Merry Christmas to my friends, family, and loyal readers!
Love, Rigby
*<[:{)
Monday, December 25, 2017
Friday, December 15, 2017
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Not My Finest Moment
In writing the memoir that is this blog, I have come to understand that not only must I report all the good and ego-boosting things that occur in my life, but I must also record the less than flattering events as well. So, here it goes.
My loyal readers know that my Sister is a fan of hamsters. She's had quite a few over the years, but right now she has a mother-son duo named Mittens and Neville. By and large, the hamsters and I have a relationship in which we ignore each other. Sure, there are hiccups (like when Ma let Neville climb on my back), but for the most part, we have our separate lives and don't interact.
Last Friday, however, our worlds collided and it wasn't pretty.
Ma and Sister were in the back room (formerly known as the Land of No) cleaning the cages while Mittens and Neville ran around the room in their clear plastic hamster balls. Usually, I ignore the seemingly self-propelling balls--after all, I've never been interested in chasing balls--but on this particular day, I felt curious and pushed my way into the room to investigate.
At first, I serenely watched as the two hamsters ran back and forth across the room. They seemed content enough, bouncing off the walls and racing from one corner of the room to the other. But then, it happened. One hamster, Mittens, made a sudden right turn and began to charge me.
Horrified, I tried backing out of the room, but found myself stymied by the combination of hard wood floor and furry feet. As I slipped and skidded in place, the hamster charging me suddenly veered off and away. Relieved, I focused on getting my legs back under me. Secure with my footing, I looked up and, to my horror, I discovered that Neville was now charging me.
Once again, my feet started slipping and skidding out from under me, but somehow, don't ask me how, I manage to propel myself backward and out of the room where I was protected by the door saddle which is apparently next to insurmountable via hamster ball.
Needless to say, it's going to be a long time before I live down the events of that evening
 |
| Neville |
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| Mittens |
Last Friday, however, our worlds collided and it wasn't pretty.
Ma and Sister were in the back room (formerly known as the Land of No) cleaning the cages while Mittens and Neville ran around the room in their clear plastic hamster balls. Usually, I ignore the seemingly self-propelling balls--after all, I've never been interested in chasing balls--but on this particular day, I felt curious and pushed my way into the room to investigate.
At first, I serenely watched as the two hamsters ran back and forth across the room. They seemed content enough, bouncing off the walls and racing from one corner of the room to the other. But then, it happened. One hamster, Mittens, made a sudden right turn and began to charge me.
Horrified, I tried backing out of the room, but found myself stymied by the combination of hard wood floor and furry feet. As I slipped and skidded in place, the hamster charging me suddenly veered off and away. Relieved, I focused on getting my legs back under me. Secure with my footing, I looked up and, to my horror, I discovered that Neville was now charging me.
Once again, my feet started slipping and skidding out from under me, but somehow, don't ask me how, I manage to propel myself backward and out of the room where I was protected by the door saddle which is apparently next to insurmountable via hamster ball.
Needless to say, it's going to be a long time before I live down the events of that evening
Thursday, November 23, 2017
Thanksgiving 2017
Happy Thanksgiving
to all my friends, family, and readers!
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| Hey, at least Sister only made me wear an embarrassing headband, unlike at Halloween. |
Monday, November 20, 2017
Salty Dog
 |
| A Salty Dog |
So what marathon of activity have I been up to? Allow me to describe one recent Saturday.
 |
| Ma |
A little while later, Sister joined us armed with a handsaw. Now people may not be aware of this, but either Sister was destined to be a tree trimmer or she has some not so hidden anger issues because she absolutely loves cutting down branches. I can't tell you how many times I've seen her come home from work and, still dressed in her work clothes and heels, grab a handsaw and cut down a low hanging or dead branch from the cherry tree in the backyard. So anyway, Sister made her way over to the big branch and started sawing away at it. From my point of view, Sister seemed to be having a lot of fun, so I decided to join in. I grabbed hold of one of the lesser branches and started pulling. Before long, Sister and I had a genuine game of tug of war going--me grabbing branch after branch and tugging and Sister trying not to cut her arm off with the handsaw as she continued with the task at hand. Oh, it was great fun.
Once Sister finally managed to cut off the first piece, I scurried over, picked up the one-foot branch, and hot-footed away for a rousing game of keep away with Ma and Pa (in many ways, it looked as though I was trying to club someone in the kneecap what with me running around with a giant tree branch hanging out of the side of my mouth). And oh boy was I in rare form that day. Ma and Pa had no chance of catching up to me...unless...I got too excited and was overcome with a case of the zoomies.
For those unaware, as Sister and I were as of a couple of weeks ago, zoomies or Frenetic Random Activity Periods (FRAP) are bursts of energy in which a dog suddenly starts racing around in circles with a wild and crazy glint in his eye.
Yep, that's right, I suddenly became overcome with an urge to run. And run I did--between the trees, up and down the stairs, and to and from the fence where Bruno, the Boxer puppy next door, watched with a mixture of excitement and puzzlement.
Now normally, tug of war, keep away, and a case of the zoomies would have left me totally exhausted, but not this time. Nope, I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed and more than happy to entertain Sister's next bright idea: go to the beach.
The beach is a short drive from my house and I spent those minutes pacing in the back seat of the car, huffing in Sister's ear as she drove, and drooling on her shoulder. As we drove, Sister explained to me that I wasn't going to be allowed to play in the water because it was too cold out and that I would be subjected to a bath upon my return if I did. It didn't matter though. There was no way I was going into the water. Despite my heritage, I am not fond of swimming.
 |
| Taking in the View |
 |
| Not A Clean Leap |
About a half hour later, Sister and I walked back to the car and drove home. Once there, I jumped out and barreled (yes barreled...I still had energy to spare) down the stairs and into the backyard to tell Ma and Pa (who were still picking up sticks) about all the fun I had had.
 |
| Out Cold |
I guess this goes to show I'll always be a sprinter.
Tuesday, October 31, 2017
Happy Halloween!
Happy Halloween to all my friends and please think of me while I defend my house from candy hungry marauding gangs of witches, princesses, firemen, kittens, and Freddy Kruegers wearing the Halloween costume Sister bought me. Needless to say, I will never complain about having to wear a headband, hat, or tie for my holiday picture ever again.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Soaking Wet
"You wanna go for a walk?"
Those were the fateful words which resulted in Sister and me wading through a number of raging rivers, getting a very public soap-less bath, and realizing that we had been very much betrayed by our own father.
It was Saturday afternoon and Sister had decided that I looked a little too comfortable snoozing in the back room and declared that it was time for a walk. At the mention of the word "walk," I jumped up from my prone state and scurried to the door. You see, despite those long treks I was taken on as a puppy designed specifically to tire me out and drive away the devil lurking within me, I'd actually come to rather enjoy walks in the years since provided, of course, I get to sniff every single tree, fire hydrant, fence post, bush, and telephone pole in a ten-foot radius, it isn't too hot or too sunny out, and route isn't too long. Anyway, on went my leash, Sister grabbed a handful of cookies (a reward for me for after the walk and a spare just in case we meet a friend along the way), and out the door we rushed.
Our walk started like any other--we always walk two blocks north, turn left, then walk three blocks west to the park. For the first two blocks, everything was normal. But after turning left and walking a block west, it started to drizzle lightly. This didn't faze us though, because we could see blue skies peeking out through the clouds directly over the park. On we continued.
Two blocks later, as we reached the park, the rain went from a drizzle to a steady shower. Sister wanted to seek shelter under a nearby tree, but I insisted on sniffing a telephone pole first. As I sniffed and Sister tugged at my leash, the rain started falling harder. Eventually, she managed to drag me to the tree line, but, just as Sister had misjudged the severity of the storm, she had also misjudged the amount of coverage that the trees would provide. Basically, there was no coverage. This seemed to bother Sister, but not me. Instead, I shook then proceeded to drag Sister up and down the length of the park, eventually pausing to do business.
After cleaning up, Sister contemplated our options. As far as she could see, there were only two; we could either hurry home as fast as we could through the pouring rain or run half a block further to the baseball diamond that had a sheltered dugout. Sister decided that we should try to make our way to the dugout.
But first we had to cross the street. Hoping not to slip out of her sandals in the process, Sister secured her grip on my leash, warned me that we were going to walk in a "controlled manner," and took a step out into the middle of the street. I'm proud to report that Sister managed to stay upright on her feet while we crossed the river that was presently forming in the middle of the street. I'm also proud to say that I splashed my way through each and every puddle that crossed my path (and thereby splashed Sister through as well).
When we reached the opposite curb and Sister noticed the flooded out and muddy outfield separating us and the dry dugout, she stopped, crouched down in the pouring rain, and started laughing uncontrollably. "Well," Sister said to me, water dripping down her face, "we're already soaked--maybe we should just head home. Besides, if Pa comes by looking for us he won't see us in the dugout." I wagged my tail; I was having fun in the rain and now I could look forward to a car ride.
Straightening herself out and gripping onto the fence for support, Sister told me to "heel" and we started home. Through ankle deep puddles, water rushing toward storm drains, and rain dripping in our eyes, Sister and I waded toward home. Every time a car approached us, we looked up hopefully, expecting Pa to come to our rescue. And every time the car drove past us, we sadly lowered our eyes and continued walking. This continued for all five blocks
Eventually, Sister and I made it home--completely soaked to the bone.
Sister and I stormed (or was it sloshed?) into the house just as Pa came rushing around the corner from the living room to the kitchen. "Tell me you were just coming to get us," Sister calmly said, water dripping on the floor. Pa stammered incoherently. "Then why didn't you come get us?" Sister shouted (I shook, spraying water across the length of the kitchen to emphasize her point).
If there was a prize for bad excuses, Pa would have won it on his first two attempts at explaining himself. First, he said that he had been busy closing all the windows in the house and didn't have time to get Sister and me. Sister and I didn't buy it. Then he said that he would have come to get us, but he had no way of knowing where we could have been. Sister and I stared at him. We always go the same route! Finally, Pa said that he would have come to get us, but then the car would have gotten wet. Ding, ding, ding...we have a winner!
Pa toweled me off and Sister stalked off to change her clothes. Her hair and my fur, both having been soaked through, remained wet for hours. Twenty-four hours later, Sister's clothing was still vaguely damp and her shoes were still dripping water. Sister's anger hadn't decreased either.
Of course, looking back on the whole event and despite all the fun I had splashing through the puddles, I am very much hurt by Pa's abandonment that afternoon. I would have fully expected Pa to make Sister walk home in the pouring rain, but not me. I'm his buddy, his pal, his son, his favorite. He should have come to my rescue.
Those were the fateful words which resulted in Sister and me wading through a number of raging rivers, getting a very public soap-less bath, and realizing that we had been very much betrayed by our own father.
It was Saturday afternoon and Sister had decided that I looked a little too comfortable snoozing in the back room and declared that it was time for a walk. At the mention of the word "walk," I jumped up from my prone state and scurried to the door. You see, despite those long treks I was taken on as a puppy designed specifically to tire me out and drive away the devil lurking within me, I'd actually come to rather enjoy walks in the years since provided, of course, I get to sniff every single tree, fire hydrant, fence post, bush, and telephone pole in a ten-foot radius, it isn't too hot or too sunny out, and route isn't too long. Anyway, on went my leash, Sister grabbed a handful of cookies (a reward for me for after the walk and a spare just in case we meet a friend along the way), and out the door we rushed.
Our walk started like any other--we always walk two blocks north, turn left, then walk three blocks west to the park. For the first two blocks, everything was normal. But after turning left and walking a block west, it started to drizzle lightly. This didn't faze us though, because we could see blue skies peeking out through the clouds directly over the park. On we continued.
Two blocks later, as we reached the park, the rain went from a drizzle to a steady shower. Sister wanted to seek shelter under a nearby tree, but I insisted on sniffing a telephone pole first. As I sniffed and Sister tugged at my leash, the rain started falling harder. Eventually, she managed to drag me to the tree line, but, just as Sister had misjudged the severity of the storm, she had also misjudged the amount of coverage that the trees would provide. Basically, there was no coverage. This seemed to bother Sister, but not me. Instead, I shook then proceeded to drag Sister up and down the length of the park, eventually pausing to do business.
After cleaning up, Sister contemplated our options. As far as she could see, there were only two; we could either hurry home as fast as we could through the pouring rain or run half a block further to the baseball diamond that had a sheltered dugout. Sister decided that we should try to make our way to the dugout.
But first we had to cross the street. Hoping not to slip out of her sandals in the process, Sister secured her grip on my leash, warned me that we were going to walk in a "controlled manner," and took a step out into the middle of the street. I'm proud to report that Sister managed to stay upright on her feet while we crossed the river that was presently forming in the middle of the street. I'm also proud to say that I splashed my way through each and every puddle that crossed my path (and thereby splashed Sister through as well).
When we reached the opposite curb and Sister noticed the flooded out and muddy outfield separating us and the dry dugout, she stopped, crouched down in the pouring rain, and started laughing uncontrollably. "Well," Sister said to me, water dripping down her face, "we're already soaked--maybe we should just head home. Besides, if Pa comes by looking for us he won't see us in the dugout." I wagged my tail; I was having fun in the rain and now I could look forward to a car ride.
Straightening herself out and gripping onto the fence for support, Sister told me to "heel" and we started home. Through ankle deep puddles, water rushing toward storm drains, and rain dripping in our eyes, Sister and I waded toward home. Every time a car approached us, we looked up hopefully, expecting Pa to come to our rescue. And every time the car drove past us, we sadly lowered our eyes and continued walking. This continued for all five blocks
Eventually, Sister and I made it home--completely soaked to the bone.
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| Two Drowned Rats |
If there was a prize for bad excuses, Pa would have won it on his first two attempts at explaining himself. First, he said that he had been busy closing all the windows in the house and didn't have time to get Sister and me. Sister and I didn't buy it. Then he said that he would have come to get us, but he had no way of knowing where we could have been. Sister and I stared at him. We always go the same route! Finally, Pa said that he would have come to get us, but then the car would have gotten wet. Ding, ding, ding...we have a winner!
Pa toweled me off and Sister stalked off to change her clothes. Her hair and my fur, both having been soaked through, remained wet for hours. Twenty-four hours later, Sister's clothing was still vaguely damp and her shoes were still dripping water. Sister's anger hadn't decreased either.
Of course, looking back on the whole event and despite all the fun I had splashing through the puddles, I am very much hurt by Pa's abandonment that afternoon. I would have fully expected Pa to make Sister walk home in the pouring rain, but not me. I'm his buddy, his pal, his son, his favorite. He should have come to my rescue.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Locked Out
It has been a rough few months for me. I have had to learn to adapt
to the fact that I won't have a daily mid-day visitor now that Sister no
longer works in town and can't come home for lunch. Sure, I get a lot
of uninterrupted naps now and I did score that air conditioner last
month to keep me cool in the summer months, but I must admit that I get a
little upset when I think about my family leaving me each morning. As a
result, I've become rather clingy in the morning and make every effort
to delay my family by sniffing every last tree, telephone pole, and fire
hydrant on my morning walks with Pa, demanding extended ear rubs from
Sister and, well, then there is my most recent tactic for delaying Ma.
Pa and Sister had already left for work, so I was home alone with Ma. I had been closely following her around the house for the last ten minutes or so and could sense that she was just about ready to leave as well. I didn't want this to happen, so I came up with a sure-fire way of delaying her. As Ma tried to leave the house, I pushed by her and scurried out the door before she could stop me. As I ran into the backyard, I heard Ma sigh and go back into the house to drop off her bags. She emerged a moment later with the intent of coaxing me back inside.
After much persuasion (including begging and promises of bribery), Ma convinced me to go back inside the house. Hungry for a treat, but disheartened all the same, I scurried back to the side door and waited patiently for Ma to open it for me. She grasped the handle and pushed down on the lever.
Only, it didn't budge; the storm door had locked itself when it slammed shut behind her.
Ma tried the door a couple of more times, but to no avail. Then she went to the front door with the vague hope of it having been left unlocked. Failure again. She thought about who had a key. In the past, Ma could have borrowed Sister's key by walking over to her job a few blocks away, but now she (and Pa for that matter) were too far away to reach by foot. And calling someone for help was out of the question too; Ma's cell phone was locked inside the house as well.
Truth be told, I was happy about this predicament. The way I saw it, Ma would have to stay home (or rather, just outside home) with me until Pa or Sister returned eight hours later. The bummer would be that all my snacks were inside, but I was willing to ignore my stomach for a fun filled afternoon with Ma. Happy, I offered Ma a tail wag. Annoyed, Ma swatted at a mosquito.
After a minute or so, Ma came up with a new course of action. She was going to have to break into the house. Around back she went with me right on her heals. Methodically, she began working on her bedroom window, cutting away a corner of the screen. When the hole was big enough and just as she was preparing to hoist her way up and through, Ma looked back into the yard to see what I was up to. She did not appreciate what she saw.
I had
decided to help the cause by digging a tunnel into the basement from
the backyard. Sure, the place I chose to started digging from was clear
across the yard from the house, but I had every intention of eventually
making my way toward the goal. Honest!
Anyway, like I said, Ma did not particularly appreciate my help (so ungrateful) and came running over to shoo me away from my hole (which was now quite deep). I wandered away long enough for her to return to the window and hoist her way half way through, but once her back was turned and her attention diverted, I returned to my hole.
Once inside, Ma unlocked the door. She then returned to the backyard, my leash in hand, only to discover me still furiously digging. When she pulled me out of my hole by my collar, I looked up at her with an innocent "oh, you got inside" look, but she wasn't fooled. Worse than not being fooled, she was also angry; she was late for work, there was a hole in the window screen, the garden was once again dug up, and I was covered in dirt. On went my leash and I was unceremoniously escorted back into the house.
Figuring that it was best to give Ma some space, I immediately scurried upstairs and out of sight. Anticipating trouble, however, Ma followed afterward to make sure I wasn't ripping up clothing or chewing on a pair of shoes. I was insulted by this lack of faith (she acts like I have a history or something), but decided it wasn't the best time to show my displeasure. Instead, I wagged my tail at her when she reached the head of the stairs then settled down for my nap.
Pa and Sister had already left for work, so I was home alone with Ma. I had been closely following her around the house for the last ten minutes or so and could sense that she was just about ready to leave as well. I didn't want this to happen, so I came up with a sure-fire way of delaying her. As Ma tried to leave the house, I pushed by her and scurried out the door before she could stop me. As I ran into the backyard, I heard Ma sigh and go back into the house to drop off her bags. She emerged a moment later with the intent of coaxing me back inside.
After much persuasion (including begging and promises of bribery), Ma convinced me to go back inside the house. Hungry for a treat, but disheartened all the same, I scurried back to the side door and waited patiently for Ma to open it for me. She grasped the handle and pushed down on the lever.
Only, it didn't budge; the storm door had locked itself when it slammed shut behind her.
Ma tried the door a couple of more times, but to no avail. Then she went to the front door with the vague hope of it having been left unlocked. Failure again. She thought about who had a key. In the past, Ma could have borrowed Sister's key by walking over to her job a few blocks away, but now she (and Pa for that matter) were too far away to reach by foot. And calling someone for help was out of the question too; Ma's cell phone was locked inside the house as well.
Truth be told, I was happy about this predicament. The way I saw it, Ma would have to stay home (or rather, just outside home) with me until Pa or Sister returned eight hours later. The bummer would be that all my snacks were inside, but I was willing to ignore my stomach for a fun filled afternoon with Ma. Happy, I offered Ma a tail wag. Annoyed, Ma swatted at a mosquito.
After a minute or so, Ma came up with a new course of action. She was going to have to break into the house. Around back she went with me right on her heals. Methodically, she began working on her bedroom window, cutting away a corner of the screen. When the hole was big enough and just as she was preparing to hoist her way up and through, Ma looked back into the yard to see what I was up to. She did not appreciate what she saw.
 |
| My Contribution to the Cause |
Anyway, like I said, Ma did not particularly appreciate my help (so ungrateful) and came running over to shoo me away from my hole (which was now quite deep). I wandered away long enough for her to return to the window and hoist her way half way through, but once her back was turned and her attention diverted, I returned to my hole.
Once inside, Ma unlocked the door. She then returned to the backyard, my leash in hand, only to discover me still furiously digging. When she pulled me out of my hole by my collar, I looked up at her with an innocent "oh, you got inside" look, but she wasn't fooled. Worse than not being fooled, she was also angry; she was late for work, there was a hole in the window screen, the garden was once again dug up, and I was covered in dirt. On went my leash and I was unceremoniously escorted back into the house.
Figuring that it was best to give Ma some space, I immediately scurried upstairs and out of sight. Anticipating trouble, however, Ma followed afterward to make sure I wasn't ripping up clothing or chewing on a pair of shoes. I was insulted by this lack of faith (she acts like I have a history or something), but decided it wasn't the best time to show my displeasure. Instead, I wagged my tail at her when she reached the head of the stairs then settled down for my nap.
Sunday, August 27, 2017
Feeling Sick, Seeking Comfort, Then Feeling Better
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| Hello! |
Because I have such a nice family, they always do their best to try to make me feel better during these bouts (and let me tell you, I am pretty miserable when I've got tummy troubles). For instance, either Ma or Pa camps out in the living room with me each night I feel ill to facilitate quick access to the outside door, Sister curls up on my pillow with me during the day and gently rubs my tummy while I snooze, and then there is the classic game of "No Mess In Here" which, as traumatizing as the occasional discovery of a "mess in here" is, is, I must admit, a rather enjoyable game.
Anyway, on Wednesday afternoon I came down with my latest bout of intestinal distress and as a result, I had to roust Pa at 4am on Thursday morning to visit the restroom. Neither Pa nor I was very happy about wandering around outside at that hour of the morning, but Pa was a good sport and did his best to comfort me while I did what I had to do.
Once I was done, Pa and I returned to the house. While Pa put away my leash and locked the door, I scurried back into the bedroom to continue sleeping. I didn't expect to sleep soundly though. You see, when I scurried back into the bedroom, I didn't simply settle down on my pillow or assume my normal spot blocking the doorway. No, I jumped up onto the bed, curled up in Pa's spot, and squeezed my eyes closed, hoping to fool him into believing I was alseep (you know, "let sleeping dogs lie"). I heard Pa walk into the bedroom and pause beside the bed. Expecting to be roused from my comfy spot, I immediately went limp knowing that the humans have trouble moving me when I'm dead weight. But Pa did something strange. He climbed into bed next to me. Having suddenly become aware that I was not going to be getting the heave-ho, I sighed and fell asleep.
 |
| Crushed Grass |
It's nice to feel better.
Thursday, August 24, 2017
Boys' Night Out
A couple of weeks ago, Pa and I got to do some quality father/son bonding out east. Sure, we were actually there because Pa had scheduled a repair man to fix a leak and Ma, Sister, and Aunt B would be joining us a few days later, but until then, we would have a couple of epic boys' nights out.
Here are some highlights from our adventures:
- Joint Investigation: The morning after he and I arrived out east, Pa accompanied me outside to do a thorough search of the backyard. Upon setting foot on the grass, I immediately realized that there had been an interloper in my yard. What it was, I wasn't sure (maybe a bear or a dinosaur or a giant antelope or maybe that stupid cat I cornered a few years ago), but I tracked whatever belong to the scent to the side door. And do you know what? Pa was right by my side the entire time; following me as I followed the smell (Pa's nose isn't as good as mine--not to mention, with him walking on two legs, his nose is way too far away from the scent covered ground to have any real success). He even helped me look for the interloper by searching behind the big bushes that flank the back door. Sadly, we didn't find anything.
- Deck Repair: While Pa pulled up damaged planks on our deck and replaced them with brand new ones, I helped by carrying around bits of wood and supervising (obviously). Pa said that I was especially helpful in that I refrained from falling through any of the holes he created. I found this a tad insulting, but for the sake of our boys only event, I let it go. I would have liked to carry around some of Pa's tools as well, but most were too heavy or awkwardly shaped for me to pick up (hey, you try picking up a miter saw with your mouth!).
- Breakfast: One morning, Pa went out to the local deli to buy breakfast. When he got home, he called me over and told me that he had a surprise for me. From his plate, he gave me what he called "deer sausage." Now, I'm certainly no expert on deer (I've only smelled them through the back fence after all), but I am a self-proclaimed connoisseur of food and I'm willing to bet that Pa's "deer sausage" was actually breakfast sausage. No matter, though. Breakfast or deer, sausage is sausage and I ate it happily.
- Bruno: Pa has set the precedent that every time he's around when Bruno (the Boxer pup next door) and I meet at the fence separating our properties he gives us a cookie as a reward for being such good boys. Well, needless to say Bruno and I agreed, early on, to play Pa for all the cookies we could and made sure to meet at the fence every chance we got. And do you know what? Pa fell for the plan nearly every time. I can't tell you how many cookies Bruno and I ate. Yum!
- Curfew: When Ma's around, she insists that I go out at 10pm for my last business trip. Now this might not sound horrible, except for the fact that I usually call it a night at 8pm. Think about how you would feel if you were unceremoniously woken up after two hours of sound sleep and forced outside in all types of weather to do business. Anyway, with Pa and I, there were no 10pm bathroom runs. I went out around 8pm then slept soundly until morning.
Monday, July 24, 2017
Christmas In July
I was born for air conditioning. I was made for lounging in a 69 degree room while the rest of the world sweltered in 90+ degree heat. Sadly, however, I was adopted by a family who had limited air conditioning potential in their home. Sure, I could lounge in the air conditioned bedroom at night when everyone was home and on really hot days the bedroom air conditioner would be turned on full tilt and all extraneous rooms closed off in a pitiful attempt to cool the house while my humans were at work, but other than that, I had to rely on marginally cool hardwood floors and the "rinse, roll in the mud, and repeat" technique associated with the doggy swimming pool.
That is, I had to make do until today. You see, Christmas came early for me in the form of a living room air conditioner.
From this day forward, whenever there is a sweltering heatwave, you will find me lounging on my end of the couch (conveniently located immediately next to the air conditioner) cool as a cucumber. All I can say is: It's about time!
 |
| More Mud! I Need More Mud! |
That is, I had to make do until today. You see, Christmas came early for me in the form of a living room air conditioner.
 |
| Gloriously Cool Air! |
From this day forward, whenever there is a sweltering heatwave, you will find me lounging on my end of the couch (conveniently located immediately next to the air conditioner) cool as a cucumber. All I can say is: It's about time!
 |
| Nice and Cool |
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
Bruno
I have to admit it. Bruno, the Boxer puppy who recently moved in next door, is a rather cool dude. Sure, I was a bit skeptical at first--remember when I was way more interested in playing with his squeaky toys than with him? --and I may have snickered a little that weekend he showed up at the fence wearing the cone of shame, but since then, he's grown up to be not only a good guy, but a great accomplice.
But before I describe our shenanigans, allow me first to describe how we got to be such good friends.
After our backyard play date a few months ago, the only interactions I had with Bruno were barking matches; we'd either stand face to face barking or we'd run up and down the fence barking. This troubled my family. We were very loud and there was a fear that one or both of us might get hurt while we chased each other up and down the fence (Bruno was running between bushes while I had to dodge trees and vole holes).
But then one day, Pa declared that he had had enough; he was going to end our barking and running for good. First, he waited for Bruno's barking howl. After confirming that Bruno was indeed barking from his usual spot at the fence and not screaming from inside the house, Pa opened the back door and released me into the yard. Goaded by the barking, I made a bee line for the fence shouting out my own comments and Bruno and I immediately started running up and down the fence in our customary fashion. All of a sudden, however, we both stopped dead in our tracks. Pa was standing by the fence and he had a handful of cookies in his hand.
Both Bruno and I scurried over to Pa. First, he made us sit (well, I, being a well-trained dog, sat...Bruno kind of bounced around in a puppy like fashion), then he alternated between feeding us cookies and scratching our heads.
And that was it. Pa had successfully established a pack--a food driven pack. Bruno and I haven't had a full out barking match since then. Sure, if Bruno calls from the fence and I'm inside, I'll bark out a hello, but now we are able to bunk noses through the fence without incident.
Which leads to our alliance.
Now that we're buds, Bruno and I work together to coerce cookies out of our humans. After all, two sets of sad brown eyes begging for a treat are harder to deny a cookie to than one pair. Our success rate depends on who we're working with. Pa is always good for a cookie while Sister is hit or miss. Ma, on the other paw, is much stingier.
We also cover for each other. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that there was a strange odor coming from the tall dense bushes underneath the dining room windows. Every time I went to investigate, however, I was shooed away by my humans who were always warning me about bugs, killer turtles, and the dangers of coming across that big fat cat that lives across the street. Needless to say, I was frustrated. How can I be Head of Security when I'm not allowed to do a thorough check of my own property? And that's when Bruno stepped in. One day, while Ma and I were hanging out in the backyard, Bruno approached the fence and gave Ma his cutest puppy-dog look. Unable to resist, Ma was drawn to him and began showering him with attention. That's when I made my move. Across the yard I scurried, making a bee line for the dense bushes. Before I plunged in, I looked back toward Ma. She was still petting Bruno. This was my chance. With my nose furiously sniffing, I rushed headlong into the bushes.
By the time Ma realized that she had been duped, the only part of me that was visible from outside the bushes was my wagging tail. Shouting my name, Ma rushed over, grabbed me by my collar, and dragged me out of the bushes.
I never did find out what it was that I smelled, but I did get to sniff through some smelly decomposing leaves which was nice. As Ma escorted me back in the house, I looked toward Bruno and wagged my tail in thanks.
But before I describe our shenanigans, allow me first to describe how we got to be such good friends.
After our backyard play date a few months ago, the only interactions I had with Bruno were barking matches; we'd either stand face to face barking or we'd run up and down the fence barking. This troubled my family. We were very loud and there was a fear that one or both of us might get hurt while we chased each other up and down the fence (Bruno was running between bushes while I had to dodge trees and vole holes).
But then one day, Pa declared that he had had enough; he was going to end our barking and running for good. First, he waited for Bruno's barking howl. After confirming that Bruno was indeed barking from his usual spot at the fence and not screaming from inside the house, Pa opened the back door and released me into the yard. Goaded by the barking, I made a bee line for the fence shouting out my own comments and Bruno and I immediately started running up and down the fence in our customary fashion. All of a sudden, however, we both stopped dead in our tracks. Pa was standing by the fence and he had a handful of cookies in his hand.
Both Bruno and I scurried over to Pa. First, he made us sit (well, I, being a well-trained dog, sat...Bruno kind of bounced around in a puppy like fashion), then he alternated between feeding us cookies and scratching our heads.
And that was it. Pa had successfully established a pack--a food driven pack. Bruno and I haven't had a full out barking match since then. Sure, if Bruno calls from the fence and I'm inside, I'll bark out a hello, but now we are able to bunk noses through the fence without incident.
Which leads to our alliance.
Now that we're buds, Bruno and I work together to coerce cookies out of our humans. After all, two sets of sad brown eyes begging for a treat are harder to deny a cookie to than one pair. Our success rate depends on who we're working with. Pa is always good for a cookie while Sister is hit or miss. Ma, on the other paw, is much stingier.
We also cover for each other. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that there was a strange odor coming from the tall dense bushes underneath the dining room windows. Every time I went to investigate, however, I was shooed away by my humans who were always warning me about bugs, killer turtles, and the dangers of coming across that big fat cat that lives across the street. Needless to say, I was frustrated. How can I be Head of Security when I'm not allowed to do a thorough check of my own property? And that's when Bruno stepped in. One day, while Ma and I were hanging out in the backyard, Bruno approached the fence and gave Ma his cutest puppy-dog look. Unable to resist, Ma was drawn to him and began showering him with attention. That's when I made my move. Across the yard I scurried, making a bee line for the dense bushes. Before I plunged in, I looked back toward Ma. She was still petting Bruno. This was my chance. With my nose furiously sniffing, I rushed headlong into the bushes.
By the time Ma realized that she had been duped, the only part of me that was visible from outside the bushes was my wagging tail. Shouting my name, Ma rushed over, grabbed me by my collar, and dragged me out of the bushes.
I never did find out what it was that I smelled, but I did get to sniff through some smelly decomposing leaves which was nice. As Ma escorted me back in the house, I looked toward Bruno and wagged my tail in thanks.
Monday, June 5, 2017
When the Dog's Away...
Last weekend, I spend a couple of stress-free days out east. I barked at Bruno (the Boxer puppy next door), searched for deer, and lounged for hours on my deck (a favorite activity of mine).
But while I relaxed, something dreadful, appalling, disgusting, and shocking was happening at home. You see, Sister woke up on Sunday morning to find this just outside the door:
Revolting, isn't it? A large orange cat brazenly drinking from a birdbath located in my back yard. Talk about gall! I mean, I barely tolerate the birds drinking from that fountain!
What is this world coming to?
But while I relaxed, something dreadful, appalling, disgusting, and shocking was happening at home. You see, Sister woke up on Sunday morning to find this just outside the door:
Revolting, isn't it? A large orange cat brazenly drinking from a birdbath located in my back yard. Talk about gall! I mean, I barely tolerate the birds drinking from that fountain!
What is this world coming to?
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Birthday Boy
Happy birthday to me!
Today is my 8th birthday. Hard to believe, right? Who would have thought that that nasty little puppy with a bad attitude would grow up to be such a handsome, fun loving, talented, loyal, and patient (as evident by my willingness to undergo yet another embarrassing photo-shoot) dog?
I can't wait to see what fun this day (and year) will bring!
Friday, May 26, 2017
Evolution
In the beginning, I slept on the cold, hard floor.
That is until I discovered my pillow which was much softer.
Then I discovered the comforts of the human bed.
Always looking for a better option, I tried out a hammock, but I don't think I was using it right.
And I tried Pa's chair, but I didn't have enough room to stretch out (plus he kept kicking me off).
So, I moved on to the couch (even though it was against the rules).
After months of negotiations, a compromise was made. I could sleep on the couch, provided a sheet was put down to protect the upholstery (I was insulted, but I got over it quickly). Ma would share the couch with me. I had my end and she had her's.
But then one day, my end of the couch seemed a little less fluffy. Kind of like the cushion was overused. Taking into account all my previous experiments, I decided that there was only one logical thing to do: I moved over to Ma's end of the couch.
It was much fluffier.
Friday, May 5, 2017
For Want of a Pocket
Humans take pockets for granted. Think about it. Whenever you want to temporarily free up your hands, you don't have to put down your property fearful that some other pup or human will swipe it. No, you can just slip whatever you have in your pocket and continue on without a second thought.
Not me though. No, I always have to be vigilant, ever concerned, that someone might swipe my toy when my attention is diverted. That is, I used to be. I recently discovered a technique which allows me to keep an eye on a possession while going about my day, specifically, getting a drink of water.
It happened a couple of days ago. Sister had just come home from work and was showering me with all the ear rubs and neck scratches I wanted (Sister recently started a new job in a town far enough away that she isn't able to come home at lunch time to rub my ears. As a result, she must provide me with an entire day's worth of attention as soon as she gets home). In my mouth was my orange bally-ball, a toy Sister bought me at a store near her new job that I absolutely adore (I have actually delayed going to sleep at night in order to keep playing with it).
Anyway, I was hanging with Sister and my orange bally-ball when, out of the blue, I suddenly felt very thirsty. Bally-ball still clenched firmly in my mouth, I hot footed my way over to my water bowl and looked in. Staring up at me was my reflection--handsome as ever and obviously just as obsessed with the orange bally-ball as me. But there was something else in that face, a sort of smugness. It took me a minute to fully comprehend, but I eventually realized that that smugness was my reflection asking "so, how you gonna get a drink of water with that bally-ball in your mouth?"
Panic set in. If I held onto my orange bally-ball, I wouldn't be able to get a drink of water. If I put the ball down, say, beside me, then some nefarious person (Sister) might swoop in and steal it. What was I to do?
Suddenly, the solution came to me.
With a "pththth" and a "splash," I spit my orange bally-ball into my water bowl and drank around it. Sure, the floating obstruction made it a little difficult to drink from the bottom of the bowl up like I'm want to do, but I had ample room to get a drink and ensure that my chin sopped up enough water to flood the floor of my choice later on.
When I had drunk my fill, I fished my bally-ball out of the bowl and turned back to Sister. She was doubled over laughing. Let's just say that I had no other option but to wipe my sopping wet chin on her pant leg.
Not me though. No, I always have to be vigilant, ever concerned, that someone might swipe my toy when my attention is diverted. That is, I used to be. I recently discovered a technique which allows me to keep an eye on a possession while going about my day, specifically, getting a drink of water.
It happened a couple of days ago. Sister had just come home from work and was showering me with all the ear rubs and neck scratches I wanted (Sister recently started a new job in a town far enough away that she isn't able to come home at lunch time to rub my ears. As a result, she must provide me with an entire day's worth of attention as soon as she gets home). In my mouth was my orange bally-ball, a toy Sister bought me at a store near her new job that I absolutely adore (I have actually delayed going to sleep at night in order to keep playing with it).
Anyway, I was hanging with Sister and my orange bally-ball when, out of the blue, I suddenly felt very thirsty. Bally-ball still clenched firmly in my mouth, I hot footed my way over to my water bowl and looked in. Staring up at me was my reflection--handsome as ever and obviously just as obsessed with the orange bally-ball as me. But there was something else in that face, a sort of smugness. It took me a minute to fully comprehend, but I eventually realized that that smugness was my reflection asking "so, how you gonna get a drink of water with that bally-ball in your mouth?"
Panic set in. If I held onto my orange bally-ball, I wouldn't be able to get a drink of water. If I put the ball down, say, beside me, then some nefarious person (Sister) might swoop in and steal it. What was I to do?
Suddenly, the solution came to me.
 |
| A Reenactment |
When I had drunk my fill, I fished my bally-ball out of the bowl and turned back to Sister. She was doubled over laughing. Let's just say that I had no other option but to wipe my sopping wet chin on her pant leg.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
Easter 2017
I know why you are checking in on my blog today. You are expecting me to post my usual happy holiday message complete with a picture of me wearing a funny looking costume, headband, or hat.
Well, this year is no different.
Well, this year is no different.
Happy Easter...
...to all my friends!
Friday, March 31, 2017
Wanted: An Accomplice
While there can be no doubt that I am an accomplished and generally self-sufficient pup, I am also not so proud that I can't admit that I occasionally need a little human assistance. I mean, without a working thumb or at least tug rope, I'll never be able to open the refrigerator door on my own and, despite being exceptionally tall, I'll never be able to drive myself to the doggy toy store because my feet simply can't reach the pedals. But never, until recently, have I ever had to rely on someone for help with my favorite activity of all time: thievery.
It happened yesterday evening. Pa, Ma, and Sister were watching TV and completely ignoring my barks and whines for my nightly PB&K (peanut butter and Kong). Disappointed, but by no means disheartened, I decided that if they weren't going to give me what I wanted (which would keep me occupied and out of their hair for twenty minutes so technically a win win for all involved), I would seek out other forms of entertainment.
My quest led me to the back room (a former "Land of No" and current home to the hamster horde). There, I discovered what I was looking for, but there was a problem. And when there is a problem, there is only one effective solution.
Seconds later, out in the living room, my family were becoming highly distracted by the incessant barking. I was so loud, two rooms away, that I was completely drowning out the volume on the television. After attempting to ignore me for a minute or so, Ma couldn't take it any longer; she jumped up and hurried toward the back room to figure out what the problem was.
She found me half in the back room and half out of it, obviously concerned by some threat unknown to her. Oh, and I was still barking hysterically (probably not a surprise). As she approached me, she asked what was wrong, but I didn't respond until she stepped past me and into the room. It was then that I stopped barking and scuttled into the room after her.
Once inside, I made a beeline toward the corner of the room, bypassed a scary bag of hamster bedding, and grabbed my prize: one of Sister's shoes. I then made a mad dash for the door.
Sadly, Ma, the person I needed to provide me with the encouragement to enter the room (okay, let's not mince words here...I needed her to go in first just in case that scary bag of hamster bedding was apt to attack someone), was also the very same person who took my ill-gotten gains away from me. And what's worse, she laughed at me for needing to use her as a potential sacrifice to my thievery.
Needless to say, I was hurt by this laughter. I managed, however, to get over it quickly, as soon as Ma said to come along with her--that she was going to get me a PB&K.
It happened yesterday evening. Pa, Ma, and Sister were watching TV and completely ignoring my barks and whines for my nightly PB&K (peanut butter and Kong). Disappointed, but by no means disheartened, I decided that if they weren't going to give me what I wanted (which would keep me occupied and out of their hair for twenty minutes so technically a win win for all involved), I would seek out other forms of entertainment.
My quest led me to the back room (a former "Land of No" and current home to the hamster horde). There, I discovered what I was looking for, but there was a problem. And when there is a problem, there is only one effective solution.
Seconds later, out in the living room, my family were becoming highly distracted by the incessant barking. I was so loud, two rooms away, that I was completely drowning out the volume on the television. After attempting to ignore me for a minute or so, Ma couldn't take it any longer; she jumped up and hurried toward the back room to figure out what the problem was.
She found me half in the back room and half out of it, obviously concerned by some threat unknown to her. Oh, and I was still barking hysterically (probably not a surprise). As she approached me, she asked what was wrong, but I didn't respond until she stepped past me and into the room. It was then that I stopped barking and scuttled into the room after her.
Once inside, I made a beeline toward the corner of the room, bypassed a scary bag of hamster bedding, and grabbed my prize: one of Sister's shoes. I then made a mad dash for the door.
Sadly, Ma, the person I needed to provide me with the encouragement to enter the room (okay, let's not mince words here...I needed her to go in first just in case that scary bag of hamster bedding was apt to attack someone), was also the very same person who took my ill-gotten gains away from me. And what's worse, she laughed at me for needing to use her as a potential sacrifice to my thievery.
Needless to say, I was hurt by this laughter. I managed, however, to get over it quickly, as soon as Ma said to come along with her--that she was going to get me a PB&K.
Friday, March 17, 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Missing A Friend
Last weekend, Pa re-initiated our semi-daily walks. As my loyal readers know, I have never been a big fan of walks, but Pa's have always been the exception. You see, when Pa and I go for a walk, he lets me take my time and sniff all around. With him, I can check out all the fire hydrants, telephone poles, and plant life that I want at my very own pace. Ma and Sister, on the other paw, require that our walks have a purpose. In other words, they are "business" walks and not "pleasure" walks; I'm expected to walk nice and limit my sniffing to designated areas. Not fun.
Anyway, on our very first walk this weekend, Pa let me lead the way. I sniffed my way to the park, I sniffed up and down the dog run, I sniffed inside the park (where I stole an orange hockey ball), and I sniffed down blocks I've never sniffed before. And all the while, I was analyzing every telephone pole I passed. It was the perfect walk; a dog and his man, wandering the streets with no particular place to go and no deadline to meet.
After wandering aimlessly for about a mile, I came to a stop in front of a seemingly random house and stared intently into the yard. Pa was perplexed. It wasn't like me, after all, to spend extended time staring into a yard--examining a fire hydrant yes, but not gazing into an empty yard. Pa looked around and, after a minute, he realized where we were: we were standing in front of my old pal Ralphie's house.
Staring into that yard that day, I saw Ralphie. I saw him making dog angels in the snow, guffawing with Brandy and Archie, practicing the famous "Golden Retriever Lean," and angling for pets. I saw him wagging his tail and barking at people passing by with his thunderous bark.
I miss my friend, but I'm glad to know that he's still around...keeping an eye on things.
Anyway, on our very first walk this weekend, Pa let me lead the way. I sniffed my way to the park, I sniffed up and down the dog run, I sniffed inside the park (where I stole an orange hockey ball), and I sniffed down blocks I've never sniffed before. And all the while, I was analyzing every telephone pole I passed. It was the perfect walk; a dog and his man, wandering the streets with no particular place to go and no deadline to meet.
After wandering aimlessly for about a mile, I came to a stop in front of a seemingly random house and stared intently into the yard. Pa was perplexed. It wasn't like me, after all, to spend extended time staring into a yard--examining a fire hydrant yes, but not gazing into an empty yard. Pa looked around and, after a minute, he realized where we were: we were standing in front of my old pal Ralphie's house.
 |
| My Pal Ralphie |
I miss my friend, but I'm glad to know that he's still around...keeping an eye on things.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Stranger Danger
It is a dangerous world out there. Strange people and dogs pass by my house daily without my permission and don't even get me started on all the cats and squirrels I see prancing about! As a result of this dangerous world, devilishly handsome pups such as myself must remain ever vigilant when it comes to stranger danger. One can never be, after all, too careful.
Last weekend, Pa, Ma, Sister and I were hanging out in the house out east. After lunch, everyone decided to split up and do their own things. Ma and Sister drove to the beach (they didn't invite me to join them), Pa decided to work in the basement laundry/utility room (he didn't invite me to help), and I, left to my own devices, decided to catch up on some sleep.
Forty winks later, I was awoken by a rustling sound coming from the basement below me. Cautiously, I made my way down the basement staircase to check out what was going on. After doing a sweep of the sitting room, bathroom, and Sister's bedroom, I started to make my way back toward the stairs, convinced that I had imagined whatever I had heard and determined to find another sunny spot on the floor on which to continue my nap. But just before I reached the stairs, the utility room's door flew open and out stepped a tall man wearing a work mask on his face.
It goes without saying that I was taken aback by this intruder. I'm used to protecting the house from certain scary things (newspaper that blows off the table, menacing garbage cans, and jack-o-lantern decorations at Halloween), but I know my limitations and this man bypassed them easily.
Then, he spoke. "It's okay Squirt," the masked man said. "Check it out."
Nope. Not me. There was no way I was going to approach that man. Instead, I stood stock still--ears square and tail extended, but still.
"No really, Squirt. Check it out."
I refused to move a muscle.
"Okay, okay" the man said, then removed the work mask from his face. "Better?"
It was Pa!
Immediately, my ears dropped and my tail started wagging in circles (that's how you can tell that I'm really happy--my tail wags in circles rather than side to side). With my best cute-little-puppy-dog look, I scooted over to Pa to collect a much deserved ear rub.
Last weekend, Pa, Ma, Sister and I were hanging out in the house out east. After lunch, everyone decided to split up and do their own things. Ma and Sister drove to the beach (they didn't invite me to join them), Pa decided to work in the basement laundry/utility room (he didn't invite me to help), and I, left to my own devices, decided to catch up on some sleep.
Forty winks later, I was awoken by a rustling sound coming from the basement below me. Cautiously, I made my way down the basement staircase to check out what was going on. After doing a sweep of the sitting room, bathroom, and Sister's bedroom, I started to make my way back toward the stairs, convinced that I had imagined whatever I had heard and determined to find another sunny spot on the floor on which to continue my nap. But just before I reached the stairs, the utility room's door flew open and out stepped a tall man wearing a work mask on his face.
It goes without saying that I was taken aback by this intruder. I'm used to protecting the house from certain scary things (newspaper that blows off the table, menacing garbage cans, and jack-o-lantern decorations at Halloween), but I know my limitations and this man bypassed them easily.
Then, he spoke. "It's okay Squirt," the masked man said. "Check it out."
Nope. Not me. There was no way I was going to approach that man. Instead, I stood stock still--ears square and tail extended, but still.
"No really, Squirt. Check it out."
I refused to move a muscle.
"Okay, okay" the man said, then removed the work mask from his face. "Better?"
It was Pa!
Immediately, my ears dropped and my tail started wagging in circles (that's how you can tell that I'm really happy--my tail wags in circles rather than side to side). With my best cute-little-puppy-dog look, I scooted over to Pa to collect a much deserved ear rub.
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Cookie Disasters
In case you didn't notice, I'm very food oriented. I love food. Peanut butter, bananas, apples, steak, tomatoes, cheese--you name it, I love it. But my preference for food doesn't stop with so called "people food." No, I love dog food too. I've spoken before about my new dog food (which is still delicious and succeeding in keeping my belly free from parasites), but I am also a big fan of liver treats and Milkbones.
Milkbones are the go to treat in my house and the tool I used to train my humans. You see, in order for someone to leave the house, that person has to provide me with a sort of...oh, let's just call it what it is...bribe. That's where the Milkbone cookies come in. This bribe, tossed on my pillow, is payment for me not racing the individual to the door. Pa is by far the most generous when it comes to bribes. He gives me a large Milkbone cookie when he leaves for work each day. Sister is the stingiest; she only gives me a tiny dog size treat.
But as simple and as straight forward as this system is (you want to go out, you give me a cookie), there are times when the system falls apart. Two such occurrences happened this week.
The first occurred when I became aware that a piece of one of my past bribery cookies had rolled underneath the dresser next to my pillow. Now, loyal readers might remember that this had happened to me once before and as a result of this past traumatic event, I knew exactly what to do. First, I sized up the situation and determined that there was no way for me to access the cookie on my own. So, I immediately moved on to Plan B: Bark hysterically until help arrives.
Ma happened to be across the hall when I started barking and immediately came over to check on what her "Barky Boy" was up to. I was obviously bothered by something under the dresser. Always a good sport, Ma got down onto the floor, extended her arm under the dresser, and started to feel around. I, meanwhile, was right by her side--wagging my tail and leaning against her to ensure that the side of her freshly pressed black pants would be covered in white fur. A second later, Ma pulled back her arm and showed me what she had found: a small pencil eraser size piece of cookie.
I quickly gobbled it up.
Then, a few hours later, I had another issue with my bribery cookie.
It was Sister's turn to offer me a bribe for leaving the house. Like a good dog, I scurried into the bedroom when she told me to "go to bed," but instead of calmly eating my cookie and settling down for a nap, I decided that I was going to be greedy. Swallowing the cookie whole, I quickly exited the room, scuttled down the hall, passed through the kitchen, and pushed by Sister as she reached for the doorknob. Sister had two options: pay me off with another cookie or let me outside even though she and I both knew that didn't actually need to go out. Sister chose the former.
Juggling her keys, pocketbook, and work bag, Sister pushed past me and grabbed another cookie from my cookie jar. From the middle of the kitchen, Sister pitched the treat across the floor and into the dining room. With my eye on the prize, I scurried after the cookie while Sister hastily ran out the door. But I didn't get the cookie. You see, it had skidded to a halt just before Ma's canvas work bag.
Now, some might say, as long as the cookie wasn't under the bag, I should have been able to scurry in and grab it. Those people would be wrong. That bag was very scary and it could have easily moved or attacked me when I reached for the cookie. No, as far as I was concerned, the cookie was out of reach.
But what do I do? I was all alone in the house and no one would be coming home until lunch time which was hours and hours and hours away! There was only one solution: I started to bark.
Apparently, my barking was so loud and so persistent that Sister was able to hear it from her car. Figuring that the neighbors would get involved if she didn't, Sister returned to the house to check on what was bothering me. As soon as she walked in the door Sister could tell what was wrong. With a sigh, Sister walked to my side, scooped up the cookie, gave me a pat on the head, then tossed the cookie into the living room. As I went after my cookie, Sister left the house.
Crisis averted.
Milkbones are the go to treat in my house and the tool I used to train my humans. You see, in order for someone to leave the house, that person has to provide me with a sort of...oh, let's just call it what it is...bribe. That's where the Milkbone cookies come in. This bribe, tossed on my pillow, is payment for me not racing the individual to the door. Pa is by far the most generous when it comes to bribes. He gives me a large Milkbone cookie when he leaves for work each day. Sister is the stingiest; she only gives me a tiny dog size treat.
But as simple and as straight forward as this system is (you want to go out, you give me a cookie), there are times when the system falls apart. Two such occurrences happened this week.
The first occurred when I became aware that a piece of one of my past bribery cookies had rolled underneath the dresser next to my pillow. Now, loyal readers might remember that this had happened to me once before and as a result of this past traumatic event, I knew exactly what to do. First, I sized up the situation and determined that there was no way for me to access the cookie on my own. So, I immediately moved on to Plan B: Bark hysterically until help arrives.
Ma happened to be across the hall when I started barking and immediately came over to check on what her "Barky Boy" was up to. I was obviously bothered by something under the dresser. Always a good sport, Ma got down onto the floor, extended her arm under the dresser, and started to feel around. I, meanwhile, was right by her side--wagging my tail and leaning against her to ensure that the side of her freshly pressed black pants would be covered in white fur. A second later, Ma pulled back her arm and showed me what she had found: a small pencil eraser size piece of cookie.
I quickly gobbled it up.
Then, a few hours later, I had another issue with my bribery cookie.
It was Sister's turn to offer me a bribe for leaving the house. Like a good dog, I scurried into the bedroom when she told me to "go to bed," but instead of calmly eating my cookie and settling down for a nap, I decided that I was going to be greedy. Swallowing the cookie whole, I quickly exited the room, scuttled down the hall, passed through the kitchen, and pushed by Sister as she reached for the doorknob. Sister had two options: pay me off with another cookie or let me outside even though she and I both knew that didn't actually need to go out. Sister chose the former.
Juggling her keys, pocketbook, and work bag, Sister pushed past me and grabbed another cookie from my cookie jar. From the middle of the kitchen, Sister pitched the treat across the floor and into the dining room. With my eye on the prize, I scurried after the cookie while Sister hastily ran out the door. But I didn't get the cookie. You see, it had skidded to a halt just before Ma's canvas work bag.
Now, some might say, as long as the cookie wasn't under the bag, I should have been able to scurry in and grab it. Those people would be wrong. That bag was very scary and it could have easily moved or attacked me when I reached for the cookie. No, as far as I was concerned, the cookie was out of reach.
But what do I do? I was all alone in the house and no one would be coming home until lunch time which was hours and hours and hours away! There was only one solution: I started to bark.
Apparently, my barking was so loud and so persistent that Sister was able to hear it from her car. Figuring that the neighbors would get involved if she didn't, Sister returned to the house to check on what was bothering me. As soon as she walked in the door Sister could tell what was wrong. With a sigh, Sister walked to my side, scooped up the cookie, gave me a pat on the head, then tossed the cookie into the living room. As I went after my cookie, Sister left the house.
Crisis averted.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Four Vignettes
Bruno:
There's a new dog on the block out east--a boxer puppy named Bruno. Bruno and I had a meet and greet in my backyard a couple of weeks ago and while he was very playful (he kept jumping over me and gnawing on my ears), I was way more interested in the squeaky ball his human had brought over for us to play with. In fact, I was so interested in the ball that I basically ignored Bruno. When it was time for Bruno to go home, no one was able to wrestle the toy away from me. So, I kept it. Well, I kept it for the night. The following morning, before we left for home, Pa tossed the squeaky ball over the fence and into Bruno's backyard. Sigh. Anyway, Bruno's squeaky ball can visit any time it wants.
In the Wash:
My evenings are usually spent snoozing on my end of the couch which is protected from fur and slobber by an old bed sheet. Two days ago, I was shocked to discover that the protective sheet was gone and a number of pillows were piled high on the cushion preventing me from claiming my spot. Undeterred, I headed toward the other end of the couch, but found that Ma had beaten me to it. Becoming concerned, I started to pace in front of the couch, looking for a way up. Ma noticed my anxiety and told me that I wasn't allowed on the couch that evening and that I'd have to snooze on the floor. I started to whine. Ma explained to me that my sheet was in the dryer and that I couldn't lay on the couch until it was dry. I started to bark. Ma jumped up, went downstairs, and brought back a new old bed sheet for me to use. I waited just long enough for Ma to cover most of the couch before pushing by her, jumping onto the cushion, and flopping down with a sigh.
Ears of Steel:
One evening, when Sister came home from work, she decided to make a snack of peanut butter and jelly crackers (PB&J on saltines). Alone in the kitchen (I was in the living room), and not in the mood for sharing, Sister decided to work as quietly as possible with the hope that I wouldn't scurry in looking for samples. She retrieved the crackers and jelly with no issue, but then she knew those would be easy to obtain. The issue was the peanut butter (my favorite). As quietly as possible, Sister opened the pantry door, picked up the peanut butter jar, slid it onto the counter top, and unscrewed the top. Proud of her accomplishment of doing the aforementioned tasks silently, Sister turned around to get a knife to spread the peanut butter on her crackers with, but stopped suddenly in her tracks. There I was, sitting at her feet, looking up at the peanut butter jar, and drooling.
A Little Too Quick
At lunch time, when Sister says it is time to go outside and check the perimeters, I immediately jump up and scurry to the door. Usually, just as I reach the top step, Sister opens the storm door which allows me to exit the house without actually having to slow down my pace. Well, I don't know if it was her, me, or a combination of both of us, but earlier this week the timing of this little tradition was horribly off and I ended up running head first into the storm door long before Sister managed to open it.
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| Ill Gotten Gains |
In the Wash:
My evenings are usually spent snoozing on my end of the couch which is protected from fur and slobber by an old bed sheet. Two days ago, I was shocked to discover that the protective sheet was gone and a number of pillows were piled high on the cushion preventing me from claiming my spot. Undeterred, I headed toward the other end of the couch, but found that Ma had beaten me to it. Becoming concerned, I started to pace in front of the couch, looking for a way up. Ma noticed my anxiety and told me that I wasn't allowed on the couch that evening and that I'd have to snooze on the floor. I started to whine. Ma explained to me that my sheet was in the dryer and that I couldn't lay on the couch until it was dry. I started to bark. Ma jumped up, went downstairs, and brought back a new old bed sheet for me to use. I waited just long enough for Ma to cover most of the couch before pushing by her, jumping onto the cushion, and flopping down with a sigh.
Ears of Steel:
One evening, when Sister came home from work, she decided to make a snack of peanut butter and jelly crackers (PB&J on saltines). Alone in the kitchen (I was in the living room), and not in the mood for sharing, Sister decided to work as quietly as possible with the hope that I wouldn't scurry in looking for samples. She retrieved the crackers and jelly with no issue, but then she knew those would be easy to obtain. The issue was the peanut butter (my favorite). As quietly as possible, Sister opened the pantry door, picked up the peanut butter jar, slid it onto the counter top, and unscrewed the top. Proud of her accomplishment of doing the aforementioned tasks silently, Sister turned around to get a knife to spread the peanut butter on her crackers with, but stopped suddenly in her tracks. There I was, sitting at her feet, looking up at the peanut butter jar, and drooling.
A Little Too Quick
At lunch time, when Sister says it is time to go outside and check the perimeters, I immediately jump up and scurry to the door. Usually, just as I reach the top step, Sister opens the storm door which allows me to exit the house without actually having to slow down my pace. Well, I don't know if it was her, me, or a combination of both of us, but earlier this week the timing of this little tradition was horribly off and I ended up running head first into the storm door long before Sister managed to open it.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Standing Up For What's Mine
Don't get me wrong. I know that I'm a very fortunate pup. I have a loving family who sees to my every need. I get two meals a day plus all the food I can grub. I have a warm place to sleep and I have even worn down the powers that be to gain a permanent spot on the couch (which was a long hard fought fight). But despite that, sometimes I just can't help but feel that I don't always get my fair share. When we drive out east, Sister takes up way too much of the backseat. My friend Bastille gets nearly as much or more kibble (depending on whether or not he eats his brother Mecki's kibble too) than I do each day and he's about 50 pounds lighter than me. Then there is cheese. When one of my humans has a piece of cheese, they take 7/8th of the slice while I must attempt to savor a measly 1/8th.
I'm a firm believer, however, that if you don't speak up and make your concerns known, then nothing will ever get better. That's why I recently decided to put my foot down and insist on what was rightfully mine: I decided to fight for a larger piece of the couch.
It was late in the afternoon and my family and I were hanging out, watching TV, and trying to squeeze in a quick nap before dinner. Sister was in her chair, Pa was in his, and Ma was sitting at the far end of the couch. I, meanwhile, was hunkered down on my end of the couch with my head draped over a decorative pillow (the sheet that protects my end of the couch from fur, dirt, and "black drool" was also covering the pillow--I have always found it a tad insulting that I have to have a protective covering on my end of the couch while the humans don't, but I'm willing to overlook it so long as I can sleep on the couch without being hollered at to move). Now, Ma might dispute this (she'd, of course, be lying), but I have discovered over the years that Ma is a notorious couch hog. She starts off occupying a generous 1/3rd of the couch, but eventually stretches her legs out into my territory. So, while I might fall asleep stretched out in my 2/3rds of the couch, I will wake up to discover that suddenly I'm sharing my pillow with her knees and her calves are beginning to resemble bumpers along the outer length of the couch. So anyway, instinctively feeling a bit cramped, I woke up from a particularly nice dream to discover that I was once again blocked into my spot by Ma's legs. It was then that I decided that I had had enough. I was going to win back my couch.
Nonchalantly, I stood up on the couch cushion and did a quick mini-stretch (there wasn't enough room for a full one) and yawned. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I looked around to see if the coast was clear (ideally, everyone would be asleep (they weren't), but at least they were preoccupied by the television) then, without hesitation (you hesitate you miss out) I made a bee-line for Ma's 1/3rd of the couch. First, I stepped on the pillow, then I stepped on her stomach (she made a loud "oof" sound when I did). Still standing on her stomach, I turned around twice and threw myself down with a "thud" (from her and from me). In the end, my butt was situated on Ma's upper stomach and my front end was resting on Ma's knees.
Then I heard laughter. My entire family was chucking, including Ma though her laughs were more shallow and tinged with pain (apparently the human torso is not made for a full grown Golden to trod and flop down on). I didn't care that they were laughing at me, though. I was comfortable and I had sent a message that I'm sure Ma won't forget anytime soon.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to my dream.
I'm a firm believer, however, that if you don't speak up and make your concerns known, then nothing will ever get better. That's why I recently decided to put my foot down and insist on what was rightfully mine: I decided to fight for a larger piece of the couch.
It was late in the afternoon and my family and I were hanging out, watching TV, and trying to squeeze in a quick nap before dinner. Sister was in her chair, Pa was in his, and Ma was sitting at the far end of the couch. I, meanwhile, was hunkered down on my end of the couch with my head draped over a decorative pillow (the sheet that protects my end of the couch from fur, dirt, and "black drool" was also covering the pillow--I have always found it a tad insulting that I have to have a protective covering on my end of the couch while the humans don't, but I'm willing to overlook it so long as I can sleep on the couch without being hollered at to move). Now, Ma might dispute this (she'd, of course, be lying), but I have discovered over the years that Ma is a notorious couch hog. She starts off occupying a generous 1/3rd of the couch, but eventually stretches her legs out into my territory. So, while I might fall asleep stretched out in my 2/3rds of the couch, I will wake up to discover that suddenly I'm sharing my pillow with her knees and her calves are beginning to resemble bumpers along the outer length of the couch. So anyway, instinctively feeling a bit cramped, I woke up from a particularly nice dream to discover that I was once again blocked into my spot by Ma's legs. It was then that I decided that I had had enough. I was going to win back my couch.
Nonchalantly, I stood up on the couch cushion and did a quick mini-stretch (there wasn't enough room for a full one) and yawned. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I looked around to see if the coast was clear (ideally, everyone would be asleep (they weren't), but at least they were preoccupied by the television) then, without hesitation (you hesitate you miss out) I made a bee-line for Ma's 1/3rd of the couch. First, I stepped on the pillow, then I stepped on her stomach (she made a loud "oof" sound when I did). Still standing on her stomach, I turned around twice and threw myself down with a "thud" (from her and from me). In the end, my butt was situated on Ma's upper stomach and my front end was resting on Ma's knees.
Then I heard laughter. My entire family was chucking, including Ma though her laughs were more shallow and tinged with pain (apparently the human torso is not made for a full grown Golden to trod and flop down on). I didn't care that they were laughing at me, though. I was comfortable and I had sent a message that I'm sure Ma won't forget anytime soon.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to my dream.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Christmas 2016 Roundup
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| Posing with the Tree |
From Tink and ZeeZee I got a filleted snowman with a rattle in its hat, a squeaker in its stomach, and crinkly plastic in its base. I was given this toy on Christmas afternoon and I immediately ripped a hole in its hat, shattered the rattle with my teeth, broke through the fabric divide between the snowman's hat and head, and started ripping out its stuffing by the mouthful. I intended to do further damage, however, it was at this point that Sister took the snowman away from me which was definitely depressing.
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| Scruffy Mini-Mecki |
From Santa I got two new light-up squeaky balls (one for home and one for out east) which I squeaked straight through Christmas dinner (to the chagrin of everyone in the room with me) and a bag of treats which I sampled almost as soon as it came out of my stocking. And while I'm on the topic of stockings, it finally dawned on me this year that all good things come out of them (I have always thought it weird that my family would hang giant socks from the living room/dining room doorway, but I just wrote it off as a human oddity much like saving leftover food for later rather than eating it immediately). As a result, I spent a fair portion of Christmas Day barking at the over-stuffed stockings despite my family repeatedly telling me that only one of the stockings was mine and that I had already played with all the toys and sampled all the food within. I, however, didn't care and continued to bark.
From Ma and Pa I got a couple of squeaky tennis balls which I immediately shredded into tiny little yellow fuzz and brown rubber pieces. Sister got me a plush polar bear toy, but I've yet to lay eyes (or teeth) on it. According to Sister, it is quite cute which means that I'm going to have to keep my eye on her lest she declare it a stuffed animal ("stuffed animals" are off limits to me).
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| Cookie from Jack and Sadie |
Of course, I didn't just receive gifts. Oh no. I gave plenty of fun gifts too.
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| Twins! |
But Christmas isn't just about giving and getting gifts. It is also about having fun times with family and friends. I spent my Christmas Eve and Day with my Ma, Pa, Sister, Aunt B, the hamsters (Mittens, Skittles, Neville, Brownie, and Eddie), and the Library gerbils (Bonnie and Bay) who were visiting for the long weekend. And even though I got yelled at a couple of times for being a little too exuberant with the shredding of the wrapping paper (there might have been a few near misses between my teeth and the recipient's fingers) a fun time was had by all.
So, to all my friends and family, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
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