What the Nor'easter Brought

I have mixed feeling about storms like the nor'easter we had last weekend.  On the one paw, the strong winds often bring down branches and pieces of bark from high up trees which, as my loyal readers know, is key to my hobby of making small branches into smaller branches and gnawing on bark like it's chewing gum.  Then of course, there is the fact that my model-like poses are way more effective when I'm facing into the wind, my glamorous fur rippling behind me.  On the other paw, however, high winds tend to make already scary things (like garbage cans) scarier by making them move and there are few things I hate more than the wind blowing on my tail feathers when I'm trying to do my business.

Like past storms, this recent one brought both good and bad things to my day.  But the key to this entire story, which I will relate now, however, is that I came out on top.  Here's what happened.

The bulk of the storm occurred on Friday.  By Saturday morning, when my story takes place, the driving snow, sleet, and rain had dried up leaving only cloudy skies and occasional gusty winds.  Bright eyed and bushy tailed from a good night sleep, I was out first thing in the morning wandering through the backyard scoping out the damage which consisted of only a meager number of felled twigs and branches.  I started out near the garage on the right side of the yard.  Then I moved to the middle of the yard where I sniffed suspiciously at a roof shingle which had blown in from who knows where.  I jumped slightly when the fabric cover on the next-door neighbor's grill billowed in the wind, then, after checking to see if anyone noticed my start, sauntered over to the forsythia bush located in the far left corner of the yard. 

I was absentmindedly sniffing behind the forsythia bush when I came across something strange.  It was roundish and bright yellow and when I picked it up in my mouth I discovered that it was squishy, tasted of plastic, and had a slightly rigid outer shell.  Hoping to get a better handle on the entire situation, I dragged this strange object out from behind the bushes and spit it out in the middle of the yard.

A Visiting Beach Ball

The storm had brought me a slightly deflated beach ball!  

Happy with my discovery, I picked up the ball and guffawed my way across the yard and onto the driveway.  I needed to show Pa what I had found. Needless to say, he was quite impressed with my discovery.

I stood there in the middle of the driveway for a couple of moments holding my new found toy, but then I got tired and put it down.  It was then that things got a little scary.  Out of nowhere, a sudden gust of wind took hold of my beach ball and blew it toward me.

I backed away quickly.

Pa laughed and suggested we go inside to eat our breakfast.  I thought it was a good idea, so I quickly sidestepped the beach ball--careful never to take my eyes off it just in case it decided to attack again--and ran inside.

A couple of hours later, Sister took me outside again.  At first, I forgot all about the beach ball and walked right by it (it was now hiding to the right of the side step).  It wasn't until after I had checked the perimeter of the backyard for squirrels and made up my mind to go to the front gate and bark at nothing at all that I happened to come across the ball in passing.  Completely forgetting about my noisy plans, I scurried over to the ball, picked it up, and ran into the backyard.

Burying my Head

Attack!

For the next forty-five seconds I had a grand time.  I ran.  I jumped.  I guffawed.  I shook the yellow beach ball way up high over my head and from left to right allowing it to thump against my sides.  I even buried my face in it and attempted to roll on it (which didn't work).  But the fun was short lived.  While running with the ball in my mouth, I suddenly heard the whooshing of escaping air.  My tooth had punctured the thin yellow plastic shell.

So, with the beach ball punctured, there was only one thing left for me to do.  I had to kill it.  I stopped in my tracks and, with my foot firmly placed on the deflated ball, began picking at it with my razor-sharp teeth.  Within seconds, the ball was no more.

A Short-Lived Friendship

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.

Shot-Gun

A long time ago, I used to ride shot-gun in the car.  I used to ride with the tip of my nose stretched out toward the partially open passenger side window, taking in the smells that were whipping by me.  I used to relish in the gentle breeze that used to fluff my fur while I watched the world fly by.

But that changed one fateful day years ago; the day I decided to jump out of the window of a moving vehicle (the story can be found here).

Since that fateful day, I've been not only relegated to the back seat (forced to occasionally share the area with other travelers) but I've also been forced to wear a seat belt which, obviously, severely limits my ability to roam about and drool on the driver's neck.

But something changed a few weeks ago.  Not only did Sister take me for a ride in her car (a rare thing given her desire to maintain a fur free zone in there and my on again off again willingness to climb into her car (remember when Karin and Sister tossed me into Sister's car at the end of a summer BBQ?)), but she also let me ride shot-gun.

Shot-gun!

Here's what happened.

Wednesday mornings generally go one of two ways--either Sister runs around like mad doing errands before going to work or she and I plop down on the couch for a morning of napping and television watching.  That particular Wednesday started as the former, however, after she got home early from her errands, Sister said one of my favorite phrases:  "You wanna go for a ride in the car?"

Well, you know what my answer was.

Minutes later, we were both sitting in the car; Sister in the driver's seat and me in the passenger's.  Immediately I became aware that Sister was requiring me to sit on a bed of towels--most of which were strategically placed directly under my chin--but a car ride is a car ride so I let it slide.  Besides, I was too busy trying to upgrade my seat to dwell on the offensive drool towels.

You see, Sister and I were engaged in a bit of a disagreement regarding who was going to drive.  I wanted to give it a go, but Sister didn't agree.  Throughout the argument, I kept trying to muscle my way onto Sister's lap, but each time I was met by an elbow and a hollered combination of "sit," "no," and "stay."  Eventually, I decided to be the bigger dog/person and allowed Sister to persevere.  It's okay; I'll drive next time.

As exciting as a car ride is by itself, the true thrill is in the destination and Sister did not disappoint me that day.  We didn't drive far, but we drove far enough to visit one of man's most ingenious inventions:  the drive-thru window.

I was an itty-bitty puppy when I was first introduced to the concept of the drive-thru window and it was love at first site.  How could it not be?  You get in the car, drive around, park in front of a window, then someone hands you a bag of food.  Ingenious!

My withdrawal

Sadly, Sister didn't take me to a hamburger dispensing drive-thru window that day.  She took me to the bank.  But even though it quickly became apparent that I wasn't going to be going home with a large side of french fries and a couple of ketchup packets, I didn't go home with an empty stomach.  When the teller gave Sister her money, she also gave her an envelope filled with dog biscuits.  Needless to say, as soon as that envelope appeared alongside Sister's window, I pushed forward and, standing (and drooling) on Sister's lap, I made sure that I was given a sample of my bank withdrawal right away. 

A Belated Christmas Roundup

For those not living in the Long Island area, the temperature outside pretty much plummeted over the last few weeks.  Heck, we even had a major blizzard complete with two-foot-tall snow drifts (for all those wondering, I am not a fan of two foot tall snow drifts).  But what's more telling when it comes to how cold it’s been is the following photo.

As you can see, I am laying on the couch wearing my stylish green sweater.  I had just returned from a morning walk with Pa and it was so cold outside that I downright refused to let anyone take my sweater off of me once I came in.  And let me tell you, I was nice and roasty-toasty comfy-cozy in my sweater all curled up on the couch.  That is, I was until Sister decided to use me as a muff to warm her ice-cold hands.

But I'm not here to harp endlessly about my stylish green sweater or how cold Sister's hands are (if she weren't standing upright at the time I would have sworn that she had died).  No, I'm here to give my yearly Christmas roundup (even if it's been a couple weeks since the actual day).

Christmas was kind of weird this year.  Santa arrived on time, but the usual Christmas festivities were postponed twice due to illness (not mine).  I was okay with it though.  Eventually, the family got together on New Year’s Day and celebrated with the usual array of food, laughter, belly rubs, and presents and, as bad as it sounds, I love it when my family stays home sick because it means that we get to spend the entire day snoozing in bed or on the couch.  What a wonderful life it is!

Toys from Santa

A toy from Dixie

Anyway, like I said, Santa arrived on time and I was obviously such a good boy this year that he told a number of my friends.  From Santa I got a stylish new collar, a new Bill (“Oh nooooo!”) toy, a giant tennis ball, and a plush football.  From Ma and Pa I got a new antler.  From Sister I got a giant plush worm toy (as Sister explained “all toys I buy him ultimately turn into a worm once he rips off all the limbs...might as well start with one”).  Aunt B got me a crunchy gummy log.  Dixie and her family got me a couple of Mini Meckis and a Lamb Chop toy.  Dianne got me a giant Christmas cookie.  What a haul, right?

So merry Christmas, happy New Year, and thank you to all my friends and family.  And remember, don’t let anyone take away your cozy green sweater.

Atop a snowdrift

Christmas Greetings 2017

Merry Christmas to my friends, family, and loyal readers!

 Love, Rigby 

 *<[:{)

Good Sister

Sister went to the store.

I approve of her purchase.

Not My Finest Moment

In writing the memoir that is this blog, I have come to understand that not only must I report all the good and ego-boosting things that occur in my life, but I must also record the less than flattering events as well.  So, here it goes.

Neville

Mittens

My loyal readers know that my Sister is a fan of hamsters.  She's had quite a few over the years, but right now she has a mother-son duo named Mittens and Neville.  By and large, the hamsters and I have a relationship in which we ignore each other.  Sure, there are hiccups (like when Ma let Neville climb on my back), but for the most part, we have our separate lives and don't interact.

Last Friday, however, our worlds collided and it wasn't pretty.

Ma and Sister were in the back room (formerly known as the Land of No) cleaning the cages while Mittens and Neville ran around the room in their clear plastic hamster balls.  Usually, I ignore the seemingly self-propelling balls--after all, I've never been interested in chasing balls--but on this particular day, I felt curious and pushed my way into the room to investigate.

At first, I serenely watched as the two hamsters ran back and forth across the room.  They seemed content enough, bouncing off the walls and racing from one corner of the room to the other.  But then, it happened.  One hamster, Mittens, made a sudden right turn and began to charge me.

Horrified, I tried backing out of the room, but found myself stymied by the combination of hard wood floor and furry feet.  As I slipped and skidded in place, the hamster charging me suddenly veered off and away.  Relieved, I focused on getting my legs back under me.  Secure with my footing, I looked up and, to my horror, I discovered that Neville was now charging me.

Once again, my feet started slipping and skidding out from under me, but somehow, don't ask me how, I manage to propel myself backward and out of the room where I was protected by the door saddle which is apparently next to insurmountable via hamster ball.

Needless to say, it's going to be a long time before I live down the events of that evening