I've Got Mail!

It's obvious that I'm quite advanced when it comes to electronic devices.  After all, I maintain this blog (without any thumbs and missing one dew claw), I fully understand the importance of air conditioning (air conditioning makes wearing a fur coat during the summer slightly more comfortable), and I look up with concern every time Pa's cell phone buzzes (it annoys me because it usually wakes me up from a dead sleep).  But did you know that I can also order things online?  You see, early on I learned that those little plastic rectangles people carry around with them in their wallets aren't just chew toys.  They buy chew toys!

So my latest package arrived a couple of days ago and as soon as Ma carried it into the house, I recognized it as my own.  There was just one problem:  I had no way of getting into the box and my family was too preoccupied making their own dinners to lend me a thumb (truth be told, I could easily have ripped my way into the box, but for some reason my family frowns on this behavior).  So what did I do?  Plan B.  I made a nuisance of myself; I spent all of dinner barking at the box.

Finally, after somehow managing to endure an entire meal of me barking, Pa got up and brought my box into the dining room and started opening it.  Overcome with excitement, I reared up on my hind legs, rested my front paws on the table (a definite no-no), and attempted to jam my snout under the loosening flaps.  Once I determined that my "assistance" was proving less than helpful (a phenomenon that occurs very rarely), I dropped back down to the floor and patiently waited for Pa to finish opening the box. I knew based on Pa's reaction to the contents that I had chosen wisely.

The box was packed full of squeaky tennis balls and chewy Nylabones!

Me and My Squeaky Toy

With the box now open, I once again reared up on my hind legs and put my front paws on the table.  And do you know what Pa did?  He laughed and gave me one of the squeaky tennis balls!  With the tennis ball clenched firmly in my mouth, I scurried into the living room and plopped down on my pillow for an evening of noise-making.  And oh boy was there noise!  There was loud squeaking coming from the tennis ball.  There was loud howling coming from me each time the ball rolled out of reach.  And there were loud and exasperated comments coming from my family as they repeatedly informed me that the ball was literally inches away from my mouth and that if I just got up and got it I wouldn't have to lie on my side howling piteously (I love my family, but sometimes they just don't understand me).

I will admit that a couple of times during the evening I left my squeaky ball behind (usually with a large concave dent in the side of it) to check to see if someone had happened to put my box full of toys on the floor so that I could help myself to a few more items, but alas, the box remained out of reach on the kitchen table.  But did I become depressed?  No.  I simply scooted back into the living room and returned to my dented (but still squeaky) tennis ball.

The Puppy Files: The Fourth of July

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.

Technically speaking, my very first Fourth of July occurred when I was just one month old and, to tell you the truth, I really don't remember it.  You see, at that point in my life, my days were completely and utterly occupied with two tasks: Eating and finding a nice cozy place to sleep in the huddled furry mass known as my brothers and sisters.  As you can see, I didn't have time to consider the outside world.

So, the first time that I fully got to experience the Fourth of July was when I was just over a year old and living with my two legged family.  Now, I'd like to take a moment to clarify that while I was still just as obsessed with eating and sleeping as I was for my first Fourth of July, by the time I was one year old I had matured enough to add additional hobbies to my repertoire such as digging holes, watching airplanes fly by overhead, and perfecting my bad attitude.  Anyway, at first, everything seemed relatively normal:  It was Sunday, it was summer, and my family had spent the day preparing (and then eating) an outdoor barbecue.  I, on the other paw, had spent the day mooching food, gnawing on people's hands, and staring forlornly up at the unplugged air conditioner sitting in Ma and Pa's bedroom window.  It wasn't until evening that things became odd.

At 9PM, despite the fact that it was dark outside and way past my bedtime, my family suddenly declared that we should all go outside and sit on the front porch.  I thought this was very suspicious.  You see, even today, my family and I don't really spend that much time sitting out on the front porch.  My family says that it has something to do with the fact that I bark at everything I see and that I'd disturb the neighbors.  I, however, believe it's because they are collectively too lazy to carry the lawn chairs out from the backyard to the front.  Anyway, Pa lassoed me with my leash and he and Sister took me outside.  Ma hung back for a little while, stopping off in the kitchen before joining us on the porch.

When we were all gathered on the porch, Ma sat down on the concrete and called me to her side.  With my mouth open, I made a bee-line for her wrist, but she managed to circumvent my mouth and finagle me into a sitting position next to her.

Then we waited.

At first, I had no idea what we were waiting for, but then, all of a sudden, I saw a burst of light and heard a loud boom.  I looked over to Ma with an inquisitive look (you know the one...ears square, mouth closed, and eyes wide) and discovered that she was offering me a chunk of carrot.  I didn't really know why I was being given a carrot, but because I'm not one to turn down food, I ate it immediately.

A few seconds later there was another flash of light and another loud boom.  This time, I watched as the sparkling light from the nearby firework showered back down to Earth.  Then I turned and collected another chunk of carrot from Ma.  This went on for close to an hour; I'd watch the firework explode in the sky and then turn to Ma to collect my treat.  By the end of the evening, I had admired dozens of explosions and eaten my weight in carrots.

Now, I'm sure that if I wasn't, at the time, such a rotten little puppy, I would have come up with a way to inform Ma that I wasn't afraid of the fireworks and therefore did not need to be distracted by crunchy vegetables.  But I was a rotten puppy (and rather proud of it) and a big fan of carrots so I kept my mouth shut.

Sadly, my indifference to the fireworks meant that this carrot buffet would not be repeated in years to come.  Was I disappointed?  Very.