Thanksgiving 2017

Happy Thanksgiving

to all my friends, family, and readers!

Hey, at least Sister only made me wear an embarrassing headband, unlike at Halloween.

Salty Dog

A Salty Dog

At long last, fall has finally arrived and with it some cool crisp weather.  And in tandem with the cool weather, a seemingly endless supply of puppy energy has begun to occasionally radiate from within me.  I mean, I've always been what you might call a sprinter--good at quick bursts of energy followed by multiple long stretches of downtime (AKA naps).  But lately, I've been more like a marathon pup; taking part in back to back action packed activities without the benefit of a quick (or lengthy) cat nap (and yes, I really don't like using the "c" word when describing my traits or personality, but a saying is a saying, right?).  And it's weird.  I mean, I am the King of Naps and napping is my fourth favorite activity (for the record, #1 is eating, #2 is barking, and #3 is causing destruction), yet here I am voluntarily giving them up for near constant activity.

So what marathon of activity have I been up to?  Allow me to describe one recent Saturday.

Ma

Pa, Ma, Sister, and I were out east.  The week before, a rather large wind storm had gone through the area bringing down a lot of twigs and one rather good-sized tree branch.  Armed with a wagon and multiple lawn waste bags, Ma, Pa, and I made our way outside that morning to clean up the yard in our own tried and true ways:  Ma and Pa kept bending down to pick the twigs and throw them away while I turned small sticks into sawdust using my teeth.

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

When we finally got to the beach, I jumped out of the car and dragged Sister to the shore, kicking up sand as I went. Up and down the beach we walked.  I successfully climbed up a number of one foot high "cliffs" formed by a receded high tide and failed miserably at climbing up others.  I sniffed beach grass, left giant paw prints in the sand, and even found a deceased animal that Sister identified as a decomposing opossum (Sister didn't let me sniff it, but the exposed skull matched the skull I dug up last year in the backyard at home).

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

So, for those keeping track, I had, in the course of a few short hours, played tug of war and keep away, went to the beach, and ran around the backyard with abandon.  And that's where it ended.  I scurried up the stairs one last time to get back into the house then found a comfy spot and fell slept.  I woke briefly an hour or so later to eat my dinner, but returned to my nap immediately thereafter.

I guess this goes to show I'll always be a sprinter.