Christmas Roundup 2020

O Christmas Tree

It cannot be said that this Christmas was like all the others that came before. It was very different, fewer visitors and fewer carefree days leading up to it (hey, I’m a working dog now). But, in the end, it was the Christmas that we needed and boy did we take advantage of it.  

Christmas morning started with a reminder that it was not a work day. You see, I take my Administrative Assistant job very seriously and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I lost track of the days and ended up shooting Sister a very dirty look when she didn’t report to work at 8:30am as usual. However, after being shown the pile of presents left under the tree, I quickly changed my tune, left work behind, and proceeded to stick my snout into each and every bag and lick all the packages. 

Now, it’s a well-known fact that I get very excited when it comes to opening presents. I mean, it’s really an activity that is totally up my ally—you get to rip up paper into teeny tiny little pieces (and if you happen to accidentally swallow any of it, all the better)! It’s basically encouraged wrapping paper carnage! Of course, what isn’t encouraged is opening up presents that don’t belong to you. 

Not My Present-2012

Yeah, I have a history. 

Anyway, in years past, my family has tried everything to occupy me during the opening of presents so that the rightful owner of the present can actually open it themselves. Sometimes, they put me on the leash (I show my displeasure by chewing on the chain which drives Sister crazy). Other times, they’ve given me a PB&K. Occupying me with new toys is always a welcome tactic and my family has even tried to carefully unwrap their gifts so that there is little to no crinkling to pique my interest. Nothing really works that well, but this year, my family decided to try a combination approach. 

Me and My Dino

First, I got my presents: a plush dinosaur from Sister, a plush Tasmanian Devil and Marvin the Martian from Jim and Dixie (I gnawed off the Tasmanian Devil’s ear), and a new bagel squeaky toy from Ma and Pa (I killed the squeaker). 

Little did I or my family know that four new toys in quick succession is my breaking point; it’s when I reach overload. And boy did I ever. Suddenly, I jumped up and stood in the middle of the room with my head up in the air barking at the crown molding on the ceiling. Nothing my family could say or do could bring me out of it. I just kept barking and barking and barking like a dog possessed. All of a sudden, however, I felt a grumbling in my belly and a giant burp escaped my lips. 

Feeling better, I stopped barking. 

It was at this point that Ma suggested that maybe a PB&K would make me feel better. I scurried after her into the kitchen, collected my PB&K, and settled down while my family finished unwrapping their gifts. 

Me and My Tasmanian Devil

Once the PB&K was done, I curled up for a long nap waking up only long enough to change positions (from the couch to my pillow to the cool kitchen floor and back to the couch again), beg for any treat my family ate, and check the backyard perimeter for pumpkin left behind by the squirrels. 

Note: The neighbors in the yard behind me have been feeding the squirrels pumpkin for the last three weeks. Every time they drop a piece or leave it hidden behind the tree, I scoff it up. I think, at this point, I’ve consumed about five pounds of pumpkin (and given how fat the squirrels have gotten over the last three weeks, I’m hoping to be able to catch one come January). 

In other words, it was a very successful Christmas. 

All is Calm

On a personal note...

I just want to take a moment to let my fans know that I’m going to be going in for a bit of surgery on Monday morning. I have a growth on my left bottom eyelid which needs to be removed, a tag on my chin, and a hematoma right ear. I imagine I’m going to be a bit of a shaved mess when I get out, but it will be nice not to have my eye and ear bother me any longer. 

Wish me luck!

Christmas Greetings 2020

 

Wishing all my 

friends, 

family, 

and readers 

a very  

Merry Christmas!

Waiting for Santa is Exhausting!

Snowstorms and Video Conferences

I love the snow.  Nothing beats dig-dig-digging in Mount Puppy (a pile of snow Pa builds me from what he collects in the driveway), guffawing through the snowbanks (and occasionally face-planting when it suddenly gets deep), making dog angels in the grass, and skidding down the icy driveway.  It’s been a while since it last snowed any significant amount which is why I was super excited when I found out that it had snowed the night before.

Here’s some pictures from my snow day (while wearing some of my fashionable coats and sweaters).

 

 

But the fun didn’t end there.  Sister had her company Holiday Party Video Conference later in the afternoon and I, the self-appointed “Employee of the Year” for my excellence in Administrative Assistance, got to appear on camera.  And this wasn’t some quick photo-bomb.  No, sir.  Sister actually put the computer down on the floor and sat next to me so I could be in full view of the webcam.  Needless to say, her co-workers were in awe of how devilishly handsome I am.

I Think I'm on Mute

Communicating

My family says I’m bossy.  I disagree.  I’m simply a dog who knows exactly what he wants and is committed to getting it. 

And besides, what my family calls being bossy is actually just me communicating with them.  We don’t naturally speak the same language, my family and I.  They rely on words (and I’ve learned quite a few from sit, down, paw, and eights to squirrel, cookie, walk and focus (sometimes I get distracted when I go out to do business and my family has to remind me to focus on the task at hand)).  I, however, rely on barks, whines, and looks to get my points across.  The way I see it, both sides are talking, we’re just talking in different languages and making do as best we can.  They might sometimes find my way of communicating annoying, but do you have any idea how many times a day I have to hear them say the word 'sit'?  It gets old…quick. 

So that’s my opinion and my family's.  Now it’s your turn, my loyal readers.  Am I bossy or am I simply communicating my wants and needs?  Feel free to use the following as a guide.

Toys:

I want a toy!

There are everyday toys and then there are special toys.  Everyday toys are dull to play with, but good for greeting someone at the door with.  Everyday toys live throughout the house, scattered under tables, beneath chairs, in the middle of the room, and on stair treads.  Special toys, however, are fun to play with (and even more fun to rip to shreds) and generally live in closed off closets and rooms awaiting a special request.  I know where all those closed off closets are and when I want a toy, I ask my family by parking myself outside the door and barking hysterically.  If my family wants to hear the television, they pretty much have to give me a toy.

Bedtime:

When I’m ready to go to bed, I’m ready to go to bed and, what’s more, it is my firm belief that when I go to bed, everyone should go to bed.  Why?  Two reasons:

1. If I go to bed and my family remains awake, someone might decide to snack without me which is beyond rude. 
2. When everyone else finally decides to pack it in, they might assume that I’m not awake and waiting for my goodnight treat.  They would assume incorrectly. 

So what’s a dog like me supposed to do when he’s ready to go to bed and no one else is? 

I start with a combination of physical and vocal cues: I stalk into the bedroom, throw myself down on my pillow, and issue an exaggerated sigh.  Then I wait for my message to really penetrate my family's brains.  While I wait, I snooze--why waste the time?  This step usually lasts for about a half hour.

If, when I wake, my family still hasn’t called it a night, I up the ante and move to a more visible spot: the threshold of the doorway between Ma and Pa’s room and the hallway.  With my snout peeking out of the door, I give my family in the living room a distant side eye (when I'm not snoozing again) to encourage them to move along.

I'm watching you!

Now let’s say my family still does not submit to my demands.  If that’s the case, I get up, drag myself into the hallway, and shoot them the dirtiest look I can muster.

Staring someone down

Going through all these steps might result in my family laughing at me or saying that they are going to ignore me, but I know from experience that it is nearly impossible to ignore me when I give them that final “look.”  It’s only a matter of time before everyone starts fidgeting uncomfortably and eventually get up and head to bed.  Family 0—Rigby 1.

Go to Work:

Part of my job as Sister’s Administrative Assistant is that I am in charge of keeping a careful eye on the time clock.  If Sister is so much as a minute late coming back from lunch, I set myself up in her office and give her one of my disdainful looks.  Needless to say, she always comes running (though she’s usually muttering something about her being Bob Cratchit to my Ebenezer Scrooge).

Walks:

As I mentioned in a recent post, I’ve actually started to enjoy walks.  I mean, for the longest time I hated walks.  I hated being told to walk nice on a leash or, even worse, having to wear the snout guard.  And those punishment walks my family used to take me on (long walks designed to tire me out when I was becoming incorrigible)?  They were definitely not my idea of a good time.  But now, I actually demand walks whenever I’m out east.

Usually, when I want to go for a walk, I get all excited and start pacing the room.  That frantic energy doubles if my family shows even the slightest sign of daring to leave the house without me.  Sometimes, however, I have to take it a step further.  Here’s what I did a few weekends ago to express my excitement about going for a walk:

1. Barked frantically
2. Sneezed repeatedly
3. Retched loudly
   

Luckily, Ma got the message before I actually lost my breakfast.

Thanksgiving 2020

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

     ( )  _[]_   
(_` )_('>
(__,~_)8
   _YY_ 
 
❤ Rigby

Smart

Because of the pandemic, my family has severely cut down on their in-person shopping and has taken to relying heavily on online purchasing and mail delivery.  In fact, every couple of days, another package arrives in the mail and is left in the hallway for sanitizing and/or quarantining. 

For the most part, I ignore these packages.  Sure, I might sniff them as I walk by and bark at them if they block my way, but I know that they’re probably boxes full of boring stuff like stamps or people shampoo or grass seed.  But every once in a while, a package arrives that immediately piques my interest and holds my full and undivided attention.  But how do I know that one nondescript box is different from another nondescript box?  How do I know which will be of interest to me?  Here’s what Pa has to say on the matter:  

“You tell him [me] to ‘sit,’ something he was taught 11 years ago and is asked to do every single day, and he looks at you like you’re speaking another language.  But packages?  He can read the writing on the box and know it’s his.”

That’s right, my secret is no more.  I can read.  I can look at two boxes and realize that the one clearly marked “Chewy” is mine.

And boy-oh-boy do I get excited when the package is mine.  Until its opened, I spend all my waking hours barking at it excitedly and following it as my family moves the box from room to room.  When the package is finally opened, I anxiously pace nearby, waiting to be given whatever fun or tasty treat is surely inside.  I’ve even been known to rear up on my hind legs to get a better look at what’s going on inside the box.

Sometimes, however, my family does something really mean.  Despite the fact that the box is clearly marked “Chewy” and most definitely mine, they keep the contents away from me.  Of course, when this happens, I make sure to show my displeasure.  I become even more hysterical in my barking, pacing, and carrying on (incorrigible one might say)—insistent that I should be allowed access to what is rightfully mine.  Recently, my antics became so extreme with the arrival of a withheld “Chewy” box, that Ma actually had to take my package and put it outside—away from my persistent focus.  Hours later, when I was seemingly preoccupied with eating my dinner, Sister snuck outside, grabbed the box, and stashed it down the basement without me know (or so she thought).

Now, I won’t go down to the basement to retrieve what is rightfully mine (Santa’s watching, after all, not to mention the scary oil burner lives down there), but I haven’t forgotten.  No sir.  Eventually, I’ll get what’s rightfully mine.  I always do.

The Scary Oil Burner

Scary Leaves

Rigby in Autumn

It all started with a mean trick by Ma.  She took me outside in the backyard and, after I did a quick perimeter check, she tricked me into thinking that we were both going back inside the house when, in actuality, she wanted me inside the house so that she could rake leaves in peace (apparently letting me eat grass unsupervised until I vomit is not her idea of peace).

But I have my own not-so-secret weapons in my arsenal for just such trickery: a very good memory, a loud bark, and a high level of persistency.  First, I took a quick nap. Fully rested and recharged, I then went to the side door and started whining.  After a little bit, I switched over to my high-pitched bark.  Then, upping the ante, I escalated to my loud, drown-out-the-television, bark.  As expected, an exasperated Sister suddenly emerged from the living room saying “fine, I’ll take you outside.”

After Sister tracked down and put on her shoes (I had stolen one of them earlier in the morning so the pair were separated in different rooms), we went outside.

Upon exiting the side door, Sister turned left and went toward the backyard.  I, meanwhile, turned right and walked up the driveway toward the front of the house.  At the fence, I looked up the block toward the right.  Seeing nothing, I then turned left.  Nothing.  Finally, I scanned the area directly in front of me.  It was then that I started barking hysterically.  The house in front of me had three metal turkey decorations planted in the front yard looking all stiff and suspicious.

While I was giving the turkeys the what for, Ma came over and tried to assure me that they weren’t posing any threat and that I should leave them alone.  Begrudgingly, I gave the turkeys a few more warning barks, then turned and ran toward the backyard.

As soon as I reached the backyard, I found the giant pile of leaves Ma had raked up while I was still snoozing inside the house.  My eyes widened.

Now, I’m not one of those dogs who runs at top speed and dives into a pile of leaves.  No, I’m one of those dogs who moseys through a pile of leaves searching for the perfect stick to gnaw on.  Once I find that stick, I flop down in the middle of said pile to chew it and hamper any progress my humans hoped to make at cleaning up the yard.  Given the size of the pile, I figured that there would be a lot of sticks to choose from.  Today was going to be a great day.

So, I moseyed up to the pile but, when I was four feet away from it, I saw something.  There, in the middle of the pile, partially covered in leaves except for her head and shoulders, was Sister silently staring back at me.  Not expecting her, I jumped about ten feet into the air and landed in a quasi-play stance with my front end down on the ground and my back end up in the air.

Sister immediately burst out laughing.  Ma (who was in on the joke) did as well.  And me, I just started wagging my tail and sheepishly hurried over to Sister for an ear rub.

A Weekend Adventure

Between the pandemic and my two jobs (full time Administrative Assistant for Sister and part time Administrative Assistant for Ma and Pa), I haven’t gotten a lot of vacation time. On top of that, both the spring and fall Dog Days at my estate were cancelled and, while I have gone on more walks lately (and have actually come to enjoy and instigate them), I haven’t gotten the opportunity to meet a lot of new friends on those walks (both the two and four legged variety) as everyone is trying to avoid one another.

But Sister decided last weekend that it was time to take a break from my workaholic ways; it was time for me and my family to have an adventure.

All great adventures, at least for me, start with a car ride and after I was boosted in (I’m a little leery about climbing into the car right now), I paced and panted excitedly throughout the entire trip which was admittedly short, but provided me with enough time to drool on the back of the driver’s headrest and put nose prints on the newly cleaned windows.

After parking the car, Sister let me out of the backseat. I looked around. There was sand on the pavement and the distinct smell of water in the air. I was at the local beach!

Now, I’ve gone to the beach before (some loyal readers might recall my family’s failed attempt to get me to swim), but it’s not one of my usual haunts, so I was super excited to explore.

I pulled Sister all over the beach: up into the fluffy dry sand and down toward the rocky wet sand. I even dipped my toes in the water! And while I did all this, I also managed to produce my longest shoelace drool on record. 

 

There were only two disappointing aspects of the entire adventure. First, Sister did not alert me to the fact that there was a half-eaten fish on the shore that I would have loved to sniff if given the opportunity. The other problem was that no one thought to bring me drinking water. Now, normally, in November, this wouldn’t be too much of a problem—I’ve taken many a November walk where I waited until I got home to get a drink—but it was unseasonably warm (70 degrees) and well, fur coat. But despite secrets and a dry mouth, I persevered and thoroughly enjoyed my outing.

When we got home, Ma brought out a towel to wipe off my feet, a brush to brush the sand from my fur, and a big bowl of water. Well, I was so thirsty at this point that I basically dove into the water. I drank and drank and drank. Then, I stuck my foot in the bowl, dug at it twice, and drank some more. While I drank, Ma tried to wipe off my paws, but at this point it was kind of pointless because I was standing in a pool of drool and water. When I was done drinking, I circled my bowl twice and laid down next to it.

As soon as I got comfortable, my relaxation was immediately disrupted by the sound of my family laughing. I looked up at them wearily not immediately knowing what their problem was, but after a moment I figured it out: my ear was hanging in my water dish.

I considered moving my ear from the water bowl, but ultimately decided that if I wanted to sleep with my ear in my water then that was my prerogative. I was lounging on my deck, in the shade, in a pool of water and drool, and I had a bowl full of water so close that I didn’t even need to get up to get a drink. What else could a pup ask for?

The Protest

What?

The last time I posted, I wrote about Pa wanting to take away my air conditioner (okay, Sister thinks it’s her air conditioner) smack dab in the middle of the hot and balmy month of September.  I also wrote about Sister stepping up in my defense and demanding that the air conditioner remain in its window for the time being.

Well, for over a month, Sister and I worked together to retain control over our air conditioner.  Sometimes we stayed mum to avoid drawing attention to the magic cooling box in the window.  Sometimes, we whined piteously about how hot it was and boasted about how we would cool off in the air conditioning while the rest of the family sat around and sweat. 

But then Sister became a turncoat.  She started complaining to Pa that it was getting cold at night and that the air conditioner in the window was letting the cold air in.  Then, two days ago, Pa caved to Sister’s whining and climbed the stairs to her room armed with the empty air conditioner storage box.

Hot on his tail, I scurried up the stairs after Pa and watched in disbelief and horror as he removed the air conditioner from Sister’s window.  Inconsolable, I threw myself down in the doorway between Sister’s room and the hallway and did something that I never ever do on the second floor: I lay quietly. 

You see, when I was an obnoxious little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude, I used to get into an awful lot of trouble upstairs because I was under the impression that I could be extra bad when I was up there (I mean, I was a juvenile delinquent on the main floor and how I acted there paled in comparison to how I acted on the second floor).  In fact, my family even had a daily warning for me. “First floor rules apply,” they’d say.  Eventually, when I finally outgrew my terror years, most trips upstairs resulted in at least one howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging session.  Why?  Why not?  It’s fun!  And since my family’s been working from home, those sessions have only increased in intensity and frequency (I particularly enjoy howling and carrying on through Pa’s daily four o’clock conference call). 

Anyway, there was no howling/screaming/barking/snout-rubbing/digging at this moment.  No, I just lay there despondently mourning the loss of my air conditioner and reflecting on Pa and Sister’s ultimate betrayal. 

But then I heard the words: “Uh, Bud, could you get up?”  Pa was behind me having pushed the air conditioner, in its box, from the window to the threshold of the room.  The air conditioner’s winter resting place was the room just down the hall, however, I lay between Pa and the air conditioner and the other room.  “Bud?” he repeated and I lazily lifted my head and looked up at him with my big brown eyes.  “Think you can move?” he asked. I blinked twice, lowered my head to rest my chin on my paw, and sighed a deep drawn out sigh. 

It was at that moment that Pa realized that this was not me being ornery or lazy.  No, this was me standing up (by way of lying down) in protest over the loss of my beloved air conditioner.

The Summer Ain't Over Until the Dog Says So

Last week, with September waning, Pa decided that it was the perfect time to declare Summer 2020 to be over and to put away all the air conditioners in the house.  Needless to say, I was devastated by this news (the pulling of the air conditioners that is).  I mean, yeah, the last 3+ day heatwave we experienced was back in July, but the summer really isn’t over for me until there’s snow on the ground (hey, I wear a luxurious and full fur coat every day…I get hot).  Anyway, I watched in utter sorrow and disbelief as he went around the first floor pulling out the ACs from the living room and the bedroom.  With two down and one to go, Pa started up the stairs to Sister’s room, but, getting wind of his intentions, Sister, my hero, came running out of her office screaming “no.”  Sister explained to Pa that it was way too early to take out her air conditioner; that there were plenty more warm weather days to come.  Pa scoffed at Sister, but ultimately gave in to her pleas probably just to stop her from whining (the girl’s got some serious talent in that department).

A couple of days passed with cool nighttime temperatures, but then, Sunday came.

As soon as I got home from a weekend out east, I noticed how hot the house was and expressed my displeasure by panting dramatically.  Sister, always on the same wavelength as me, also commented about the heat and complained about the lack of air conditioning on the first floor.  Later, as the family sweated over their ravioli and meat sauce dinner, Sister promised me that she and I would sleep upstairs in the air conditioning that night.

Later when bedtime came around, I refused to snooze in Ma and Pa’s room while I waited for Sister to finish showering.  Instead, I sprawled out directly in front of the stairs going up to the second floor to make sure that Sister did not forget her promise and sneak off to bed without me.

And you know what?  It worked.  When Sister found me at the base of the stairs waiting for her, she leaned down and asked, “You wanna go up in the AC?”  Well, she didn’t have to ask me twice. I jumped up and scurried up the stairs as fast as I could.

Me and My AC

Eventually, Sister also made her way upstairs as well (she paused to say goodnight to Ma and Pa…I issued a single warning bark to hurry her along).  Upon entering her bedroom, she turned on the air conditioner and, I immediately ran to my pillow and began taking in the cooling breeze and white noise issuing from the air conditioner.  An hour later, once the room was nice and cool and Sister was huddled under a sheet and two blankets, I was able to truly relax and fell into a deep sleep along side Sister’s bed (so she’s trip over me if she decided to turn off the AC in the middle of the night).

Snoozing

Monday night wasn’t quite as warm as Sunday night, but I repeat…24/7 fur coat.  While Sister dawdled in the living room watching the news, I took up my spot in the hallway blocking her from the stairs.  When I heard the footrest fold back into her chair, I played it cool and kept my head down so as not to appear too anxious.  However, as soon as I heard her say goodnight to Ma and Pa, I quickly lifted my head and gave Sister my big brown eyes.

“Rigby,” she said, “you can come up, but I can’t promise that I’ll turn the air conditioner on.”

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

“It’s really not that hot,” Sister explained.

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

Sister sighed.  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll turn it on for now, but no guarantees it will be on all night.”

My eyes darted once toward the stairs and then back to Sister.

“Well, go ahead.  You wanna go up in the AC?”

Jumping up, I propelled myself forward toward the stairs and scurried up them as fast as my legs could carry me.

Once upstairs, Sister turned the AC on and I threw myself down on the floor next to her bed.  Minutes later, Sister was huddled under a sheet and two blankets and I, well, I was comfortable (you might want to turn the sound up for this video). 

A Nighttime Mystery

Wearing Pa's Shoes

Click, click, click, click, click.

That was the noise that woke Ma up from a dead sleep this weekend. Without opening her eyes, Ma’s mind immediately went to work trying to identify the sound. Was it a woodpecker hammering on the siding of the house? She opened one eye and saw that it was still very much dark outside. No, woodpeckers wouldn’t be up at whatever hour of the night it was. Maybe it was an owl, she thought. After all, owls had repeatedly been heard in the area over the last handful of weeks. But owls don’t peck at the side of buildings, she concluded. So what could the sound be?

Click, click, click, click, click.

By this time, Pa was also awake. After a few seconds of contemplation, he sat up and looked down at the floor.

Snoozing

There I was, fast asleep, dreaming happy dog dreams of chasing stupid little bunnies and squirrels out of my backyard. And every stride I took in my dream caused my legs to twitch and my toe nails to click, click, click, click, click against the wall.

Mystery solved. 

Pa's Faux-Pas

Do you remember how mortified I was when I accidentally bit Pa when a gag reflex sent my canine tooth through his pointer finger? (If you don’t, here’s the post). And then, afterwards, how I followed him around for days groveling with my ears low and tail down? It was traumatic. It was horrific. It was quite possibly the worst day of my entire life (and I’ve had days where I’ve jumped out of moving vehicles and tried moving a house with the side of my face).

Well, I’m over it now. I’m no longer ashamed of what I did and it’s all because Pa did something to me that made my faux-pas seem insignificant.

Pa vacuumed my butt.

Now, I know some pups are offended by the vacuum cleaner; in fact, some are downright scared of it. Not me. Don’t get me wrong, I dislike the fact that vacuums are responsible for removing the dirt, leaves, and sticks that I so carefully drag in with me from my adventures outside. I’m also keenly aware that the vacuum has been responsible for quite a few interrupted naps over the years. But really, when it comes to my feelings about the vacuum, I’m neutral; I don’t really think much about it.

Because of this lack of interest, it’s no surprise that this weekend, while Pa was pushing the vacuum around the house, I simply snoozed away in the kitchen, waiting for the very last minute when I’d have to get up and move to a new local so Pa could vacuum the spot where I was sleeping. When the time came, however, I guess I didn’t move fast enough. I was lying there with my head down watching Pa when, all of a sudden, I saw Pa’s eyes go wide and I felt a sharp tug on my butt.

“I’m so sorry, Squirt!” I heard Pa shout as he turned off the vacuum.

Confused, I got up and looked around. What I saw was shocking. There, hanging from the front of the vacuum, was a one-inch wide chunk of fluffy golden fur. My fluffy golden fur.

Now, unlike Pa who “screamed like a girl” when I accidentally bit him all those years ago, I did not make a peep when that chunk of fur was unceremoniously ripped out. In fact, its removal didn’t even impact my rugged good looks as neither me nor my family can even find the spot that was de-furred so rudely (luckily, I have thick, luxurious fur). But still, the entire event was disturbing. Way more disturbing than me accidentally taking a nibble out of Pa’s finger.