my mind at ease was by making a break for it and observing whether or not someone tried to stop me.

But, as I mentioned earlier, eastern Long Island with its rampaging deer, chickens, and fish is not the place for such shenanigans.  I needed to wait until I got home where the only things roaming the neighborhood are pushy bunnies, stupid squirrels, and tail jettisoning lizards.  And that's what I did.  On Sunday, when Ma, Pa, and Sister were emptying out their cars, I seized the opportunity and slipped past the front gate.

I won't lie, the feeling of freedom was exhilarating; so much so that, while I had only intended to roam around the front yard, I found myself becoming overwhelmed and started running around in tight circles, kicking up grass as I went.  I was free!

But despite the distraction of the wind whistling through my fur, I was able to make out the comforting sound of Ma, Pa, and Sister all calling out my name, telling me to come.  Eventually, Sister managed to corral me (she tempted me over to her by opening the car door knowing I can't resist the promise of a car ride), Pa hooked his belt to my collar like a leash, and we all walked calmly back into the yard.

That afternoon, I slept easy knowing that the gate out east had only been left open accidentally and that it was not a sign that my family had had enough of my shredding, ripping, and 3AM snout rubbing, digging, and yodeling sessions.  A few hours later, bright eyed and bushy tailed, I resumed my mischievous ways.

The Tie

For years, the squirrels and I have been engaged in a competition of sorts.  The squirrels want nothing more than to take over my backyard.  My goal is to thwart their plans whenever possible.  Most times, I am triumphant; over the years I have managed to successfully shoo squirrels up nearby trees, chase them up and down the fence, and frighten them out of nearby yards with my bark (one can never be too careful when dealing with obnoxious little interlopers with big, bushy tails).  Sometimes, however--and I'm kind of embarrassed to say this--the squirrels win.

What follows are two Rigby v. Squirrel events which happened over this past week.  The first involves me besting a squirrel.  The second involves me...well...not besting a squirrel.

Story #1:

On Wednesday, I was sniffing around in the backyard, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I noticed a squirrel standing by the cherry tree.  In its mouth was a large, half eaten peach.  Now, as I've blogged about in the past, when it comes to peaches, the squirrels and I have a bit of an understanding: they steal peaches from the tree next door, they eat their fill of the peach, they drop the leftovers into my yard from the big oak tree, and I either eat the fruit myself or trade it in for a cookie from Ma.  Notice how I said "they drop the leftovers into my yard from the big oak tree."  I did not say that they were allowed to actually eat the peach while sitting in my yard.

Given the situation, I did the only thing a self respecting, devilishly handsome, pup could do:  I took off after the squirrel.

The squirrel quickly retreated up the cherry tree, but in his haste, he dropped the peach.  I gave two warning barks up the tree at him, then quickly scooped up the abandoned peach and, because Sister didn't have anything to trade for it, ate it.  It was delicious.

Armrest?  No.  Chinrest?  Yes!

Rigby 1...Squirrel 0.

Completely satisfied by my triumph, I followed Sister back into the house and took a nap on the couch (what can I say, I'm a rebel!).

But the triumph I felt was short lived.  The next day, Thursday, the squirrel population got back at me.

Story #2

I was hanging outside with Sister in the backyard when all of a sudden I caught a whiff of something on the air; a strong smell wafting from just around the corner of the house.  Curious, I got up from my nice sunny spot at Sister's feet (I love soaking up the sun and, because Sister occasionally brings food outside with her, it's always prudent to stay close to her in order to catch any crumbs she might drop) and made my way around the corner to investigate.

At first I noticed nothing out of the ordinary.  From where I stood I could see the front gate, the side door, the flowers where the lizards hide, and Pa's barbecue grill--nothing special.  But then I got a good whiff of the scent and realized that it was a squirrel and that the squirrel was hiding under Pa's grill.

I charged the grill and started circling it (which was quite difficult at first because the grill was butted up against the side of the house and it required some brute strength on my part to move it with my head).  Every once in a while I stopped circling, stuffed my snout between the grill and the cement driveway, and stretched my paw up and under the grill in an attempt to grab hold of the furry little squirrel.  Each time, however, I failed.

It was the scratching of my nails on the driveway coupled with the snuffling noises that alerted Sister that I was either in trouble or up to no good (she has such little faith in me).  She cautiously rounded the corner just as the squirrel, unbeknownst to me, shot out from under the grill, scurried through the backyard, and reached the safety of the big oak tree.

Sister tried to explain to me that the squirrel was gone, that it had run away, but I was too preoccupied by the lingering smell to notice.

Rigby 1...Squirrel 1.

Security Breach

This was a really bad weekend.  First, Ma and Pa snuck out of the house on Friday night and went out east (where there's central air) without me (they thought sneaking out without their bags and all the paraphernalia they usually transport would fool me...well, it didn't).  Then, to add insult to injury, on Saturday it cracked 90 degrees (which really stinks when you're born with a heavy, though gorgeous, fur coat).

Me and My New Toy!

But I have the best Sister in the world.  She realized how upset I was and tried to make me feel better by letting me nap in the air conditioned comfort of her bedroom, setting up the doggy pool in the back yard, and finally, buying me a new toy (all of which kind of makes me feel bad for waking her up at 7:10 on Saturday morning).  But despite feeling better, these acts of kindness on Sister's part did not take away the sting of Ma and Pa going out east without me.

And speaking of out east, last weekend I discovered a major security breach.

As my loyal readers know, I am the king of security.  I bark when I hear a car door slam, I bark when someone walks by my house, I bark when a neighbor talks too loud, and I bark when I image any of the aforementioned scenarios.  But for some reason, despite playing, drooling, and mooching food off of a guest the night before, when they emerged from the guest room the following morning, I was completely, 100%, do-a-double-take, caught off guard by their sudden appearance.

I know what you're thinking:  "How can you lose track of who is staying in your own house?"  The answer's simple:  I've got a lot on my mind.  Consider the fact that on a normal day I must think about my next meal, who/what I should bark at, and which toy I should rip up next.  And the fact that these security breaches have only occurred out east further proves my point.  Out there I also have to think about interlopers such as bunnies, deer, turtles, and fish falling from the sky.

With all that on my mind, no wonder some odds and ends (and people) slip through!