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.
Friday, March 31, 2017
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.
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