A Farewell to Mecki

To my bff Mecki-

Words will never ever be able to express how much I’ll miss you. 

I’ll miss our walks through the estate, both of us competing to be slightly ahead of the other on the path.

I’ll fondly remember our sleepover where we kept stealing each other’s antlers (even though neither of us really wanted to chew on them), sneaking in to eat your breakfast (sorry…you snooze you lose), blowing out Sister’s eardrums with our barking and whining, and rough-housing in the backyard (even though it resulted in us both getting a bath).

I’ll miss receiving mini-Meck toys smelling of you (for that extra touch of authenticity). 

I’ll think frequently of that time I swatted you with my paw when you were climbing all over me and laughing when your Mom stuck you in a hollowed-out tree trunk for a picture. 

And Sister?  She’ll always remember your over socialized nature, the fact that you ran on belly rubs, that your tail never ever stopped wagging, and all those attack kisses (you really could get some air with those short little back legs). 

There’s so many memories and so many stories and I thank you for all of them (not to mention it was your blog which kick started this one). 

You were the best friend a pup could ever have and you will be so missed. 

Your bff Rigby

 

Playing Dirty for the Right to be Dirty

So it finally happened; I got called into HR.  But not for the reasons I would have expected.  I mean, during my first nine weeks as Administrative Assistant, I have made it a twice daily habit of stealing Sister’s shoes and I have purposely invaded her personal space every chance I've gotten.  But no, I got called into HR because I was muddy and smelly and my ears needed cleaning.

Needless to say, I objected strenuously to the accusations.

But despite my complaints, it was ruled that if I was going to continue acting as full time Administrative Assistant to Sister, part time Administrative Assistant to Ma and Pa, and a member in good standing in my family, a bath was required.

As I felt myself spiral into despair because of the ruling, something suddenly dawned on me: all the doggy spas are closed and it's too cold outside for my family to give me a hose-down in the driveway.  So, if my family was truly serious about giving me a bath, they would have to wash me in the bathtub and I knew that there was no way they'd resort to that.  My mood lightened. I wasn't getting a bath anytime soon.

Then the unseasonably cold and rainy spring turned warm and sunny for a single weekend.  Yours truly got hosed down in the middle of the driveway.

Needless to say, I protested vigorously once it was over.

 
I was angry for a really long time.  Most people don’t realize or appreciate how hard I work at becoming nice and stinky—a Grey Retriever rather than a Golden Retriever.  And then, after reaching peak stinkiness, I am jumped by my family armed with a hose and a bottle of shampoo and suddenly I’m all gold and fluffy and smelling like some kind of flower.  The only consolation I found during this entire experience was the fact that social distancing is the norm and no one outside of my family would see me in my newly de-stinked state. 

And because I was angry, I decided to get revenge.

I ditched work on Tuesday.  I did not join Sister in her makeshift office in the Land of No and I did not hang out with Ma in the dining room where she's been working.  Instead, I split my time between the living room and the hallway sighing, moaning, and snoozing.

Now some might say that it was wrong of me to call out sick when I wasn’t and they would be correct.  My actions and motives were less than noble.  But it turns out that my impromptu day off turned out to be exactly what I needed.  Sure, it didn’t help me eliminate that nasty straight from the spa smell (though I did make sure to roll around in the grass every chance I got), but about halfway through the day I realized that I was participating in a mental health day and that that’s something I needed more than all the smelly things in the world to roll in (though obviously I wouldn’t have turned up my nose at them).  It’s a stressful world we’re living in right now, and I’m not immune to it.

The next day, relaxed, rejuvenated, renewed, and a little muddy from wallowing in the grass, I returned to work eager and raring to go.  I beat Sister to the office in the morning, I hung out with her most of the day, and I even offered to work late (Sister told me payroll wouldn’t allow for overtime).  And best of all, I managed to stick my snout into one of Sister’s video conferences.

And the morals of this story:

1. Keep doing what you love.
2. Don’t be ashamed of taking a mental health day.
3. Make sure there’s always something smelly around the house to roll in just in case you're jumped by a family member armed with a hose and a bottle of shampoo.

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.

A Scary Story

Boo!

A Forward by the Author...

In hindsight, I should have figured it out long before I found it; long before I stared into its cold dead hollow eyes.  But I didn't.  I was too busy being my charming self to put all the pieces of the puzzle together until it was too late.  Here's my tale.

Monday: 

6:30AM:    The entire household is awake--even Sister who is definitely not a morning person.  Not only is everyone awake, but there is a certain feeling of urgency in the house.  Suddenly, Sister drags a suitcase down from her bedroom.  Pa grabs it and puts it in Ma's car along with a knapsack.  I get a hug and a kiss from Sister.  Pa rubs my head, calls me "Squirt," and tells me to be good.  Ma grabs her car keys and informs me that my breakfast will have to wait until she gets back.  Disappointed, I head back to bed as everyone else leaves the house.

7:30AM:  The side door opens and I am greeted by Ma and only Ma.  Pa and Sister are nowhere to be found.  I'm not overly concerned.  I'm often left home alone during the day when my family goes to work, and while I would have preferred to have my entire pack stay home with me, I'm glad that Ma appears to be keeping me company today.  Ma settles down with her coffee to watch TV and I join her on the couch.

12:00PM:  Lunch time!  This is the time of day that Sister usually comes home, eats her lunch, and then lets me out into the backyard to work on my holes.  But Sister never shows.  It's just me and Ma.  Ma makes herself some lunch.  It smells really good, but she doesn't offer me any despite my assurance that Sister always shares at least 3/4 of her sandwich with me (perhaps I was pushing it with 3/4...maybe I should have only said 1/3).

1:00PM:  Lunch is over and Ma takes me outside to sniff around in the yard.  Since it isn't nearly as large as the yard out east, I finish quickly.  Bored, I look for fun in my number one digging hole--the one underneath the forsythia bush.  Ma is distracted--she's talking with our neighbor--and doesn't notice me digging.  She also doesn't notice that I have found something in my hole besides the usual dirt, rocks, and tree roots.  I extract my find and carry it out into the middle of the yard to examine it.  I have two jaw bones, complete with teeth.  "That's odd," I think.  Suddenly, a hand emerges from above and snatches the jaw bones away from me.  Startled, I look up and discover Ma standing over me examining the bones.  "Where did you find these?" she asked with, I swear, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

5:00PM:  Work is out, yet Sister hasn't come home yet.  Ma makes me my dinner.  Why do I hesitate before eating?

10:00PM:  It is time for bed and yet Pa and Sister are still not home.  I curl up next to Ma on Pa's side of the bed.

Tuesday:

7:00AM:  Ma wakes me up by banging on my breakfast bowl.  I'm exhausted.  I didn't sleep well last night.  I kept thinking about those jaw bones and wondering where Pa and Sister were.  Neither are home.

10:00AM:  Ma is changing the sheets on the bed and washing some laundry.  I've seen her do this thousands of times, yet I find this activity oddly suspicious this morning.  Is she trying to hide something?  Still no sign of Pa or Sister.

The Skull and Jawbones

2:00PM:  I've decided to return to the scene of the crime; I need to search for answers.  Ma is once again distracted by the next door neighbor so I have the chance to continue my search.  I start to dig.  I jump back in horror.  I've uncovered a skull!  A bit queasy, I pick it up and carry it into the yard. The skin is gone--it is just bleached white bone.  I stare into the hollow eyes.  It stares back at me.  Do I recognize the face?  No, but that doesn't mean anything.  With dread, I realize that I must be staring at either Pa or Sister.

Something makes me look up and I'm startled to find Ma standing over me.  I grab the skull and she grabs me by my collar yelling to "drop it!"  I do as I'm told.  Ma picks up the skull and examines it.  She doesn't seem particularly troubled by the sight and merely stalks off angrily toward the garage.

My mind is racing a mile a minute.  What has Ma done?  Was that Pa or was that Sister?  Then a sickening thought pops into my head.  If Ma was driven to do in Pa and Sister, then what chance do I have to make it through this madness?  Sure, I'm better looking and much friendlier than Pa and Sister, but I'm not sure these attributes are enough to spare my life.  Let's be honest, I do have a bit of a barking, drooling, and shedding problem.  I am doomed.

2:05PM:  Ma emerges from the garage; the lopper in her hand.  She marches toward me.  My life flashes before my eyes:

I see myself as a cute little puppy, throwing up in the back seat of the car on the way home from where I was born.  I see myself gnawing on my family's hands, jumping out of a moving vehicle doing 30 mph, and threatening to drop Pa's sneaker on Mecki's head.  I see myself digging holes, picking up voles, and barking at horses.  It was short, but it was fun.

I'm done.  This is it.  It will be my skull that the police find in the hole under the forsythia.   I close my eyes as Ma gets closer.  I don't want to watch.  I don't want to watch!

But nothing happens.

Cautiously, I open my eyes.  Ma isn't there.  Suddenly I hear a loud "crunch."  I jump with fright.  I turn around and find Ma.  She is angrily hacking away at the forsythia bush.

3:00PM:  Ma puts down the lopper and stands back to inspect her work.  The forsythia lives, but all the hidden nooks and crannies that I used to hide behind are gone; Ma cut away all the low hanging branches.

Suddenly, Ma turns around and looks at me.  I try to be brave, but I can't help but cringe a little.  "You're filthy," she says, "you need a bath."

I'm led to the side of the house by my leash.  Ma pulls out the hose and picks up a bottle of what appears to be shampoo.  But is it?  Is the shampoo shampoo or is it bleach?  Is the hose there to wash away the mud or the inevitable blood?  Ma rolls up her sleeves and...

3:20PM:  It was worse than I expected:  I got a bath.

5:00PM:  Pa and Sister are still missing and all my holes have been filled in in the backyard.  I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to get back to them to investigate further; now that I'm clean, Ma won't let me out on my own.  Resigned to my current position, I eat my dinner.

11:30PM:  I sleep in Pa's spot again this evening.  Ma has a sneezing fit.  I jump each time she sneezes; they sound like gunshot.

Wednesday:

8:00AM:  I'm still missing Pa and Sister.  I eat my breakfast then go back to bed.

1:30PM:  "I'll be right back," Ma tells me as she gives me a cookie and walks out the door.

1:50PM: I wake up to the sound of the side gate clicking open then shut.  I hear the key in the door and the door squeaking open.  This is it.  I know it.  I feel it in my core.  It is my turn to join Pa and Sister under the forsythia.  Despondently, I get up.  I might as well face my fate head on and not slip into oblivion while sleeping.  I drag myself out of the bedroom, into the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the side door which Ma is holding open for me. The bright light of the sun blinds me at first, but then my eyes adjust and I see...

Pa and Sister!

I'm so excited!  I run to Pa.  He scratches my ear.  I run to Sister who kisses my snout.  I return to Pa for another scratch and then run back to Sister.  I do this two more times before I suddenly remember...the skull!  I hot foot it into the backyard.

While I sniff around under the forsythia, I hear Ma tell Pa and Sister (both had been sightseeing in Philadelphia) about my discoveries.  She leads them to the garage (I wander after them).  She shows them the bones which she's kept hidden since I found them.  Everyone is shocked by my find, but after careful consideration, they come up with a "logical" explanation.

The skull belonged to a long deceased opossum.  You see, over the last few weeks, a raccoon's nest has been falling piece by piece from the tree overhead.  The skull in question must have fallen from that nest (the remains of a meal long ago eaten or perhaps a tacky wall decoration) and embedded itself in the overgrown forsythia which was then deposited into my ever growing hole as I brushed past the low hanging bushes.

Do I believe this story?  I don't know.  All I know is that everyone in my family is safe and the only victim (well, aside from the owner of the skull) is me.  I'm the one, after all, who got a bath!

Fighting for Attention

People might find this extremely hard to believe given my movie star good looks and sparkling personality, but I've felt very neglected this last month.  Why?  Because of these:

Yes, Sister's brand new hamster, Mittens, had babies.  Six in fact.  Now usually, when Sister gets a new rat, she and Ma spend a lot of time "oohing" and "aahing" over the little tailless squirrel (Pa's never fooled...he's always on my side).  It's sickening, but I tolerate it because I know that in a couple of days the hamster will be integrated into the family and I'll regain my status as primary attention receiver.  But when you add babies into the mix...well, let's just say that I immediately realized that everything wasn't going to blow over in a day or so.

What needed to be done suddenly became very clear to me:  I needed to fight to win back Ma and Sister's undivided attention.  And that's what I did.  And let me tell you, I held nothing back in my quest.  Here's what I did:

1. I managed to will myself into having a bad belly which resulted in no less than two trips to the vet, countless peanut butter and pill sandwiches, two messes inside the house (the less said about those the better), a few midnight trips outside to do business, a number of meals augmented with rice (sadly no chicken), and a switch over to a new prescription kibble mix that is way tastier than the food I've eaten all my life.
2. I managed to force myself into having an allergic reaction to a new flea, tick, and mosquito treatment which resulted in another two trips to the vet, twenty four hours of howling, crying, and scratching because I was so uncomfortable, a dose of doggy Benadryl which failed to take the edge off the itchiness and instead made me even more hyper and super thirsty, and a bath to wash off the remaining treatment.  And if all that wasn't bad enough, the technician at the vet's office "accidentally" tried to send me home with some cheap costume jewelry (a tacky rope leash) rather than with my bling (a stylish black collar, shiny metal chain, and a leather leash).  What nerve!

And did my extreme devotion to the issue work?  Yes and no.  Sure, I got a lot of attention during both of my medical incidents, but once I started feeling better, Ma and Sister returned to the babies. It wasn't until today, the start of a hamster free weekend (Pa, Ma, Sister and I went out east while the "hamlets" stayed at home), that I finally received the attention I craved.  And do you know what?  Perhaps I didn't really want all that attention after all.  Look what Sister did to my tail when I wasn't looking:

A Play Date At Ralphie's

Look at me!

I'm a wreck!  I'm a mess!  I'm a shadow of my former self!  And why?  Because I'm exhausted from last Saturday.  Allow me to explain.

On Saturday morning, Sister surprised me by asking Ralphie's mom if he was available for a play date and, as luck would have it, he was.  I don't need to tell my loyal readers how happy I was to hear this.  I haven't seen my pal Ralphie for nearly two years now!  He and I always have fun when we get together...we take turns leaning on people, we check out the now defunct pizza tree, and we make dog angels in the snow.  So anyway, an hour later, Ma, Sister, and I set out to Ralphie's house (and yes, I pretty much dragged Sister the whole two blocks).  Little did I know that there was an even bigger surprise waiting for me at Ralphie's house.

Twins (Archie On The Left)

I was greeted at Ralphie's front gate by a dog that was not Ralphie.  Turns out, the nine year old Golden Retriever that was barking at me from inside the gate was Archie, Ralphie's house guest.  Right away, I came to the conclusion that Archie was cool.  First of all, he's a Golden.  Second, he bears a striking resemblance to yours truly.  Yeah, I found out later that he's a bit of a people hog (he kept inserting himself between me and the humans who were obviously all hanging around to exclusively pet me), but I was okay with it because, ultimately, there were enough humans to go around.  

L to R:  Me, Ralphie, & Archie

So anyway, Archie and I ran around the front yard for a while which was an awful lot of fun.  Then Ralphie's mom went inside to get Ralphie.  That's when the fun really started.  Ralphie, Archie, and I took turns getting drinks from the water bowl (I kept sticking my foot in the bowl...why? why not!?), trampling the lone crocus growing in Ralphie's front yard, and begging for attention.

L to R:  Archie, Me, Ralphie

After an hour, Ma and Sister told me that it was time to go home.  I hated to go, but I had to admit that I was kind of tired (and yes, Sister was quick to point out that I was the youngest in the pack and the first to tucker out).  I said goodbye to everyone (Ralphie took an extra turn saying goodbye to Sister) and walked home (all the while wishing that we drove the two blocks rather than walked).

Totally exhausted from my play date, I decided that I'd devote the rest of the day to napping.  Unfortunately, Ma didn't get the memo.  No, she decided that that Saturday afternoon was the perfect time to give me a bath.  Truth be told, I knew that a bath was eventually coming my way--my family had been threatening me with one since January--but I didn't think they'd take advantage of my worn out state to tackle me, clean my ears, and hose me down in the driveway (they didn't even have the decency to take me to the doggy spa!).

Needless to say, I was quite annoyed by this and decided to voice my displeasure the only way I knew how:

Four Days

Four.  That's the number of days I went between baths last week.  Personally, I think it's an all time record!

My first bath occurred a week ago today after I got home from being out east.  The timing of the bath was not lost on me.  You see, after spending an action packed weekend patrolling the yard's perimeters, chasing squirrels, tracking deer, and supervising the workers who were building a pool in the next door neighbor's yard, I was totally and completely exhausted.  And that's why my family hosed me down and lathered me up when we got home.  They knew that I would be too tired to fight them (I don't appreciate smelling like shampoo...I want to smell of the great outdoors).  So I snoozed through my ear cleaning and calmly stood in the driveway when I was doused with water (yeah, that's right, I wasn't even afforded the privacy of a trip to the spa).  Sure, I howled and carried on once I got back into the house, but, believe me, my heart just wasn't in it.

So from Sunday afternoon until Wednesday evening, I smelled, as Ma likes to point out, like a rose.  I hated it.  In fact, I spent a large portion of those seventy-two hours dreading the possibility of a chance encounter with a neighborhood dog.  How would I ever live down my less than masculine aroma?  I'd be the laughingstock of the neighborhood park.

But then, on Wednesday evening, I ran into a bit of a stinky situation.  Without going into too much graphic detail, I had a little trouble with my back end and, well, it kind of got stuck in my fur.  Ma did a very good job cleaning me up, but being less than helpful in such emergencies, I kind of rushed off before Ma could complete her inspection.

By Thursday afternoon I smelled, according to Sister, fairly ripe.  I wagged my tail in thanks, but I got the distinct feeling that Sister did not mean for the statement to be taken as a compliment.  Anyway, all while making and eating dinner, Sister complained of my aroma.  She even complained while she and Ma ate their frozen yogurt desserts (on a side note, Sister offered Ma a taste of her Nutella yogurt and I jumped up so quickly and lunged for the cup with such dexterity that I very nearly snatched it from her).  Then, when they were done eating their desserts, Ma said the unthinkable.  She suggested that she and Sister take me outside for another bath (the conversation that preceded this decision was Sister's concern of being stuck in the back seat of the car with me when we drove out east the next evening).

So, once again I was unceremoniously ushered back into the driveway.

Now, one might think that since it was mid week and I was fully recovered from the previous weekend's excursions that I would have been able to put up a fight against Ma, Sister, and their icky smelling shampoo.  Well, I wasn't.  You see, while I was not tuckered out, I was completely caught off guard and that seriously affected my ability to make their lives difficult.  I never would have guessed that Ma and Sister would have dragged me outside for a bath so late in the day.  Once dessert is over in my house, there are no last minute chores and definitely no last minute dog washing sessions.

So, I once again smell like a rose.  And you know what?  I hate it!

A Tale of Two Days in One

I'm a literary dog.  Not only are books tasty (I've gnawed on travel books, shredded the dust cover of Pa's favorite Keith Richards book, and "edited" another book that Pa was reading but not enjoying), but I can also quote from them.  The opening line from Charles Dickens' "A Tale of Two Cities" sums up what my day was like on Sunday.

"It was the best of times..."

Johnny and I Vie For Pa's Attention

Me at Old Westbury Gardens

Sunday was Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens.  For two glorious hours my family and I wandered around the estate taking pictures, sniffing interesting smells, and bunking noses with a whole pack of strange dogs (well, I bunked noses with the dogs, my family just gave them pats on the head as they passed by).  Speaking of bunking noses with other dogs, I ran into two of my Golden Retriever friends:  Emma Rose and Johnny.  Emma Rose is very refined and is more than happy to bunk noses and move on.  Johnny, on the other paw, is, well, a lot like me.  He loves to roughhouse!  We ran back and forth on our leashes, boxed, and then took turns trying to knock the legs out from under each other (Pa calls this technique submarine-ing). After one boxing match, Johnny flopped down on the grass and started rolling on his back.  I took advantage of the situation and scurried over to Johnny's mom for pets.  Then Johnny got up and ran to my Pa for pets.  Not wanting to miss out on any attention, I then horned in on Pa and Johnny and forced Pa to pet me as well as Johnny (good thing he has two hands).

Into the Woods

I also played a trick on my family.  When we were walking through the Boxwood Gardens, I made a bee line for the reflecting pool.  For one frantic moment, my family actually thought that I was going to jump head first into the smelly water.  I smiled and wagged my tail at the fun.

"...it was the worst of times."

Despite all the fun I had at the Gardens, there was something missing:  my bff Mecki.  You see, my friend Mecki and I have meet up at both the spring and fall Dog Days every year since we first met.  It's always an entertaining event:  Mecki climbs all over me, I whop him on the head with my paw, and we fight over who is going to lead our little pack as we walk through the estate.  But Mecki's mom (who always brings me a special cookie) was on vacation, so I didn't get to meet up with him or his new little brother Bastille (though I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a tad but concerned about meeting a pup who has been described to me as a "vampire piranha" who is actively spitting out his baby teeth left and right).

After the Bath

Not getting to play with Mecki and meet Bastille was disappointing, but something even worse was about to happen to me.  On the way home from the Gardens, my family stopped off at the doggy spa and I was unceremoniously tossed into a bathtub and scrubbed down with soap and water.  It goes without saying that I was completely devastated by this turn of events.  All the lovely smells I had collected over the past weeks (not to mention those I had collected over the previous few hours at the Gardens) were gone; washed down the drain.  And if that wasn't bad enough, I was so exhausted from gallivanting around the Gardens that I didn't have the strength to put up a fight while Ma and Pa washed me (the way I see it, if I'm going to be wet and unhappy, everyone involved should be wet and unhappy too).

So there you have it, two very different days wrapped up into one.  I had a blast at Old Westbury Gardens and I had a bath and missed out on playing with Mecki and Bastille.  What can I say?  I guess you can't win them all (though Sister did take advantage of my clean state to take some new head shots).

 

Dueling Visits to the Vet

On Saturday, Sister took Daisy the hamster to the vet to have her second mani-pedi. As you might recall, Daisy’s fist mani-pedi was back in March and it was, let’s just say, memorable for all involved. My readers might also recall that the day after Daisy's trip to the vet I demanded my own visit.

Well, it’s happened again. Daisy went to the vet at 10:30 on Saturday morning and I followed suit two hours later.

Here are our stories (the first of which features guest blogger Daisy):

Daisy’s Trip to the Vet

by Daisy the Hamster

On Saturday morning I was hanging out in my habitat, sleeping under some nice fluffy tissues in a little nest of bedding I created the night before, when all of a sudden Mom pulled back my tissues, scooped me up, and transferred me over to my small travel habitat which lacks all the amenities of home (no wheel, no food bowl, no water bottle) all of which I would have found extremely disturbing and rude if it wasn't for the fact that I was too sleepy to care--I'm nocturnal after all and Mom's morning is my late evening--and Mom seemed hell-bent on whatever she was doing which included carrying my travel habitat out to her car, driving off, parking, and carrying me into a building that I immediately recognized to be the place where I bit and drew blood from two technicians who tried to trim my nails.

After a couple of uncomfortable minutes of wearily watching four dogs watch me in the waiting room, I heard my name being called and Mom carried me into the exam room where I was greeted with the comment of "is she any easier to handle?" by the vet after which the vet stuck her hand in my habitat and chased me around about ten times trying to pick me up while muttering how fast I was until eventually getting such a good hold on me that not only was I unable to break free, but I was also unable to bite her fingers, which then allowed time for the vet technician, with much reservation, to come forward with the nail clippers that were bigger than me, grab hold of each of my tiny legs and trim each of my less than tiny nails only stopping long enough to ask the vet whether or not I had any dew claws that needed trimming.

In the mean time, I contemplated an alternative to squirming away or biting because last time I found myself in this predicament, I threw almost everything I had at escape--I bit, I wiggled, I jumped, I peed, I pooped--but nothing made any difference so this time I needed to come up with another strategy and while hanging there with the technician trimming my nails I came up with another idea which included spitting all the reserved seeds I had stored in my cheek pouch at my captors which, rather than make them cringe in horror, made them laugh which just made me angrier, but before I could spit the whole peanut half I had stored deep down in the recesses of my pouch (with the target of the nearby window) the technician said she was done and the vet, AKA "The Muscle," put me back in my travel habitat.

Mom carried me back into the waiting room which was now, thankfully, void of all dogs who could stare at me, paid for what she called my mani-pedi, carried me out to her car, drove home, and put me back in my habitat where, after stuffing the pumpkin seeds that Grams gave me into my newly empty cheek pouches, I scurried back to my nice fluffy tissue nest and fell asleep.

Rigby’s Trip to the Vet

by...well...me!

Pa couldn't take it any longer; he couldn't deal with my sad looks and my "poor busted snout."  It was time to go to the vet.

Now, I know some pups dislike going to the vet, but not me.  I’m a big fan of it and here’s why:

• It involves a ride in the car (always fun).
• I’m a big hit at the vet’s office (the receptionists all oooh and ahhh over me). 
• The vet always has nice things to say about me (like how sparkling white my teeth are).

Poor Busted Snout

So anyway, Doc. Petermann (my usual vet, Doc. Friedman, was off) called me into the exam room and took a look at my snout.  She said that the wound was healing nicely and that she'd give me some antibiotics just to make sure that it didn't get infected.  Now when someone says the word antibiotics, what I actually hear is the phrase peanut butter and pill sandwich (pill coated in peanut butter between a split oyster cracker).  One word:  YUM!  Anyway, I was standing there salivating when the doctor dropped a bombshell:  the scuff on my snout might never turn black again.  Well, it's a good thing I wasn't eating a peanut butter and pill sandwich at that moment because I would have spit it across the room in shock.  What do you mean my snout might not turn black again?!

Now in the past, Pa has been very supportive in situations such as this.  He's the one, after all, who told me that the scar by my eye (from when I tried moving the house with the side of my face) makes me look tough.  Well, he let me down this time.  Pa pointed out the fact that at the rate my nose was turning pink (he says I'm wearing it out by sniffing too much), the scuff need not even bother attempting to turn black.  What never!

And for the record, my nose is not turning pink!

Shortly thereafter, Pa and I left the office armed with a bruised relationship and a prescription bottle of antibiotics.  When we got home, Pa tried to make up for what he said about my nose by giving me my first peanut butter and pill sandwich.  I ate it, but only because I didn't want to waste the peanut butter.

So there you go:  one day, two vet stories, and neither one particularly pleasant.  I think I, however, deserve the most sympathy because the next day I was given a bath.  Talk about a bad weekend.

Ralphie!

And that leads to one other thing.  I'd like to take a moment to give a shout out to my friend Ralphie who had surgery on Thursday for a hematoma ear and is now sporting "The Cone of Shame."  Ralphie, I hope you feel better real soon, but until then, please enjoy this video of me carrying on after my most recent bath; I know how much you enjoy the howling.

Bath Time Perks

I'm just going to come out and say it:  I got a bath on Sunday.  After spending a little over three months perfecting my odor, all my hard work was literally washed down the drain when Ma and Pa, in the guise of taking me somewhere nice, loaded me into the car and drove me over to the doggy spa where I was hoisted into a bathtub, hosed down, then lathered up with stinky smelling shampoo and conditioner. 

Now, over the years I've posted a number of videos of me howling, barking, and carrying on immediately following an event that I found less than pleasurable (such as a bath or ear cleaning) and chances are, I will continue to do so (my buddy Ralphie particularly enjoys listening to my rants)--especially if my family continues to insist that I maintain some level of cleanliness (their definition of the word, not mine).  But this time, I've decided to highlight a different aspect of bath time; not the displeasure, but the actual perks.

I know, I know.  All my loyal readers just re-read that last phrase in complete and total disbelief.  Could there actually be a perk to taking a bath?  Yes, in fact, there are technically three perks.  The first is all the treats I receive for participating in the bath (my favorite being cheese).  The second is how my coat glistens in the sun when it's clean (which causes even more people notice my devilishly good looks).  The third is the hairdryer.

The doggy spa has a blow dryer, but I'm not a big fan of it (no pun intended).  All it does is make a whole lot of noise, blow cold air on me, and prolong my time in the giant bath tub.  Nope, the blow dryer is not for me.  The hair dyer at home, however, is a different story:  it's not as noisy, the use of a professional tool leads to better control which in turn leads to more stylish hairstyles (such as the little curl I have on the point of my head) and, best of all, the air it produces is nice and warm.

Check out me enjoying the warm air:

 

And what could possibly make being nice and warm even better?  Being nice and warm and comfortable! 

 

Sometimes, however, the displeasure of having been given a bath rises to the surface and comes spilling out of me despite the fact that I'm warm and comfortable (Ralphie, this one's for you!).

Luckily, the displeasure dissipates quickly and the warm and cozy feeling re-asserts itself.

So there you have it.  It cannot be denied that bath time is a traumatic and sometimes demeaning event (who would want to smell like lavender or green tea?), but I would be remiss if I didn't also highlight the good.

The Sleepover

Dead to the World

I'm exhausted.  Totally and completely exhausted.  Why am I exhausted you ask?  Well, I just lived through one of the most action packed fun filled weekends of my life:  my bff Mecki came to visit me on Saturday night and didn't leave until Monday afternoon.  We had a sleepover!

I've never had a sleepover at my house before.  Sure, Ralphie stayed overnight a couple of months ago, but I was out east with Ma and Pa so technically, Sister and Ralphie had the sleepover, not me.

So what did I think about my very first sleepover?  It was fun.  It was exciting.  It was...loud.  Here's some of the stuff that happened:

• I "accidentally" sat on Mecki's head:  I had an itch that I needed to sit down and scratch--I had no idea he was behind me...really!

  

  Chewing on Mecki's Antler
• I stole Mecki's squeaker toy:  You know, the one I got him for his birthday.  In my defense, he left it out (Ma ended up giving Mecki my squeaker toy to play with, but the joke was on him because I had already broken the squeaker on my toy and his toy was in pristine condition).
• I chewed on Mecki's antler:  I don't even like antlers anymore!
• I ate Mecki's breakfast leftovers:   I honestly thought he was finished.  He should have asked for a doggy bag.

  

  Empty Bowl

• I threatened Mecki with a shoe:  Mecki is too little and too long to hop up the side steps so, when I came in the house, I scurried past him, grabbed one of Pa's sneakers, and dangled it precariously over his head while he waited for Sister to give him a boost up.  Yeah, I got yelled at, but, well, you know...
• Mecki got a mini bath:  The yard on Monday was super wet so, after we finished rough-housing, Mecki's legs and belly were completely caked in mud.  When we came in, Sister scooped him up and put him in the bathtub where she splashed water on him (and boy did he hate it).  I was pretty muddy too, but I'm too heavy for Sister to pick up, so I just had my paws wiped with a damp paper towel.

  

  Antler Thief

• Mecki stole both of my antlers:  He collected them one by one, stashed them under the dining room table, and chewed on each.
• Mecki went horseback riding:  Mecki climbed up on my back while I was getting up and rode around like I was his own private pony.
  
• Mecki practiced sleep deprivation techniques:  Every time I collapsed on the floor exhausted, Mecki jumped up and started barking and showing off his best play stance.  Unable to resist the challenge, I got up and engaged Mecki in a round of rough housing.

  

  A Stolen Pillow

• Mecki stole my pillow:  Not only did Mecki steal my antlers, but he decided, on Sunday night, to chew on one while sitting on my pillow.
• Pack walk:  Ma and Sister took Mecki and me on a pack walk through the neighborhood Sunday afternoon.  Mecki's short legs kept us from having to take the extended walk that Ma usually drags me on.
• In Your Face:  Mecki and I developed our very own game called "In Your Face."  The game consisted of us sitting face to face while chewing on each other's stolen antler.

  

  In Your Face

• Rough housing:  Mecki and I are masters of rough housing.  Our specialties were chasing each other and head butting.  Sometimes, Mecki cheated and grabbed hold of my ear in his mouth and pulled.
• Bark-fest:  Mecki and I spent a fair portion of Sunday morning barking at the top of our lungs because Sister had separated us (we were playing too rough in the living room) and wasn't able clone herself so that both of us got her undivided attention (plus it was fun to make lots of noise).

So, to summarize, I had a ton of fun and would do it again in a heart beat...just so long as I get a couple more days to recover (have I mentioned that I'm really tired?).

Well, That Backfired

"Maybe next time they'll think twice about cleaning my ears!"

Yeah, perhaps I spoke a little too soon.  You see, after expressing my displeasure at having my ears cleaned by digging a spectacularly large hole in the middle of the grass and dragging my head through the mud, Ma and Pa got back at me yesterday by giving me a bath.  Talk about over-reacting!

Sister (who wishes to be exonerated from all guilt because, she argues, she was not at home for either event) has spent the day trying to make me feel better.  She's reminded me that my ears no longer smell like the stinky liquid Ma and Pa used to clean them.  Personally, I don't find this comforting.  You see, now my entire body smells, as my family has repeatedly reminded me, "like a rose."  Sister has also brought to my attention that now that I'm all nice and clean and fluffy, my striking good looks and model like physique have been accentuated.  Well, what can I say?  She's got me there.

The Cute Puppy Look

The Deep Soulful Look

So, I leave my loyal readers with the one good thing that came from all the suffering I've endured over the last few days:  a photo-shoot!

The Wind Blown Look

Gesundheit

It all started out innocently enough (how many times has a story of mine started this way?). 

Yesterday, Sister and I were hanging out in the living room having just finished our dinners.  Sister was doing a masterful job of multitasking:  watching television while rubbing my ears and snout.  To my credit, I was making it quite easy for her because I was being particularly cuddly that evening.  You see, unbeknownst to my family (they found out at 4am this morning), my tummy was a little off and when my tummy is off, I become very needy (don't worry, a little grass and a 4:30am outdoor barking session and I felt much better).

So there I was taking full advantage of Sister's willingness to rub my ears and snout and tolerating the occasional kiss she insisted on giving me when all of a sudden I felt a tingling deep in my snout.  It started up by my eyes then slowly made its way down the entire length of my snout to my cold black nose.  Then, all of a sudden, my left lip curled into a snarl and my left eye closed as...

ACHOOOO!

It goes without saying that I felt much better once that sneeze was out of my system.  But before I could enjoy the relief I had found, I was started by the sound of Sister screaming "Ewww!"  Yep, I had sneezed directly in her face.

Amid Sister's cries and the laughter emanating from Ma and Pa, I did the only thing I could:  I wagged my tail and smiled.

Now, I expected karma to find me because of what I did to Sister; I just never expected it to find me the way it did.  You see, this afternoon, Ma and Pa gave me a bath, but not at the doggy spa (my bff Mecki got a bath at the doggy spa this weekend...I wonder what he did to deserve it).  Nope, I got a bath smack dab in the middle of the driveway.  How embarrassing!

But was it worth it?  When all the pain and suffering of bath time is weighed against the look on Sister's face after I sneezed all over her, do I come out on top?

You bet I do!

A Ruined Day

I got a bath yesterday. I hate baths. I work long and hard at becoming stinky and while I do appreciate the attention I get when I am clean (apparently my movie star good looks truly shine through when I’m not caked in dirt) I just don’t feel (or smell for that matter) like myself when I am. I think, however, that the most disturbing part of getting a bath is not the “clean” smell that clings to my fur or even the funny looks I get from the other dogs in the neighborhood. No, it is actually the full out betrayal from my family that bath time brings. Let me explain.

Yesterday morning I was sprawled out in the hallway watching Ma as she cleaned the window in the back room. Okay, fine, I was watching Ma in hopes that she’d absentmindedly lay down the paper towel roll she was using and I could swoop in, grab it, and rip it to shreds (hey, we all need a hobby!). Anyway, there I was minding my own business when Pa walked by and told Sister that it “was time.” I cocked my head in Pa’s direction and stared up at him with mournful eyes; experience has taught me that such statements never bode well for the dog.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, my ears were cleaned, my everyday collar was exchanged for my choke collar, and I found myself standing outside (outside! I didn’t even get to go to the relative privacy the doggy spa) in the driveway with Pa holding my leash, Sister armed with the hose and a bottle of shampoo, and Ma hiding in the house pretending that she didn’t know what was happening to me. With family like them, who needs enemies, right? While cold water started pouring down my head, I came to the realization that my day was official ruined.

I put up with the bath. I wasn’t happy about it, but I put up with Pa and Sister dousing me with cold water and scrubbing me with stinky (and not in a good way) smelling shampoo. I made sure, however, to show my displeasure once they were finished. Their eardrums will never be the same.