Proof of Life Squeak

Plush toys are my toy of choice.  I’m not a huge fan of bones (you don’t get anywhere with hard bones), rubbery squeaky toys are no match for my large gnashing teeth (they pop like balloons and are not repairable), and I’m not allowed to have rope toys.  Plush toys, however, are soft, and squeaky, and perhaps best of all, satisfyingly destructible.  And oh boy am I tough on them.  Here’s just how tough:

• Every night, at least one toy is taken away from me because I’ve started ripping the stuffing out of it.  On a good night, four toys are taken away.
• I know the terms “no plucking” (ripping with my front teeth) and “no back teeth” (sawing through toy fabric using my back teeth), but choose to ignore both. 
• Not a single one of my toys has all the limbs it started with. 
• There’s an entire closet floor in my house dedicated to the storage of toys in need of an operation in the doll hospital and the area outside that closet is a holding zone for toys that are in imminent danger of needing a trip to the hospital (toys that were taken away from me not because they had a hole but because I was fixated on making one).
  

But despite the destructive nature of my play, I’ve learned ways of prolonging the inevitable moment when my family realizes what I’m up to and takes away my victim before I’ve shredded it to the point of no return. It’s called the “Proof of Life Squeak.” 

As I furiously pick and rip my way through a weak spot in the toy, I keep my ears tuned to any sound of my family showing interest in what I’m doing (usual warnings include the issuing of the dreaded “is he being good?” question and the creak of a chair as the occupant bends over to check on me).  As soon as this warning is issued, I stop my ripping, grab the entire toy in my mouth, and give it a good squeeze so that the squeaker (I’m always careful not to kill the squeaker) cries out.

It works every time.  Because the squeaker is usually in the middle of the toy, my family naively assumes that if they hear squeaking I can’t possibly be ripping or gnawing on a seam.  Once the heat is off and my family resumes whatever they were doing prior to checking on me, I go back to my destructive ways.

Eventually, my family catches on and all the “Proof of Life Squeaks” in the world won’t prevent them from noticing either the loud ripping sound or the pile of stuffing littering the ground.  They toy is immediately transported to the doll hospital and I move on to a new one.  The process begins again.

Christmas Roundup 2021

Here's where it ended...

Me completely and totally exhausted after two fun filled days of new toys, tasty food, and lots of ear rubs.

In other words, Christmas 2021 was highly successful.

Here are some highlights from the holiday:

On Christmas Eve, I opened up gifts from my friend Gina and her pups Baci and Rocky.  They got me a pretty Christmas tree ornament with my name on it (Sister assured me that, despite looking delicious, the ornament was not edible...I'm still not sure I believe her) and a bag of snacks which I insisted on sampling immediately.

 

On Christmas morning, my family and I opened gifts which resulted in me:

 

Shredding a ton of wrapping paper,

 

accidentally consuming some wrapping paper,

 

 

and destroying one box.

 

When I wasn't "playing" with the boxes, I played with my own gifts:

A stuffed cow from my friend Jim and his pup Dixie,

a stuffed fox from Pa and Ma,

and a stuffed prehistoric turtle-like-creature from Sister.

Later, I even appeased Sister by agreeing to a quick picture with her in front of the tree (which actually turned out pretty good).

So yes, by the end of the day, I was completely and totally spent.  But it was so much fun!

Rigby the Grifter (AKA Sophie)

I’m not proud of it, but then again, I’m not ashamed either.

Throughout the years I’ve learned how to play my family to my benefit in many situations.  I’ve trained them to give me cookies for simply coming inside the house.  I’ve trained them to give me PB&Ks to ensure a few moments of silent television watching.  I’ve even trained my family to provide me options when it comes to toys so that I can dismiss those I don’t want.  My latest long con, however, is pure brilliance and Sister is the mark. 

Lately, Sister has opted to stay home most weekends when Pa, Ma, and I head out to eastern Long Island.  This decision impacts me both positively and negatively.  On the positive side, I don’t have to share the backseat of the car with Sister (she’s under the delusion that she deserves more than one eighth of the available space back there).  On the negative side, when she’s not around, there’s one less set of hands to scratch my belly and rub my ears and one less voice to repeatedly tell me what a good boy I am.  Also, without Sister, there’s only two people to give me cookies throughout the day which is troubling because Ma and Pa tend to be a bit stingy on that front.

So, with all these negatives outstripping the positives, I’ve dedicated myself to leveling the playing field when I can and I’ve done so in the sneakiest of ways.

Two months ago, while I was out east for the weekend, Sister, as a surprise, went to the store and bought me a brand new toy which she left on my spot on the living room couch.  When I got home that Sunday, Sister watched with delight and mockery as I wandered around for a good five minutes before discovering my prize.

The next week, hoping for another opportunity to mock my supposed “obliviousness,” Sister once again bought me a new toy and left it on my spot.  This time, it only took me three minutes to find it.

The following week, Sister didn’t go to the toy store, but she did repair all the toys in the doll hospital which meant that I came home to the scarred and sometimes considerably smaller (Sister specializes in amputations) remains of my previously broken toys sitting on the couch waiting for me to rip to shreds again (which I did…five of them were back in the doll hospital before the end of the day).

On week four, I made a bee-line straight to my spot on the couch immediately upon entering the house.  To my horror, however, I found nothing.  No new toy and no crowd of mangled sting rays and dinosaurs and ducks and Mini-Meckis and gators and hedgehogs.  I was crushed!  Why was there no new toy?  My obvious disappointment (and Ma and Pa’s ribbing) helped to make Sister feel extremely guilty for this faux pas.

It was at that moment that I knew that my long con had worked.  There was no way that Sister would let another weekend go by without ensuring that a new toy would be waiting for me upon my return.

Seven days later, week five arrived and not only did I rush toward the house as soon as I got out of the car, but I basically pushed Sister out of the way as I ran through the kitchen and into the living room.

And there it was, my latest new toy, sitting in my spot on the couch.  His name is “Koala” and I can’t wait to see what friend the next Sister-free weekend brings.

Quotes About the Cone of Shame

Date:  Friday, January 22, 2021

Time:  3:37pm

Speaker:  Sister

Quote:  “Your ear will be fixed on Monday.  One last weekend of wearing the Cone.”

Date:  Sunday, January 24, 2021
Time:  10:03pm
Speaker:  Pa
Quote:  “This is it, Squirt.  One more night and you lose the Cone.”

Date:  Monday, January 25, 2021
Time:  8:25am
Speaker:  Ma
Quote:  “Pa’s going to take you to the vet and she’s going to take the splint off your ear.  You’re going to be so handsome and you won’t have to wear the Cone anymore.”

Date:  Monday, January 25, 2021

Time:  10:31am
Speaker:  Pa
Quote:  “Here we go Sam, off to the vet.  Goodbye Cone!”

Date:  Monday, January 25, 2021
Time:  10:55am
Speaker:  Vet
Quote:  “Well, taking the splint off is kind of like taking a cast off a person’s arm.  You need to be really careful for a little while to make sure everything is alright.  Rigby should probably wear the Cone for a few more days just in case.”

Date:  Monday, January 25, 2021
Time:  11:07am
Speaker:  Rigby
Quote:  [the sound of a plastic Cone of Shame being “accidentally-on-purpose” shredded against the brick wall of the house]

More Tape Than Cone

Weekend Fun

What was it?

Before I begin my post, let’s play a game.  Try to guess what the item in the picture to the right used to be before I got a hold of it this weekend and worked my magic on it.  I’ll provide the answer at the end of this post.

I’m sure that you’ve all realized, based purely on the carnage left in its wake, that this was an exciting weekend for me.  It included, after all, three of my all time favorite things…a car ride, water, and destruction. 

On Saturday afternoon, my family and I loaded ourselves into Sister’s car and made our way to Sands Point.  Pa, who was sitting with me in the backseat, said that I was a very good boy in the car that day because I remained seated for most of the ride (Pa did have to tell me to sit down when we were about a block away from the park, but that was because I had just gotten a whiff of where we were and was really excited and wanted to wag my tail in approval) and because I didn’t try to muscle Pa out of his seat too much (Pa says I take up too much room, I say that he takes up too much room, Sister threatens to stop the car unless the two of us stop arguing, and Ma just shakes her head and pretends she doesn’t know any of us).

Anyway, once at the beach, I made my way quickly to the water stopping only briefly to bunk noses with a rock climbing Jack Russell Terrier-like dog.  With Pa and Sister in tow (Ma, who likes to swim even less than I do, was waiting a safe distance away on the beach), I started to splash my way into the water until it was about chest high.  With Pa and Sister encouraging me forward from slightly deeper waters, I quickly turned around and ran back up on shore to where Ma was standing, dragging whoever was holding my leash behind me.  I did this many times.  It was really quite fun—especially when I dragged my barefoot Sister across sections of sand covered in shattered muscle shells (being so agile, I was always able to jump over them).

After escorting me into and out of the water a handful of times, Pa decided that if I wasn’t going to swim, he would.  Into the water he waded while I followed behind him at a close distance until I reached my usual chest high water depth where I went no further.  Pa, however, kept going.   I wagged my tail nervously while asking myself:  “What is he thinking?”  Then I thought: “If he doesn’t come back, do I get his portion of dinner?”  The next thing I knew, the only part of Pa I could see was his head…and it was coming straight at me!   I swear I wasn’t afraid…really.  Well, Pa swam right up alongside me and gave me a kiss on the snout.  I wagged my tail happily then raced back toward Ma dragging Sister behind me.

Taking a break from swimming, Sister introduced me to the game “Godzilla.”  Basically, she builds sand castles and I come along and crushed them with my paws or body.  I tried eating the castles too, but they tasted bad and the sand was a bit gritty so I settled on merely destroying each building that Sister created.

Aside from running in and out of the water, toppling sandcastles, and watching Pa swim, I also got the opportunity to be a “Free Dog” meaning that I was allowed off leash (well, I wasn’t off leash, but no one was holding the other end of the leash).  Here’s what happened:  Sister decided that she wanted to walk along the beach a little.  When she was about thirty feet away, Pa called out to Sister so that she would turn around and told me to “Go to Sissy!”  Jowls flapping, I ran like a crazy dog toward Sister and made a tight turn around her before running back toward Pa.  I didn’t stop there though.  I ran past Pa, made another turn a few feet away and skidded to a halt right in front of Ma who grabbed my leash.  Let me tell you, it was so invigorating to be free—not to be held back by my slow moving humans.

Considering all the fun I had, it's no wonder that I slept most of the way home on Pa's lap.  As is now the norm after a trip to the beach, I was given a bath as soon as I got home, but honestly I was so tired I didn't have the strength to put up a fight.  I figured that the sooner Ma, Pa, and Sister finished scrubbing the sand from my fur the sooner I could take another nap.

Any correct guesses?

Then came the destructive part of my weekend.  On Sunday night I was invited, along with the rest of the family, to Sister's room to watch TV in the air conditioning.  Apparently the show was really interesting because I quickly came to realized that no one was paying me the tiniest bit of attention.  With nothing better to do, I started to look for trouble.  Needless to say, I found it!  So, the answer to the earlier question of what did I destroy is...Sister's Nook's power cord (don't worry, it wasn't plugged in).

The Best 90 Seconds Ever

I've said it before and I'll say it again:  I am one lucky dog because I have some of the best friends ever!

Monday afternoon, when Ma came home from work, she told me that my friend Deborah had asked her to deliver a very special present to me.  I love presents.  Sometimes it's food, sometimes it's a toy, and sometimes it's a visit and an ear scratch.  Whichever it is, I'm always super excited and quite grateful.  Well, with my tail wagging furiously in circles, Ma dug into her work bag and pulled out a bright orange Frisbee.  I rose up on my back legs to get a better view of the new toy just as she threw it into the backyard.

I ran after that orange Frisbee with all my might and when it finally landed I pounced on it to make sure it didn't fly away again.  I wanted to pick the Frisbee up so I could prance around the backyard and show Ma and Pa how proud I was, but it had landed face up and I couldn't get my teeth around the edge.  I didn't panic though; nope, not me.  I started to dig at that flying disk in an attempt to pry up an edge to grab hold of (an added bonus was that I managed to pull up a few tufts of grass while doing so and Pa couldn't yell at me because technically I wasn't digging a hole).  Eventually, I prevailed--even though the Frisbee tried to escape through my legs when I accidentally kicked it backwards while digging--and I celebrated by joyfully running around the yard.

After a while, and being the good sport I am, I decided to let Pa in on the game as well by allowing him to grab the Frisbee from me a couple of times.  Now, I've shown him time and time again the proper way of playing, but he still doesn't quite get it.  You see, he thinks that throwing the toy (be it a Frisbee, a ball, or a cookie for that matter) down the driveway and expecting me to go running after it is a sure-fire way of having fun.  I beg to differ.  Why would I want to repeatedly fetch something when I could simply lay down and chew on the item instead?  Sometimes I just don't get Pa.

The Remains

Anyway, after letting Pa play for a while I chased down the Frisbee one last time, grabbed it, and sprinted past him into the backyard.  Pa gave chase and I pranced around, just out of his reach, flipping the Frisbee in the air and catching it with a satisfying crunch as my teeth pierced the orange plastic.  Disclaimer:  Before anyone becomes concerned, I just want to say that I never eat the pieces of the things that break while in my possession; I just leave a trail of destruction in my wake.  Eventually, Ma and Pa took the Frisbee remains away from me and tossed them in the recycling bin (I went back later and tried to fish them out again, but Pa was on to me and, after shooing me away, buried the pieces under some soda cans and newspapers).  The game was over but it was the best 90 seconds I've had in a long time.

Thank you Deborah!

A Trip to the Park

On Tuesday, my family decided that I needed something to do.  You see, according to them, I've spent far too much time lately looking--and finding--trouble to get into.  I've especially been fond of shredding papers, most recently the instruction booklet for the family's new washing machine and a roll of paper towels.  Anyway, because I've been so troublesome, my family decided to take me for a walk at Belmont Lake State Park.  I like it there a lot; there are always lots of smells to sniff and geese to chase (though I'm not allowed in the water which is really disappointing).

As soon as we got to the park I made a break from the car to the path so fast that I gave my Sister leash burns on both of her hands.  Yeah, I know that I really shouldn't have bolted for the trees like I did, but I was really excited and wanted to start sniffing all the great outdoor smells as soon as I could.  Sister was a bit annoyed, but she admitted that it was all her fault and that she should have expected and been prepared for my excitement level.  Still, she warned me not to bolt like that ever again.

We started down the path.  After walking for a little while we came across a man and his dog.  The man asked if I was friendly and I scoffed to myself.  Of course I'm friendly!  Anyway, his dog (a ten year old yellow lab) came over to me and we started to jump and guffaw around.  It is always fun to play with big dogs.  Don't get me wrong, I like playing with little dogs like my best friend Mecki, but you can't really stand on your back legs and box with a dog that only comes up to your knees.  As we played, I suddenly became aware that I was at a definite disadvantage.   You see, the yellow lab could jump and run and zig and zag without restraint.  I, on the other hand, kept getting tangled up with my humans.  It was then I realized that the other dog was off leash!  Imagine the fun we could have had if we were both off leash.  I'm going to have to talk to my family about that.

After a little while, the yellow lab and his Pa and my family and I went our separate ways.  Then, about a mile down the path, I noticed a little dachshund coming my way.  "It's Mecki!" I thought and wagged my tail excitedly.  As we got closer, however, I realized that this dog, while long like my best friend, wasn't quite as furry.  I was really disappointed. 

It was later, however, that the walk turned bad.  We came around a bend where a medium size dog and his owner were standing.  I went over to bunk noses with him and do you know what he did?  The dog snarled and snapped at me!  Now I don't associate with dogs that are so rude that they growl and bite.  In fact, two years ago when I was playing in a dog park I actually walked away from a group of dogs that were play growling and found a nice pit bull who just wanted to run around and had no problem with me drooling all over his back.  Anyway, I was really scared especially when the man brought his dog back to me in hopes that we could become friends.  Luckily, Pa stepped between me and the other dog and helped Sister pull me to safety while telling the nasty man with his hell-hound to leave me alone.

Despite my encounter with the hound from hell, I had a lot of fun on my walk.  In fact, I was so tired from the trip that I slept the entire way home and felt no need to shred anything...at least for a few hours.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday; I am three years old! My family keeps telling me that they didn’t think I’d make it to my third birthday considering what a troublesome and sometimes mean little puppy I was. Obviously I grew out of my mean days...it’s the troublesome years I’m still taking full part in.

Me and my litter mates at 7 weeks

My special day didn’t start out exactly how I would have liked. A tiny little bunny (my family has decided to name it Henry) has, over the last two weeks, been trying to make itself at home in my backyard despite me repeatedly sniffing him out and chasing him away. This morning I discovered Henry lounging in my driveway in full view of the side door where I was sitting enjoying the cool morning breeze (it’s been super hot these last few days so the change in temperature was a welcome relief). I really wanted to go outside and chase that interloper off my property (if I ease up and let bunnies take up residence I can only image what would move in next…zebras or maybe rhinoceroses!), however, Pa wouldn’t let me so I just sat by the door and barked and barked and barked with my most menacing voice (my Sister later told me that I woke her up with all my barking). Despite all that effort, that stupid little rabbit wouldn’t go away. Afraid I would wake up the rest of the neighborhood, Pa closed the side door so that I couldn’t see that bunny any longer. To humor him I stopped barking, but I knew that Henry was still sitting there mocking me—eating my grass and hopping through the flower beds that I like to trample. Thoroughly depressed, I climbed up on Ma and Pa’s bed and stared sadly out the window. Apparently I looked so sad that Ma didn’t have the heart to boot me off the bed. I guess I should look depressed more often!

My day got much better later on though.

The Birthday Boy

At lunch time, Sister took me outside to get a picture of me wearing a ridiculous birthday hat she bought me. It was really kind of embarrassing, but, like the good dog I am, I humored her by letting her take my picture. In the process, however, I got five cookies, slobbered all over her, and destroyed five hats. I count that a win in my book.

Me & my Mini-Mecki

The birthday fun continued when Sister came home from work with a shiny paper gift bag. She said my two best friends in the whole wide world, Mecki and his mom Karin, had sent me birthday presents! First, she took a box out of the bag and showed it to me explaining that it was from Karin. I gave it a big sniff and my tail immediately started going around in circles (that’s how you can tell I’m really excited). It smelled really, really good—a bit like chicken and sweet potato. She opened the box for me (if I had thumbs not only could I open my own cookie boxes whenever I wanted but I would eventually rule the world) and handed me one of the cookies. Oh boy was it tasty and crunchy and did I mention tasty? When I finished the cookie, I begged for more but my Sister said that it would ruin my dinner and that perhaps I could have another later in the evening. I was very sad that I wasn't getting another cookie, but my mood changed when my Sister reminded me that I still had to open Mecki's present. With baited breath, and drool filled jowls, I watched as Sister pulled a long stuffed orange Bobo from the bag. "Mecki thinks it looks like him," my Sister told me, "and he made sure to roll on it so that it smelled like him too!" I must admit, there were definite similarities between Mecki and the toy! I grabbed the toy, made a bee line for the side door (I've found the best place to enjoy a new toy is outside), and, when my Sister opened the door, I ran straight for the backyard. I threw the toy in the air, I pounced on it, I ran around in circles with it, I played tug with it and my Sister, and I rolled on my back with it. I love my Mini-Mecki! Thanks Karin and Mecki!

My birthday didn't end there though! Later, after my humans and I ate our dinners, Sister played Mini-Mecki with me (tug, keep away, and chase) in the living room while Ma and Pa cheered me on. After a while, however, I started getting a little too rough with Mini-Mecki--I have a plucking problem--so Sister took my toy away from me saying we could play with it again tomorrow. I guess Pa didn't want me to feel disappointed on my birthday so he gave me a brand new flavored bone to chew on. That kept me quite busy for two hours.

The day might now be over, but the fun will continue. According to my Sister, I still have other birthday presents coming to me, but the decision was made to hold off giving me them all at once (no one asked my opinion on the matter). I was told I could have another some other day when I needed something to keep me busy. I would have liked to have all my toys at once, but I guess having my birthday spread out over days or maybe weeks isn't too bad either.

Bad to the Bone

Something's gotten into me lately.  I don't know what the cause is--maybe there is a full moon, perhaps I caught spring fever, or it could be I bumped my head on the underside of the kitchen table a few too many times--but whatever the reason, I have not, according to my family, been a very good boy lately.  In fact, over the last two days I have been yelled at at least once a day by every member of the family.

Here's my rap sheet thus far:
1.  I stole the new television remote.
2.  I ripped holes in three newly sewed toys.
3.  I shredded a role of toilet paper (including the cardboard tube).
4.  I tore the bathmat to pieces.
5.  I repeatedly tried to steal things from my sister's room.
6.  I tried to steal a napkin off the table.

Shredded toilet paper.

Now I'm on damage control.  I'm trying to be extra sweet (sharing toys, giving kisses, and allowing my humans to rub my belly) but it's really, really hard.  Getting in trouble, after all, is a lot of fun.

I Wear Many Hats

People think being a dog is easy; that my life is the life.  They think my day consists of eating, sleeping, and going out.  Boy, are they wrong!  It’s a tough life I tell you; I earn my naps on the living room couch…I mean…floor!  I keep the squirrels from overrunning the yard, I keep the house clean by snuffing up crumbs that fall on the floor, and I remind my humans to put their things away by retrieving (and sometimes destroying) things that are left out.  And that’s just a few of the services I provide.  And my list of jobs is ever expanding.  Yesterday, for instance, I took on a new role:  therapist.

You see, my sister came home from work a little upset yesterday.  Being the kind hearted family dog I am, I sat on her feet, offered her my paw (I like to hold hands), and let her scratch my back even though I had far greater things on my mind (mainly my impending dinner).  While she scratched my back, she told me that she messed up a presentation that she had to do at work.  I looked up at her with sad understanding eyes, my ears back with sympathy, hoping that if I looked empathetic enough she’d end her story there and get my dinner.  To my loyal readers who just gasped at my ploy:  don’t judge…my stomach was rumbling!  Anyway, it didn’t work.  Figuring her description of her day would be a long story and because I was rapidly fading away to nothing due to hunger pains, I took this opportunity to lay down and show my tummy which my sister obligingly rubbed (hey, I might as well be comfortable).  As she scratched my belly, she told me that she was so nervous at her presentation that she found herself barely able to string two sentences together and that what she did manage to say sounded more akin to Pig Latin than English.  Now I don’t know what kind of language pigs speak, but I do know that pigs are delicious—I love bacon and ham!  “I am so hungry,” I thought.  “Is she ever going to stop bellyaching and get me my dinner?”  She then told me that her day had started going bad prior to the presentation; her breakfast of a buttered slice of raisin bread broke apart in mid bite, got stuck in her hair, then fell, butter side down, onto her blouse and stained it.  At this time I made a mental note to later, in the guise of giving her a big wet kiss on the chin, inconspicuously check her hair for crumbs.  

I have to admit that it did sound like my sister had a fairly crappy day, but mine wasn’t all that great either and I didn’t postpone her dinner to tell her about it.  A pillow was left on the living room chair which meant that there wasn’t room for me to sleep on it, I didn’t get to go for a car ride at all today, and now, dinner was late.  So tell me, who had the bad day?

Still, the belly rub was nice and I think I made my sister feel a little bit better because soon she got up and got me my dinner.  When I was finished eating I wiped my slobbery chin all over her leg in appreciation.

Seek and Ye Shall Find

Yum...computer chips!

Nothing beats chewing on television remote controls.  Think about it—you get the crunch of the plastic, the chewiness of the rubber buttons, and the added spice of all the computer chips buried deep inside.  And then there’s the attention chewing on the remote brings.  One second everyone is ignoring the adorable and fun-loving dog and suddenly the focus is all on me again.  I’ve gotten quite good at sniffing out remotes absentmindedly left unprotected on the couch or atop tray tables.  Once I grab a remote I lay down and start gnawing on it as if it’s a bone or an antler—the expanse of the plastic debris field dependent solely on how long it takes my family to notice me.  I’ve even managed to render two remote controls non-functioning!  Impressive isn't it?

Rubber buttons and crunchy plastic.

Still, despite all the fun I have, my family tries to limit my remote munching time.  In fact, if they had their way I think they would deny me any remote time.  How unfair!  My sister in particular is exceedingly protective of her television remote (though I have managed to leave teeth marks on her’s as well) and hides it whenever I'm in her room.  She underestimates me though.  She thinks hiding the remotes under her pillow will fool me.  How wrong she is.  Now, every evening before I go to sleep I burrow under her pillow and grab the remote.  I try to make a break for it—scurry away so I can gnaw away in peace—however, she’s a little too quick for me and somehow manages to wrestle the remote away from me before I get the chance to enjoy my ill-gotten gains.  I’m persistent though.  I’m sure someday I’ll be able to grab the remote and make a break for it before she notices.