The following story isn't about me. It isn't about me getting a bath or spitting on walls or shredding something that I probably shouldn't have had in the first place. No, this story is about Pa and something that happened last weekend--something very disturbing.
It was first thing in the morning and Pa had gone outside to water the front yard. In an attempt to make watering easier, Pa had, years ago, set up an above ground sprinkler system that allowed for any area of the property to be watered with the simple redirecting of a connector and a turn of the main faucet. So, that morning, Pa redirected the connectors, turned on the water, and immediately realized that something was wrong. He couldn't hear the sound of the sprinkler running in the front yard. Figuring that one of the connectors was diverting the wrong way, Pa rechecked the system. Everything seemed fine, yet the sprinkler in the front yard still wasn't running. Puzzled, Pa then wandered into the front yard to inspect the sprinkler head itself.
As soon as he stepped foot in the front yard he saw it: a bunny sitting in the green grass a couple of feet away from a length of exposed hose. Pa looked at the hose. Water was gushing out from the middle of the length. He looked back at the bunny. The bunny stared back at him, his nose twitching. Pa looked at the hose again which was still gushing water.
Something was fishy.
Pa then approached the hose (the bunny took this opportunity to scurry off) and discovered that the bunny had gnawed a 1/2 inch hole directly into the rubber.
I feel for Pa. I know how it feels to struggle against the brazen gall of those stupid little fluffy tailed trespassers. I only wish I had free access to the front yard. If I had, I would have chased that stupid bunny away long before he turned Pa's property into his own private chew toy.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
When the Spit Hits the Wall
Quick! Drop everything and call the newspapers!
I am proud to announce that I have achieved a personal (and perhaps world) record: I managed to fling spit a full 35 inches up the side of a vertical wall.
I'll pause here a moment to allow for the inevitable applause.
Thank you! Thank you!
Wait, did I hear someone say "speech"? Well...okay, if you insist!
It has been a long hard yet rewarding road I've traveled. I've spent countless hours honing my skill. I remember back when I was a little pup and first discovered the ability to leave unattractive black drool on unsuspecting pant legs and bedspreads. I was so proud and my family was so disgusted (little did they know that that was just the tip of the iceberg). But despite my success, I chose not to stop there. I set my sights on higher goals and that was when I discovered the joy of leaving my drooly calling card on walls. Of course, I started small, a few inches at a time, but with hard work and vigilance, I finally managed to reach the epic level I'm at today. Look at me, I'm a champ!
I am proud to announce that I have achieved a personal (and perhaps world) record: I managed to fling spit a full 35 inches up the side of a vertical wall.
I'll pause here a moment to allow for the inevitable applause.
Thank you! Thank you!
Wait, did I hear someone say "speech"? Well...okay, if you insist!
It has been a long hard yet rewarding road I've traveled. I've spent countless hours honing my skill. I remember back when I was a little pup and first discovered the ability to leave unattractive black drool on unsuspecting pant legs and bedspreads. I was so proud and my family was so disgusted (little did they know that that was just the tip of the iceberg). But despite my success, I chose not to stop there. I set my sights on higher goals and that was when I discovered the joy of leaving my drooly calling card on walls. Of course, I started small, a few inches at a time, but with hard work and vigilance, I finally managed to reach the epic level I'm at today. Look at me, I'm a champ!
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
A Summertime Walk
Sister is usually pretty cool. She's almost always willing to share whatever she's eating, she's always hot so she's usually the first to suggest turning on the air conditioner, she's given up trying to stop me from dig-dig-digging under the forsythia, she was the first to allow me to sleep on the bed, and it has been through her co-workers that I have met pretty much all of my four legged friends. But sometimes, despite all of her good ideas and willingness to share, Sister comes up with some truly stupid ideas. She had one of those today. Today, Sister took me for a walk.
Now you might say: "A walk?! So what?" Well, allow me to list three well known facts:
So anyway, Sister and I trudged our way to and from the local park which, while only a couple of blocks away, felt like it was in the next state. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. So much so, in fact, that I even downright refused to eat the cookie that Sister bribed me with when she dragged me down one particularly shade-less street (I spit it out and left it on that street). When we finally got home, I drank about a gallon of water out of the doggy stream (the garden hose). Then Sister and I went inside.
In an attempt to buy back my love, Sister turned on the air conditioner in the bedroom and insisted that I hang out with her in the coolness (she was looking a bit worse for wear from our walk too--her hair, which is almost as thick as mine, was rather frizzed out). I was tempted to refuse her offer on principle--plop myself down on the kitchen floor for a marathon panting session--but the cool air was just too enticing and I was so hot.
I snoozed on the bed in the air conditioning until lunch time when I sauntered out to see what Sister was eating. Obviously feeling bad about dragging me out for a walk in the hot summer sun, Sister gave me a sampling of cheese from her sandwich. All was almost forgiven.
Now you might say: "A walk?! So what?" Well, allow me to list three well known facts:
- It is July and I live on Long Island, New York. The daily temperature for my neck of the woods is between 80 and 90 degrees Fahrenheit.
- I wear a full (and luxurious) fur coat all year round.
- I hate walks--always have, always will. I'd much prefer to be chasing squirrels or barking at people passing by from the comfort of my own backyard.
So anyway, Sister and I trudged our way to and from the local park which, while only a couple of blocks away, felt like it was in the next state. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. So much so, in fact, that I even downright refused to eat the cookie that Sister bribed me with when she dragged me down one particularly shade-less street (I spit it out and left it on that street). When we finally got home, I drank about a gallon of water out of the doggy stream (the garden hose). Then Sister and I went inside.
In an attempt to buy back my love, Sister turned on the air conditioner in the bedroom and insisted that I hang out with her in the coolness (she was looking a bit worse for wear from our walk too--her hair, which is almost as thick as mine, was rather frizzed out). I was tempted to refuse her offer on principle--plop myself down on the kitchen floor for a marathon panting session--but the cool air was just too enticing and I was so hot.
I snoozed on the bed in the air conditioning until lunch time when I sauntered out to see what Sister was eating. Obviously feeling bad about dragging me out for a walk in the hot summer sun, Sister gave me a sampling of cheese from her sandwich. All was almost forgiven.
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Really?!
So first there were squirrels. Then there were bunnies. Mustn't forget about those pesky robins or the deer, fish, voles, and turtles which can be found out east. Then, of course, there was the cat and her kittens from last week. So, given all that and figuring that the only remaining member of the animal species not accounted for was an elephant, I don't think I'd be blamed for assuming that my backyard couldn't possibly play host to another interloper.
Well, I was wrong.
Two days ago, I was hanging out outside in my backyard doing my doggy thing (basically looking for trouble to get into and barking hysterically at non-existent things). Eventually, I snuffled my way over to the back corner of the property where I sniffed a leaf, stuck my nose in a shallow hole I dug a few weeks ago, and came across something interesting--something that smelled and acted weird. Indulging my genetic instincts, I gently picked up the smelly twitchy thing (us Retrievers are known for our soft mouths except, of course, when we're gutting a toy or shredding wrapping paper) and scurried into the center of the yard.
Now, Pa knows me; he knows me very well. He can tell when I'm up to no good and let's just say that he knew immediately that I had something that I wasn't supposed to have. Quickly, he grabbed me and gave me a stern "drop it." Out of my mouth popped a tiny little sparrow.
Ma and Pa quickly ushered me into the house then returned to tend to the tiny little bird. Thinking that perhaps it had fallen out of its nest and was fatally injured, Ma suggested that Pa pick the bird up and deposit him in the fenced off vegetable garden where he'd be safe and left alone. So, while I barked hysterically from inside the house, Pa attempted to scoop up the bird. As for what happened next, let's just say that the little bird had more than enough life (and fight) left in it as did the mother bird who swooped in to defend her chick. Deciding to leave well enough alone, Ma and Pa joined me inside.
The baby bird eventually flew away. Sister, who was not present for the event, when told about it, suggested that we get a cat to take care of our bird problem.
I was less than amused.
Well, I was wrong.
Two days ago, I was hanging out outside in my backyard doing my doggy thing (basically looking for trouble to get into and barking hysterically at non-existent things). Eventually, I snuffled my way over to the back corner of the property where I sniffed a leaf, stuck my nose in a shallow hole I dug a few weeks ago, and came across something interesting--something that smelled and acted weird. Indulging my genetic instincts, I gently picked up the smelly twitchy thing (us Retrievers are known for our soft mouths except, of course, when we're gutting a toy or shredding wrapping paper) and scurried into the center of the yard.
Now, Pa knows me; he knows me very well. He can tell when I'm up to no good and let's just say that he knew immediately that I had something that I wasn't supposed to have. Quickly, he grabbed me and gave me a stern "drop it." Out of my mouth popped a tiny little sparrow.
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| Definitely Doesn't Taste Like Chicken! |
The baby bird eventually flew away. Sister, who was not present for the event, when told about it, suggested that we get a cat to take care of our bird problem.
I was less than amused.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
The Worst Interloper Of All
Well, it's official. I have completely lost control of my backyard.
As my loyal readers know, I've struggled for years to maintain a squirrel/bunny/robin free zone in my backyard. Sure, it was always embarrassing to admit that my turf had an occasional pest problem, but at least I could find solace in the fact that I gave the interloper the fright of its life as I chased it out of my yard at top speed while barking my head off.
But it didn't work this time. You see, a couple of days ago, I discovered a cat and her three kittens in my backyard.
Needless to say, when I first saw the cat and her kittens I was shocked. Sure, I had seen cats before--on walks and when one of the local strays brazenly strolled by my house--but never in my backyard. Once the shock wore off, however, my instincts as Head of Security kicked in and I began running toward the cat at full speed. The kittens fell back and scurried under the fence. The cat, however, stood firm.
What happened next occurred both in slow motion and at high speed. As I got closer to the cat, I saw her raise her paw and with a mighty swipe she made contact with my snout. Simultaneously, I also heard a high pitched screech (who screamed is still up for debate, but I'd like to think it was the cat and not me).
That's when Ma and Pa got involved. You see, they were following right behind me and gave chase as soon as I did. Together, they managed to hold me back while scaring away the cat. I admit I was kind of grateful for their assistance, however, I can't help but think that, if I was given more of an opportunity, I would have been able to avenge my honor and drive that cat out of my yard myself.
I haven't seen the cat and her kittens since that fateful day and while she did make contact, she failed to leave so much as a mark on my handsome snout (though another scratch to go along with the faint scar I still have from trying to move the house with the side of my head really would have added to my ruggedness). Now I just have to concentrate on damage control. I must reassert myself as Head of Security before the squirrels/bunnies/robins start trying to take over.
As my loyal readers know, I've struggled for years to maintain a squirrel/bunny/robin free zone in my backyard. Sure, it was always embarrassing to admit that my turf had an occasional pest problem, but at least I could find solace in the fact that I gave the interloper the fright of its life as I chased it out of my yard at top speed while barking my head off.
But it didn't work this time. You see, a couple of days ago, I discovered a cat and her three kittens in my backyard.
Needless to say, when I first saw the cat and her kittens I was shocked. Sure, I had seen cats before--on walks and when one of the local strays brazenly strolled by my house--but never in my backyard. Once the shock wore off, however, my instincts as Head of Security kicked in and I began running toward the cat at full speed. The kittens fell back and scurried under the fence. The cat, however, stood firm.
What happened next occurred both in slow motion and at high speed. As I got closer to the cat, I saw her raise her paw and with a mighty swipe she made contact with my snout. Simultaneously, I also heard a high pitched screech (who screamed is still up for debate, but I'd like to think it was the cat and not me).
That's when Ma and Pa got involved. You see, they were following right behind me and gave chase as soon as I did. Together, they managed to hold me back while scaring away the cat. I admit I was kind of grateful for their assistance, however, I can't help but think that, if I was given more of an opportunity, I would have been able to avenge my honor and drive that cat out of my yard myself.
I haven't seen the cat and her kittens since that fateful day and while she did make contact, she failed to leave so much as a mark on my handsome snout (though another scratch to go along with the faint scar I still have from trying to move the house with the side of my head really would have added to my ruggedness). Now I just have to concentrate on damage control. I must reassert myself as Head of Security before the squirrels/bunnies/robins start trying to take over.
Friday, June 10, 2016
An Ode to Kibble
I mentioned in an earlier post that my recurrent tummy troubles recently resulted in my family switching me over from the dog food I had eaten since the day I graduated from puppy chow to a new brand that I found to be even tastier. I'm afraid that I might have undersold my appreciation and love for this new food in that post and therefore I would like to rectify it now.
But before I do, I just want to say that I have never had any complaints about my previous brand of dog food. I ate it twice a day every day without fail and enjoyed every morsel of it with or without the occasional addition of pumpkin, steak, carrots, and rice. In fact, I'd happily eat it now if a bowl of it were put in front of me.
But, like I said, now I'm served something I like even more. It smells yummier and tastes even better than it smells (my family has even commented on how delicious it smells...hopefully they won't decide to start sampling it)! In fact, it is so lip-smacking good that I'm finding it more and more difficult to mind my manners when breakfast and dinner are served. You see, with the old food, I was trained to sit about a foot away from my bowl and wait for the "okay" from whoever was serving me to dive in and start eating. Now, every day, I find myself inching a little closer to the bowl. I predict that soon my family will have no choice but to pour the food directly into my open mouth while I sit in my food bowl's spot.
I do, however, have one complaint about my new food: the quantity. I know for a fact that the bag says that I should be getting way more food than I'm actually being given. And to make matters worse, my family has actually slightly decreased my daily allotment of kibble from one cup twice a day to about 3/4 of a cup twice a day (in their defense they do make up for the 1/4 cup difference with yummy pumpkin which Ma actually warms up in the microwave for me). But still, what gives?
And speaking of food, I'd like to thank my bff Mecki and his little brother Bastille for the yummy birthday cookies they gave me for my birthday. Sister is limiting me to one cookie a day, but if it were up to me, I'd eat the whole bag right now!
But before I do, I just want to say that I have never had any complaints about my previous brand of dog food. I ate it twice a day every day without fail and enjoyed every morsel of it with or without the occasional addition of pumpkin, steak, carrots, and rice. In fact, I'd happily eat it now if a bowl of it were put in front of me.
But, like I said, now I'm served something I like even more. It smells yummier and tastes even better than it smells (my family has even commented on how delicious it smells...hopefully they won't decide to start sampling it)! In fact, it is so lip-smacking good that I'm finding it more and more difficult to mind my manners when breakfast and dinner are served. You see, with the old food, I was trained to sit about a foot away from my bowl and wait for the "okay" from whoever was serving me to dive in and start eating. Now, every day, I find myself inching a little closer to the bowl. I predict that soon my family will have no choice but to pour the food directly into my open mouth while I sit in my food bowl's spot.
I do, however, have one complaint about my new food: the quantity. I know for a fact that the bag says that I should be getting way more food than I'm actually being given. And to make matters worse, my family has actually slightly decreased my daily allotment of kibble from one cup twice a day to about 3/4 of a cup twice a day (in their defense they do make up for the 1/4 cup difference with yummy pumpkin which Ma actually warms up in the microwave for me). But still, what gives?
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| Me and My Birthday Present |
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
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