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.

While I Was Out

This was an odd month.

It all started three Fridays ago (yeah, Sister's been kind of negligent when it comes to recording my stories...you just can't get good help).  Anyway, three Fridays ago, Sister got up earlier than usual (she's about as much a morning person as I am, so her getting up early is always a surprise) and rather than pack her work bag, she packed her overnight bag, kissed me on the snout, and left the house.

A few hours later, she sent me the following video.

I was confused.  That barking in the background?  It sounded really familiar, but I just couldn't put my paw on it.  Those deer, however, definitely looked familiar (actually, I'm pretty sure I've barked at them before).  And that backyard?  Not only was it familiar, I knew exactly where it was.  It was my backyard out east.

A little later, Sister sent me the following picture and things suddenly started to make sense.

It was my bff Mecki and his little brother Bastille!

But then I started thinking...what are Mecki and Bastille doing in my house out east?

I learned later that Sister and Karin had spent the weekend out east eating Reubens (they didn't bring me a doggy bag), hunting for treasure on the beach with a metal detector (they dug up a quarter without my help), sightseeing (the last time I went to Greenport it was 95 degrees and Pa and I spent an hour looking for a shady tree to sit under), and painting rocks (if you recall, growing up, rocks were "my only friends").  And when they weren't directly included in the fun, Mecki and Bastille lounged in my house and barked at my deer!

Collar Bling

Two days later (and smelling like Mecki and Bastille), Sister came home and brought with her a peace offering for me--some bling for my collar.  Now, I was a bit annoyed that I wasn't invited on the trip, but Sister's gift was just so me that I couldn't be too mad at her for very long.  I mean, look at it!  As my loyal readers know, I so don't get fetch!

Anyway, as the new week began and life got back to normal, I kind of forgot about the previous weekend (except for the occasional fits of laughter that came about whenever Sister described Bastille lunging face first at the glass window and sliding down it cartoon style).  In fact, by the time the following weekend rolled around, my concern and bitterness had disappeared completely.

Which brings me to two Friday nights ago.  After they had returned home from work and finished their dinners, Ma and Pa whisked me into the car and we headed out east.

When I got there, I immediately ran inside the house and hot footed it to my pillow where my toys are usually kept.  But they weren't there.  Ma, thinking quickly, grabbed a squeaky ball left on the table and tossed it onto my pillow.  I lowered my head to grab the toy, but stopped inches from the ball.  My pillow smelled like Mecki.

I looked up quizzically at Ma who was watching me expectantly.  It was then that I realized that there was a wafting smell of Mecki and Bastille bombarding me from all directions.  I sniffed my way around the living room, then into the kitchen and the dining room.  I circled back into the living room (sniffed the bulging eye/nose smudge left on the window by Bastille's leap) then made my way to the guest room and bathroom.  Their scent was all around, yet my four-legged pals were nowhere to be seen.

Ma suggested at this point that we should go outside and check the perimeters, and do you know what?  Mecki and Bastille's scent was all over the backyard too.  I went around sniffing every tree and following every trail.  I sniffed high and low and even circled back a few times to sniff a spot again.  I was so preoccupied with the task of tracking my friends that I didn't even realize that I had wandered out the side gate until I heard Ma screaming my name.  She found me in the neighbor's front yard, hooked a finger under my collar, and escorted me back into my yard.  After a few more sniffs, Ma and I went back inside the house.

Once inside, I followed Pa, who seemed distracted by something, into the basement where I discovered that even that part of the house smell like my bff and his little brother.  I didn't get a great chance to really investigate because after a minute or so Pa hurried up the stairs to report that the heat wasn't working (I didn't notice, but then again, I'm always wearing a coat) and I felt like I needed to be present at the troubleshooting session that would surely follow the news.

An hour later, a knocking came at the door.  I started barking furiously expecting the knocker to be Mecki or Bastille showing up to end this game of hide and go seek.  Well, it wasn't Mecki or Bastille, but instead a repairman who made his way through the living room, then the kitchen, the dining room, and finally down into the basement to fix the burner.

Great, I thought, another trail to follow!

A Very Busy Day

Chillin'

There are days made for relaxation--days filled with long naps lying in the grass, soaking up the sun on the porch, or curled up on the couch.  But the Saturday in which the following events occurred, a Saturday which happened about a month and a half ago out east, was not one of those days.

The day started bright and early with me investigating my backyard for an intruder who had apparently made himself quite comfortable in my week-long absence.  That's the problem with visiting out east only on the weekends--many animals such as deer, stupid little bunnies, squirrels, voles, moles, field mice, robins, cats, and other dogs assume that my backyard is up for grabs.  Well, it isn't!  Anyway, I was so busy sniffing around following the trail of heaven knows what that I almost didn't notice that my buddy Bruno (the Boxer next door) was at the fence wanting to say hello.  Key word here?  Almost.  The annoying trespassers completely wiped from my mind, I immediately scurried over to the property line and bunked noses with Bruno.  After saying hello, Bruno and I began chasing each other up and down the fence which, admittedly, is a bit hard for Bruno to do since there are tall bushes on his side.  He managed to make do, however, weaving in and out of the shrubbery while tearing off stray branches as he passed.

Eventually, Bruno went back inside and I resumed my intruder search.  All of a sudden, a voice called out with the words "up and in!"  It was Sister's voice.  Heeding the advice, I began running at full speed across the yard and up the flight of stairs leading to the house.  It's a favorite activity of mine, by the way, running headlong across the yard and up the stairs.  I've done it hundreds of times and it never gets old.  But this time, something went wrong.  I missed one of the last few steps before the top.  The sound of wooden step on canine knee resonated like an echo and I stumbled my way up the final steps with a limp.  Sister came running up beside me and quickly checked my knee.  She asked if I was okay and rubbed my ear when I wagged my tail and took a couple of tentative steps without limping.  With only a little blemish to my pride, I went into the house and collected a get-well cookie from Sister.

A couple of hours later, Sister announced that she was going to the beach and was wondering if I would like to go with her.  Now, some might look back on all the excitement from earlier in the day and say: "You know, I'm a bit tired (and sore), maybe I'll pass on this trip."  But not me!  Nope.  I jumped up and ran straight to the door eager to start the next adventure. 

Smiling at the Beach

Minutes later, Ma, Sister, and I arrived, via the car, at the beach and I proceeded to pull Sister left and right along the shore sniffing at shells, sea plants, and reeds.  But then a strange thing happened.  I suddenly had a dreadful urge to go into the water.  Now, this might not sound too weird.  Golden Retrievers, after all, are supposed to love playing in the water.  But as my readers know, I'm not a huge fan of water, unless I'm dig-dig-digging in the doggy pool.  In fact, I usually have to be enticed into the ocean with a cookie or a piece of seaweed dangling on a stick as a lead. But not that day.  Nope, the ocean was calling me and despite Ma's cries that it was too cold, I kept dragging Sister closer and closer to the water.  At one point, I managed to pull Sister close enough to dip my feet in a stagnant pool formed by a little cove.  The water was nice and cool and felt oh so good on my toes.  But when Sister pulled me out, I noticed something.  There was a nasty smell following me.  I looked around confused; where was the smell coming from?  Then I looked down at my paws and realized with horror that the smell was coming from them--it was the stagnant water I had just stepped in.  The smell was so distracting, in fact, that I could only walk for a step or two before stopping to stare at my feet.  This odd gait drew Ma's attention and, after putting two and two together, determined that the residual smelly water on my toes was what was bothering me.  In an attempt to remedy the situation, Sister led me down to an open bit of shoreline and allowed me to step into the cold fresh water to wash off.  With the stinky smell behind me, Ma, Sister, and I continued on with our walk.

A little bit down the beach, I came upon a group of three women and two dogs--one large black lab and a smaller brown pup.  The two dogs rushed over to me and we said our hellos.  The three women came over shortly thereafter to talk to Ma and Sister and scratched my ears while the larger black dog wandered away to continue to explore the beach.  I must have mistakenly thought that the smaller dog named Augie (a name that Ma wanted to give me so that she could refer to me as "Augie Doggy") also wandered off because when he suddenly stepped out from behind his human and barked at me with his high-pitched bark, I jumped about ten feet.  One of the ladies then asked if she could give me a cookie.  As I've done before (most recently to that nice lady at Old Westbury Gardens) I snubbed the cookie and walked away.

After walking for a little while longer, Ma, Sister, and I mutually decided that it was time to go home.  We wandered our way back to the car and I happily jumped in and hunkered down in the backseat.  I had just started dozing off when we arrived back at home.  So out the car I jumped and made my way back into the house and settled down on my pillow.

The rest of the evening, at first, appeared to be uneventful.  I snoozed peacefully on my pillow and in front of the fire (I love snoozing in front of a nice warm fire) while my family ate dinner and watched television.  But then it was time for the final business trip of the night and I begrudgingly rose from my bed and wandered outside with Pa.  As is customary, when I got outside, I immediately started toward my business spot all the way across the yard, but after taking a few steps in that direction, I sensed movement by the fence and took off after it like a bat out of hell.

I'm not sure what I saw that evening--it was way too dark for either Pa or me to see--but whatever it was, I chased it up and over the back fence and out of my yard.  A day that started with me tracking an interloper ended with me chasing one away.

After doing business, I wandered back into the house and went to bed.  After such an exciting and exhausting day, I was desperate for a good night sleep.

Salty Dog

A Salty Dog

At long last, fall has finally arrived and with it some cool crisp weather.  And in tandem with the cool weather, a seemingly endless supply of puppy energy has begun to occasionally radiate from within me.  I mean, I've always been what you might call a sprinter--good at quick bursts of energy followed by multiple long stretches of downtime (AKA naps).  But lately, I've been more like a marathon pup; taking part in back to back action packed activities without the benefit of a quick (or lengthy) cat nap (and yes, I really don't like using the "c" word when describing my traits or personality, but a saying is a saying, right?).  And it's weird.  I mean, I am the King of Naps and napping is my fourth favorite activity (for the record, #1 is eating, #2 is barking, and #3 is causing destruction), yet here I am voluntarily giving them up for near constant activity.

So what marathon of activity have I been up to?  Allow me to describe one recent Saturday.

Ma

Pa, Ma, Sister, and I were out east.  The week before, a rather large wind storm had gone through the area bringing down a lot of twigs and one rather good-sized tree branch.  Armed with a wagon and multiple lawn waste bags, Ma, Pa, and I made our way outside that morning to clean up the yard in our own tried and true ways:  Ma and Pa kept bending down to pick the twigs and throw them away while I turned small sticks into sawdust using my teeth.

A little while later, Sister joined us armed with a handsaw.  Now people may not be aware of this, but either Sister was destined to be a tree trimmer or she has some not so hidden anger issues because she absolutely loves cutting down branches.  I can't tell you how many times I've seen her come home from work and, still dressed in her work clothes and heels, grab a handsaw and cut down a low hanging or dead branch from the cherry tree in the backyard.  So anyway, Sister made her way over to the big branch and started sawing away at it.  From my point of view, Sister seemed to be having a lot of fun, so I decided to join in.  I grabbed hold of one of the lesser branches and started pulling.  Before long, Sister and I had a genuine game of tug of war going--me grabbing branch after branch and tugging and Sister trying not to cut her arm off with the handsaw as she continued with the task at hand.  Oh, it was great fun.

Once Sister finally managed to cut off the first piece, I scurried over, picked up the one-foot branch, and hot-footed away for a rousing game of keep away with Ma and Pa (in many ways, it looked as though I was trying to club someone in the kneecap what with me running around with a giant tree branch hanging out of the side of my mouth).  And oh boy was I in rare form that day.  Ma and Pa had no chance of catching up to me...unless...I got too excited and was overcome with a case of the zoomies.

For those unaware, as Sister and I were as of a couple of weeks ago, zoomies or Frenetic Random Activity Periods (FRAP) are bursts of energy in which a dog suddenly starts racing around in circles with a wild and crazy glint in his eye.

Yep, that's right, I suddenly became overcome with an urge to run.  And run I did--between the trees, up and down the stairs, and to and from the fence where Bruno, the Boxer puppy next door, watched with a mixture of excitement and puzzlement.

Now normally, tug of war, keep away, and a case of the zoomies would have left me totally exhausted, but not this time.  Nope, I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed and more than happy to entertain Sister's next bright idea: go to the beach.

The beach is a short drive from my house and I spent those minutes pacing in the back seat of the car, huffing in Sister's ear as she drove, and drooling on her shoulder.  As we drove, Sister explained to me that I wasn't going to be allowed to play in the water because it was too cold out and that I would be subjected to a bath upon my return if I did.  It didn't matter though.  There was no way I was going into the water.  Despite my heritage, I am not fond of swimming. 

Taking in the View

Not A Clean Leap

When we finally got to the beach, I jumped out of the car and dragged Sister to the shore, kicking up sand as I went. Up and down the beach we walked.  I successfully climbed up a number of one foot high "cliffs" formed by a receded high tide and failed miserably at climbing up others.  I sniffed beach grass, left giant paw prints in the sand, and even found a deceased animal that Sister identified as a decomposing opossum (Sister didn't let me sniff it, but the exposed skull matched the skull I dug up last year in the backyard at home).

About a half hour later, Sister and I walked back to the car and drove home.  Once there, I jumped out and barreled (yes barreled...I still had energy to spare) down the stairs and into the backyard to tell Ma and Pa (who were still picking up sticks) about all the fun I had had.

Out Cold

So, for those keeping track, I had, in the course of a few short hours, played tug of war and keep away, went to the beach, and ran around the backyard with abandon.  And that's where it ended.  I scurried up the stairs one last time to get back into the house then found a comfy spot and fell slept.  I woke briefly an hour or so later to eat my dinner, but returned to my nap immediately thereafter.

I guess this goes to show I'll always be a sprinter.

Feeling Sick, Seeking Comfort, Then Feeling Better

Hello!

Ever since I was a little puppy, I've been troubled by a weak intestinal system.  As a result, every six to twelve months I'm overcome with an upset stomach which requires a round or two of antibiotics and a couple of uncomfortable days and nights punctuated with multiple trips outdoors at odd hours before it clears up.

Because I have such a nice family, they always do their best to try to make me feel better during these bouts (and let me tell you, I am pretty miserable when I've got tummy troubles).  For instance, either Ma or Pa camps out in the living room with me each night I feel ill to facilitate quick access to the outside door, Sister curls up on my pillow with me during the day and gently rubs my tummy while I snooze, and then there is the classic game of "No Mess In Here" which, as traumatizing as the occasional discovery of a "mess in here" is, is, I must admit, a rather enjoyable game.

Anyway, on Wednesday afternoon I came down with my latest bout of intestinal distress and as a result, I had to roust Pa at 4am on Thursday morning to visit the restroom.  Neither Pa nor I was very happy about wandering around outside at that hour of the morning, but Pa was a good sport and did his best to comfort me while I did what I had to do.

Once I was done, Pa and I returned to the house.  While Pa put away my leash and locked the door, I scurried back into the bedroom to continue sleeping.  I didn't expect to sleep soundly though.  You see, when I scurried back into the bedroom, I didn't simply settle down on my pillow or assume my normal spot blocking the doorway.  No, I jumped up onto the bed, curled up in Pa's spot, and squeezed my eyes closed, hoping to fool him into believing I was alseep (you know, "let sleeping dogs lie").  I heard Pa walk into the bedroom and pause beside the bed.  Expecting to be roused from my comfy spot, I immediately went limp knowing that the humans have trouble moving me when I'm dead weight.  But Pa did something strange.  He climbed into bed next to me.  Having suddenly become aware that I was not going to be getting the heave-ho, I sighed and fell asleep. 

Crushed Grass

It is now a few days later, and I am feeling much better (Ma took me to the vet on Thursday afternoon and I now have a two-week supply of medicine and a blood test confirming that my small intestines naturally harbor a heightened number of bacteria).  I felt so good that I spent the weekend out east mooching cookies with Bruno and barking at a squirrel that climbed a tree outside my window and shook its butt at me for a solid minute).  And when I got home, I rolled around in the grass with abandon (the grass, overdue for a mowing, got a little crushed).

It's nice to feel better.

Boys' Night Out

A couple of weeks ago, Pa and I got to do some quality father/son bonding out east.  Sure, we were actually there because Pa had scheduled a repair man to fix a leak and Ma, Sister, and Aunt B would be joining us a few days later, but until then, we would have a couple of epic boys' nights out.

Here are some highlights from our adventures:

• Joint Investigation:  The morning after he and I arrived out east, Pa accompanied me outside to do a thorough search of the backyard.  Upon setting foot on the grass, I immediately realized that there had been an interloper in my yard.  What it was, I wasn't sure (maybe a bear or a dinosaur or a giant antelope or maybe that stupid cat I cornered a few years ago), but I tracked whatever belong to the scent to the side door.  And do you know what?  Pa was right by my side the entire time; following me as I followed the smell (Pa's nose isn't as good as mine--not to mention, with him walking on two legs, his nose is way too far away from the scent covered ground to have any real success).  He even helped me look for the interloper by searching behind the big bushes that flank the back door.  Sadly, we didn't find anything.
• Deck Repair:  While Pa pulled up damaged planks on our deck and replaced them with brand new ones, I helped by carrying around bits of wood and supervising (obviously).  Pa said that I was especially helpful in that I refrained from falling through any of the holes he created.  I found this a tad insulting, but for the sake of our boys only event, I let it go.  I would have liked to carry around some of Pa's tools as well, but most were too heavy or awkwardly shaped for me to pick up (hey, you try picking up a miter saw with your mouth!).
• Breakfast:  One morning, Pa went out to the local deli to buy breakfast.  When he got home, he called me over and told me that he had a surprise for me.  From his plate, he gave me what he called "deer sausage." Now, I'm certainly no expert on deer (I've only smelled them through the back fence after all), but I am a self-proclaimed connoisseur of food and I'm willing to bet that Pa's "deer sausage" was actually breakfast sausage.  No matter, though.  Breakfast or deer, sausage is sausage and I ate it happily.
• Bruno:   Pa has set the precedent that every time he's around when Bruno (the Boxer pup next door) and I meet at the fence separating our properties he gives us a cookie as a reward for being such good boys.  Well, needless to say Bruno and I agreed, early on, to play Pa for all the cookies we could and made sure to meet at the fence every chance we got.  And do you know what?  Pa fell for the plan nearly every time.  I can't tell you how many cookies Bruno and I ate.  Yum!
• Curfew:  When Ma's around, she insists that I go out at 10pm for my last business trip.  Now this might not sound horrible, except for the fact that I usually call it a night at 8pm.  Think about how you would feel if you were unceremoniously woken up after two hours of sound sleep and forced outside in all types of weather to do business.  Anyway, with Pa and I, there were no 10pm bathroom runs.  I went out around 8pm then slept soundly until morning.

When the Dog's Away...

Last weekend, I spend a couple of stress-free days out east.  I barked at Bruno (the Boxer puppy next door), searched for deer, and lounged for hours on my deck (a favorite activity of mine).

But while I relaxed, something dreadful, appalling, disgusting, and shocking was happening at home.  You see, Sister woke up on Sunday morning to find this just outside the door:

Revolting, isn't it?  A large orange cat brazenly drinking from a birdbath located in my back yard.  Talk about gall!  I mean, I barely tolerate the birds drinking from that fountain!

What is this world coming to?

Is There A Zoologist In The House?

It was Saturday afternoon and I was spending the weekend out east with Ma and Pa.  Because I knew that there was a nice coating of icy snow on the grass for me to rub my snout in, I jumped at the opportunity to go outside when Ma made the suggestion that I join her outside.

After I finished rubbing my snout in the icy snow, I decided to check out what Ma was doing.  You see, Ma requires a certain level of supervision when she's outside in the yard.  She's always raking up leaves or digging holes which means that there are always garden tools or plants that need to be carried away by yours truly.  So I surveyed the yard and located Ma.  She was raking up leaves that had gathered in the basement doorway.  Wasting no time, I scurried over to her side and started snuffling my way through the pile of leaves she had already collected.

Truth be told, I was searching the pile of leaves for a nice stick to chew on.  Never did I ever expect to find what I found and when I did, I did the only thing I could:  I picked it up in my mouth.

I had found a small, furry, and very much deceased creature.

Now, I've heard Pa, Ma, and Sister argue about it before:  What is the difference between a field mouse, a mole, and a vole?  Well, I certainly didn't know, but I did know that I had one of them in my mouth (there was, after all, no zoologist present at the time of death).  I also knew that whatever it was it didn't taste particularly good.  But even though it didn't taste good didn't mean that I would simply walk away from it.  No, I had to get Ma's attention so she could take it away from me (that's one of the top three purposes of the human race, isn't it?  To buy soft comfy furniture for me to sleep on, open the food tin so I can eat my supper, and take disgusting things out of my mouth).

I've learned over the years that my family is most suspicious of me when I'm quiet--that that's when they come looking for me expecting me to be up to no good.  So I, with the mouse/mole/vole still in my mouth, wandered about ten feet away from Ma and lay down in the grass.  I spit the mouse/mole/vole out on the grass in front of me.  Then I waited.

Ma was uncharacteristically oblivious to my quietness, but I was patient.  I lay there quietly with the late mouse/mole/vole before me trying not to look at it for fear of losing my most recent meal.  Ma, meanwhile, raked away.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, Ma noticed that I was acting weird.  I wasn't nosing through her leaf piles any more.  I wasn't snuffling through the bushes.  Something was amiss.

Ma turned to me and I immediately gave her my "yeah, I've got something.  Aren't you gonna come and take it away from me already?" look.  That message she got loud and clear.  Quickly, she advanced on me.

Now, just as I wasn't going to leave the mouse/mole/vole behind just because it didn't taste good, I certainly wasn't going to give up the mouse/mole/vole to Ma without at least putting up a little fight.  As Ma approached me, I summed up my strength, wished I was able to pinch my nose, and picked up the mouse/mole/vole.

Ma started shouting "drop it" and reached for my collar to prevent me from running off.  Ever the obedient dog (and more than happy to get rid of my icky tasting prize), I immediately spit out the mouse/mole/vole.

Ma obviously wasn't expecting me to have found a small, furry, and very much deceased creature either.

Standing between me and the mouse/mole/vole, Ma started frantically motioning to Pa (who was inside the house watching the events unfold), desperate to get his attention so that he could collect the recently departed animal and dispose of him before I snatched him up again.  Pa eventually came and collected the mouse/mole/vole and while he and Ma once again debated the difference between mice, moles, and voles, I considered my next step.

I decided to circle back to where I had initially found the mouse/mole/vole in hopes that I would find something just as exciting (though hopefully a whole lot tastier).  For fifteen minutes Ma watched as I circled from the spot the mouse/mole/vole had departed this world, to the pile of leaves I had plucked him from, to the spot that Ma and Pa had taken him away from me, but to no avail.  I never found anything else.

Once all the leaves were picked up, Pa, Ma, and I went inside.  I was exhausted from my adventure and was more than happy to go take a nap, but Ma was obsessing about the fact that I had been carrying around a dead mouse/mole/vole in my mouth.  Hoping to get the nasty taste out of my mouth, Ma gave me a cookie.  Not wishing to insult her, I ate it.  Then Ma brought me my water bowl to wash down any lingering taste.  Obediently, I drank.  But then Ma, taking advantage of my drooly jowls and dead set on erasing all trace of the mouse/mole/vole from my lips, grabbed a wad of paper towels and started wiping my mouth which I really hated.

It's been over twenty four hours since I picked up that mouse/mole/vole and I'm still being harassed about my germy jowls.  I'm thinking that I'm going to have to break my usual rule of not being a kissy dog and give someone in my family a big wet kiss across the nose.  I, for one, can't wait to see that person's face.

Adventures Out East

My weekends out on eastern Long Island can go one of two ways.  Sometimes they are quiet--long hours spent lounging on the deck while soaking up the sun--while other times they are action packed--chasing squirrels across the yard and pacing the fence, knowing full well, even though I can't see them, that there are deer hanging out in the yard next to mine.

Lately, my weekends have been of the latter variety.

The Cat:

It was first thing Saturday morning and I was outside in the back yard checking out the perimeter.  I was particularly engrossed in my task because the night before, when my family and I had first arrived, I had caught the undeniable whiff of cat in the bushes.  You see, that's the problem with having two yards to patrol--when you're watching one you can't watch the other and that's when the wildlife starts to take over be it cats, squirrels, moles, or deer.

So anyway, I was snuffling through the bushes, making my way to the side gate, when all of a sudden I saw it:  a furry brown cat on my side of the fence.  Now, it should be noted that I've seen this cat before--mainly in the yard across the street from me (and yes, I barked hysterically at him)--and I was always kind of taken aback by how large he appeared to be given just how far away he was from my window.  I've even heard my family commenting on his size (they said he looked like a mountain lion).  Well, let's just say that if he was big from across the street, he was massive at close range.

Now, when Pa tells this story, he says that I gave off a "high pitched girly scream of a bark" when I saw the cat.  I, however, disagree.  You see, Pa was on the other side of the yard at the time and I'm sure that what he heard was actually a conglomeration of my manly bark, the hissing of the cat, the whistle of the wind through the tree branches, and the cawing of the crows overhead.  Yep, I'm sure of it.

So, there I was standing ten feet away from the cat who was cornered between the front fence and the neighbor's.  Most animals, when cornered like this, would simply slip under or jump over the fence and scurry away.  The cat wanted to do this--I could sense it--but its girth made it completely impossible to make a clean and fast get away (which was further hampered by the cat's concern about turning its back to me).  I, on the other hand, knew what I needed to do--I needed to protect my turf and approach the cat--but, let's just say, I was a bit apprehensive.  You see, the cat was really rather large and the hissing was a bit intimidating.  With neither of us particularly interested in furthering the situation, the cat and I mutually decided to engage in a staring contest.

Realizing that there was an impasse and wishing to save face for everyone involved, Pa came up with a solution to the stalemate.  He called my name.  Being the obedient dog that I am, I turned to look at Pa which gave the cat just enough time to turn away from me, flatten out, and shimmy his way under the fence.  It wasn't a clean get away though.  When I scurried over to the corner where the cat had previously been, I discovered a large tuft of fur clinging to the bottom of the fence.

The Arborists:

The following weekend, I was awoken first thing in the morning with a sudden onslaught of large trucks, cherry pickers, wood chippers, and a crew of five or six men taking over my front and back yards. 

Needless to say, the first thing I did was bark hysterically at the hubbub (I found out later that Pa had scheduled a group of arborists--without my knowledge or input--to come trim our trees).  Next, I took a nap.  Then, after resting up a bit, I started barking hysterically again.

It was during my second round of barking that I suddenly realized something.  Not only were there interlopers in my yard and not only did I have to limit my business trips to their breakfast and lunch breaks, but I was also not allowed to go out and help them turn the giant branches into smaller branches and the smaller branches into mulch.

Needless to say I was really bummed.  I barked my displeasure.

Picking Pieces Off The Fence

I require (and I think deserve) a lot of attention. And when I say a lot of attention, what I really mean is that I deserve all the attention in the world. And when I don’t get all the attention in the world I have no choice but to go out of my way to achieve what is rightfully mine. A perfect example of this premise occurred last weekend.

Ma, Pa, and I were spending the weekend out east (Sister was in a bad mood and decided to stay home—I thought I was really going to miss her, but then I realized that I would not have to share the backseat of the car with her on the drive out so I got over it) and Saturday afternoon’s project, it was decided, would included Ma and Pa picking and trashing mushrooms that had sprouted up in the grass over the course of the previous week. I joined them outside in the backyard during this project.

Now, I’ve never ever been even remotely interested in mushrooms, so for the life of me I couldn’t fathom why Ma and Pa were so dedicated to the completion of this task. Perhaps, I thought, they were concerned that I might try to eat one one day. Ha! Highly unlikely. Why would I bother eating a mushroom from the backyard when there are far more stinky things to eat outside (i.e. half eaten fish dropped by seagulls) and far more tasty things to eat inside (i.e. cheese, apples, tomatoes, and steak)? Humans--I just don’t get them.

Anyway, regardless of my thoughts on the matter, there were two things I knew for certain that afternoon:

1. If Ma and Pa were searching for mushrooms, then they were not paying me the attention I deserved.
2. If Ma and Pa were not paying me the attention I deserved, then I would be forced to draw their attention the only way I knew how…by causing trouble.

I quickly scanned the backyard. At first I felt a bit discouraged; there didn’t seem to be many options. The neighbor dogs were not out so I couldn't rile them up, there really wasn’t much of a garden so I couldn’t dig in the mud, Ma had clipped all the overgrown weeds growing along the fences so I couldn’t graze on them, and the neighbor kids hadn’t thrown any of their toys over the fence so I couldn’t gnaw on them. But then, just when I was about to give up and simply bark at imaginary people passing by the house, a six inch long broken piece of picket fence caught my eye.

But I couldn’t simply run over to the fence. No sir. You see, as much as I craved attention, I wanted it on my terms and I certainly didn’t want to draw attention to myself before I retrieved my prize. So I strolled over to the broken piece of fence as nonchalantly as possible (if I were able to whistle—impossible due to my drooly jowls—I would have done so while I sauntered over to my prize). After an excruciatingly long period of time, I reached the fence, scooped up the broken piece, and, no longer trying to remain under the radar, galloped off across the yard.

My enthusiastic retreat with my prize did exactly what I expected it would: it drew Ma and Pa’s attention. First Ma tried to retrieve my prize from me which resulted in a rousing game of keep away. Then Pa stepped in. Pa doesn't like playing keep away so I reluctantly had to give up my prize when he told me to “drop it.” I was really kind of bummed about losing my piece of fence, but at least I drew everyone's attention.