Thanksgiving 2017

Happy Thanksgiving

to all my friends, family, and readers!

Hey, at least Sister only made me wear an embarrassing headband, unlike at Halloween.

Salty Dog

A Salty Dog

At long last, fall has finally arrived and with it some cool crisp weather.  And in tandem with the cool weather, a seemingly endless supply of puppy energy has begun to occasionally radiate from within me.  I mean, I've always been what you might call a sprinter--good at quick bursts of energy followed by multiple long stretches of downtime (AKA naps).  But lately, I've been more like a marathon pup; taking part in back to back action packed activities without the benefit of a quick (or lengthy) cat nap (and yes, I really don't like using the "c" word when describing my traits or personality, but a saying is a saying, right?).  And it's weird.  I mean, I am the King of Naps and napping is my fourth favorite activity (for the record, #1 is eating, #2 is barking, and #3 is causing destruction), yet here I am voluntarily giving them up for near constant activity.

So what marathon of activity have I been up to?  Allow me to describe one recent Saturday.

Ma

Pa, Ma, Sister, and I were out east.  The week before, a rather large wind storm had gone through the area bringing down a lot of twigs and one rather good-sized tree branch.  Armed with a wagon and multiple lawn waste bags, Ma, Pa, and I made our way outside that morning to clean up the yard in our own tried and true ways:  Ma and Pa kept bending down to pick the twigs and throw them away while I turned small sticks into sawdust using my teeth.

A little while later, Sister joined us armed with a handsaw.  Now people may not be aware of this, but either Sister was destined to be a tree trimmer or she has some not so hidden anger issues because she absolutely loves cutting down branches.  I can't tell you how many times I've seen her come home from work and, still dressed in her work clothes and heels, grab a handsaw and cut down a low hanging or dead branch from the cherry tree in the backyard.  So anyway, Sister made her way over to the big branch and started sawing away at it.  From my point of view, Sister seemed to be having a lot of fun, so I decided to join in.  I grabbed hold of one of the lesser branches and started pulling.  Before long, Sister and I had a genuine game of tug of war going--me grabbing branch after branch and tugging and Sister trying not to cut her arm off with the handsaw as she continued with the task at hand.  Oh, it was great fun.

Once Sister finally managed to cut off the first piece, I scurried over, picked up the one-foot branch, and hot-footed away for a rousing game of keep away with Ma and Pa (in many ways, it looked as though I was trying to club someone in the kneecap what with me running around with a giant tree branch hanging out of the side of my mouth).  And oh boy was I in rare form that day.  Ma and Pa had no chance of catching up to me...unless...I got too excited and was overcome with a case of the zoomies.

For those unaware, as Sister and I were as of a couple of weeks ago, zoomies or Frenetic Random Activity Periods (FRAP) are bursts of energy in which a dog suddenly starts racing around in circles with a wild and crazy glint in his eye.

Yep, that's right, I suddenly became overcome with an urge to run.  And run I did--between the trees, up and down the stairs, and to and from the fence where Bruno, the Boxer puppy next door, watched with a mixture of excitement and puzzlement.

Now normally, tug of war, keep away, and a case of the zoomies would have left me totally exhausted, but not this time.  Nope, I was bright eyed and bushy-tailed and more than happy to entertain Sister's next bright idea: go to the beach.

The beach is a short drive from my house and I spent those minutes pacing in the back seat of the car, huffing in Sister's ear as she drove, and drooling on her shoulder.  As we drove, Sister explained to me that I wasn't going to be allowed to play in the water because it was too cold out and that I would be subjected to a bath upon my return if I did.  It didn't matter though.  There was no way I was going into the water.  Despite my heritage, I am not fond of swimming. 

Taking in the View

Not A Clean Leap

When we finally got to the beach, I jumped out of the car and dragged Sister to the shore, kicking up sand as I went. Up and down the beach we walked.  I successfully climbed up a number of one foot high "cliffs" formed by a receded high tide and failed miserably at climbing up others.  I sniffed beach grass, left giant paw prints in the sand, and even found a deceased animal that Sister identified as a decomposing opossum (Sister didn't let me sniff it, but the exposed skull matched the skull I dug up last year in the backyard at home).

About a half hour later, Sister and I walked back to the car and drove home.  Once there, I jumped out and barreled (yes barreled...I still had energy to spare) down the stairs and into the backyard to tell Ma and Pa (who were still picking up sticks) about all the fun I had had.

Out Cold

So, for those keeping track, I had, in the course of a few short hours, played tug of war and keep away, went to the beach, and ran around the backyard with abandon.  And that's where it ended.  I scurried up the stairs one last time to get back into the house then found a comfy spot and fell slept.  I woke briefly an hour or so later to eat my dinner, but returned to my nap immediately thereafter.

I guess this goes to show I'll always be a sprinter.

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween to all my friends and please think of me while I defend my house from candy hungry marauding gangs of witches, princesses, firemen, kittens, and Freddy Kruegers wearing the Halloween costume Sister bought me.  Needless to say, I will never complain about having to wear a headband, hat, or tie for my holiday picture ever again.

Soaking Wet

"You wanna go for a walk?"

Those were the fateful words which resulted in Sister and me wading through a number of raging rivers, getting a very public soap-less bath, and realizing that we had been very much betrayed by our own father.

It was Saturday afternoon and Sister had decided that I looked a little too comfortable snoozing in the back room and declared that it was time for a walk. At the mention of the word "walk," I jumped up from my prone state and scurried to the door.  You see, despite those long treks I was taken on as a puppy designed specifically to tire me out and drive away the devil lurking within me, I'd actually come to rather enjoy walks in the years since provided, of course, I get to sniff every single tree, fire hydrant, fence post, bush, and telephone pole in a ten-foot radius, it isn't too hot or too sunny out, and route isn't too long.  Anyway, on went my leash, Sister grabbed a handful of cookies (a reward for me for after the walk and a spare just in case we meet a friend along the way), and out the door we rushed.

Our walk started like any other--we always walk two blocks north, turn left, then walk three blocks west to the park. For the first two blocks, everything was normal.  But after turning left and walking a block west, it started to drizzle lightly.  This didn't faze us though, because we could see blue skies peeking out through the clouds directly over the park.  On we continued.

Two blocks later, as we reached the park, the rain went from a drizzle to a steady shower.  Sister wanted to seek shelter under a nearby tree, but I insisted on sniffing a telephone pole first.  As I sniffed and Sister tugged at my leash, the rain started falling harder.  Eventually, she managed to drag me to the tree line, but, just as Sister had misjudged the severity of the storm, she had also misjudged the amount of coverage that the trees would provide.  Basically, there was no coverage.  This seemed to bother Sister, but not me.  Instead, I shook then proceeded to drag Sister up and down the length of the park, eventually pausing to do business.

After cleaning up, Sister contemplated our options.  As far as she could see, there were only two; we could either hurry home as fast as we could through the pouring rain or run half a block further to the baseball diamond that had a sheltered dugout.  Sister decided that we should try to make our way to the dugout.

But first we had to cross the street.  Hoping not to slip out of her sandals in the process, Sister secured her grip on my leash, warned me that we were going to walk in a "controlled manner," and took a step out into the middle of the street.  I'm proud to report that Sister managed to stay upright on her feet while we crossed the river that was presently forming in the middle of the street.  I'm also proud to say that I splashed my way through each and every puddle that crossed my path (and thereby splashed Sister through as well).

When we reached the opposite curb and Sister noticed the flooded out and muddy outfield separating us and the dry dugout, she stopped, crouched down in the pouring rain, and started laughing uncontrollably.  "Well," Sister said to me, water dripping down her face, "we're already soaked--maybe we should just head home.  Besides, if Pa comes by looking for us he won't see us in the dugout."  I wagged my tail; I was having fun in the rain and now I could look forward to a car ride.

Straightening herself out and gripping onto the fence for support, Sister told me to "heel" and we started home.  Through ankle deep puddles, water rushing toward storm drains, and rain dripping in our eyes, Sister and I waded toward home.  Every time a car approached us, we looked up hopefully, expecting Pa to come to our rescue.  And every time the car drove past us, we sadly lowered our eyes and continued walking. This continued for all five blocks

Eventually, Sister and I made it home--completely soaked to the bone.

Two Drowned Rats

Sister and I stormed (or was it sloshed?) into the house just as Pa came rushing around the corner from the living room to the kitchen.  "Tell me you were just coming to get us," Sister calmly said, water dripping on the floor.  Pa stammered incoherently.  "Then why didn't you come get us?" Sister shouted (I shook, spraying water across the length of the kitchen to emphasize her point).

If there was a prize for bad excuses, Pa would have won it on his first two attempts at explaining himself.  First, he said that he had been busy closing all the windows in the house and didn't have time to get Sister and me.  Sister and I didn't buy it.  Then he said that he would have come to get us, but he had no way of knowing where we could have been.  Sister and I stared at him.  We always go the same route!  Finally, Pa said that he would have come to get us, but then the car would have gotten wet.  Ding, ding, ding...we have a winner!

Pa toweled me off and Sister stalked off to change her clothes.  Her hair and my fur, both having been soaked through, remained wet for hours.  Twenty-four hours later, Sister's clothing was still vaguely damp and her shoes were still dripping water.  Sister's anger hadn't decreased either.

Of course, looking back on the whole event and despite all the fun I had splashing through the puddles, I am very much hurt by Pa's abandonment that afternoon.  I would have fully expected Pa to make Sister walk home in the pouring rain, but not me.  I'm his buddy, his pal, his son, his favorite.  He should have come to my rescue.

Locked Out

It has been a rough few months for me.  I have had to learn to adapt to the fact that I won't have a daily mid-day visitor now that Sister no longer works in town and can't come home for lunch.  Sure, I get a lot of uninterrupted naps now and I did score that air conditioner last month to keep me cool in the summer months, but I must admit that I get a little upset when I think about my family leaving me each morning. As a result, I've become rather clingy in the morning and make every effort to delay my family by sniffing every last tree, telephone pole, and fire hydrant on my morning walks with Pa, demanding extended ear rubs from Sister and, well, then there is my most recent tactic for delaying Ma.

Pa and Sister had already left for work, so I was home alone with Ma.  I had been closely following her around the house for the last ten minutes or so and could sense that she was just about ready to leave as well.  I didn't want this to happen, so I came up with a sure-fire way of delaying her.  As Ma tried to leave the house, I pushed by her and scurried out the door before she could stop me.  As I ran into the backyard, I heard Ma sigh and go back into the house to drop off her bags.  She emerged a moment later with the intent of coaxing me back inside.

After much persuasion (including begging and promises of bribery), Ma convinced me to go back inside the house.  Hungry for a treat, but disheartened all the same, I scurried back to the side door and waited patiently for Ma to open it for me.  She grasped the handle and pushed down on the lever.

Only, it didn't budge; the storm door had locked itself when it slammed shut behind her.

Ma tried the door a couple of more times, but to no avail.  Then she went to the front door with the vague hope of it having been left unlocked.  Failure again.  She thought about who had a key.  In the past, Ma could have borrowed Sister's key by walking over to her job a few blocks away, but now she (and Pa for that matter) were too far away to reach by foot.  And calling someone for help was out of the question too; Ma's cell phone was locked inside the house as well.

Truth be told, I was happy about this predicament.  The way I saw it, Ma would have to stay home (or rather, just outside home) with me until Pa or Sister returned eight hours later.  The bummer would be that all my snacks were inside, but I was willing to ignore my stomach for a fun filled afternoon with Ma.  Happy, I offered Ma a tail wag.  Annoyed, Ma swatted at a mosquito. 

After a minute or so, Ma came up with a new course of action.  She was going to have to break into the house.  Around back she went with me right on her heals.  Methodically, she began working on her bedroom window, cutting away a corner of the screen.  When the hole was big enough and just as she was preparing to hoist her way up and through, Ma looked back into the yard to see what I was up to.  She did not appreciate what she saw.

My Contribution to the Cause

I had decided to help the cause by digging a tunnel into the basement from the backyard.  Sure, the place I chose to started digging from was clear across the yard from the house, but I had every intention of eventually making my way toward the goal.  Honest!

Anyway, like I said, Ma did not particularly appreciate my help (so ungrateful) and came running over to shoo me away from my hole (which was now quite deep). I wandered away long enough for her to return to the window and hoist her way half way through, but once her back was turned and her attention diverted, I returned to my hole.

Once inside, Ma unlocked the door.  She then returned to the backyard, my leash in hand, only to discover me still furiously digging.  When she pulled me out of my hole by my collar, I looked up at her with an innocent "oh, you got inside" look, but she wasn't fooled.  Worse than not being fooled, she was also angry; she was late for work, there was a hole in the window screen, the garden was once again dug up, and I was covered in dirt.  On went my leash and I was unceremoniously escorted back into the house.

Figuring that it was best to give Ma some space, I immediately scurried upstairs and out of sight.  Anticipating trouble, however, Ma followed afterward to make sure I wasn't ripping up clothing or chewing on a pair of shoes.  I was insulted by this lack of faith (she acts like I have a history or something), but decided it wasn't the best time to show my displeasure.  Instead, I wagged my tail at her when she reached the head of the stairs then settled down for my nap.

Feeling Sick, Seeking Comfort, Then Feeling Better

Hello!

Ever since I was a little puppy, I've been troubled by a weak intestinal system.  As a result, every six to twelve months I'm overcome with an upset stomach which requires a round or two of antibiotics and a couple of uncomfortable days and nights punctuated with multiple trips outdoors at odd hours before it clears up.

Because I have such a nice family, they always do their best to try to make me feel better during these bouts (and let me tell you, I am pretty miserable when I've got tummy troubles).  For instance, either Ma or Pa camps out in the living room with me each night I feel ill to facilitate quick access to the outside door, Sister curls up on my pillow with me during the day and gently rubs my tummy while I snooze, and then there is the classic game of "No Mess In Here" which, as traumatizing as the occasional discovery of a "mess in here" is, is, I must admit, a rather enjoyable game.

Anyway, on Wednesday afternoon I came down with my latest bout of intestinal distress and as a result, I had to roust Pa at 4am on Thursday morning to visit the restroom.  Neither Pa nor I was very happy about wandering around outside at that hour of the morning, but Pa was a good sport and did his best to comfort me while I did what I had to do.

Once I was done, Pa and I returned to the house.  While Pa put away my leash and locked the door, I scurried back into the bedroom to continue sleeping.  I didn't expect to sleep soundly though.  You see, when I scurried back into the bedroom, I didn't simply settle down on my pillow or assume my normal spot blocking the doorway.  No, I jumped up onto the bed, curled up in Pa's spot, and squeezed my eyes closed, hoping to fool him into believing I was alseep (you know, "let sleeping dogs lie").  I heard Pa walk into the bedroom and pause beside the bed.  Expecting to be roused from my comfy spot, I immediately went limp knowing that the humans have trouble moving me when I'm dead weight.  But Pa did something strange.  He climbed into bed next to me.  Having suddenly become aware that I was not going to be getting the heave-ho, I sighed and fell asleep. 

Crushed Grass

It is now a few days later, and I am feeling much better (Ma took me to the vet on Thursday afternoon and I now have a two-week supply of medicine and a blood test confirming that my small intestines naturally harbor a heightened number of bacteria).  I felt so good that I spent the weekend out east mooching cookies with Bruno and barking at a squirrel that climbed a tree outside my window and shook its butt at me for a solid minute).  And when I got home, I rolled around in the grass with abandon (the grass, overdue for a mowing, got a little crushed).

It's nice to feel better.

Boys' Night Out

A couple of weeks ago, Pa and I got to do some quality father/son bonding out east.  Sure, we were actually there because Pa had scheduled a repair man to fix a leak and Ma, Sister, and Aunt B would be joining us a few days later, but until then, we would have a couple of epic boys' nights out.

Here are some highlights from our adventures:

• Joint Investigation:  The morning after he and I arrived out east, Pa accompanied me outside to do a thorough search of the backyard.  Upon setting foot on the grass, I immediately realized that there had been an interloper in my yard.  What it was, I wasn't sure (maybe a bear or a dinosaur or a giant antelope or maybe that stupid cat I cornered a few years ago), but I tracked whatever belong to the scent to the side door.  And do you know what?  Pa was right by my side the entire time; following me as I followed the smell (Pa's nose isn't as good as mine--not to mention, with him walking on two legs, his nose is way too far away from the scent covered ground to have any real success).  He even helped me look for the interloper by searching behind the big bushes that flank the back door.  Sadly, we didn't find anything.
• Deck Repair:  While Pa pulled up damaged planks on our deck and replaced them with brand new ones, I helped by carrying around bits of wood and supervising (obviously).  Pa said that I was especially helpful in that I refrained from falling through any of the holes he created.  I found this a tad insulting, but for the sake of our boys only event, I let it go.  I would have liked to carry around some of Pa's tools as well, but most were too heavy or awkwardly shaped for me to pick up (hey, you try picking up a miter saw with your mouth!).
• Breakfast:  One morning, Pa went out to the local deli to buy breakfast.  When he got home, he called me over and told me that he had a surprise for me.  From his plate, he gave me what he called "deer sausage." Now, I'm certainly no expert on deer (I've only smelled them through the back fence after all), but I am a self-proclaimed connoisseur of food and I'm willing to bet that Pa's "deer sausage" was actually breakfast sausage.  No matter, though.  Breakfast or deer, sausage is sausage and I ate it happily.
• Bruno:   Pa has set the precedent that every time he's around when Bruno (the Boxer pup next door) and I meet at the fence separating our properties he gives us a cookie as a reward for being such good boys.  Well, needless to say Bruno and I agreed, early on, to play Pa for all the cookies we could and made sure to meet at the fence every chance we got.  And do you know what?  Pa fell for the plan nearly every time.  I can't tell you how many cookies Bruno and I ate.  Yum!
• Curfew:  When Ma's around, she insists that I go out at 10pm for my last business trip.  Now this might not sound horrible, except for the fact that I usually call it a night at 8pm.  Think about how you would feel if you were unceremoniously woken up after two hours of sound sleep and forced outside in all types of weather to do business.  Anyway, with Pa and I, there were no 10pm bathroom runs.  I went out around 8pm then slept soundly until morning.