Hitch-Hikers, Sail Squirrels, and Flo

As a distinguished (and devilishly handsome) senior, one might assume that my days are filled with meandering walks, long naps in the sun, and hours of screaming “get off my lawn” at the top of my lungs at every passing squirrel, mailman, and figment of my imagination.  Well, my life is anything but structured and boring (though I do spend many an hour screaming “get off my lawn” at all creatures great, small, and imaginary).  Here’s three things that happened to me over the last couple of weeks. 

Hitch-Hikers:

Bumble bees have suddenly taken to landing on my back and hitch-hiking across the yard.  And it wasn’t a one-off thing…it happened twice in two days last week! I’m really at a loss for why this is happening; it’s not like I’ve recently received a bath and smell like that nasty lavender shampoo my family slathers on me—I’m pleasantly stinky thank you very much.

Flo:

Flo is the Golden Retriever who lives down the road who I routinely meet up with during my walks.  She mooches pets from my Pa and I mooch pets from her Pa.  Then we go our separate ways.  Well one day last week, I was hanging out inside the house and all of a sudden I sensed movement on my deck and started barking hysterically.  Turns out, it was Flo—she had wandered onto my deck when her dad stopped by to talk to my dad.  Anyway, Ma opened the door to see what was going on and would you believe it?! Flo just walked right into my house like she owned the place.  Now, Flo is generally cool (you’ve got to appreciate anyone who has trained the mailman to leave a daily delivery of chicken meatballs in your mailbox…not that I’m jealous or anything) but to just invite yourself in to someone else’s house?  That’s a bit much. 

Sail Squirrel:

On our daily walks, Pa and I come across a dead squirrel that has been decomposing on the side of the road for weeks now.  He’s been around for so long that my family has even given him a name, “Cadaver Bob.”  Everyday, I walk up to Cadaver Bob and give him a sniff.  Then I look up at Pa inquisitively.  “You can leave him,” Pa assures me and I’m like “Yeah, I wouldn’t touch that thing with a ten-foot pole. Why hasn’t anyone done anything about the body yet?” 

 

Bob Ross

Some days, I have trouble falling asleep. I don't know why.  I mean, evenings are the same as always around here: I bark and carry on as soon as my humans sit down in front of the television after dinner and refuse to stop until I'm given a new toy (which I kill) or a PB&K (which I eat).  Once done, I rub my snout in approval, demand to go outside to do business, then insist that Ma give me a hoist up onto the couch where I snooze until dessert time.  After dessert, I curl up on my pillow and nap until it's time to go to bed at which point I collect my good boy treat and, ideally, go to sleep.  

But over the last few years, I've found myself occasionally feeling quite manic after my good boy treat and, as a result, just can't seem to lay down and go to sleep.  Instead, I start pacing and panting and, if left to my own devices, barking.

At first, my family had no idea how to curtail my restlessness and tried everything they could think of including limiting my roaming area, offering to sit/sleep on the floor with me, tiring me out with activities, trying to sneak into the bedroom without waking me up from my post desert nap, and sedatives.  None were successful.

Then one evening, Ma discovered the secret to soothing the salvage beast:  Bob Ross.

Now, whenever I feel restless at bedtime, Ma brings me out into the living room and has me lay down on my pillow (she, meanwhile, stretches out on the couch).  She then turns on the TV and sets it to the 24/7 Bob Ross Channel.  Within minutes, I'm out cold.  After waiting about thirty minutes just to be sure that I'm not faking, Ma quietly gets up, turns off the TV, and sneaks off to bed.

And there I spend the night, dreaming of happy little trees and wondering why Bob had such a fondness for pocket squirrels.

An Extreme Lapse in Security

Allow me to set the scene.  It was a pleasantly cool sunny day in late September and I was taking full advantage of the weather by napping on the deck out east.  With homeland security always foremost in my mind, I purposely positioned myself so that I was facing out toward the street, ready to pounce should an intruder attack.  To the untrained eye, I might have appeared to be sleeping, but it was all a ruse.  I was a coiled spring ready to defend my turf at a moment’s notice. 

So ready was I that, a few minutes later, from what appeared to be a dead sleep, I was awakened by the smell of squirrel on the wind.  Snout in the air, I successfully tracked the furry little interloper across the deck and into the backyard.

But when I came back up onto the deck after showing the squirrel the door, Ma, who was also taking part in deck-time, was laughing at me.  It was only later, when Ma was talking to Pa, that I learned why she was laughing.  Apparently, there had been a massive breach in security.

Here’s what Ma saw:

Ma was sitting on the deck, reading her book, and, not far out in front of her, I was snoozing.  Suddenly, Ma heard a scuttling sound of tiny paws coming up from behind her.  She looked up from her book just in time to see a squirrel come strolling out from under her chair.  In disbelief, Ma watched as the squirrel continued walking forward and right past me acting, for all the world, like I wasn’t even there.  I, meanwhile, continued to snooze totally undisturbed.

A second later, Ma witnessed a second squirrel come scuttling up onto the porch and come to a halt besides her.  Ma watched in disbelief as the squirrel just stood there, completely oblivious of her and me.  Concerned that this entire event could end poorly, Ma moved her leg as a way of alerting the squirrel to the fact that he was not alone on the porch.  It was a good thing that she did because, based on the startled jump it did straight into the air, the squirrel wasn’t even remotely aware that he wasn’t alone.  I, meanwhile, continued snoozing.  After a moment, the squirrel regained his composure, did a reverse face, and hightailed it into the backyard.

It was shortly thereafter that I was awakened by the smell of squirrel on the wind.  Snout in the air, I successfully tracked the furry little interloper across the deck and into the backyard.

Needless to say, this entire event highlighted an extreme lapse in my security system and proved to be beyond embarrassing for me personally.  A full inquiry into the events of that cool sunny day will commence shortly.

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 Bad Idea from the Start

A couple of months ago, Ma and Sister decided to attach a clear plastic bird feeder to the outside of the window of my office (without asking me I might say).  They thought it would be interesting and even fun to observe the birds eating throughout the day.  I, on the other paw, through this was a bad idea from the get go.  Turns out, I was right.

It started innocently enough I suppose.   The cardinals were the first to discover the feeder followed closely by the sparrows.   For the most part, I wasn’t troubled by either of these interlopers as they pretty much kept to themselves and their daily replacement of seeds consistently distracted my family long enough for me to munch on a few mouthfuls of grass. 

But then things got out of hand.

First, the mourning doves came.  Although I don’t dislike mourning doves nearly as much as I dislike robins (stupid robins hop around in front of me, never truly flying away), they're still annoying.  I especially hate it when they hunker down in the grass and startle me when I walk by.

Anyway, the first mourning dove landed with a deafening thud on the feeder (it woke me up from my nap) and immediately started stuffing its face with seeds. 

A little while later, the dove’s friend showed up and spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to land on the feeder next to his buddy (apparently they aren't very smart).  This normally wouldn't have bothered me, but Ma and Sister keeping me awake with their laughter.

Then it got worse--the squirrels discovered the feeder.  All of a sudden, squirrels started leaping from the nearby tree onto the window sill before clawing their way up to the feeder.   Once in the feeder, they took up residence, spending twenty minutes at a time gorging on seeds and scaring sparrows and cardinals alike.  At one point, a squirrel even managed to pull the seed tray out of the feeder sending the tray, and itself, hurtling to the ground.

The window in my office is partially obstructed by Sister’s work equipment, so I wasn’t aware of the squirrel at first, but once I was made aware, I assure you that I made sure it knew who was boss.  I barked long and loud at it, eventually driving it away, before running to the side door insisting to go out to push it further back out of my territory.

I mean, I’m not totally intolerant of squirrels.   They serve a purpose (mainly depositing half eaten peaches and pumpkins for me to sample) however, clawing up onto my window and looking in on me—that’s going too far.

Now that I’m aware of their latest scheme for world domination, I have upped my vigilance.  I watch for those squirrels in the window and when they get too close (and standing in the tree is too close for my taste), I let loose with a bombardment of barks.

Not on my watch, squirrel.   Not on my watch.

Tastes Like Chicken

Did you know that there’s a breed of squirrel that lives on eastern Long Island that can regenerate its tail?

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Rigby, there’s no such thing as a squirrel that regenerates its tail.  If it loses its tail, it doesn’t grow back (see Stumpy).  You’re thinking of those little green lizards you have back at home; like that one you caught all those years ago who jettisoned its tail in your mouth to escape.  You know, the lizard that launched this blog?”

Well, I most certainly have not forgotten about that lizard (or the disgusting wriggling tail I got stuck with), but how else can you explain the fact that twice now I have found the very tip of a squirrel tail lying in the middle of my backyard and yet I have not found a single local squirrel missing part of its tail (and believe me, I chase after every squirrel that crosses my path just to check)?

Anyway, whether it is a mythical breed of squirrel with a regenerating tail or a few seriously unlucky and elusive squirrels that keep losing their tails to horrors unknown, I think we can all agree that it is really creepy to find squirrel pieces scattered across your yard looking for all the world like pom-poms on a craft table. 

But there’s more.  Not only are bits of squirrel tails creepy when they’re littered throughout the yard, but they’re also really tasty (though the fur’s a bit off putting).   Yes, you read that right: Pa found me chewing on the latest bit of squirrel.

Christmas Roundup 2020

O Christmas Tree

It cannot be said that this Christmas was like all the others that came before. It was very different, fewer visitors and fewer carefree days leading up to it (hey, I’m a working dog now). But, in the end, it was the Christmas that we needed and boy did we take advantage of it.  

Christmas morning started with a reminder that it was not a work day. You see, I take my Administrative Assistant job very seriously and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I lost track of the days and ended up shooting Sister a very dirty look when she didn’t report to work at 8:30am as usual. However, after being shown the pile of presents left under the tree, I quickly changed my tune, left work behind, and proceeded to stick my snout into each and every bag and lick all the packages. 

Now, it’s a well-known fact that I get very excited when it comes to opening presents. I mean, it’s really an activity that is totally up my ally—you get to rip up paper into teeny tiny little pieces (and if you happen to accidentally swallow any of it, all the better)! It’s basically encouraged wrapping paper carnage! Of course, what isn’t encouraged is opening up presents that don’t belong to you. 

Not My Present-2012

Yeah, I have a history. 

Anyway, in years past, my family has tried everything to occupy me during the opening of presents so that the rightful owner of the present can actually open it themselves. Sometimes, they put me on the leash (I show my displeasure by chewing on the chain which drives Sister crazy). Other times, they’ve given me a PB&K. Occupying me with new toys is always a welcome tactic and my family has even tried to carefully unwrap their gifts so that there is little to no crinkling to pique my interest. Nothing really works that well, but this year, my family decided to try a combination approach. 

Me and My Dino

First, I got my presents: a plush dinosaur from Sister, a plush Tasmanian Devil and Marvin the Martian from Jim and Dixie (I gnawed off the Tasmanian Devil’s ear), and a new bagel squeaky toy from Ma and Pa (I killed the squeaker). 

Little did I or my family know that four new toys in quick succession is my breaking point; it’s when I reach overload. And boy did I ever. Suddenly, I jumped up and stood in the middle of the room with my head up in the air barking at the crown molding on the ceiling. Nothing my family could say or do could bring me out of it. I just kept barking and barking and barking like a dog possessed. All of a sudden, however, I felt a grumbling in my belly and a giant burp escaped my lips. 

Feeling better, I stopped barking. 

It was at this point that Ma suggested that maybe a PB&K would make me feel better. I scurried after her into the kitchen, collected my PB&K, and settled down while my family finished unwrapping their gifts. 

Me and My Tasmanian Devil

Once the PB&K was done, I curled up for a long nap waking up only long enough to change positions (from the couch to my pillow to the cool kitchen floor and back to the couch again), beg for any treat my family ate, and check the backyard perimeter for pumpkin left behind by the squirrels. 

Note: The neighbors in the yard behind me have been feeding the squirrels pumpkin for the last three weeks. Every time they drop a piece or leave it hidden behind the tree, I scoff it up. I think, at this point, I’ve consumed about five pounds of pumpkin (and given how fat the squirrels have gotten over the last three weeks, I’m hoping to be able to catch one come January). 

In other words, it was a very successful Christmas. 

All is Calm

On a personal note...

I just want to take a moment to let my fans know that I’m going to be going in for a bit of surgery on Monday morning. I have a growth on my left bottom eyelid which needs to be removed, a tag on my chin, and a hematoma right ear. I imagine I’m going to be a bit of a shaved mess when I get out, but it will be nice not to have my eye and ear bother me any longer. 

Wish me luck!