Find the Loophole

Lizard Sans Tail

I've learned a lot over my ten human years on this planet.  I've learned that if you insist long enough and persistently enough, even Pa will let you sleep on the furniture.  I've learned that it's far easier to go through your entire repertoire of tricks rather than listen for the one that's requested of you.  I've learned that every once in a while a perfectly normal looking bush will suddenly sprout pizza slices, that if you jump out of a moving vehicle once you will never live it down, and that you can never trust a creature that is missing its tail (Stumpy) or willing to jettison its tail at will (those annoying lizards).  But all of these important lessons (plus scores of others) pale in comparison to the number one thing that I have learned:  for every rule there is at least one loophole.  And it has been my goal in life to discover each and every one of those loopholes and take full advantage of them.

Below are two examples of my favorite loopholes and how I use them to my advantage.

Example One:
Begging for Food

I'm a big fan of food.  I like all types.  I love my kibble and I love Milkbones.  I love smelly disgusting treats and I love all types of human food from cheese to Cheerios to steak (except lettuce...I just don't get lettuce).  But one of my all-time favorite foods is ice cream and lucky for me, not only does my family have ice cream most evenings, but they always save me a little taste.

But the thing is, I’m not allowed to beg for food. It’s a rule that has been in place since I was a tiny little ball of fur with large gnashing teeth.  First of all, I've been told that it’s impolite to beg. Second, my drooling problem is exaggerated when food is involved.  In fact, my drooling is such a problem that I have been taught the command “go someplace absorbent” (meaning to get off the hardwood floor and go sit on a rug).

Of course, I often ignore the "no begging" rule, but when I'm not blatantly ignoring it, I take full advantage of an obvious loophole which marries my love of food and my love of being comfortable.

You see, each evening I wait patiently for my taste of ice cream by laying on my spot on the living room couch, not one foot away from where Ma is sitting.  To all the world, I am just resting in my spot; curled up into a ball with my head down on the sheet used to keep all the fur, dirt, and drool off the couch.  In reality, however, I am staring intently at Ma’s bowl of ice cream, willing her to drop it, while drooling with gusto into my blanket.

Example Two:
Dig, Dig, Digging

Another big “no, no” in my life is digging.  Sure, I’m allowed to dig in the doggy pool or in a man-made snowdrift, but other than that, the action is seriously frowned upon.  But, like begging, I’ve never completely cut digging out of my life.

I “dig, dig, dig” under the forsythia.  

I “dig, dig, dig” under the cherry tree by the fence. 

I “dig, dig, dig” in the vegetable garden.  

I “dig, dig, dig,” in the flower garden.  

I even “dig, dig, dig” inside the house on the rug.  

But like I said, I’m technically not supposed to dig, so, when I feel like digging, but don’t feel like getting in trouble, I switch over to the loophole:  rolling in the grass.

I love rolling around in the grass.  First, I plow my head into the ground.  Then I slide along on my shoulder--propelled forward by my back legs--for a time.  Next, I drop my back end onto the ground with a thud and start rolling back and forth over and over again in the dirt, dust, and grass.  My recorded record for rolling has been thirteen back and forths, but for me, the record is actually determined by how muddy my nose gets and whether or not I end up with a grass stain on my head.

Me and My Work

But while I’m rolling back and forth, I'm also stretching my legs out, digging my claws into the grass and dirt, and raking my legs back and forth.  This action pulls up large amounts of grass and dirt (which usually gets thrown up into the air when I roll over) yet I cannot be reprimanded for digging because, technically, I’m not (the barren earth, displaced grass, and hole are merely casualties of my enthusiastic rolling).

So, my word of advice, garnered from years of experience is:  look for and take full advantage of the loopholes in life.

Stumpy Strikes Again!

I left Sister in charge of the house this weekend while I spent a couple of relaxing days out east with Ma and Pa.  I told her to periodically check the perimeters.  I told her to keep the squirrels, bunnies, and other assorted interlopers at bay while I was out.  It was a simple request.  She should have had no trouble following through.

That said, I came home to this:

Stumpy, that stupid little half-squirrel half-rabbit freak, had struck again and this time he left a pizza crust on my window sill.

Now, I know what you, my loyal readers are thinking.  You’re thinking, “Hey, that was a really nervy thing for Stumpy to do, but maybe that means that the pizza tree* is flowering again.  Maybe he’s doing you a favor.”  Well, I checked and there are no other pizza crusts on the pizza tree so either Stumpy took the only slice or the remains on my window sill are his take-out leftovers.

Any way you slice it, it just goes to show that good security help is hard to find.

 
* For all my new fans out there, click here to read about the famous (and delicious) pizza tree.

A New Crop

When I first discovered the pizza tree growing in my backyard (see story here), I was excited.  I hoped that that one single slice of pizza would go to seed and produce hundreds and hundreds of pies.  Neapolitan!  Sicilian!  Grandma!  Deep dish!  Ahh, the choices would have been endless (and that's not even going into the different types of toppings I'd grow as well as my eventual side crop of garlic knots).

Sadly, however, I believe I got ahead of myself.  You see, I've recently come to the sad conclusion that my pizza tree is a dud.  In the five months since I discovered the first slice, no additional slices have appeared (and believe me, I've looked).  It goes without saying that I was, and still am, quite bummed over this fact.

But a few days ago something happened to lighten my mood.  I discovered that perhaps I really do have a "green thumb" (even though I don't have thumbs, per se, and the only way my fur turns green is when I run around like crazy in the backyard, trip, and end up with grass stains from skidding across the lawn on my chest).  You see, I might not be able to grow pizzas, but I can, apparently, grow burnt English muffins.

I discovered my burnt English muffin bush quite by accident.  It was late one night and Ma and I were outside for my final business trip.  Try as I might, however, I was unable to concentrate on the task at hand because of the wafting smell of burn bread emanating from the backyard.  I followed the smell like a bloodhound and tracked it to a flowering bush three spots down from the debunked pizza tree.  Seeing that the muffin was perched on top of the bush (which was quite tall), I implemented Plan A (climb the bush), but I quickly gave up on the plan because the branches were not sturdy enough to hold my weight.  Then I moved on to the ever successful Plan B: bark hysterically until someone comes to help (this plan always works, especially late at night or early in the morning when my family is afraid that I might wake up the entire neighborhood with my vocalizing).

As expected, Ma came to my rescue and, armed with a flashlight, cautiously approached the bush (she later told me that she had no idea what I was barking at and was afraid that I might have cornered an animal).   She peered into the bush and, upon realizing what I was barking at, reached in and pulled the burnt English muffin out.

Then Ma did something horrible; she carried the burnt English muffin into the house and threw it out in the garbage without even giving me so much as a crumb.  I mean, what gives?!  I found the muffin!  I tracked it!  I tried climbing the bush!  And just because I couldn't reach it I lose out?  It's just not fair.

Me and My New Toy

But I guess everything works out in the end.  I might not have gotten the chance to chow down on a burnt English muffin, but my friend Ralphie and his mom did give me a new toy which I've really been enjoying.

Reflecting on My Fourth Year

On the eve of my 5th birthday, I thought I'd take a minute, as is now tradition, to reflect on a few life lessons I've learned this year.

1. Sleepovers Are Awesome!:  Not only did I have my very first sleepover last spring, but I also got to participate in three additional ones.  First that little stray dog that Sister took in stayed over, then my pal Ralphie spent the night, then my bff Mecki stayed the weekend, then my man Ralphie spent another night!  And, despite sometimes having to give up the use of my pillow to my house guest (as any good host would do), I had a fun and spectacular time with each!  Who knows what this next year will bring.
2. Hide Your Antlers Well:  Be warned:  the simple act of a host finishing the picked over and abandoned remains of a house guest's breakfast apparently warrants said house guest to round up the host's collection of abandoned antlers and chew on them. 
3. Pizzas Don't Come From the Store:  This was quite the eye opener for me.  For most of my life I was under the mistaken impression that pizzas simply arrived at the front door, ready-made, and encased in a cardboard box.  Boy, was I wrong!  Who would have thought that a slice of pizza could grow on a seemingly ordinary evergreen tree?  I wonder if I can expect a new crop next year.
4. Don't Chip the Paint:  The luster of a black nose is not solid through and through.  It is merely a veneer covering a bright pink center.

A Very Ralphie Sleepover

Friday morning started with a surprise.  After Ma and Pa left for work, Sister told me that my friend Ralphie was going to be arriving at any moment for a sleepover and I was like:

"Whaaat?  Ralphie's coming over?!  Yay!"

As my loyal readers know, Ralphie and I always have a lot of fun when we get together.  Back in November 2012, I visited Ralphie at his house and he showed me how to make dog angels in the snow.  Then, last September, Ralphie slept over at my house and, while we only got to play together for a couple of minutes before his Mom came to pick him up (I had been out east with my Ma and Pa), we ran around the backyard and hit my family up for all the pets we could.

This time, however, we had almost twenty four hours to play and believe you me, we made the most of it.  We...

...watched Sister make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch and tried to telekinetically cause the peanut butter jar, the sandwich, or both to fall onto the floor (we only succeeded in making Sister feel very uncomfortable).


...debated whether or not we would be able to play a couple of rounds of Go Fish if:

a.  Ralphie had both his dew claws but no thumbs.
b.  I had only one dew claw and no thumbs.

(we decided the answer was probably no, but 52-Card-Pick-Up-And-Shred seemed possible).


...and told jokes.

Me:  "A cat walks into a bar and says to the bartender..."
Ralphie:  "Stop!  You're killing me!"




But we didn't spend all our time together.  Every once and a while, Ralphie went off to explore on his own.  Here's some of the fun stuff he did.  He...

...played with Monkey Monk.

...discovered that pizzas are out of season (but decided to pose next to the Pizza Tree anyway).

 

...and walked around with two toys stuffed in his mouth (and discovered that one of them still had a working squeaker).

But that's not all.  We also barked at the Chinese food delivery man when he had the nerve to knock on the front door, did our business all over the back yard (I'm only allowed to get away with that kind of behavior when I have company over--my humans insist on a designated business spot for everyday use), and forced my family to give each of us continuous ear and butt scratches despite the fact that they were quickly developing carpal tunnel in their wrists.

Two Buds Hanging Out

I'd say, overall, it was a highly successful day.

But Where Do Pepperoni Come From?

Over the years, I've discovered quite a few odd things in my backyard including:

• half eaten peaches that the squirrels steal from the peach tree growing in the yard next door
• hammocks
• bunnies

But none have compared to the strange (and wonderful) thing I found on Monday morning.

It was a standard Monday morning.  Bright and early I woke up, stepped on Sister as I climbed off the bed, scurried downstairs, and demanded that I be let out to check the perimeters.  Into the backyard I galloped and joyfully jumped over the mountain of snow Ma and Pa have been building me from the weekly seven inches of snow that keeps blanketing our driveway.  Having stuck the landing (a perfect 10.0 if you ask me), I came to a complete halt in the middle of the yard and took a deep breath of morning air.

It was then that I smelled it; a wonderfully delicious smell wafting from the little Christmas tree in the corner of the yard.  Ever inquisitive (and always looking for a free meal), I scurried over to the tree, my nose high in the air, and determined that the smell was definitely coming from the top of the tree--a tree that, despite being short, was still taller than me.  I weighed my options and decided that, if I couldn't reach the top of the tree from where I stood, I would climb it instead.  There was just one problem...the branches would not support my weight.  Undaunted, I considered my options once again and came up with a plan B:  bark hysterically until someone comes to help.

Seconds later, I heard, a banging on the window and saw Pa motioning for me to stop barking and come in.  Seeing that it was breakfast time, I acquiesced and hurried in.

About an hour later, I was let outside again.  Immediately, I hot-footed it to the little Christmas tree and re-evaluated the situation.  I decided that, if I couldn't climb to the top, I'd rear up on my hind legs and investigate from a standing position (hey, it works for the humans).  Slowly, I rose off my front legs and--BANG--I hit my head on a low-hanging branch from the cherry tree growing a few feet away.

I was busy counting the little bunnies and stars that were circling around my head when I suddenly became aware of the familiar sound of laughter and discovered Ma and Pa standing in the window guffawing at my expense; they had seen the whole thing.  Annoyed, I decided to return to plan B and started barking hysterically until Pa enticed me back inside the house with the promise of a cookie.

A couple of hours later, after breakfast, Ma went out to investigate what was bothering me.  Cautiously, she approached the tree and discovered, right there on the top branches, was a half a slice of pizza (and here I was under the impression that pizzas came from some rude person who banged on our door ever Friday night but never stopped to say hello to me).

Despite making the initial find, Ma refused to share the pizza crop with me.  In fact, she had the gall of throwing the slice away without so much as a taste.  Still, now that I know where pizzas come from and that I have my very own pizza tree growing in my back yard, I know that, if I check every day, someday a new crop will grow and I'll be there to sample it.