This Face

This is my "there's an air conditioner in the window" face.  

This is my "there's an air conditioner in the window--why isn't it on?" face.  

This is my "there's an air conditioner in the window--why isn't it on?--it's 80 degrees in here" face.  

This is my "there's an air conditioner in the window--why isn't it on?--it's 80 degrees in here--I'm wearing a fur coat" face.  

This is my "there's an air conditioner in the window--why isn't it on?--it's 80 degrees in here--I'm wearing a fur coat--TURN ON THE DARN AIR CONDITIONER" face.

This face is usually accompanied by dramatic huffing, award winning sighing, and occasional fits of hysterical barking.

When you see this face, you should turn on the air conditioner.

Deck-Time

Comfort is really important to me.  Now, obviously this is not a stop the presses moment to my loyal readers.  I know that I wax poetic about comfort all the time on this blog.  And as a result, you all know my go to comfort spots including...

the couch,

Sister's bed,

my pillow,

and the nice cool floor.

But there's one other place--one special place--that is quite possibly my all-time favorite relaxation zone.  It is none other than the porch out east.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  How could a hard splinter filled porch compete with a nice soft bed?  Well, it does.

It's called "deck-time" in my house.  As the winter turns into spring and the warmth of the sun starts overcoming the chill in the air, I take every opportunity I can get to spend all my waking (and non-waking) hours sprawled out on the deck soaking in the sun.  With my giant water bowl beside me and my spare pillow at my disposal, I can spend hours out there.  And I don't even need company.  Pa and Ma can come and go from the deck to the yard to the house and I won't bat an eye or bark hysterically (yes, Rigby, the King of Barking, who barks at everything real and imagined and never wants to be left alone for fear of being left out of an exciting event or maybe a snack, actually lounges quietly by himself for hours on end ignoring passing dogs, squirrels, and humans).

And I take advantage of my entire deck when I'm out there.  I start in a nice sunny spot facing the street then, when the view gets old or I've drooled excessively in that spot, I get up, get a drink of water, and find a new spot facing the backyard.  A little while later, I get up again, get another drink, and relocate to a third spot.  As long as it's a sunny spot on my deck, it's got my name on it.

Of course, it's possible to overdo a good thing and sometimes my family has to interrupt my lounging to suggest that maybe I've spent enough time in the sun and should come in and cool off (it's never good when you start smelling like roasted chicken).  They're right of course, but even still it is always hard to walk away from my deck...unless of course the air conditioner is on inside the house.

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). 

Crazy From The Heat

I am not a fan of summer.

Sure, you’ll occasionally find me lounging on the driveway or on the deck baking in the sun because in small amounts it feels good, but by and large, I like to be cool and being cool means chilling inside with the air conditioner on full blast.

And what happens when there is a multi-day New York heat wave and the air conditioner is not running twenty-four hours a day?

I go crazy from the heat!

Now, my family might argue that it is virtually impossible to differentiate between my crazy from the heat howling/snout rubbing and my normal everyday howling/snout rubbing and to that I say...turn the air conditioner back on!

Hot, Hot, Hot

And the Costumes Continue

Last week, according to the big glowing screen in the living room that every in my family seems to worship, over two thirds of the country was under an extreme heat advisory stemming from a multi-day heatwave.  Now, my loyal readers are very much aware of how I feel about hot weather, but for any new additions to my online family, allow me to express them right here and now:

I DO NOT LIKE TO BE HOT!!!!

Did I make myself clear?

Anyway, because it was so hot for so long and because I have a permanent fur coat on (though Pa’s always threatening to give me a puppy cut), my family was nice enough to always leave the air conditioners on for me when they went to work each day.  So, while they were chasing squirrels or making peanut butter for my PB&K as I imagine all humans do when they go to work, I was living the life of leisure basking in air-conditioned comfort.

On Monday, the heat finally broke and by Tuesday morning, the temperature had decreased significantly compared to the previous few days of triple digit temperatures.  Riding the wave of slightly cooler air (or still crazy from the heat), Ma decided that the air conditioner would not be necessary that day.  “It’s supposed to only reach 80 degrees” she told me as she walked out the door.  I merely stared at her with a quizzical look, blinked, then gave her a weak tail wag as if to say: “yeah, sure it is.”

Well, the temperature did reach 80 degrees, then steadily climbed throughout the day to around 90.  And the humidity!  Let’s just say that it had rained heartedly that morning so the air was nice and wet in addition to hot.  So, to summarize, it was sauna-like that day and I was stuck in the house with open windows letting in the hot sticky air and absolutely no way of turning on the air conditioner (damn my lack of opposable thumbs!).  

Well, nine hot and sticky hours later, Ma rolled up to the house in her comfortably air-conditioned car.  I met her at the door (which I rarely do), pushed past her when she opened it, and scurried into the backyard to seek relief (and possibly revenge if I could find a nice flower to crush or pee on). After a quick scan of the yard, I found what I was looking for:  the doggy pool which had filled completely to the brim with rainwater from that morning's storm.  I hot footed it to that pool and climbed in.  And then, I stood there.  

Ma asked if I wanted to do my business.  

I stared at her from within my pool.

Ma asked if I wanted my dinner.  

I stared at her from within my pool

Ma asked if I wanted to say hello to Pa who had just arrived home. 

I stared at her from within my pool.

After a very long time, I finally managed to cool down enough that I was able to leave my pool (plus Ma had admitted the error of her ways and promised to turn the air conditioner back on).   And from that day on, Ma made sure that the air conditioner was left on for me regardless of how hot or cool it was supposed to be.

A Bad Month

Snoozing

Did you ever have one of those months?  You know, one of those months where you suffer from two different injuries, one hot spot, three trips to the vet, a dead air conditioner in a heat wave, a bath, and then find out that you haven't even reached the lowest point yet?

No?  Well, that's been my month.

Let's recap briefly.  In the injury department, there was that leg injury Sister caused when she took me outside to play and a week after that my neck started bothering me which resulted in a trip to the vet and some medication (a strain possibly brought on by the leg injury).  Prior to both injuries, I ended up with my first hot spot (an itchy oozing sore on my neck) which  took a shave, medication, and two separate trips to the vet to treat.  The central air conditioning system out east is dead so I spent the last two weekends out there in a perpetual state of hot and sweaty which resulted in Ma and Sister giving me a bath on Sunday afternoon when I got home.

But like I said, I haven't even reached the month's rock bottom.

What, you ask, is worse than multiple trips to the vet, multiple injuries, no AC, and a bath?  It's truly dreadful.  Nightmarish one might even say.  Maybe even chilling, grisly, hair-raising, hellish, traumatic, and alarming.  You see, according to the vet, yours truly has packed on a couple of pounds over the last few months and something needs to be done about it.

Now, right off the bat, I have two issues with this diagnosis.  First, I question the validity of the vet's scale.  Either the scale's calibration was way off or he was leaning on the table when he took my weight.  Second, how can I be overweight when I'm fed so infrequently?  I mean, all I get each day is my breakfast kibble, two pretzels, some cereal samples from Pa's breakfast, some blueberries, a giant Milkbone cookie when Pa leaves for work, a small Milkbone cookie when Ma leaves for work, my dinner kibble, grass from the backyard when no one is looking, a cookie to leave the humans alone during their dinner, a cookie for going out and doing my business after the dishes are cleaned, a PB&K, a sampling of my family's dessert (I love ice cream!), another cookie to get me up for my final business trip of the night, and a liver treat on my pillow when I go to bed.  And to make up the difference between the aforementioned approved food sources and the empty areas in my tummy, I rely on the scraps I find when my family cooks or snacks and those "good dog" treats I earn for acting cute and coming when called.  So basically, I'm wasting away as it is.  How could I possibly need to lose weight and what could I possibly cut?

Well, Ma stepped in and declared that I wasn't going to get nearly as many "good dog treats" (Pa, trying to help, took to replacing my "good dog treats" with Cheerios which I can't entirely say is worth the trouble of being good for) and that my two daily bowls of kibble will be a little less full.

But that's not all.  Now I'm being subjected to nightly walks!  I hate walks.  I've hated them since I was a little pup being taken on punishment walks (long walks around town with the purpose of wearing me out so I wouldn't be such a bitey, jumpy, miserable-to-live-with-juvenile-delinquent at home).  I'd much prefer to be romping around the backyard, chasing squirrels and digging holes rather than pounding the pavement.  And speaking of pounding the pavement, my family has decided that these walks, like the punishment walks, need a catchy and descriptive title.  Right now, the front runners are "fat dog walks" and "pudgy pooches pounding the pavement walks."  I don't approve of either of them.  The only good thing with this arrangement is that if my family wants me to go on walks then they have to go on walks.  If I have to drag about town in the sweltering heat then they do too.  I'm hoping their better judgment, not to mention their love of air conditioning and general laziness, wins out and soon.

Spring Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens

Loyal readers of my blog know that there are a handful of specific dates/events that I look forward to each and every year.  There's my birthday of course, Christmas, the day the air conditioner is installed, and Dog Days Weekend at Old Westbury Gardens (AKA "my estate").  Well, my birthday's a month away, Christmas is seven months away, and as much as I huff and puff Ma insists that "it's not that hot" and therefore way too early to put in the air conditioners.  That means that this weekend past had to be Spring Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens.

On Saturday, the first day of Dog Days, I went with Sister, Karin, and Mecki.  As is tradition, we met at "Rigby's Wall" (the one depicted in my profile picture) and participated in the great cookie exchange. Deciding to be ornery that morning, I refused to eat most of the cookies Karin offered me, choosing to instead roll them around in my mouth (getting them good and slobbery) before spitting them out onto the grass.  And do you know what happened next?  Karin actually picked up each slobbery cookie (unless Mecki got to it first) and put them back in her pocket.  What great fun!

Anyway, after the great cookie exchange (Mecki ate the cookie Sister offered), we made our way into the gardens.  We wandered around the West Pond, perused the Rose Garden, scurried through the Ghost Walk, and explored the East Lake via the Woodland Walk.  On our stroll, we met lots of pups (including numerous Golden Retrievers), sniffed lots of interesting smells, and begged for attention from passersby.

 

 

And then we met something that I can only describe as other-worldly.

Snapping Turtle

Wandering down one of the paths, the four of us ran into a giant snapping turtle who was making his way, rather determinedly, across the property to get from the East Lake to the West Pond.  Sister and Karin took turns checking out the turtle, leaving Mecki and me behind which was fine by me because that turtle was scary looking from a distance and I certainly did not want to get any closer to him.

A couple of hours later, our walk was over, and we returned to the car.  I was exhausted and fell asleep in the backseat before we even left the property.

When I got home, I drank about three gallons of water and stretched out on the kitchen floor in a puddle of drool and drinking water.

 
I snoozed there until dinner time at which point I ate my food, went out for a quick business trip, then settled down on the living room floor for another nap.

I roused briefly to sample the ice cream Sister had for dessert...

...but spent the rest of the evening snoozing on my pillow when I normally would have been barking for a PB&K or at car doors slamming blocks away.  At 10pm, Sister asked if I wanted to go out to do business one last time.  I didn't really want to, but I knew Sister wouldn't leave me alone unless I did so, sore and achy, I got up and dragged my weary bones outside.  When I got back in, I collapsed on my pillow.  It was after witnessing that particular moment of sheer exhaustion that Sister decided to camp downstairs in the living room rather than force me to drag myself upstairs to bed.

Early on Sunday morning (6:30am to be precise), I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed having slept nearly 17 hours straight.  I was begrudgingly taken outside by Sister for a morning business trip (Sister, as I've said before, is not a morning person) then Sister declared that it was still too early for breakfast and she and I snoozed for another hour or so.  By the way, that's why I like Sister--she's always up for a nap!

Anyway, shortly after we both woke up for the second time, Aunt B came over and she, Sister, and I piled back into the car for a second round of strolling around the estate.  The weather was decidedly unsettled that morning so there wasn't nearly as many people and dogs to meet, but even so, we had an enjoyable walk filled with lots of sniffing and posing for pictures.

Emma Rose and Me:  Oct. 2018

Unfortunately, there was one sad thing that happened on this second excursion:  I learned that my Dog Days Golden Retriever friend Emma Rose had passed away since I last saw her in October.  A highlight of Sunday morning Dog Days was always running into Emma Rose (and her human mom and grandma) and I'm going to miss her a lot.  Sister was very upset about the news, too (I let her give me an extra long hug later in the day).  But, while there will never be another Emma Rose, I did get the opportunity to bunk noses with the newest member of her family:  Alfie, a five-month old mixed breed pup with huge ears and a long curly tail.

Christmas In July

I was born for air conditioning.  I was made for lounging in a 69 degree room while the rest of the world sweltered in 90+ degree heat.  Sadly, however, I was adopted by a family who had limited air conditioning potential in their home.  Sure, I could lounge in the air conditioned bedroom at night when everyone was home and on really hot days the bedroom air conditioner would be turned on full tilt and all extraneous rooms closed off in a pitiful attempt to cool the house while my humans were at work, but other than that, I had to rely on marginally cool hardwood floors and the "rinse, roll in the mud, and repeat" technique associated with the doggy swimming pool.

More Mud!  I Need More Mud!

That is, I had to make do until today.  You see, Christmas came early for me in the form of a living room air conditioner.

Gloriously Cool Air!

From this day forward, whenever there is a sweltering heatwave, you will find me lounging on my end of the couch (conveniently located immediately next to the air conditioner) cool as a cucumber.  All I can say is:  It's about time!

Nice and Cool

A Scientific Discovery

Recently, scientists proved that dogs, like their two legged human counterparts, use the left hemisphere of their brain to process words and the right hemisphere to process the tone in which those words were delivered.  This means that dogs understand not only what a human says, but how they say it.  Dogs, therefore, understand human language on multiple levels.

To that I say:  "Duh!"

I know when my humans are angry, happy, or sad.  I recognize the high pitched squeal my family uses when I do something good and the "big people voice" they use when I've been naughty.

As for words, my human vocabulary is huge.  It is so huge, in fact, that I have even taken to categorizing my lexicon into two distinct groups:  those words I respond to ("AC," "cookie," and "dinner") and those I tend to purposely ignore ("drop it," "no," and "stop barking at them, they live there").

Allow me to show off my vocabulary further.

Earlier today, Sister and I were hanging out in her air conditioned bedroom; both of us sprawled out on the bed.  While we basked in the coolness, Sister began to tell me about our upcoming Labor Day weekend plans; that we were going out east, that the central air would be on, and that I'd be allowed to repeatedly run up and down the stairs connecting the backyard to the side deck (a favorite pastime of mine).

I listed politely as Sister babbled at me.  Don't get me wrong, I liked everything that she was saying, but I was just too hot to show any emotion.  But then Sister said something important--something that I just had to react to.

"Maybe you'll get to chase some squirrels."

At the mention of squirrels, I woke up from my heat induced stupor, sprang to my feet, and, from the added height of the bed, stared out the window into the backyard, my ears square.

"Some deer too," Sister suggested.

My stance never changed.  I still stared out the window intently, but my ears dropped a little.  I've smelled and barked at deer in the past, but because they were hidden by a wooden fence, I've never actually seen one.  This unknown leaves me a little hesitant about meeting one in person.

Then Sister said the magic word; the word I could never ignore.  She named my archenemy.  "Or bunnies," she casually said.

That was it.  My ears snapped to attention and a low growl work its way out from deep within me.  Words cannot explain how much I hate those stupid little cotton tailed bunnies.

So no, it does not surprise me that humans and dogs interpret language the same way.  Dogs have lived with humans for thousands of years; it's not hard to believe that our faithful two-legged companions would eventually start, from an evolutionary standpoint, learning from us.

A Summertime Walk

Sister is usually pretty cool.  She's almost always willing to share whatever she's eating, she's always hot so she's usually the first to suggest turning on the air conditioner, she's given up trying to stop me from dig-dig-digging under the forsythia, she was the first to allow me to sleep on the bed, and it has been through her co-workers that I have met pretty much all of my four legged friends.  But sometimes, despite all of her good ideas and willingness to share, Sister comes up with some truly stupid ideas.  She had one of those today.  Today, Sister took me for a walk.

Now you might say: "A walk?!  So what?"  Well, allow me to list three well known facts:

1. It is July and I live on Long Island, New York.  The daily temperature for my neck of the woods is between 80 and 90 degrees Fahrenheit.
2. I wear a full (and luxurious) fur coat all year round.
3. I hate walks--always have, always will.  I'd much prefer to be chasing squirrels or barking at people passing by from the comfort of my own backyard.

So, yeah, like I was saying, going for a walk was a really stupid plan.  And what's worse, when Sister put my leash and collar on me, I thought that we were going for a ride in the nice air conditioned car.  When we got outside, I even ran straight to Sister's passenger side door.  And when we walked past her car, I actually looked up and down the block for Ma's car (which wasn't there).  Talk about a bummer!

So anyway, Sister and I trudged our way to and from the local park which, while only a couple of blocks away, felt like it was in the next state.  Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.  So much so, in fact, that I even downright refused to eat the cookie that Sister bribed me with when she dragged me down one particularly shade-less street (I spit it out and left it on that street).  When we finally got home, I drank about a gallon of water out of the doggy stream (the garden hose).  Then Sister and I went inside.

In an attempt to buy back my love, Sister turned on the air conditioner in the bedroom and insisted that I hang out with her in the coolness (she was looking a bit worse for wear from our walk too--her hair, which is almost as thick as mine, was rather frizzed out).  I was tempted to refuse her offer on principle--plop myself down on the kitchen floor for a marathon panting session--but the cool air was just too enticing and I was so hot.

I snoozed on the bed in the air conditioning until lunch time when I sauntered out to see what Sister was eating.  Obviously feeling bad about dragging me out for a walk in the hot summer sun, Sister gave me a sampling of cheese from her sandwich.  All was almost forgiven.

Security Breach

This was a really bad weekend.  First, Ma and Pa snuck out of the house on Friday night and went out east (where there's central air) without me (they thought sneaking out without their bags and all the paraphernalia they usually transport would fool me...well, it didn't).  Then, to add insult to injury, on Saturday it cracked 90 degrees (which really stinks when you're born with a heavy, though gorgeous, fur coat).

Me and My New Toy!

But I have the best Sister in the world.  She realized how upset I was and tried to make me feel better by letting me nap in the air conditioned comfort of her bedroom, setting up the doggy pool in the back yard, and finally, buying me a new toy (all of which kind of makes me feel bad for waking her up at 7:10 on Saturday morning).  But despite feeling better, these acts of kindness on Sister's part did not take away the sting of Ma and Pa going out east without me.

And speaking of out east, last weekend I discovered a major security breach.

As my loyal readers know, I am the king of security.  I bark when I hear a car door slam, I bark when someone walks by my house, I bark when a neighbor talks too loud, and I bark when I image any of the aforementioned scenarios.  But for some reason, despite playing, drooling, and mooching food off of a guest the night before, when they emerged from the guest room the following morning, I was completely, 100%, do-a-double-take, caught off guard by their sudden appearance.

I know what you're thinking:  "How can you lose track of who is staying in your own house?"  The answer's simple:  I've got a lot on my mind.  Consider the fact that on a normal day I must think about my next meal, who/what I should bark at, and which toy I should rip up next.  And the fact that these security breaches have only occurred out east further proves my point.  Out there I also have to think about interlopers such as bunnies, deer, turtles, and fish falling from the sky.

With all that on my mind, no wonder some odds and ends (and people) slip through!

Vacation

Greetings from a devilishly handsome pup who recently returned from a thirteen day excursion to sunny eastern Long Island; a land of big back yards, interesting smells, and, most importantly, central air coupled with cool floors.

 

 

Introducing Betsy Ross!

Yep, that’s right, I was on vacation, and it was great from its very first minutes. You see, my family took two cars out east: Pa and I drove out in his car while Ma, Sister, and the newest hamster Betsy Ross took Sister’s car. This is my favorite driving arrangement—it means that I don’t have to share the backseat with Sister (nothing against the girl, but I think her continued insistence that she is allotted a full one third of the backseat can only be described as unreasonable).

But as wonderful as the ride was, it paled in comparison to the fun that was to come over the next week and a half. Here’s some of the stuff I did:

• I stole a toy sword from the little boy who lives next door. Now, before anyone thinks me a brute, allow me to explain that the sword was on my side of the fence so, legally, it was mine. Anyway, I grabbed hold of the sword by its handle and ran around the backyard with Sister in hot pursuit (I think she thought that I might try to threaten a squirrel with it—not a bad idea!). After a couple of loops around the backyard, I found a nice cool spot on the grass, plopped down, and proceeded to gnaw on the sword’s handle. Sister caught up with me shortly thereafter and took the sword away from me. She then threw the sword back over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
• I defended my turf against the exterminator…wearing a bee suit. I won’t lie, the bee suit threw me at first, but I quickly recovered and barked at him both with and without a tennis ball in my mouth (I am truly gifted when it comes to barking...my family doesn’t call me a “barky boy” for nothing). 
• I tried my hand at old fashioned letter writing by sending a postcard to my friends Mecki, Bastille, and Ralphie (the problem with writing postcards is that they don’t allow for random pictures to be inserted into the text for no apparent reason). 

  

  See?!  Random is Good!

• I bunked noses with “Sausage Dog” who lives next door (I was also barked at—rather unpleasantly—by the other two dogs living next door, but I didn’t let that bother me). 
• I found a smelly chunk of fish in the backyard and, while Pa and Sister wouldn’t let me eat it, I did get a few licks in before anyone realized it was there. This marks the second time that a fish was discovered in my backyard. The first time happened a few weeks ago when Pa discovered an entire fish lying in the grass (talk about unseasonable weather!). I’m hoping the next piece of fish comes with tartar sauce and lemon. 
• I added a new variation the daily squeaky bone/squeaky football game that I play with Pa, Ma, and Sister. 
1. My playmate throws my squeaker toy as far across the yard as he can (Pa is very good at this step—he throws it very far; Sister isn’t so good, in fact, she nearly clocked me a couple of times when she accidentally threw my toy downward rather than outward).
2. I sprint after the toy, grab it in my mouth, take two steps, then throw myself down into the grass to chew on the squeaker. 
3. My playmate, who by this time has walked the entire length of the yard to my current location, tries to grab my toy, but I get up and run away, my toy clenched firmly in my mouth. 
4. And here’s the new addition to the game: I run toward the house, gallop up the ten steps onto the porch, and sit down patiently at the side door as my playmate trudges across the yard and up the stairs after me. Upon getting the toy from me, my playmate then chucks it back into the yard, and makes his way down the steps and back into the yard. 
5. Repeat steps two through four over and over and over again (and let me tell you, the look on my playmate’s face as he climbs the stairs for the sixth time is priceless). 

A Sample of My Handiwork

• I took a large branch that fell from one of the trees in the backyard and turned it into a pile of smaller branches. Now, if Ma hadn’t taken those smaller branches away from me when she did, I would have turned them into even smaller sticks and, eventually, landscaping chips.

But what was the absolute, number one highlight of the entire vacation (aside from cool floor tiles and central air I spoke of earlier)? Paws down, it was my trip to the beach.

My Beach

The day started extremely early and with a flourish of activity. Everyone was up: Ma, Pa, and, oddly enough, Sister who usually doesn’t make an appearance until much later in the morning (she shares my love for sleeping late). But even more peculiar (and distressing) was the fact that, despite everyone being up and about, no one was showing any sign of getting me my breakfast. And so, with an empty stomach, Ma, Pa, Sister, and I piled into Pa’s car and pulled out of the driveway. A few short blocks later, Pa parked the car and we all got out. As soon as I got a whiff of the cool bay breeze I knew where we were and immediately started pulling Pa in the direction of the beach.

Pa and Me

Up and down the beach I ran, kicking up sand as I went. Occasionally, I’d run a little too fast and a little too far and come to a quick halt when I ran out of leash (Pa, restricted by the fact that he has only has two legs, couldn’t keep up with me and my four legs), but even that didn’t slow me down—I’d just go right back to running. Then, all of a sudden, I got an idea. Why not run into the water?

Now, I’ve been to this beach before, but when I was there last it was winter time (there was snow on the ground) and I was not allowed to play in the water because Ma said it was too cold (though I did disobey her by running, full force, toward the water to dip my nose into the freezing cold surf—it was a less than pleasant experience).

Anyway, this time, no one stopped me from running into the water. In fact, everyone came in after me; even Ma (though not as deep as me). And speaking of deep water—I waded all the way in until the water was up to the middle of my chest. Pa and Sister tried to get me to go in further; tried to get me to swim, but, as my loyal readers know from my profile bio, I don’t like to swim (or, more precisely, float).

 

Water in My Ears

So in and out of the water I ran, snapping at the waves, sniffing the seaweed, skidding down the dunes, and occasionally, taking a breather by lying on the warm sandy beach or in the cool shallow water. And as exhausted as I was when Pa said it was time to go home, I really wanted to stay (it didn’t help that I was told that there was a bath waiting for me when I got home).

Needless to say, I slept well that afternoon.

Of course, there were a handful of places that my family went where I was not allowed to join them (why certain establishments feel the need to forbid dogs—especially sophisticated, world famous bloggers such as myself—from entering their establishments will never make sense to me). Overall, I was okay with this arrangement; we all need some time to ourselves (it’s exhausting to keep track of Pa, Ma, and Sister), not to mention, I’d happily exchange a walk through Greenport on a 90 degree day for barking at the dogs next door from within my air conditioned house.

There was, however, one place I would have liked to have gone with my family: the aquarium. Why? Because, according to Sister, a relative of Mecki’s baby brother Bastille was there. You see, Mecki has repeatedly likened his new baby brother to a piranha because he’s all teeth. And what did Sister see at the aquarium?

Is it a piranha or is it Bastille?

So, overall, it was a great vacation. I played, I barked, I (nearly) floated, I napped, I stole, I smelled stinky things, and I lounged in air conditioned comfort. I’m home now, with my extensive collection of tennis balls, plush toys misshapen from multiple surgeries and amputations (I missed you Nuclear Bunny), and a herd of bunnies in the backyard who, I’m sure, have become quite cocky in my absence.

Whew...I think I'm going to need another vacation real soon!

Greetings from Eastern Long Island!