Around the Estate with Master Rigby: 2018

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

Merry Christmas 2018

Wishing all my friends, family, and fans a very Merry Christmas!

★Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★Christmas★ 。* 。 ° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚ ˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •˛• l ｜田田｜門｜ ˚

Read more: How to make cute christmas pictures using keyboard symbols christmas tree - How to make a christmas picture using keyboard symbols :: Ask Me Fast at https://www.askmefast.com/How_to_make_cute_christmas_pictures_using_keyboard_symbols__christmas_tree-qna686603.html

★Merry★* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★Christmas★ 。* 。 ° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚ ˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •˛• l ｜田田｜門｜ ˚And a happy new year 2011

Read more: How to make cute christmas pictures using keyboard symbols christmas tree - How to make a christmas picture using keyboard symbols :: Ask Me Fast at https://www.askmefast.com/How_to_make_cute_christmas_pictures_using_keyboard_symbols__christmas_tree-qna686603.html

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Santa's List

Some households have elves that sit on shelves and report back to the big man (Santa) about everyone's behavior. Well, I don’t have an elf watching me. No, my family doesn’t need one (not to mention, I probably would have accidentally carried him off thinking he was a squeaker toy). You see, my family has a direct line to Santa and they are more than happy to report back to him about where I should fall on his naughty and nice list.

Because there is so much at stake during the month of December, I’m usually very careful to remain on my best behavior. True, I’m generally an angel, but one can’t be too careful when Santa’s involved. This year was no different. I was pleasant, helpful, and didn’t bark nearly as much as I could have. I was a good boy...that is, until last night.

Maybe I went temporarily insane. Maybe I ate some bad kibble and it messed with my head. Maybe I was possessed by some evil spirit who decided to turn me into a monster. I honestly don’t know. What I do know is this: I was not myself.

Shortly after everyone went to bed last night, I climbed the stairs to Sister's room with the intention of curling up on my pillow and falling asleep. When I got there, I found her siting on the floor wrapping Christmas presents. Immediately, my eyes went wide, my tail started wagging, and in short order, I...

...stole some wrapping paper and shredded it.
...stole a pen and chewed on it.
...found and ran off with a sock.
...stole some more wrapping paper and shredded it.
...forced my snout into a closed box of unwrapped Christmas gifts (and tried to snatch the contents).
...perused a box of wrapped gifts, grabbed one, and unwrapped it (sorry B, it was your gift...it’s fine and Sister will re-wrap it).
...licked the rest of the wrapped gifts.
...licked the roll of wrapping paper.
...grabbed Sister's hair towel (which happened to still be on her head).
...tried to dig a hole through a bag of gift labels.
...snatched the scissor.
...stole even more wrapping paper and shredded it.

It was at this point that I heard Pa’s voice echoing from the first floor. “What’s going on up there?” he asked.

The fun was over. I mean, I knew Sister was going to give me hell later for all the trouble I was giving her (her response to Pa’s question was to scream, “your son’s being a pain in the ass”), but once Pa is involved...well, let's just say that if Santa’s the first person you don’t mess with, Pa is a close second.

Down the stairs I ran, hoping to head off Pa before Sister expanded on her statement. Not knowing exactly what was going on (but figuring I was up to no good), Pa hooked my leash to my collar and took me outside. After doing business, I settled down on my pillow and prayed that Sister would simply assume that the events of that evening were simply a series of bad dreams.

She didn’t and she told the story of my misbehavior the following morning.

So now I’m a little afraid that my rambunctiousness might have cost me my good standing with Santa. It's going to be an anxious couple of days. Hopefully I can redeem myself in time.

Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Imortalized in Art

The mom of my BFFs Mecki and Bastille is a talented artist. I've shown some of her work before, a homemade birthday card or two, but recently, she out did herself. For Christmas, she gave my Sister four beautiful works of art based on four of my most iconic, cute, silly, and pensive photos. I mean, check out the baby picture! She even managed to capture my abnormally long and glamorous eyelashes! Thanks Karin, you're the best!

Sunday, December 16, 2018

"Don't Look Foolish"

Aunt B just wanted to take a nice picture of me and my family.

Her instructions were clear: "Sit together and no one look foolish."

Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, for me, it was!

Saturday, December 15, 2018

Being Obnoxious

I have to get something off my chest. Stumpy the Squirrel is completely and totally out of control. You remember Stumpy, right? He's the annoying "squirrel" (I put this in quotes because I honestly don't know what Stumpy is...he looks like a squirrel except he is missing 90% of his tail and he hops around like a bunny) that my family has taken a shine to . Well, while I've always found him rather annoying, I've come to realize that he's also very nervy. Look what he did!

That's right, Stumpy has decided to use my windowsill as his own personal refrigerator for his half-eaten chunks of Italian bread! Now, there are many things wrong with this. First, there is the knowledge that Stumpy is setting paw, not only on my property, but on my house. Second, he's lurking right outside my window (he's a Peeping Tom now too!). Third, he's depositing his stash just out of my reach (hey, I like bread too!).

Stumpy Watching from Above

But I suppose, in some ways, and I hate to admit this, Stumpy and I are a lot alike. You see, we both excel in passive aggressive techniques. He leaves his table scraps just out of my reach and me, well...

It's no secret that I love to engage in a little thievery from time to time. But to set the record straight, it's never really my fault. I mean, did I tell you to leave your purse open? Did I suggest that you leave your closet door open (giving me access to your shoe collection)? Did I ask you to leave the dish towel within my reach? Did I recommend that you leave the folded laundry on the bed? Of course not! But once it's done, I have no choice but to react.

So off I run with the pick pocketed key chain, purloined dishtowel, swiped shoe, or pilfered piece of laundry. And it goes without saying that my humans are usually hot on my tail, determined to steal back my ill-gotten gains.

Of course, my dream is to keep the item, chew on it a little, rip off all its buttons, and tear all its seams. But I know what is expected of me; mainly that I'm supposed to give up my appropriated goods without a fight. However, just because I know what I should do, doesn't mean that I won't add my own little flair to the procedure.

And my way of adding a little flair to the situation is to be obnoxious about it. As soon as one of my humans corner me and reach for the ill-gotten gains in my mouth, I drop it, forcing him/her to pick the item up off the floor. And oh boy am I good at this trick. I can't tell you how many times I've done this and each time whoever is trying to claim my stolen goods complains bitterly about having to pick the item up off the floor when I could have just handed it to them when it was about two feet higher off the ground in my mouth.

Wednesday, October 31, 2018

Halloween 2018

Happy Halloween!

^^..^^

May every house you Trick or Treat at give you a King Size Milkbone rather than a Fun Size one!

Wednesday, October 24, 2018

Fall Dog Days 2018

Surveying My Estate

It's the most wonderful time of the year! No, not Christmas (though that is a lot of fun with all the food, wrapping paper, and toys). This last weekend was Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens (AKA my estate) and while I wasn't able to hang out with my pals Mecki and Bastille (their mom is vacationing in France), I did have an absolutely wonderful time.

The day (Saturday) started as any other day that promised an outing would; basically, I was crazed. As soon as I realized that I was going somewhere, I started running through the house, pacing back and forth, eager to get going. I barked loudly when either Ma or Sister slowed us down by doing such pointless things as packing my traveling bag, checking the weather on TV, and putting on shoes (I don't bother with shoes, why should they?) and when my collar was placed around my neck and the side door opened, I bounded out toward the car. I even huffed, drooled, and paced in the backseat of the car during the twenty-minute ride to the gardens!

Sister and Me

Ma, Sister, and I spent nearly an hour wandering through the gardens that morning. I stopped to sniff random plants, I posed for pictures, I bunked noses with a couple of pups, and even showed off my prowess by jumping over the cement bench Sister wanted to pose with me on for a photo. I even stopped long enough to sniff the tree that Mecki and Bastille are routinely photographed in (and yes, I did thank my lucky stars that I'm too heavy to be picked up and put in that tree).

Liberty, Me, Baxter, and the Rest

Eventually, Ma, Sister, and I made our way to the great lawn out back behind the house where I was met with a fun surprise: three Golden Retrievers (two under the age of one and the other eight years old), a big fluffy black dog, a German Shepherd, and their humans. I was first greeted by the big fluffy black dog who was off leash and made a bee line straight for me. He was obviously the welcoming committee. Anyway, the black dog and I bunked noses then the three Golden Retrievers ran over to say hi. The two young-ins (one was named Liberty) ran straight to Ma and Sister and began begging for pets and belly rubs. The older Golden, Baxter, walked over to me to say hello.

The final part of the trip was perhaps the best. I got to see my Old Westbury Gardens pal Emma Rose. My readers might remember Emma Rose as the Golden Retriever “cousin” I first met all the way back in 2011. Since then, Emma Rose and I have run into each other, always unscheduled, at every single Dog Days weekend. My pal is eleven years old now and had had a serious health scare a couple of weeks ago, but I was happy to see that Emma Rose was feeling better and acting like her old self; calm, quiet, and reserved. Emma Rose and I bunked noses and hit up each other’s humans for pets. Then our humans came up with a spectacular idea. We needed a picture together.

Emma Rose and Me

After saying goodbye to Emma Rose, Ma, Sister, and I made our way back to the car and headed home. I was completely and totally exhausted, but it was so worth it!

Monday, October 8, 2018

A Lesson Learned

We all have our limitations. Squirrels are stupid and will never learn to keep out of my yard, human kneecaps will never bend the opposite direction no matter how hard I slam my skull up against them, and I am not capable of barking from every imaginable position.

I discovered my limitation a few days ago when I was lying on the living room floor, belly up to the sky, enjoying a belly rub from Ma. All of a sudden, my pure bliss was interrupted by the sound of a car door slamming. Now, being the inquisitive pup that I am (who happens to take his job as Head of Security very seriously), I immediately decided that I was going to have to give this potential threat the “Rigby Treatment” (AKA bark hysterically at it). Simultaneously, however, I also concluded that I really didn’t want to give up on my belly rub.

So, I decided to do both; I decided to bark while lying on my back. I took a deep breath and let out what was going to be my most ferocious bark to date.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite how I expected it. Instead of my loud, manly bark, what issued from my lips was an airy “woof” followed by a barrage of gasps and coughs. Choking on my own tongue and drool and fearful of losing my breakfast to one of the coughs, I began to try to right myself on my feet. That too did not work out quite as I expected. You see, it seems that as difficult as it is to bark while on one’s back, getting up from lying on one’s back while choking is even more difficult.

Eventually I prevailed and managed to stop choking (and, happily, did not lose my breakfast). Fortunately, the slamming car door that started this unfortunate series of events did not prove to be the threat I initially thought it would be. Unfortunately, however, I imagine it will be a long time before my family lets me live down the whole incident.

Monday, September 24, 2018

The War Continues

Pavers in my Digging Spot

A few months ago, I reported that Ma had become fed up with my dig, dig, digging in the backyard and decided to take actions against it by planting pavers in my favorite digging spots. Well, Ma might not have realized it at the time, but she had declared war by trying to thwart my digging and it has only escalated since then.

The latest battle in this war began last week when I made my way to my favorite digging spot under the forsythia. Completely unperturbed by the pavers, I positioned myself closer to the forsythia's stems than I normally do, and began digging.

Immediately, Ma came running, yelling at me to stop. Being the good boy that I am, I decided to obey her and scurried out from under the forsythia bush...and made a bee line to the other forsythia bush in the yard.

Wasting no time, I began digging at the base of the second forsythia. I was so engrossed in my task that I didn't notice that Ma, after witnessing my behavior, had turned and disappeared down the driveway without a word.

Suddenly I smelled water and heard the sound of raindrops on the forsythia's leaves. Never one to enjoy getting wet, I decided to leave my hole and head toward the house. Out from under the forsythia bush I came, only to discover that the sky was clear and the rain had stopped. I took a step forward and suddenly I felt jets of water brushing against my head.

Striped

Ma had turned the oscillating sprinkler on me and I had walked right through it leaving wet stripes across my fur.

So, well done Ma. Well done. But remember, you might have won this battle, but the war isn't over.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

Two Stories

Happy National Dog Day to all my four-legged friends! Wag your tails, beg for table scraps, and dig in the garden with abandon!

In honor of this great day, I wish to share with you, my loyal readers, two little stories from the last couple of weeks.

Soft Mouth:

Members of my breed are supposed to have soft mouths--meaning that we are able to pick up delicate items in our mouths without causing them damage. Now, some might think that I missed this gene and, to be honest, I couldn’t really blame them when you consider the dozens of punctured shoes and gnawed on remote controls I’ve left in my wake over the years. But I definitely do have this trait and it was on full display a couple of mornings ago.

That particular morning, Pa and I were sitting on the side step spending some quality father-son time before he went to work. After a couple of moments, Pa extended his hand and offered me a small red ball which I dutifully took in my mouth. But what was I supposed to do with it? I gently rolled it around my mouth a couple of time, looked back at Pa, and tossed the small red ball back into his hand. A little surprised, Pa offered me the small red ball again and I again tossed it back to him. This happened two more times before I suddenly realized that the small red ball I had been tossing back and forth to Pa was in fact a cherry tomato. Once I came to this realization, I quickly ate the tomato, but apparently I am easily fooled because Pa and I repeated the entire process the following morning (though, to my credit, I only tossed the tomato back to Pa three times before eating it).

Almost No Trace:

A couple of months ago, Ma discovered undeniable proof that I had taken to spending my days in the basement Land of No (story here). However, it seems that half the thrill of my super-secret spot was the fact it was indeed secret. So, immediately after the discovery, I started seeking out a new spot to spend my days and haven't returned to the basement since.

Well, good news. I found a new spot!

Now, whenever someone comes home after leaving me alone for any period of time, he or she will likely discover, smack dab in the middle of Ma and Pa's bed, a warm spot that matches the shape of my snoozing back-end.

But unlike the discovery of my forays into the Land of No, I will not be put off from curling up on the bed each day. I mean, it is just too good a spot to give up on it that easily. After all, it...

...is soft: The Land of No has tile floors and no comfy cushions while the bed has a mattress, blankets, and pillows to lounge on.
...has a view: With the added height of the mattress, I can stare out through the back window and bark at any four-legged interlopers in my yard (squirrels, bunnies, etc.).
is nice and cool: The air conditioner is right there.

So basically, I see no reason to give up on my new spot. In fact, the only way I can see that spot getting better is if my food bowl (full of course) was left by one of the pillows.

Yeah, that would be great!

Thursday, August 2, 2018

Stumpy

Benedict Arnold, Peter Pettigrew, Marcus Brutus, Guy Fawkes, Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, Judas Iscariot, Michael Dawson; some of literature, television, and history's greatest traitors. And, as much as it pains me, I can now add my own family to that list. Why? Because they've taken a shine to a...ugh, it pains me to even write the words. Because they've become attached to a certain squirrel that hangs around the property.

Allow me to introduce Stumpy, the annoying little squirrel who has a short stumpy tail (hence his name).

Stumpy the Squirrel--note the tail

My family loves Stumpy. They laugh when they see him moseying around the neighborhood, they share stories of seeing him lying on his belly in his tree or on the front step, and they look for him each morning when they go out to their cars.

Now, as for me, I don't like Stumpy. I don't like him for two specific reasons (well, three if you count the fact that he is, in fact, a squirrel).

Number One: I'm not allowed to chase him.

I'm a dog and Stumpy is a squirrel. I'm supposed to chase him off my property and he's supposed to run like hell when he sees me. It's in our DNA. It's how the world works. But, because Sister is concerned that Stumpy's near lack of tail might affect his balance, she doesn't want me chasing him up trees or down fences just in case he falls off and he and I get a little too close for everyone's comfort.

Which is exactly what almost happened a couple of days ago. You see, I pushed my way outside before Sister could secure the backyard and I ended up chasing Stumpy down the entire length of the fence (yes, Sister was screaming hysterically the whole time which I found quite annoying). While running on the chain linked fence, Stumpy managed to hold his own. But when he had to jump from picket to picket on the front fence, that's where his balance proved less than stellar and he nearly fell off a couple of times.

Number Two: He hops.

Stumpy doesn't really move around like a normal squirrel. Instead, he kind of hops. In fact, because of his hopping gait and short stubby tail, he strongly resembles a stupid little bunny (aka my arch nemesis). Over the last couple of weeks, I've found myself questioning many a time over if Stumpy was actually a stupid little bunny dressed up as a squirrel; a bunny in squirrel clothing so to speak. I don't think he is, but the thought still crosses my mind occasionally.
Anyway, as for the bunny emulating...my family finds it endearing and incredibly cute. I find it disturbing.

Friday, July 13, 2018

Vacation!

It's that time of year again!
VACATION!!!!

Monday, July 9, 2018

Dig, Dig, Digging No More

I dig in the snow.

I dig in the doggy pool.

I dig on the carpet.

I dig in the side garden.

I dig in the vegetable garden.

I dig by the cherry tree.

I dig under the forsythia bush (my favorite).

My love of digging has always been a bit of a sore spot between me and my family; a sore spot with some definite mixed signals mixed in. They have no issue with me digging in the doggy pool and they actually build (and rebuild) snow mountains for me each winter. But the concept of me digging on the carpet or in the garden is seriously frowned upon.

And oh, has my family tried to discourage my digging in inappropriate places over the years. They've turned the vegetable garden into a "Land of No" with the assistance of a metal portable fence. They've blocked my favorite digging spots with flower pots (which I run off with), buckets, garbage can covers, and broken pieces of fence. They've blocked my access to my favorite carpeted areas with books and chairs. They've cut back the forsythia to make my digging area less private. And, as I mentioned in a recent post, they've developed a sixth sense when it comes to reading my mind and can therefore head me off with a stern "no" when I've merely look at a patch of dirt.

Yesterday, however, Ma took an epic maneuver in the ongoing battle between my digging and the welfare of her garden. First, she filled in my latest hole under the forsythia bush. Then, she planted four cement pavers right in the middle of that prime digging real estate.

Touché, Ma; well played. But don't think for a minute that this war is over. I'll come up with a way of reclaiming my favorite digging spot!

Thursday, July 5, 2018

It's Raining Squirrels!

Curse you, squirrel!

I'm not a huge fan of squirrels or their tail shaking, tree hopping, trespassing ways. I mean, sure, they are better than those stupid little bunnies that so brazenly hop around my backyard and take cover in the vegetable garden just out of my reach. But not by much. In fact, I think the only good thing I can say about squirrels is that they deposit their half-eaten peaches (stolen from the next-door neighbor's peach tree) in my yard for me to either eat or trade in for a cookie. Otherwise, they are just trespassers who have the audacity to chatter at me angrily when I stand at the base of the tree I've chased them up barking at them to never set foot in my backyard again.

And that's where my interaction normally ends; the squirrel eventually gets tired of chattering at me and decides to climb further up the tree and out of my sight. The discussion is over. Or is it?

Last week, Pa and I were hanging out in the backyard. Pa was supervising my activities and I was trying to think of ways to distract Pa long enough to scurry over to the forsythia bush and "dig, dig, dig" at my favorite digging spot. All of a sudden, however, I was distracted from my scheming by a rustling in the giant oak tree above me. I looked up just in time to see a dark brown furry blob hurtle to the ground and land with a sickening "thud" inches in front of me.

It was a full-grown squirrel.

Now, one might think that falling from atop of a very tall oak tree and landing with a sickening "thud" might turn a living squirrel into an ex-squirrel. Not so (or at least no one ever told that to this particular squirrel). Immediately upon hitting the ground, the squirrel sprang back up, ran directly toward me, and scooted through my legs--front and back.

Needless to say, I was surprised by this entire event (as I believe anyone would be). I was so surprised, that I didn't even notice that after the squirrel had skirted under me it had hotfooted up the cherry tree a few feet away. Confused, I spent the next few minutes trying to track down the squirrel and did so by walking around backward with my head down between my front paws trying to see where the squirrel went and if it were still there.

Sadly, I was not alone as I did this little dance. Pa witnessed the entire event (my less than finest hours always seem to be witnessed).

Wednesday, July 4, 2018

July Fourth Greetings

Happy Fourth of July!

Monday, June 25, 2018

He Steals Seashells by the Side Door

Before I begin with my latest tale, allow me to take a moment to thank my bff Mecki, his little brother Bastille, and their mom Karin for all the birthday presents they gave me last week. I must say, they were some of the most well-thought-out gifts I have ever received. I got...

Birthday Gifts

From Mecki: A brand new Mini-Mecki toy

(that he rolled on so that it reminded me of him)

From Bastille: A box of Milkbone cookies

(because the pup on the box looks just like Bastille)

From their mom: A bag of bacon and cheese treats

(because we both really love cheese and bacon)

Thanks a million Karin, Mecki, and Bastille!

And now, on to my story.

Besides being devilishly handsome, clever to a fault, and highly talented with the written word, I am also exceedingly mischievous. I’m always thinking. Thinking of ways to get in trouble. Thinking of ways to have fun. Thinking of ways to gain attention. I’m quite the pro.

Of course, on occasion I do get the feeling that my family can read my mind and foretell my mischievousness. How else can one explain all the times Sister has told me “no” to digging on the carpet or under the forsythia bush when I've only just taken a single step in the direction of said corner or plant? It’s clairvoyance I tells ya!.

Anyway, even despite the fact that sometimes my mischievousness is thwarted, it never stops me from trying. Here’s my latest:

Out east, Ma and Pa have two terracotta planters on the porch; one with rosemary growing in it, the other mint. Now, normally I don’t have much interest in potted plants. I might sniff them as I go by or watch a bee do its little bee thing, but then I quickly move on to other more interesting subjects. Well, a couple of weeks ago, when I checked out the planters, I discovered that in addition to the plant, the dirt, and the little plastic thingy that says what's been planted in that location (which, by the way is a lot of fun to chew on), Ma and Pa had also added seashells as decorations. Now, every time I go out onto the porch, I immediately saunter over to the planters and snatch a shell in my mouth.

There are essentially two endings to this mischievousness: either the shell makes it and can be returned to the planter with only a thick layer of slobber on it, or I crush it into dust. Which outcome depends entirely on whether the gate connecting the porch and the backyard is open or closed. When the gate is open, I take my ill-gotten gains and scurry down into the grass where I proudly prance and play keep away from whoever is inevitably chasing me to retrieve the shell. Rather than give up the shell, I end up grinding it to dust while running to and fro. When the gate is closed, however, I usually give up the shell fairly quickly (and in one piece) because I have far fewer options when it comes to dodging and skirting whoever is trying to get my stolen prize away from me.

Either way, once I am relieved of the shell (be it through a "give" command or the destruction of the shell itself), I make a bee line back to the planter ready to start pilfering again.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Suspicions

In the Land of No

Suspicions.

That's what Ma had for weeks, but she never had any solid proof to confirm them. She would routinely talk about them over dinner, but that's all they ever were--suspicions.

But then one day last week, I got sloppy and Sister caught me. I didn't expect her to come home early that day.

She caught me climbing up the basement stairs; she caught me leaving the "Land of No."

Why was I down in the Land of No? Why did I ignore the plethora of muddy sneakers and dirty laundry down there?

I'm not going to say.

All that remains are...

Suspicions.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

Birthday 2018

Which devilishly handsome pup turns nine years old today?

That's right...

ME!!!!

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Memorial Day 2018

Wishing everyone a happy Memorial Day weekend!

And if you're barbecuing this weekend, don't forget to "accidentally" drop a cheeseburger or two on the floor for your four legged pals! Oh, and some potato salad too! I love potato salad!