Still Running

The simple act of me running has been striking fear in the hearts of my family for years now.

I suppose it all stems back to the time I was running with abandon in the backyard and crashed into the side of the house.  It left me dazed and bloody, but as my longtime readers will recall (and for those who don’t remember, here’s a link to the story), blame for that entire unfortunate and scar-inducing event fell squarely on Ma’s shoulders.  I was in total control when I bolted for the front gate; it was she who took that fateful step toward the house drastically reducing the size of my intended throughway. 

The years have passed, but the memory of that day continues to haunt my family.  Anything faster than a trot brings forth cries of “whoa!” and “slow down!” and “no running!”, but of course that doesn’t stop me.  Why should it?  Sometimes you’ve just got to run (even when you’re over fourteen years old).

"Don't you dare!"

"Whoa!"

"Slow down!"

"No running!"

 

Unforgivable

Stupid little fluffy tailed bunnies.  Is there a more repulsive creature in existence? 

I think not. 

Now, my loyal readers know all too well about my dislike and distrust of these stupid little vermin, but for a quick refresher they… 

• taunt me with their speed
• cause property damage 
• trespass on my property 
• break into my house each and every Easter Sunday.

And don’t even get me started on those bunny-squirrel hybrids! 

But this past weekend, the stupid little bunny went too far and caused something to happen that is totally unforgivable. 

I had just finished eating my dinner and was standing by the door waiting for Pa to put his shoes on so that I could go outside.  With a “Come on, Sam,” Pa opened the door and I sauntered out onto the porch and started making my way down the stairs to the backyard.  Pa was right behind me. 

Pa and I both saw the stupid little brown bunny sitting in the middle of the yard at the exact same moment and we both took off running toward it--although for very different reasons.  Pa was running toward the bunny to diplomatically shoo it away. I was running toward the bunny to un-diplomatically show it the exit.  With my two extra legs, I was leading the charge between Pa and I, but the stupid little bunny with its head start consistently kept its distance from us as it made a beeline for the fence and eventually showed itself out. 

With the chase over, I threw on the breaks and came to a screeching halt.  Seconds later, Pa came to a stop beside me.  The bunny had escaped, but I quickly realized that an escaped intruder was the least of my problems. 

According to Sir Isaac Newton’s first law of motion, an object in motion remains in motion unless acted upon by an outside force.  Well, my feet might have stopped propelling me forward, but unfortunately the contents of my stomach were still running at top speed.  As a result, when I stopped, my dinner kept moving forward and with a loud hack, it all reappeared in a pile at my feet. 

Horrified, I looked down at my regurgitated dinner.  Then I looked with disbelief at the hole in the fence where the bunny had escaped.  Then I looked back at my undigested meal. I had lost them both—the rabbit and my dinner—and it was all that stupid bunny’s fault. 

It might have been seconds later or maybe years, but eventually the sound of Pa’s voice cut through the darkness of self-pity.  “Come on, Squirt,” he said sympathetically, giving me a pat on my side.  “Let’s go in.”  Together, we walked back to the house. 

Inside the house, I was met by a wave of sympathy.  Ma, Sister, and Aunt B were equally horrified by my loss and showered me with pets, kisses, and ear rubs.  It was nice, don’t get me wrong, but sympathy wasn’t what I really wanted.  I wanted my dinner back. 

Depressed, I threw myself down on the floor resigned to sleep away my loss with the hopes of dreaming about having a full stomach again. 

I felt the vibration of his feet walking in my direction before I heard anything.  Bleary eyed, I looked up and saw Pa standing before me.  “Come on, Sam,” he said, “you want another dinner?”  I blinked in disbelief.  “Rigs, you want to try again?” 

This has to be a dream, I thought.  I’d never been given a second meal after throwing up the first.  At best, I’d get a big cookie an hour or so after the fact.  But a second meal?  Never.  Still, I figured, the offer was being made.  Who was I to refuse it? 

I jumped to my feet and followed Pa to my bag of food.  I watched as he poured a cup of kibble into my bowl and stepped up to my dinner station when he put the bowl down.  I looked down into the bowl.  Somehow, I knew that as soon as I took a bite of the kibble, the whole thing would disappear and I’d wake from this glorious dream. 

Still, I had to try. I opened my mouth and lapped up a mouthful.

It smelled like kibble. 

It crunched like kibble. 

It tasted like kibble. 

It was kibble! 

I wasn’t dreaming!  I was actually getting a second dinner! 

Pa later explained that because I hadn’t gotten sick on a bad stomach or because of a “dietary indiscretion” (i.e., eating grass which I know doesn’t sit well) and had actually only lost my first dinner because of that stupid little bunny, I was entitled to a second chance. 

Pa was making things right.

A Cruel Bunny

So, here's the good news. This post is not about Stumpy, that stupid little half-bunny half-squirrel freak who taunts me by storing leftover bread on my windowsills. No, today's post is about a stupid little fluffy tailed bunny who mocked me unmercifully last weekend.

It was early evening and I was outside with Pa for my post-supper business trip/check of the perimeter. I wandered up and down the fence connecting my property and Bruno's (sadly, he wasn't home), scanned the front yard through the fence for deer (none), and gave a mighty bark to alert the neighborhood dogs of my presence (a high-pitched bark from a block over answered my call). With the perimeter seemingly secure, I started toward the back corner of the yard to my designated business area, but stopped after a few feet when a sudden movement caught my eye. There, in the middle of the grass, about twenty-five feet away from me, was a stupid little bunny staring back at me with his stupid little unblinking glass marble-like eyes.

As my loyal readers know, I couldn’t, in good faith, allow this interloper to brazenly ignore the boundaries of my property. I had to chase him away. Immediately, I started running toward the stupid little bunny and that stupid little bunny turned his stupid little fluffy bunny tail and made a mad dash for the back fence. He chose poorly, however. The area of the fence he fled to lacked an escape hole out of the yard.

Realizing he had no way out, the stupid little bunny turned 90 degrees and started running back into the yard toward the direction of the front gate. I made the turn as well and followed after him. It was after I made the turn, however, that the bunny realized something. He was easily outpacing me.

Now, I need to interrupt my story for a moment to set the record straight. First, the stupid little bunny had a rather large head start on me. Second, I’m good for quick sprints. Ten to twenty feet and I’m a rock star. This particular chase turned out to be more than twenty feet and I had already run up and down the stairs from the house to the backyard numerous times that day. Third, turning on a dime is not really my forte—Newton's First Law and all.

Anyway, so rather than just run away, the stupid little bunny decided to taunt me. He purposely started running in large looping zigs and zags--zigs and zags meant to give me the opportunity to catch up.

Eventually, the stupid little bunny escaped out the front gate and I spent a fair amount of time barking at him through the fence and between running-induced gasps. He was out of my yard, but the damage was done. How offensive he was! How utterly offensive!

So, if there were any readers out there who have, throughout the years, secretly felt sorry for all those stupid little bunnies, squirrels, lizards, robins, and cats I’ve chased out of my yard, I hope you finally realize how mean they can be. They deserve to be chased out of my yard, especially if they decide to mock me on my own turf.

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.

Chasing Bunnies

Popcorn!

Popcorn.  It's one of the best things in the world.  Fluffy, salty popcorn.  Sister and I have a game whenever she makes popcorn: it's called "Popcorn from Heaven."  Here's how it works.  I lay at Sister's feet and every time I look away (as in not begging), a piece of popcorn flies through the air and lands right in front of my snout.  I scoff it up and look up toward Sister who is silently munching on a handful of popcorn.  She doesn't make eye contact with me and appears unlikely to accidentally drop the rest of the bowl on the floor, so I turn away.  And what happens?  Another piece of popcorn appears at my feet.  Now before you think that Sister is hogging the popcorn (one piece for the dog, five pieces for her) rest assured that I collected plenty of kernels as they shot uncontrollably out of the air-popper and across the room when Sister popped the bowl.

But as delicious as popcorn is, it's not the reason why I'm writing today.  No, today's story is about a stupid little bunny and why Pa is such a cool guy.

This story takes place out east.  Pa and I were outside patrolling the backyard which was ripe with the smell of passing deer, squirrels, and bunnies.  I was annoyed.  How am I supposed to keep interlopers out of my yard when I'm only there on weekends?  I mean, I do my best, but I've got other responsibilities (the other house, ripping toys, causing general havoc) and I can't reach the pedals on the car to drive myself out east. 

Anyway, I was stewing in my anger when I turned toward the bulkhead and saw one of those stupid little bunnies standing in the grass.  He turned toward me and wiggled his stupid little nose and I stared back at him.  Then he turned and ran north across the yard.  I followed after.

For the entire length of the yard, I was about five feet behind his stupid little fluffy tail.  But the yard did not go on indefinitely.  In fact, it ended with a stockade fence.  When the stupid little bunny reached it with me still five feet behind him thinking "Now I've got him," he made the mistake of counting on there being a little dugout hole in which he could slip under the fence and get away.  Well, there wasn't a convenient cutout and with a dull thud, the stupid little bunny bounced backward into the yard.

Without hesitation, the bunny shook off the failure, made a hard right, and started running toward the east side of the property.  After turning right as well, the chase continued with me now about ten feet behind his stupid little fluffy tail.  But, as before, the yard did not go on indefinitely, and this time it ended with a chain link fence.  When the stupid little bunny reached it with me now fifteen feet behind him thinking "Now [gasp] I've got him [gasp]," he made the mistake of counting on there being a little dugout hole in which he could slip under the fence and get away.  Well, there wasn't a convenient cutout and with a metallic clink, the stupid little bunny bounced backward into the yard.

But the bunny shook off that failure as well.  He made another hard right and started running toward the south side of the property.  After turning right as well, the chase continued with me now about twenty feet behind his stupid little fluffy tail.  But the yard has boundaries and the south side ended with a picket fence.  When the stupid little bunny reached it with me now twenty-five feet behind him thinking "This [gasp] time [gasp] I've [gasp] got [gasp] him [gasp]," he once again put the fate of his furry little tale in the belief there was a little dugout hole in which he could slip under the fence and get away. 

This time, he was right.  He slipped under the fence and scurried away.

With the bunny gone, I came to a stop alongside Pa who had been watching the chase unfold.  He patted my heaving side and said "It's okay Squirt, you let him go.  If you wanted to catch him you would have."

And that's why Pa is so cool.  He always knows what to say.

Freaking Out

Some dogs are heroes, able to fearlessly jump into action regardless of the situation.  Some are cowards, running away from the slightest noise.  Then there are dogs like me, who completely freak out when faced with weird situations.

Yesterday afternoon, Sister and I were hanging out in the backyard after lunch.  Sister was cleaning up the sad remains of her vegetable garden while I, rather than digging in one of the three holes I'm currently working on, was watching from the opposite side of the two foot high metal fence my family put up to keep me from helping myself to the veggies or from digging a fourth hole (I know, very insulting).  From my lookout location, I watched as Sister picked the final tomato off of the brittle remains of the final tomato plant and then rip those sad remains out of the ground by the stem.  She then turned, made her way to the fence and, with the dead plant in one hand and the tomato in the other, started stepping over it.

That was when it all went bad.  Sister's foot got caught in the fence and she fell down onto the pavement.

Now, I should mention that I was standing right next to where Sister fell, and between the scary movement of the fence and the fact that Sister could have easily crushed me had she landed only a few inches to the left (I saw my life flash before my eyes), I had no choice but to panic, make myself real low to the ground, and scurry three feet away before cautiously turning back to assess the situation.  Coincidentally, it was also during this surge of adrenaline that something in my highly evolved brain suddenly snapped.  So, with Sister wallowing on the ground, her hand bleeding and her knees and elbows scuffed, I started freaking out.

The first thing I did was grab the plastic ring (formally part of a flower pot) that had, prior to being dislodged from the root ball in the fall, been used as a barrier to protect the tomato plant from bugs.  You see, I have a long history of playing with plastic gardening pots; I steal them, I run around the backyard with them, and then I shred them all while my humans run and scream behind me.  Let me tell you, it is usually great fun.  But not this time; I was way too freaked out to focus my attention on this pastime and I only managed to scurry about five feet away before I noticed something better.

On the ground, a few inches from Sister's right hand, was the ripe tomato she had pulled from the plant only seconds before.  Now, as much as I love shredding plastic pots, I love eating way more, so I spat out the pot and scurried back to the scene of the accident.  Passing behind Sister to better my chances of success, I quickly scooped the runaway tomato into my mouth and turned to run (where I planned to scoff it down in peace).

I didn't, however, account for Sister's reflexes.  Ignoring the pain in her hand, she grabbed hold of the tomato while it was in my mouth and managed to pry the thing away from me (if I was in a better state of mind I'm sure I would have easily won this struggle).

Undeterred, I scurried away from Sister (who was still sitting in a heap on the pavement) and hotfooted it toward the shriveled up tomato plant she had thrown while going down.  "Leave it" Sister growled as I bent down to pick it up.  I did.

It was then that the pent up emotions bubbling inside of me suddenly burst out all at once and I was taken with the overwhelming need to run.  So I ran.  I ran in tight circles around the backyard.  I ran under the bushes.  I ran through the hostas.  I then ran right past Sister and, in a poorly timed attempt to put on the breaks and turn around, bounced off of the very same fence Sister had fallen over.  Startled, I did another lap of the backyard then made a bee line for my business area down the end of the driveway. After doing what I needed to do, I skidded to a halt at the side door and waited patiently for Sister, who had by now managed to lift herself up from "a puddle of [her] own blood" (her words, not mine...her hand was bleeding but only slightly), to let me in.

By the time I got inside, I was feeling much better (though a little out of breath).  I felt even better when, a few seconds later, I managed to shake Sister down for a cookie despite the fact that she was really only interested in making her way to the bathroom to clean up.  I then got a drink of water, found a nice spot on the bedroom floor, and took a nap.

Freaking out takes a lot out of a dog.

The Puppy Files: Moving A Building

Welcome to the third installment of the Puppy Files!  This episode takes place a few years ago when I was one and a half years old.

It was early morning and Ma had just taken me outside for my post breakfast jaunt around the backyard.  Usually Pa takes me outside after breakfast, but on this particular day he had to go to work super early and since I’m not a morning dog (I need my beauty sleep after all) I waited until Ma woke up at a more reasonable hour before starting my day.  Anyway, first I checked the perimeters of my backyard for any rogue squirrels (this was before the bunnies invaded the area) and then I munched on some grass (all meals, in my opinion, should end with a nice fresh salad).   But before I could finish my salad, I heard a suspicious noise coming from the front of the house and decided to run to the front gate to investigate.

Now, overall, I’m pretty good at spacial relationships.   I know exactly how much room I need to scoot between a table leg and the leg of a person seated at that table (of course, if there isn’t enough room I simply push the human leg out of my way) and I can squeeze myself past a barely open door to bark ferociously at the pizza guy (he always gets my order wrong…I want a pizza with extra cheese and dog biscuits--is that too much to ask?).  My talent really shines, however, when I’m negotiating small spaces while running at high speeds.

So anyway, I was running from the backyard to the side gate at top speed.  Before me I saw only two obstacles in my way; Ma and the house.   As I ran, I did a quick calculation in my head factoring in how close Ma was to the house (three feet), the wind speed and direction (winds from the south east at 5 knots), how fast I wanted to get to the gate (immediately), and the condition of the terrain (dry concrete) and made my decision as to whether or not to pass between Ma and the house or go around her on the other side.

Unfortunately, I left out one vital calculation:  the movement of Ma.

Disarmed by my speed and perceived lack of control (I was in complete control the entire time I'll have you know), Ma panicked and rather than abide by the safety rule which states:

“When running, the dog, regardless of how out of control he may appear and in spite of the fact that his legs might be flailing in odd directions, his large, drooly lips obscuring his vision, and he appears possessed by a thought that is completely lost to the human, the dog is, in fact, in complete control of his body and knows exactly what he is doing.   The best course of action for any human who unfortunately finds him/herself standing in the path of such a dog is to remain perfectly still and allow the dog to continue on his way without interference for it is his intention, from the start, to avoid running into said human.”

…she tried to get out of my way by taking a step toward the house.

Unfortunately, I had already made my decision to run between Ma and the house and, despite the fact that the distance between the two had just dramatically decreased, it was way too late to chance course.  I was going between the two and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

I felt it immediately, the corner of the house banging up against the side of my face, just to the left of my left eye.   Realizing I was injured, I immediately scurried over to the side step and sat down in my “the dog is hurt” position.   Ma ran over and checked me out then said “I think I should take you to the vet.”

My Injury

The vet cleaned my wound and told Ma that the injury really wasn’t all that bad:  I had lost a couple of layers of skin and fur, there was some blood, and the area was a bit swollen, but overall, nothing horrible.  She said that Ma could let the wound heal on its own which might result in a small scar or she, the vet, could put in a stitch or two.  Rationalizing that I’d never be a show dog (how does she know?) and that a scar would enhance my “bad boy” image (everyone knows it would), Ma decided on the former rather than the latter and she and I went home.

Once at home, I cautiously approached the scene of the accident and sniffed at the bricks. I could smell blood, my blood.  Making a wide berth, I scurried past and went inside to take a much deserved nap.

A couple of hours later Pa came home from work and surveyed my injury.  He was very sympathetic—he gave me lots of ear rubs and said nice things like “you poor boy.”   But then, with a tone in his voice that sounded suspiciously like laughter, he asked “Rigs, why did you try moving the house with your head?”

No respect I tell you (but the faint scar is kind of cool)!

Snow!

Remember last summer when I wrote about how long it's been since I got to play in the snow--a real snow and not some light dusting?  Well, today my dreams were answered by about a foot of white fluffy snow.

But I didn't know it at first.  You see, I woke up bright and early this morning wanting to go outside for, well, personal reasons.  First I went to Ma and barked at her, but she showed no sign of getting up.  Undeterred, I then went to Pa, jumped up on the bed, and stood on his back.  Nothing.  "Fine," I thought as I scurried into the kitchen and started banging my head against the door (I've been told my knobby head is the hardest part of my body).  Eventually, Ma got up and opened the door for me.

It was then that I saw it; there was snow everywhere!  Whoo-hoo!

Barking with joy!

I had great fun playing in the snow.  First, I ran around like a crazy dog in the backyard and then I proceeded to bark at Ma and Pa for a half an hour while they shoveled and plowed the sidewalk (and just so everyone knows, I was reminding them that they should lift with their legs and not with their backs).  I even succeeded in waking up Sister, asleep in her room, with all my barking.  What an added bonus! 

Now, I would be lying if I said that I wasn't a little concerned that Sister was going to come outside angry because I woke her up, but it turns out that I was completely wrong this time.  In fact, I had even more fun once she joined me.  She chased me around the backyard and threw snowballs at me while I ran around her trying to pick-pocket the mittens out of her coat (which, sadly, I never did succeeded in doing despite multiple attempts).

So much fun!  So much fun!

A little while later, after they had finished digging out our house and the neighbor's house, Ma and Pa got involved in the games Sister and I were playing.  First, they threw shovel-fulls of snow at me while I ran around the backyard at top speed.  Next they built me a snow mountain on the side of the driveway which I dug apart just as quickly as they built it.  I had so much fun!

Attack snowballs!

Then it was time to go in.  Now, I'm not sure how many of my loyal readers are aware of this, but there is one very troubling consequence of playing outside in the snow:  attack snowballs.  When I got inside the house I realized that I had dozens of tiny snowballs stuck all over my legs, under my arms, and down my chest.  While they didn't hurt, I will admit that the ice balls yanking on my fur was less than comfortable, not to mention, very, very cold.  But Sister saved the day.  She knew that I was going to have an icing problem and had a hair dryer all ready to start the melting process.  Seconds later, the ice balls were gone and I was nice and warm.  I curled up in a ball and prepared myself for a well earned nap.  I was awake just long enough to hear Ma and Pa talking about how much more snow fell out east; almost three feet in some places!  I dreamt of playing out there.

I went out a couple of more times during the day.  I helped Sister chip the ice off her car (and tried climbing in when she opened the door to get the ice scrapper--it's really not fair that that car is off limits to me because it is too new and too clean), played fetch with Ma, ate ice, and ran around in the backyard with Pa (which included running chest first into a now much icier and harder snow mountain--but don't worry, I bounced off). 

Oh what fun!

It goes without saying that I am going to sleep well tonight and that I can't wait for the morning to do it all over again!

Deconstructing "Come and Sit"

My bff!

Before I begin, I just want to give a shout out to my bff Mecki who turns two years old today!  Happy birthday Mecki!

I love to run.  Check that, I love to run short distances (long distances require energy which could be put to better use such as collecting pets, stealing food, and otherwise causing trouble).  As a result, I've always enjoyed playing one particular game with my family:  "Come and Sit."  In this game, I sit at one end of the driveway and wait for my playmate to scream out "Rigby, come and sit."  Once the words are uttered, I set off at warp speed and sit at his or her feet (of course, it goes without saying that I only play this game when treats are involved).  Now, some might think that when a dog, such as myself, decides to play this game, his brain recognizes the command then tells his legs to move.  Well, I'm here to say that the entire process is actually far more complicated.

Step 1:  Hear the command to "come" and make the conscious decision to pretend that you didn't.

Step 2:  Laugh to yourself while your human begs and pleads with you to "come."  A word of caution:  while it is exceedingly fun to push your human to the point of crying and/or cursing, such tactics may ultimately cost you a cookie.

Step 3:  Decide that you've harassed your human enough.  You are ready to respond to the command.

Step 4:  Rear back slightly to maximize your eventual push of forward momentum.

Step 5:  Allow facial muscles to go limp.  Two things occur when you do this.  First, your jowls fly backward and up allowing everyone to see your sparkling white teeth (extra points if you've recently gotten a drink of water and your jowls are sopping wet).  Second, the skin around your eyes shifts to your forehead allowing the whites of your eyes to become about 50% more prominent.  The combination of these two facial rearrangements gives you a "crazy dog caught in a wind tunnel" expression.

Running with abandon.

Step 6:  Run with abandon.  While you bound toward your human like a runaway freight train, you will notice five things:
     1.  Your ears are flying forward, backward, up, and down with your gait.
     2.  Your jowls are flapping in the breeze (throwing spit everywhere).
     3.  Your front legs are, at times, behind your back legs.
     4.  All your feet occasionally leave the ground at the exact same time.
     5.  You're not entirely certain you can stop your forward momentum at will.

Step 7:  This is the moment where you must either stop, crash into your human, or skirt around him/her.  It is your choice, but realize that human knee cap on pointed dog skull is not necessarily the most ideal situation for anyone involved.  To avoid this bone on bone collision, try to sideswipe your human's knee causing the knee to buckle and him/her to crumple to the floor (be sure to smile, wag your tail, and act like it was all good fun).

Just before the crash!

Completely off the ground!

Step 8:  Collect your treat.

A Really Bad Day

I shouldn't have gotten up this morning.

My horrible day started innocently enough when I was running around like a lunatic in the backyard after having returned from my walk with Pa.  During one of my laps, I suddenly noticed a severe pain in my paw.  Realizing I was hurt, I quickly assumed my "The Dog is Hurt" position of sitting right outside the side door looking pitiful.  Pa, noticing my mournful look, came over immediately and, after washing the mud off my feet using the outside hose, checked each of my paws.  He discovered that my right front paw's dewclaw had hooked on something while I was running which caused its outside shell to come off leaving behind the pink quick intact.

Notice How Sad I Look

Pa brought me inside and Ma called the vet to make an appointment to have my paw looked at.  Nursing my injured foot, I slunk off to be by myself.  It just so happens that that place I slunk off to was atop Ma and Pa's bed.  Ma found me on the bed a few minutes later, but by that time I had prepared my saddest look and positioned myself snugly between a couple of pillows.  Apparently, my sad expression got to Ma and she decided that she simply didn't have the heart to kick me off the bed.  If I wasn't in so much pain, I would have celebrated Ma's decision, but alas, my foot really hurt and I was in no mood.

Now, this isn't the first time I've either torn off or broken a nail.  In fact, I've had problems with at least two nails before today, and let me tell you, the experience never gets better.  The first time, the nail and the quick both came off leaving Sister with a bloody mess that could rival most slash 'em up movies.   The second time I cracked my nail while playing by the fence with the next door neighbor's dog.  That time there was no blood, but the nail had to be removed (this time by the vet) anyway.

Eventually, Pa went off to work and Ma woke Sister up to help her take me to the vet.  I was a little concerned that Sister would be annoyed that she had been woken up early on her day off, but instead she showered me with attention and commented on what a poor boy I was.  She also sat with me on the bed and rubbed my ears for a little while which I found comforting.  After a little while, Ma and Sister put my leash on and escorted me to the car (despite the pain I was quite excited--I do love car rides).

When we got to the vet's office I took my place in the waiting room sitting on the couch between Ma and Sister.  The receptionists oohed and ahhed over me (apparently, even in pain I'm exceptionally handsome) and eventually the vet called me into the exam room.  The vet checked my heart, my joints, my ears, and eventually my bad paw all the while saying extremely nice things about me.  Then she announced her diagnosis:  the quick had to be removed and in order to do so I would have to stay a couple of hours and be sedated.  I didn't like the sound of that, but because I'm always up for an adventure, I happily went off with vet into the back room.

The next thing I knew I woke up in a strange room filled with barking dogs and had a large ace bandage on my paw.  When I was a little less groggy, Ma and Sister came back for me and I greeted them by trying to jump into their arms.  Then I started pulling toward the door with all my might (and the vet said that I would be a little dopey from the sedatives--ha!).  I was so intent on leaving the office that I didn't even beg for one of the dog cookies the receptionists keep on their desk.  Eventually, Ma, Sister, and I piled into Ma's car and we drove home.

My Injured Leg

I spent a fair portion of the rest of the day trying to nap, but I never got much sleep because I couldn't get comfortable.  The bandage (which Ma said she might remove tomorrow morning because she thinks that I'll try to eat it while everyone is at work--I can't say it wouldn't happen) was always in my way.  Every time I tried flipping over, my bandaged leg clunked awkwardly on the floor (or whacked me on the head).  It was quite annoying.

Oh woe is me!

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).