New Shoes

Those who know me know that I have a thing for human footwear.  I take great joy in stealing sneakers and work boots from the basement stairs and flinging them about the living room.  I love rooting through Ma's closet and liberating her slippers.  And one mustn't forget all those insoles I ripped out of Sister's shoes.  Over the years, I've gnawed on flip flops, sneakers, snow boots, pumps, slippers, flats, booties, and water shoes and if you had asked me, I would have said that I've tasted/destroyed every type of shoe imaginable--every size, color, and texture.

Turns out, however, I was wrong.

It happened last week.  There I was, minding my own business, gnawing on my squeaky ball while lounging on the couch when all of a sudden Sister jumped up from her chair, declared that she was cold, and quickly ran upstairs to her room.  I must admit that, while startled, I really wasn't terribly interested in what Sister was doing.  After all, like I said, I was preoccupied with chewing on my squeaky ball and I knew for a fact that Sister didn't keep any food in her room (I've checked). 

A few seconds after scurrying upstairs, Sister made her way back down the stairs.  Calmly, she walked into the living room and stood behind her chair which, I admit, was odd, but certainly not odd enough to distract me from my toy.  When she got no rise from me, Sister called my name and, when I looked up at her, she leaped into the middle of the room.  Immediately, I gave her my best perplexed "what is wrong with you?" look.  Nothing (aside from Sister's behavior) was weird; her hair was the same, she wasn't wearing a hat, and her clothing consisted of her usual ensemble of jeans and a shirt (they weren't even new, I could see the slug trail of drool I deposited on her knee earlier in the day).  Then I saw them:

They're slippers!  They're plush toys!  And after I pounced on them from atop my spot on the couch, I discovered that they squeaked too (okay, that might have been Sister screaming in alarm as I dove for her feet, but a squeak is a squeak, right?).

Over and over again I pounced at Sister's feet, each time grabbing hold of a snout or an ear and tugging.  Sister, meanwhile, was laughing hysterically (as was Pa).  Every once in a while, Sister attempted to wrench the slippers (and her feet) away from my gnashing teeth, but it became quickly evident that her heart really wasn't in it.  After all, if she was really so concerned with getting those slippers away from me, why did she keep wiggling the piggy snouts at me by wiggling her toes?

After lots of laughs and numerous of rounds of tug of war, Sister eventually called the game off and put away her slippers.  If I wasn't so exhausted from all the fun I would have been disappointed to see the game come to an end. 

Of course, now that I know about Sister's pink piggy slippers, I am going to have to make it my life's mission to find and shred them.  Wish me luck!

A Thanksgiving Wish and Goal

Wishing all my two- and four-legged friends a very happy Thanksgiving filled with good company and tasty treats.  And remember, you haven't eaten nearly enough tasty treats if you don't look like this when you're through:

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Puppy Files: An Honest Mistake

Welcome to yet another edition of The Puppy Files, a series in which I travel down memory lane to when I was an itty bitty little puppy with large gnashing teeth and a bad attitude.

Street fairs are a big thing in my neck of the woods.  At least three times a year, a major street in my neighborhood is shut down and all the local vendors, store owners, and (my favorite) eateries spill out into the middle of the street and the whole town shows up.

For the first fifteen months of my life, I only heard about these shindigs and while they sounded fascinating (especially the food part), I was never especially interested in checking them out.  Why?  Well, it was twofold.  First, I was too busy biting and disobeying my humans to care about much else.  Second, walks back then involved the Gentle Leader (AKA snout guard) and, as my loyal readers know, I truly despised wearing that.

But then, one day in my sixteenth month (when my gentle Golden Retriever genes started kicking in and my behavior became almost tolerable to the general human population), Pa, Ma, and Sister suggested that I accompany them to one of these fairs.

Needless to say, I was really excited about this outing.  Little did I know that my excitement would multiply exponentially in mere minutes.

My first surprise?  I didn't have to wear the Gentle Leader. Granted, I did have to sit through the whole, "you're a big boy now and you're going to walk like a big boy, right?" speech, but I saw it as a small price to pay for my freedom.

With a bound and a leap I jumped into the car and off my family and I drove to the site of the fair.  After parking, receiving yet another "pep-talk" about being a good boy, and patiently waiting for the okay to jump out of the car, my family and I made our way toward the fair--me walking like a model doggy citizen.

The smell struck me immediately.  There was food everywhere:  sausages, zepoles, popcorn, cheese steaks, hamburgers, pickles, hot dogs, cotton candy, and ice cream!  I didn't know where to look first or, for that matter, where to pull first.  Yes, despite the multiple "big boy" speeches, I started pulling toward the food trucks pretty much immediately.  This resulted in a series of stern "no"s from Pa after which I resigned myself to walking like a good boy (while pledging to pounce on and swallow up anything even remotely edible that happened to cross directly in front of my path).

After a few short minutes, my family and I made it past the food carts and while you might think this would have been a bummer for me, you'd be wrong.  You see, there were dogs and people all over the place!  Immediately, I straightened up, shook once to fluff my fur, and proudly pranced down the street--wowing the crowds of people and dogs with my devilishly good looks.

I was so busy showing off that I almost missed it.  Almost.  A few feet away from me were two giant swan-like creatures.  "Wow!  I didn't know they made plush toys that large!" I thought.  "They're human size!"

Throwing dignity and obedience aside, I lunged at the closest five and a half foot tall swan catching Pa completely off guard and wrenching his shoulder.  I also, in the process, frightened the swan who unexpectedly sprung to life, screeched, and jumped backward away from me.  Almost immediately, Pa gained control of the situation, apologized to the giant swan (who took it fairly well despite the scare of a lifetime), and dragged me away all the while scolding me for having been a bad boy.

I found out later that that pair of plush swans were actually human members of an acrobatic team that was playing at a nearby venue.  For a brief moment, I contemplated asking Pa if we could buy tickets to the show (can you imagine...a stage full of giant plush swans?!) but I ultimately thought better of it.  I figured that Pa wouldn't appreciate my suggestion given the most recent development.

Needless to say, it was a long time before I was allowed to go to another street fair and when I was finally deemed "mature enough," the swans were nowhere to be seen.

Now, flash forward about seven years to a week ago last Monday--also known as Halloween.  There I was, minding my own business in the side yard (you know, eating grass, hunting lizards, and patrolling for squirrels), when what did I see literally crossing the road but a giant white chicken!  Now, I knew it wasn't a real chicken, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have an overwhelming desire to run up to it, grab it by the wing, and start plucking its feathers out.  As an alternative, I decided to bark hysterically at the giant chicken.

Alerted by my manly bark, Sister stuck her head out the door to see what was going on.  She was just about to call me a "Barky Boy" (a compliment in my eyes) and bribe me inside with a cookie, when she herself noticed the giant walking chicken. What could she do?  How could she tell me not to bark at a giant walking chicken?  With a shrug, Sister went back inside the house and left me to bark until the chicken strolled out of sight.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

^^..^^

A Scary Story

Boo!

A Forward by the Author...

In hindsight, I should have figured it out long before I found it; long before I stared into its cold dead hollow eyes.  But I didn't.  I was too busy being my charming self to put all the pieces of the puzzle together until it was too late.  Here's my tale.

Monday: 

6:30AM:    The entire household is awake--even Sister who is definitely not a morning person.  Not only is everyone awake, but there is a certain feeling of urgency in the house.  Suddenly, Sister drags a suitcase down from her bedroom.  Pa grabs it and puts it in Ma's car along with a knapsack.  I get a hug and a kiss from Sister.  Pa rubs my head, calls me "Squirt," and tells me to be good.  Ma grabs her car keys and informs me that my breakfast will have to wait until she gets back.  Disappointed, I head back to bed as everyone else leaves the house.

7:30AM:  The side door opens and I am greeted by Ma and only Ma.  Pa and Sister are nowhere to be found.  I'm not overly concerned.  I'm often left home alone during the day when my family goes to work, and while I would have preferred to have my entire pack stay home with me, I'm glad that Ma appears to be keeping me company today.  Ma settles down with her coffee to watch TV and I join her on the couch.

12:00PM:  Lunch time!  This is the time of day that Sister usually comes home, eats her lunch, and then lets me out into the backyard to work on my holes.  But Sister never shows.  It's just me and Ma.  Ma makes herself some lunch.  It smells really good, but she doesn't offer me any despite my assurance that Sister always shares at least 3/4 of her sandwich with me (perhaps I was pushing it with 3/4...maybe I should have only said 1/3).

1:00PM:  Lunch is over and Ma takes me outside to sniff around in the yard.  Since it isn't nearly as large as the yard out east, I finish quickly.  Bored, I look for fun in my number one digging hole--the one underneath the forsythia bush.  Ma is distracted--she's talking with our neighbor--and doesn't notice me digging.  She also doesn't notice that I have found something in my hole besides the usual dirt, rocks, and tree roots.  I extract my find and carry it out into the middle of the yard to examine it.  I have two jaw bones, complete with teeth.  "That's odd," I think.  Suddenly, a hand emerges from above and snatches the jaw bones away from me.  Startled, I look up and discover Ma standing over me examining the bones.  "Where did you find these?" she asked with, I swear, a touch of annoyance in her voice.

5:00PM:  Work is out, yet Sister hasn't come home yet.  Ma makes me my dinner.  Why do I hesitate before eating?

10:00PM:  It is time for bed and yet Pa and Sister are still not home.  I curl up next to Ma on Pa's side of the bed.

Tuesday:

7:00AM:  Ma wakes me up by banging on my breakfast bowl.  I'm exhausted.  I didn't sleep well last night.  I kept thinking about those jaw bones and wondering where Pa and Sister were.  Neither are home.

10:00AM:  Ma is changing the sheets on the bed and washing some laundry.  I've seen her do this thousands of times, yet I find this activity oddly suspicious this morning.  Is she trying to hide something?  Still no sign of Pa or Sister.

The Skull and Jawbones

2:00PM:  I've decided to return to the scene of the crime; I need to search for answers.  Ma is once again distracted by the next door neighbor so I have the chance to continue my search.  I start to dig.  I jump back in horror.  I've uncovered a skull!  A bit queasy, I pick it up and carry it into the yard. The skin is gone--it is just bleached white bone.  I stare into the hollow eyes.  It stares back at me.  Do I recognize the face?  No, but that doesn't mean anything.  With dread, I realize that I must be staring at either Pa or Sister.

Something makes me look up and I'm startled to find Ma standing over me.  I grab the skull and she grabs me by my collar yelling to "drop it!"  I do as I'm told.  Ma picks up the skull and examines it.  She doesn't seem particularly troubled by the sight and merely stalks off angrily toward the garage.

My mind is racing a mile a minute.  What has Ma done?  Was that Pa or was that Sister?  Then a sickening thought pops into my head.  If Ma was driven to do in Pa and Sister, then what chance do I have to make it through this madness?  Sure, I'm better looking and much friendlier than Pa and Sister, but I'm not sure these attributes are enough to spare my life.  Let's be honest, I do have a bit of a barking, drooling, and shedding problem.  I am doomed.

2:05PM:  Ma emerges from the garage; the lopper in her hand.  She marches toward me.  My life flashes before my eyes:

I see myself as a cute little puppy, throwing up in the back seat of the car on the way home from where I was born.  I see myself gnawing on my family's hands, jumping out of a moving vehicle doing 30 mph, and threatening to drop Pa's sneaker on Mecki's head.  I see myself digging holes, picking up voles, and barking at horses.  It was short, but it was fun.

I'm done.  This is it.  It will be my skull that the police find in the hole under the forsythia.   I close my eyes as Ma gets closer.  I don't want to watch.  I don't want to watch!

But nothing happens.

Cautiously, I open my eyes.  Ma isn't there.  Suddenly I hear a loud "crunch."  I jump with fright.  I turn around and find Ma.  She is angrily hacking away at the forsythia bush.

3:00PM:  Ma puts down the lopper and stands back to inspect her work.  The forsythia lives, but all the hidden nooks and crannies that I used to hide behind are gone; Ma cut away all the low hanging branches.

Suddenly, Ma turns around and looks at me.  I try to be brave, but I can't help but cringe a little.  "You're filthy," she says, "you need a bath."

I'm led to the side of the house by my leash.  Ma pulls out the hose and picks up a bottle of what appears to be shampoo.  But is it?  Is the shampoo shampoo or is it bleach?  Is the hose there to wash away the mud or the inevitable blood?  Ma rolls up her sleeves and...

3:20PM:  It was worse than I expected:  I got a bath.

5:00PM:  Pa and Sister are still missing and all my holes have been filled in in the backyard.  I'm not sure when I'm going to be able to get back to them to investigate further; now that I'm clean, Ma won't let me out on my own.  Resigned to my current position, I eat my dinner.

11:30PM:  I sleep in Pa's spot again this evening.  Ma has a sneezing fit.  I jump each time she sneezes; they sound like gunshot.

Wednesday:

8:00AM:  I'm still missing Pa and Sister.  I eat my breakfast then go back to bed.

1:30PM:  "I'll be right back," Ma tells me as she gives me a cookie and walks out the door.

1:50PM: I wake up to the sound of the side gate clicking open then shut.  I hear the key in the door and the door squeaking open.  This is it.  I know it.  I feel it in my core.  It is my turn to join Pa and Sister under the forsythia.  Despondently, I get up.  I might as well face my fate head on and not slip into oblivion while sleeping.  I drag myself out of the bedroom, into the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the side door which Ma is holding open for me. The bright light of the sun blinds me at first, but then my eyes adjust and I see...

Pa and Sister!

I'm so excited!  I run to Pa.  He scratches my ear.  I run to Sister who kisses my snout.  I return to Pa for another scratch and then run back to Sister.  I do this two more times before I suddenly remember...the skull!  I hot foot it into the backyard.

While I sniff around under the forsythia, I hear Ma tell Pa and Sister (both had been sightseeing in Philadelphia) about my discoveries.  She leads them to the garage (I wander after them).  She shows them the bones which she's kept hidden since I found them.  Everyone is shocked by my find, but after careful consideration, they come up with a "logical" explanation.

The skull belonged to a long deceased opossum.  You see, over the last few weeks, a raccoon's nest has been falling piece by piece from the tree overhead.  The skull in question must have fallen from that nest (the remains of a meal long ago eaten or perhaps a tacky wall decoration) and embedded itself in the overgrown forsythia which was then deposited into my ever growing hole as I brushed past the low hanging bushes.

Do I believe this story?  I don't know.  All I know is that everyone in my family is safe and the only victim (well, aside from the owner of the skull) is me.  I'm the one, after all, who got a bath!

An Exciting Weekend

Last weekend was a particularly exciting weekend for me--one filled with a grand adventure and a strange sight.

My family was going to the beach, but I wasn't invited.  You see, I'm almost never invited on these excursions, but, honestly, that's okay with me.  Why?  Because it is really hard work keeping track of three people (you never know when someone is going to try to eat a piece of cheese without my supervision) and sometimes even a world renowned "Head of Security" needs a break.  I consider it my own private vacation.

So anyway, after I collected my bribery cookie (payment for not trying to race people out the door when they leave--yes, I have my humans very well trained) and watched my family pull out of the driveway, I scurried into the back room, jumped up on the bed, and hunkered down for a nice peaceful nap.

Ten minutes later, and before I could chase my first dream squirrel, I was awoken by the sound of the side door opening and footsteps scurrying through the kitchen.  Groggily, I opened my eyes, jumped off the bed, and wandered (cautiously) into the living room to check on the commotion.  And what did I find?  I found Sister, standing in the middle of the kitchen, with my leash and collar in hand.  "Want to go to the beach?" she asked.

Did I?  Of course I did!

Sister loaded me into the car (yay!  I didn't have to walk there) and we started down the street.  I was super excited; I paced back and forth in the backseat (because it was such a short trip, Sister didn't bother to strap me into my driving harness), I stared out the window, and I drooled excessively.  I even took some time to breathe down Sister's neck in an attempt to get her to drive faster (she didn't drive any faster, she just complained about how I was grossing her out).  Seconds later, Sister parked the car, opened my door (despite my excitement, I was a good boy and waited for her to give me the okay to get out), then jumped out of the car with an excited bound.

That was when the "good boy" in me disappeared.  At top speed, I dragged Sister back and forth down the path toward the beach, sniffing each and every reed growing up along the way.  I also sniffed the bicycle rack and a few kayaks along the way.  I was about to grab hold of a blow up swimmy someone had left behind on the beach, when I happened to look up and see a very friendly sight.

There, seated about twenty feet away were Ma and Pa.  Pulling like I had never pulled before, I sprinted toward them (Sister, to her credit, managed to hang on to my leash and remain upright on her own two feet) and, upon reaching Pa, I dragged my wet nose across his sunglasses.

Now, I had been warned early on that I wasn't going to be allowed in the water (if I got wet I would have to get a bath), but that didn't discourage me at all.  I was more than happy to wander up and down the shoreline with Ma and Sister, roll around in a patch of dried out seaweed, and eventually plop down at my family's feet while they sat watching the water.

The outing did not last particularly long (a local dog, a goldendoodle with a puppy cut, was wandering the beach without an owner and while she looked very friendly and we likely would have hit it off, my family and I were concerned about making friends without her human around), but that was okay because by the time this second cousin showed up I was already completely exhausted from all my sniffing and rolling.  So, Pa, Ma, Sister and I jumped back into the car and headed for home.  Once I was let inside the house (after a quick brushing to remove any lingering sand and seaweed from my handsome coat), I drank an entire bowl of water then settled down for a much needed nap.

A few hours later, I was hanging out in the living room working on my extended nap.  All of a sudden, I was jolted awake by Sister crying out the word "look!"  A little disoriented, I jumped up and surveyed the room.  Ma and Sister were both staring out the window so I turned to see what all the hubbub was.

There was a woman riding down the street on top of a giant black and white horse.

Needless to say, I started barking hysterically at this strange site.

Now usually, when it comes to me barking at things, I can only get in a good five or six barks before someone steps in and attempts to get me to stop (not that I do, but their interference is annoying).  No matter what is going on, I am abruptly shooed away before I can give the interloper a full piece of my mind.  Well, not this time.  Because I had never seen a horse before (let alone one casually meandering down my block), Ma and Sister allowed me to bark until I had said everything I had to say and then some.  And you know what?  It worked.  That horse didn't pass by my house again.

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.