A Series of Small Adventures

The life of a devilishly handsome pup such as myself isn’t necessarily one exciting adventure after another.  Sometimes, it’s more of a series of small events packed in between well-earned naps and dinner breaks.  The last handful of months have definitely fallen under the category of the latter. Here’s pictorial collage of what I’ve been up to: 

Twined with Lamb Chop (that’s me on the right).



Suffered a post Easter hangover (parties take a lot out of me).



Worked on my patented “Aren’t I pitiful?” look (look at those big brown eyes).



Gained fame as an advertising star (shout-out to My Estate for posting this throwback picture).



Hung out in the great outdoors with my new squeaky ball (sod is quite comfy).


 

But there was one event from the last few months which was not captured on camera:  Pa and I bonded while sniffing a tree.  You see, Pa and I were heading out for our morning walk, when we stopped at the next-door neighbor's dogwood tree.  While I busily sniffed the base of the tree ("reading the newspaper" as Pa calls it), Pa leaned forward and sniffed a couple of the pink flowers hanging from its branches.  Sister witnessed this touching scene from the front window, but rather than be moved by it, she instead decided to mock Pa and I for it.  

 

Obviously, some people just don't appreciate a poignant father/son moment.

Game Time!

That Sucks!
The game of getting the toy or bone you want.

Objective:

For the dog get his pick of any toy or bone in the house and for the human(s) to watch television in peace.

Components:

• One lovable dog
• At least one haggard human
• Multiple high-quality toys and bones in varying forms (i.e., plush, squeaky, tug, balls, antlers, marrow, Nylabones, etc.)
• A storage area (closet or counter) large enough to house said toys and bones
• A chorus of spectators (optional)
  

Setup:

1. Human(s) settle down for a quiet evening of watching television.
2. Dog decides that he is bored, that his existing toys and bones are all dull, and that the human(s) must be hiding far more interesting toys and bones elsewhere in the house.
   

Playing the Game:  

1. Dog begins barking, carrying-on, and generally showing his displeasure for being bored and being denied immediate access to all the toys and bones in the house.
2. Human(s) plead with dog to quiet down (shouting and noise making (i.e., hand clapping and whistling) is acceptable).
3. Dog ignores human(s). If possible, dog increases his own noise and carrying-on levels.
4. After much pleading, human(s) gives in and walks to storage area housing the supply of toys and bones.
5. Human(s) produces a toy or bone from the storage area and presents it to dog.
6. Dog sniffs offered toy/bone briefly then snubs it (chorus shouts “That Sucks”).
7. Human(s) returns toy or bone to storage area.
8. Human(s) produce another toy or bone from storage area and presents it to dog.
9. Repeat steps 6-8 until end of game.
   

Winning the Game:

The game ends when the human(s) presents something to dog that he likes and runs off with it. If no acceptable toy or bone is available, human(s) may try offering a PB&K.

What the Nor'easter Brought

I have mixed feeling about storms like the nor'easter we had last weekend.  On the one paw, the strong winds often bring down branches and pieces of bark from high up trees which, as my loyal readers know, is key to my hobby of making small branches into smaller branches and gnawing on bark like it's chewing gum.  Then of course, there is the fact that my model-like poses are way more effective when I'm facing into the wind, my glamorous fur rippling behind me.  On the other paw, however, high winds tend to make already scary things (like garbage cans) scarier by making them move and there are few things I hate more than the wind blowing on my tail feathers when I'm trying to do my business.

Like past storms, this recent one brought both good and bad things to my day.  But the key to this entire story, which I will relate now, however, is that I came out on top.  Here's what happened.

The bulk of the storm occurred on Friday.  By Saturday morning, when my story takes place, the driving snow, sleet, and rain had dried up leaving only cloudy skies and occasional gusty winds.  Bright eyed and bushy tailed from a good night sleep, I was out first thing in the morning wandering through the backyard scoping out the damage which consisted of only a meager number of felled twigs and branches.  I started out near the garage on the right side of the yard.  Then I moved to the middle of the yard where I sniffed suspiciously at a roof shingle which had blown in from who knows where.  I jumped slightly when the fabric cover on the next-door neighbor's grill billowed in the wind, then, after checking to see if anyone noticed my start, sauntered over to the forsythia bush located in the far left corner of the yard. 

I was absentmindedly sniffing behind the forsythia bush when I came across something strange.  It was roundish and bright yellow and when I picked it up in my mouth I discovered that it was squishy, tasted of plastic, and had a slightly rigid outer shell.  Hoping to get a better handle on the entire situation, I dragged this strange object out from behind the bushes and spit it out in the middle of the yard.

A Visiting Beach Ball

The storm had brought me a slightly deflated beach ball!  

Happy with my discovery, I picked up the ball and guffawed my way across the yard and onto the driveway.  I needed to show Pa what I had found. Needless to say, he was quite impressed with my discovery.

I stood there in the middle of the driveway for a couple of moments holding my new found toy, but then I got tired and put it down.  It was then that things got a little scary.  Out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind took hold of my beach ball and blew it toward me.

I backed away quickly.

Pa laughed and suggested we go inside to eat our breakfast.  I thought it was a good idea, so I quickly sidestepped the beach ball--careful never to take my eyes off it just in case it decided to attack again--and ran inside.

A couple of hours later, Sister took me outside again.  At first, I forgot all about the beach ball and walked right by it (it was now hiding to the right of the side step).  It wasn't until after I had checked the perimeter of the backyard for squirrels and made up my mind to go to the front gate and bark at nothing at all that I happened to come across the ball in passing.  Completely forgetting about my noisy plans, I scurried over to the ball, picked it up, and ran into the backyard.

Burying my Head

Attack!

For the next forty-five seconds I had a grand time.  I ran.  I jumped.  I guffawed.  I shook the yellow beach ball way up high over my head and from left to right allowing it to thump against my sides.  I even buried my face in it and attempted to roll on it (which didn't work).  But the fun was short lived.  While running with the ball in my mouth, I suddenly heard the whooshing of escaping air.  My tooth had punctured the thin yellow plastic shell.

So, with the beach ball punctured, there was only one thing left for me to do.  I had to kill it.  I stopped in my tracks and, with my foot firmly placed on the deflated ball, began picking at it with my razor-sharp teeth.  Within seconds, the ball was no more.

A Short-Lived Friendship

A Belated Christmas Roundup

For those not living in the Long Island area, the temperature outside pretty much plummeted over the last few weeks.  Heck, we even had a major blizzard complete with two-foot-tall snow drifts (for all those wondering, I am not a fan of two foot tall snow drifts).  But what's more telling when it comes to how cold it’s been is the following photo.

As you can see, I am laying on the couch wearing my stylish green sweater.  I had just returned from a morning walk with Pa and it was so cold outside that I downright refused to let anyone take my sweater off of me once I came in.  And let me tell you, I was nice and roasty-toasty comfy-cozy in my sweater all curled up on the couch.  That is, I was until Sister decided to use me as a muff to warm her ice-cold hands.

But I'm not here to harp endlessly about my stylish green sweater or how cold Sister's hands are (if she weren't standing upright at the time I would have sworn that she had died).  No, I'm here to give my yearly Christmas roundup (even if it's been a couple weeks since the actual day).

Christmas was kind of weird this year.  Santa arrived on time, but the usual Christmas festivities were postponed twice due to illness (not mine).  I was okay with it though.  Eventually, the family got together on New Year’s Day and celebrated with the usual array of food, laughter, belly rubs, and presents and, as bad as it sounds, I love it when my family stays home sick because it means that we get to spend the entire day snoozing in bed or on the couch.  What a wonderful life it is!

Toys from Santa

A toy from Dixie

Anyway, like I said, Santa arrived on time and I was obviously such a good boy this year that he told a number of my friends.  From Santa I got a stylish new collar, a new Bill (“Oh nooooo!”) toy, a giant tennis ball, and a plush football.  From Ma and Pa I got a new antler.  From Sister I got a giant plush worm toy (as Sister explained “all toys I buy him ultimately turn into a worm once he rips off all the limbs...might as well start with one”).  Aunt B got me a crunchy gummy log.  Dixie and her family got me a couple of Mini Meckis and a Lamb Chop toy.  Dianne got me a giant Christmas cookie.  What a haul, right?

So merry Christmas, happy New Year, and thank you to all my friends and family.  And remember, don’t let anyone take away your cozy green sweater.

Atop a snowdrift

For Want of a Pocket

Humans take pockets for granted.  Think about it.  Whenever you want to temporarily free up your hands, you don't have to put down your property fearful that some other pup or human will swipe it.  No, you can just slip whatever you have in your pocket and continue on without a second thought.

Not me though.  No, I always have to be vigilant, ever concerned, that someone might swipe my toy when my attention is diverted.  That is, I used to be.  I recently discovered a technique which allows me to keep an eye on a possession while going about my day, specifically, getting a drink of water.

It happened a couple of days ago.  Sister had just come home from work and was showering me with all the ear rubs and neck scratches I wanted (Sister recently started a new job in a town far enough away that she isn't able to come home at lunch time to rub my ears.  As a result, she must provide me with an entire day's worth of attention as soon as she gets home).  In my mouth was my orange bally-ball, a toy Sister bought me at a store near her new job that I absolutely adore (I have actually delayed going to sleep at night in order to keep playing with it).

Anyway, I was hanging with Sister and my orange bally-ball when, out of the blue, I suddenly felt very thirsty.  Bally-ball still clenched firmly in my mouth, I hot footed my way over to my water bowl and looked in.  Staring up at me was my reflection--handsome as ever and obviously just as obsessed with the orange bally-ball as me.  But there was something else in that face, a sort of smugness.  It took me a minute to fully comprehend, but I eventually realized that that smugness was my reflection asking "so, how you gonna get a drink of water with that bally-ball in your mouth?"

Panic set in.  If I held onto my orange bally-ball, I wouldn't be able to get a drink of water.  If I put the ball down, say, beside me, then some nefarious person (Sister) might swoop in and steal it.  What was I to do? 

Suddenly, the solution came to me.

A Reenactment

With a "pththth" and a "splash," I spit my orange bally-ball into my water bowl and drank around it.  Sure, the floating obstruction made it a little difficult to drink from the bottom of the bowl up like I'm want to do, but I had ample room to get a drink and ensure that my chin sopped up enough water to flood the floor of my choice later on.

When I had drunk my fill, I fished my bally-ball out of the bowl and turned back to Sister.  She was doubled over laughing.  Let's just say that I had no other option but to wipe my sopping wet chin on her pant leg.

Four Vignettes

Bruno:

Ill Gotten Gains

There's a new dog on the block out east--a boxer puppy named Bruno. Bruno and I had a meet and greet in my backyard a couple of weeks ago and while he was very playful (he kept jumping over me and gnawing on my ears), I was way more interested in the squeaky ball his human had brought over for us to play with.  In fact, I was so interested in the ball that I basically ignored Bruno.  When it was time for Bruno to go home, no one was able to wrestle the toy away from me.  So, I kept it.  Well, I kept it for the night.  The following morning, before we left for home, Pa tossed the squeaky ball over the fence and into Bruno's backyard.  Sigh.  Anyway, Bruno's squeaky ball can visit any time it wants.

In the Wash:
My evenings are usually spent snoozing on my end of the couch which is protected from fur and slobber by an old bed sheet.  Two days ago, I was shocked to discover that the protective sheet was gone and a number of pillows were piled high on the cushion preventing me from claiming my spot.  Undeterred, I headed toward the other end of the couch, but found that Ma had beaten me to it.  Becoming concerned, I started to pace in front of the couch, looking for a way up.  Ma noticed my anxiety and told me that I wasn't allowed on the couch that evening and that I'd have to snooze on the floor.  I started to whine.  Ma explained to me that my sheet was in the dryer and that I couldn't lay on the couch until it was dry.  I started to bark.  Ma jumped up, went downstairs, and brought back a new old bed sheet for me to use.  I waited just long enough for Ma to cover most of the couch before pushing by her, jumping onto the cushion, and flopping down with a sigh.

Ears of Steel:
One evening, when Sister came home from work, she decided to make a snack of peanut butter and jelly crackers (PB&J on saltines).  Alone in the kitchen (I was in the living room), and not in the mood for sharing, Sister decided to work as quietly as possible with the hope that I wouldn't scurry in looking for samples.  She retrieved the crackers and jelly with no issue, but then she knew those would be easy to obtain.  The issue was the peanut butter (my favorite).  As quietly as possible, Sister opened the pantry door, picked up the peanut butter jar, slid it onto the counter top, and unscrewed the top.  Proud of her accomplishment of doing the aforementioned tasks silently, Sister turned around to get a knife to spread the peanut butter on her crackers with, but stopped suddenly in her tracks.  There I was, sitting at her feet, looking up at the peanut butter jar, and drooling.

A Little Too Quick
At lunch time, when Sister says it is time to go outside and check the perimeters, I immediately jump up and scurry to the door.  Usually, just as I reach the top step, Sister opens the storm door which allows me to exit the house without actually having to slow down my pace.  Well, I don't know if it was her, me, or a combination of both of us, but earlier this week the timing of this little tradition was horribly off and I ended up running head first into the storm door long before Sister managed to open it.

Christmas 2016 Roundup

Posing with the Tree

It's official.  I was a very good boy last year.  How do I know?  Well, Santa doesn't lie and between him, my family, and my two and four legged friends, I really cleaned up this Christmas.

From Tink and ZeeZee I got a filleted snowman with a rattle in its hat, a squeaker in its stomach, and crinkly plastic in its base.  I was given this toy on Christmas afternoon and I immediately ripped a hole in its hat, shattered the rattle with my teeth, broke through the fabric divide between the snowman's hat and head, and started ripping out its stuffing by the mouthful.  I intended to do further damage, however, it was at this point that Sister took the snowman away from me which was definitely depressing.

Scruffy Mini-Mecki

My BFF Mecki and his little brother Bastille gave me a box of cookies (I've already added them to my cookie jar) and a brand new Mini-Meck that was not only scruffy like its namesake, but smelled like him and his brother too (apparently, something happened during the wrapping phase of this gift, but I won't go into that).  Anyway, I was given my Mini-Meck a couple of days ago and it is already in the toy hospital awaiting surgery.

From Santa I got two new light-up squeaky balls (one for home and one for out east) which I squeaked straight through Christmas dinner (to the chagrin of everyone in the room with me) and a bag of treats which I sampled almost as soon as it came out of my stocking.  And while I'm on the topic of stockings, it finally dawned on me this year that all good things come out of them (I have always thought it weird that my family would hang giant socks from the living room/dining room doorway, but I just wrote it off as a human oddity much like saving leftover food for later rather than eating it immediately).  As a result, I spent a fair portion of Christmas Day barking at the over-stuffed stockings despite my family repeatedly telling me that only one of the stockings was mine and that I had already played with all the toys and sampled all the food within.  I, however, didn't care and continued to bark.

From Ma and Pa I got a couple of squeaky tennis balls which I immediately shredded into tiny little yellow fuzz and brown rubber pieces.  Sister got me a plush polar bear toy, but I've yet to lay eyes (or teeth) on it.  According to Sister, it is quite cute which means that I'm going to have to keep my eye on her lest she declare it a stuffed animal ("stuffed animals" are off limits to me).

Cookie from Jack and Sadie

Finally, I received the surprise of a lifetime when loyal readers Jack and Sadie sent me two giant decorated Christmas cookies.  Jack and Sadie are the four legged companions of Ma's co-worker Dianne.  I was super surprised by this generosity and, well, the cookies smelled so good that I kind of ate one of them before Sister could take a picture of the two.  That being said, here's what the second cookie looked like just before I ate its head.

Of course, I didn't just receive gifts.  Oh no.  I gave plenty of fun gifts too.

Twins!

I gave Tink, ZeeZee, and Mecki their very own light up squeaky balls and Bastille, because his mouth is so small, got a squeaky bone that smells like bacon.  My four legged friends also got a box of cookies to share with their respective siblings.  Pa, however, got the piece de resistance of Christmas gifts.  I got Pa a red and white scarf which, get this, came with a matching one for me!  Now Pa and I can walk around town like we're twins!

But Christmas isn't just about giving and getting gifts.  It is also about having fun times with family and friends.  I spent my Christmas Eve and Day with my Ma, Pa, Sister, Aunt B, the hamsters (Mittens, Skittles, Neville, Brownie, and Eddie), and the Library gerbils (Bonnie and Bay) who were visiting for the long weekend.  And even though I got yelled at a couple of times for being a little too exuberant with the shredding of the wrapping paper (there might have been a few near misses between my teeth and the recipient's fingers) a fun time was had by all.

So, to all my friends and family, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Abandon Ship

I am a coiled spring. I spring to life from a dead sleep in order to alert the neighborhood of a slamming car door two blocks away, I can hear (and respond to) a peanut butter jar opening despite being outside and otherwise preoccupied chasing a squirrel, and seconds after the cheese drawer opens in the kitchen I can be found right by the snacker's side.

But perhaps even more impressive than my ability to quickly respond to a situation involving an intruder or food is my ability to spring into action when my own self-preservation is on the line.  Allow me to explain with two specific examples:

The Fire Alarm:

I'm not insinuating that their cooking is bad (actually, it is usually very good), but my family has a habit of accidentally setting off the fire alarm when roasting a large piece of meat or a particularly fatty bird.  Now, the logical response to the smoke detector's sudden sirens and mechanical female voice shouting "fire, fire, fire" would be to gather one's belongings and quickly vacate the premises.  Well, my family doesn't do that.  Instead, they split up: one person opens the window in the kitchen, the second person grabs a dish towel and begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector, and the third person gets a step-stool and takes down the screeching, talking, flying saucer like device.

Now, I frequently worry that my family is not taking a potentially serious threat seriously when it comes to the smoke detector.  The smoke detector isn't like someone telling you to sit or stay or lie down or say "howdy."  You don't just smile at the smoke detector and pretend that you don't understand what it is saying.  No, you react.  Here's what I do:

As soon as the mechanical female voice issues her first warning of "fire," I jump up and head straight for my favorite toy which I pick up in my mouth.  With my toy now secured, I quickly make one attempt at herding my family toward the nearest exit.  As I am not a herding dog and herding my family is like herding a group of cats, I usually fail miserably at this endeavor.  Then it's on to Plan B; I head toward the door, toy in mouth, and anxiously wait for someone to come and open the door for me (yes, my escape is hindered by the lack of a thumb).  And what happens if no one opens the door for me?  I start pacing, hoping that someone will notice my concern and finally wake up to the potentially deadly situation that is ongoing.

Now that is the proper way of dealing with a fire alarm!

Attack from Above:

It was two o'clock in the morning and I was hours into a very pleasant dream in which I was chasing squirrels through a huge backyard while taking periodic breaks to eat Milkbone flavored ice cream.  Suddenly, there was a fluttering sound and something landed right next to where I was standing.

"The sky is falling!" I thought.

I was at the zenith of jumping ten feet straight up in the air from my initial prone sleeping position when I fully woke up.  And when I landed back on my pillow, out of breath and completely on edge, I immediately went into emergency evacuation mode.  I quickly scanned the room.  Both Ma and Pa were awake--the combination of the fluttering sound and my crash landing woke them--so I figured that they were smart enough to get themselves out of the building on their own.  I only had to focus on getting myself out of the house.

My Light-Up Squeaky Ball

Next to me lay my new favorite squeaky ball (it used to light up and squeak, but now it only hisses when I chomp down on it but it is still good).  I scooped it up and made a beeline to the side door.

Within seconds of reaching the door, Ma came up behind me.  She told me that everything was okay and that I should go back into the bedroom and "check out" what scared me (I later found out that what had fallen was the dust jacket to Pa's book--a breeze caused by Pa shifting his blankets must have dislodged it from its spot on the night table and sent it hurtling to the ground).  I wasn't falling for it, though.  There was a threat and I was determined to abandon ship while I still had the chance.

Eventually, Ma made a deal with me.  She agreed to take me outside to do business if I agreed to come back in afterward.  I wasn't happy about it, but nature won out and I was committed at that point.  Once I was done, I cautiously returned to the bedroom and lay down on the far side of the room; far away from my pillow and the scene of the crime.

I've Got Mail!

It's obvious that I'm quite advanced when it comes to electronic devices.  After all, I maintain this blog (without any thumbs and missing one dew claw), I fully understand the importance of air conditioning (air conditioning makes wearing a fur coat during the summer slightly more comfortable), and I look up with concern every time Pa's cell phone buzzes (it annoys me because it usually wakes me up from a dead sleep).  But did you know that I can also order things online?  You see, early on I learned that those little plastic rectangles people carry around with them in their wallets aren't just chew toys.  They buy chew toys!

So my latest package arrived a couple of days ago and as soon as Ma carried it into the house, I recognized it as my own.  There was just one problem:  I had no way of getting into the box and my family was too preoccupied making their own dinners to lend me a thumb (truth be told, I could easily have ripped my way into the box, but for some reason my family frowns on this behavior).  So what did I do?  Plan B.  I made a nuisance of myself; I spent all of dinner barking at the box.

Finally, after somehow managing to endure an entire meal of me barking, Pa got up and brought my box into the dining room and started opening it.  Overcome with excitement, I reared up on my hind legs, rested my front paws on the table (a definite no-no), and attempted to jam my snout under the loosening flaps.  Once I determined that my "assistance" was proving less than helpful (a phenomenon that occurs very rarely), I dropped back down to the floor and patiently waited for Pa to finish opening the box. I knew based on Pa's reaction to the contents that I had chosen wisely.

The box was packed full of squeaky tennis balls and chewy Nylabones!

Me and My Squeaky Toy

With the box now open, I once again reared up on my hind legs and put my front paws on the table.  And do you know what Pa did?  He laughed and gave me one of the squeaky tennis balls!  With the tennis ball clenched firmly in my mouth, I scurried into the living room and plopped down on my pillow for an evening of noise-making.  And oh boy was there noise!  There was loud squeaking coming from the tennis ball.  There was loud howling coming from me each time the ball rolled out of reach.  And there were loud and exasperated comments coming from my family as they repeatedly informed me that the ball was literally inches away from my mouth and that if I just got up and got it I wouldn't have to lie on my side howling piteously (I love my family, but sometimes they just don't understand me).

I will admit that a couple of times during the evening I left my squeaky ball behind (usually with a large concave dent in the side of it) to check to see if someone had happened to put my box full of toys on the floor so that I could help myself to a few more items, but alas, the box remained out of reach on the kitchen table.  But did I become depressed?  No.  I simply scooted back into the living room and returned to my dented (but still squeaky) tennis ball.

Snow!

My First Snowstorm, 2009

It snowed!  And not just a little bit.  Over the course of about twenty four hours, a blizzard dumped just over one foot of snow onto my backyard.  I love it; always have.  I've loved snow ever since I was a little bitty puppy experiencing my very first snowstorm (which happened to be a substantial one like this).

Sister documented my adventures outside once the blizzard finally ended and I'd like to share the photos with my loyal readers.

1-2 Inches Accumulation

First, I helped everyone shovel--by barking out instructions of course!  In fact, I was so absorbed in my job of pointing out spots people missed and reminding everyone to lift with their legs and not with their backs, that I started developing a few inches of accumulation myself. It was well worth it though.  My family did a spectacular job of clearing the snow.  But I didn't just bark out instructions while I watched from behind my front fence.  I also spent some time gnawing on chunks of ice.

Searching for Intruders

Next I did a perimeter sweep of my backyard.  First, I bunked noses with Honey, the dog next door, and then I ran (or bunny hopped as Sister calls it) across the yard to chase down (and bark at) a woodpecker pecking at the neighbor's tree.  After scaring the woodpecker off, I started checking for bunnies and squirrels, but luckily, the snow seemed to have kept them away.

Where Did That Ball Go?

After that, Ma and I played ball, or at least tried to.  As I've said in the past, I'm not a big fan of the game.  But snow, I figured, makes everything better so I thought I'd give it another try.  However, as soon as Ma tossed me the ball, I quickly discovered that there was a big problem with the game.  As soon as the ball landed in the snow, it was gone.  I stuck my head in some footprint holes and dug a few new ones, but I simply could not find the ball.  Eventually, Sister took pity on me, located my ball, and handed it to me.  My final verdict:  the game of fetch is about as pointless in the snow as it is on dry ground.

Lounging on the Mountain

Exhausted from searching for my ball and correcting people's snow shoveling techniques, I decided to take a break by lounging on the giant mountain of snow Ma was building for me from what had accumulated on the driveway.  Later this week, when it gets a little harder as a result of melting, I'll start "dig, dig, digging" my way through it, but for now, since it was nice and soft, it made for a comfortable place to rest and take in the world for a couple of minutes.

Ripping Snowballs Out of My Tail

Now, my family knows it's time to go inside when they start getting cold.  Me?  I know it's time to go in when I start developing snowballs in my fur.  It's really quite embarrassing.  One minute I'm running around the backyard without a care in the world and suddenly I notice that my chest, legs, and tail are covered in miniature snowballs and there are ice pellets stuck in between my toes.  I do my best to rip them out myself, but the best tool for the job is easily the hairdryer.

And do you know what the best part of this entire event was?  It's the fact that the snow, because of its volume, will be around for days, if not weeks, to come.  The fun will literally go on and on!

Ping-Pong

Welcome to my first post of the new year.  Hopefully 2015 will be filled with lots of belly rubs, squeaky toys galore, a limited number of funny looking outfits to wear, and a boatload of yummy treats.  And speaking of yummy treats, I'd like to give a shout out to Ralphie's mom who gave me some seriously delicious homemade cookies (my family was so impressed with how good they smelled that I'm afraid I might have to keep a careful watch over them to make sure they don't take to sampling).

And now, on to my story.

New Year's Eve ended with a bang in my house.  Just hours before the big shiny tennis ball dropped in Times Square marking the start of 2015, I was invited into the basement Land of No to partake in my family's New Year's Eve tradition:  a rousing game of ping-pong. 

Truth be told, I wasn't very interested in the whole ping-pong game experience when I first climbed down the stairs that evening.  After all, I suddenly had full access to a rarely explored Land of No and needed to devote all my time and energy investigating every nook and cranny.  But, after checking out all the storage boxes filled with toys, house wares, and papers, after barking at a counter top on which a supply of squeaky bones were stored, and after being unceremoniously tossed out of the laundry room for trying to steal some dirty socks, I was finally able to devote my full attention to the game.

First, I dedicated myself to learning the rules of the game.  I did this by resting my slobbery chin on the playing table and watching while Pa and Sister batted a tiny ball back and forth to each other using paddles.  Try as I might, I must admit that I didn't really get the point of the game.  It seemed to me to be a modified version of playing fetch which I don't get the point of either (people trying to put as much distance between themselves and a ball only to expect it to be returned to them--if you wanted the ball that bad, why did you throw/bat it away?).

Bored with my court side view, I decided to try my hand at the game itself.  But which team should I join--Ma's, Pa's, or Sister's (they were taking turns playing one-on-one)?  I circled the court a couple of times and decided that the best team for me was all teams.  As a result, I spent the next couple of rounds playing doubles with all players--being careful to stand directly between the player and the court.  And let me tell you, my teammates were always very pleased with my assistance.

It was a missed return that introduced me to another thrilling aspect of the game of ping-pong.  There I was, helping my teammate kick butt, when the small white ball went whizzing past my head.   Now, as I mentioned earlier, I'm not a fan of playing fetch, but this was an opportunity I couldn't pass up.  Skidding on the tile floor and slowed down by the back and forth hip checking between myself and my teammate (who apparently had the same idea I had), I made a bee line for the escaped ball and scooped it up in my mouth.  I was just about to bite down through the relatively thin plastic, when my entire family pounced on me and began to pry open my mouth.  I was no match for them.  I relinquished the slippery slobbery (and intact) ball into Pa's hand.  Over the course of the evening, I got hold of the ball a few more times, but, sadly, I was never given enough time to thoroughly destroy, I mean, investigate it.

When the game was over, the ball and the paddles were put away (I tried to grab the paddle out of Sister's hand, but apparently she can read my mind and moved it away before I got the chance), I was escorted back upstairs, and the baby gate blocking me from the basement was returned to its spot.

The Land of No was once more the Land of No. 

Christmas 2014 Summary

Christmas 2014

I love Christmas!   Why wouldn't I?  It's the one day of the year that I get to spend every single waking hour eating, shredding wrapping paper, or playing with new toys.  And this year's Christmas celebration was one for the books; one of the best.  Why?  Because I made out like a bandit this year.  Here's some of the fun stuff I got:

• 2 squeaky tennis balls from Pa.
• A replacement Rudy the Reindeer from Sister (my former Rudy is missing three of his legs, both antlers, half his skull (including a nostril, an eye, and an ear), and his tail).
• A bag of cookies from Mecki, Bastille, and their mom.

  

  Rocky, Bullwinkle, and Me

• A set of Rocky and Bullwinkle plush toys from Pa's friend Jim and his dog Dixie.
• A floppy snowman toy from Tink, ZeeZee, and their mom
• The book "Ask Anna" from Ralphie and his mom (Sister and I read it before bedtime).
• A few packets of special flavoring for my food from Ma.
• A new bed from Pa (which I'm really not a big fan of--when will people finally accept the fact that my rightful place is on the couch?).

And the only fatalities (at least as of right now) from my list of Christmas gifts are a handful of cookies (which are obviously in my belly), one packet of special flavoring (again, in my belly), and the floppy snowman which I happily filleted the very first night I had him.

But the fun didn't end with presents.  I found numerous ways of entertaining myself throughout Christmas Day (a necessity brought about by the fact that my family forbid me to shred any of my other toys so soon after receiving them).  So instead, I...

• helped unwrap presents (I believe my teeth may have accidentally gotten a bit too close for comfort to some people's fingers.  To that I say:  I'm sorry).
• shredded discarded wrapping paper (I was helping--the more finely shredded the wrapping paper is the more of it can be cram into a single garbage bag.  To that I say:  you're welcome).
• carried off presents that didn't belong to me (which lead to numerous joyful romps throughout the house as my family chased after me to retrieve their packages).
• managed to get close enough to the snack food table to lick a few shrimp (which ended up backfiring on me because, rather than give me the "tainted" goods, Pa ate the shrimp I slobbered on.  To that I say:  not cool, man, not cool).

My Face Says It All

There was, however, one low point this Christmas.  Sister received a goat.  Sure, it wasn't a real goat, but I think it still warrants a certain level of concern on my part.  What if this is a "gateway goat"?  What if Ma and Pa are merely testing Sister to see if she cares for this one before getting her a real one?  If that's the case, there is a horrifying possibility of waking up on the morning of Sister's birthday and coming face to face with a real-live-head-butting-sideways-prancing goat.  The horror!

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!