Thanksgiving 2020

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

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❤ 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?