Birthday 2018

Which devilishly handsome pup turns nine years old today?

That's right...

ME!!!!

Memorial Day 2018

Wishing everyone a happy Memorial Day weekend!

 

And if you're barbecuing this weekend, don't forget to "accidentally" drop a cheeseburger or two on the floor for your four legged pals!  Oh, and some potato salad too!  I love potato salad!

A Very Busy Day

Chillin'

There are days made for relaxation--days filled with long naps lying in the grass, soaking up the sun on the porch, or curled up on the couch.  But the Saturday in which the following events occurred, a Saturday which happened about a month and a half ago out east, was not one of those days.

The day started bright and early with me investigating my backyard for an intruder who had apparently made himself quite comfortable in my week-long absence.  That's the problem with visiting out east only on the weekends--many animals such as deer, stupid little bunnies, squirrels, voles, moles, field mice, robins, cats, and other dogs assume that my backyard is up for grabs.  Well, it isn't!  Anyway, I was so busy sniffing around following the trail of heaven knows what that I almost didn't notice that my buddy Bruno (the Boxer next door) was at the fence wanting to say hello.  Key word here?  Almost.  The annoying trespassers completely wiped from my mind, I immediately scurried over to the property line and bunked noses with Bruno.  After saying hello, Bruno and I began chasing each other up and down the fence which, admittedly, is a bit hard for Bruno to do since there are tall bushes on his side.  He managed to make do, however, weaving in and out of the shrubbery while tearing off stray branches as he passed.

Eventually, Bruno went back inside and I resumed my intruder search.  All of a sudden, a voice called out with the words "up and in!"  It was Sister's voice.  Heeding the advice, I began running at full speed across the yard and up the flight of stairs leading to the house.  It's a favorite activity of mine, by the way, running headlong across the yard and up the stairs.  I've done it hundreds of times and it never gets old.  But this time, something went wrong.  I missed one of the last few steps before the top.  The sound of wooden step on canine knee resonated like an echo and I stumbled my way up the final steps with a limp.  Sister came running up beside me and quickly checked my knee.  She asked if I was okay and rubbed my ear when I wagged my tail and took a couple of tentative steps without limping.  With only a little blemish to my pride, I went into the house and collected a get-well cookie from Sister.

A couple of hours later, Sister announced that she was going to the beach and was wondering if I would like to go with her.  Now, some might look back on all the excitement from earlier in the day and say: "You know, I'm a bit tired (and sore), maybe I'll pass on this trip."  But not me!  Nope.  I jumped up and ran straight to the door eager to start the next adventure. 

Smiling at the Beach

Minutes later, Ma, Sister, and I arrived, via the car, at the beach and I proceeded to pull Sister left and right along the shore sniffing at shells, sea plants, and reeds.  But then a strange thing happened.  I suddenly had a dreadful urge to go into the water.  Now, this might not sound too weird.  Golden Retrievers, after all, are supposed to love playing in the water.  But as my readers know, I'm not a huge fan of water, unless I'm dig-dig-digging in the doggy pool.  In fact, I usually have to be enticed into the ocean with a cookie or a piece of seaweed dangling on a stick as a lead. But not that day.  Nope, the ocean was calling me and despite Ma's cries that it was too cold, I kept dragging Sister closer and closer to the water.  At one point, I managed to pull Sister close enough to dip my feet in a stagnant pool formed by a little cove.  The water was nice and cool and felt oh so good on my toes.  But when Sister pulled me out, I noticed something.  There was a nasty smell following me.  I looked around confused; where was the smell coming from?  Then I looked down at my paws and realized with horror that the smell was coming from them--it was the stagnant water I had just stepped in.  The smell was so distracting, in fact, that I could only walk for a step or two before stopping to stare at my feet.  This odd gait drew Ma's attention and, after putting two and two together, determined that the residual smelly water on my toes was what was bothering me.  In an attempt to remedy the situation, Sister led me down to an open bit of shoreline and allowed me to step into the cold fresh water to wash off.  With the stinky smell behind me, Ma, Sister, and I continued on with our walk.

A little bit down the beach, I came upon a group of three women and two dogs--one large black lab and a smaller brown pup.  The two dogs rushed over to me and we said our hellos.  The three women came over shortly thereafter to talk to Ma and Sister and scratched my ears while the larger black dog wandered away to continue to explore the beach.  I must have mistakenly thought that the smaller dog named Augie (a name that Ma wanted to give me so that she could refer to me as "Augie Doggy") also wandered off because when he suddenly stepped out from behind his human and barked at me with his high-pitched bark, I jumped about ten feet.  One of the ladies then asked if she could give me a cookie.  As I've done before (most recently to that nice lady at Old Westbury Gardens) I snubbed the cookie and walked away.

After walking for a little while longer, Ma, Sister, and I mutually decided that it was time to go home.  We wandered our way back to the car and I happily jumped in and hunkered down in the backseat.  I had just started dozing off when we arrived back at home.  So out the car I jumped and made my way back into the house and settled down on my pillow.

The rest of the evening, at first, appeared to be uneventful.  I snoozed peacefully on my pillow and in front of the fire (I love snoozing in front of a nice warm fire) while my family ate dinner and watched television.  But then it was time for the final business trip of the night and I begrudgingly rose from my bed and wandered outside with Pa.  As is customary, when I got outside, I immediately started toward my business spot all the way across the yard, but after taking a few steps in that direction, I sensed movement by the fence and took off after it like a bat out of hell.

I'm not sure what I saw that evening--it was way too dark for either Pa or me to see--but whatever it was, I chased it up and over the back fence and out of my yard.  A day that started with me tracking an interloper ended with me chasing one away.

After doing business, I wandered back into the house and went to bed.  After such an exciting and exhausting day, I was desperate for a good night sleep.

Spring Dog Days 2018

It's been a while since I've been able to partake in the fun and frivolities that is Dog Days at Old Westbury Gardens.  I'm not even one hundred percent certain when I was there last.  I know I didn't go last year.  In the spring I was supposed to meet up with Karin, Joan, and Mecki, but I ended up with an angry belly and not really feeling up to going.  There was another Dog Days event in the fall, but I must have been busy that weekend because I didn't make it there either.  Looking back into my blog's archive, the last time I appear to have gone was back in 2016.  Is that possible?!  Wow, time really flies!  But anyway, no matter when I last went to Dog Days, I went twice last weekend and had the time of my life both days.

The Moment I Found Out

Going into Saturday morning, I had no idea that it was a Dog Days weekend; Sister had managed to keep it a secret from me.  In fact, I only figured out that we were going somewhere about a half hour before we left the house when I witnessed Sister packing Ma's car (because Ma's car is the official "Rigby Road Trip Car" as it is permanently stocked with a seat protector and doggy seat belt system) with cookies, newspapers and bags, leashes, her camera, and multiple bottles of water.  While I watched her pack the car (and occasionally tried, unsuccessfully, to force my way into the front seat), Sister told me where we were going and that my bff Mecki and his mom were going to be there too.

I don't think I need to describe how excited I was.  I think all my loyal readers know me well enough to anticipate my reaction to being told that I was going to go for a car ride, visit with my bff Mecki, and wander through my estate so I won't describe my reaction to you.  Instead, I'll show you a video of what I did for the entire half hour between realizing I was going somewhere and when I actually got in the car.

In the Car

So, after what felt like ten years of barking and carrying on, Sister slipped my collar on over my head, attached my leash, grabbed the car keys, and opened the side door.  A moment later, we were strapped into the car (I rode in the back seat--sadly, Sister did not let me ride shotgun) and driving towards Old Westbury Gardens.

Usually, Mecki and I meet at "Rigby's Wall" which is an outdoor stone wall located right outside the mansion's front door (and where my profile picture was taken years ago).  He usually gets there first and I can hear him howling and carrying on all the way back in the parking lot.  This time, however, we met in the parking lot which meant we could start our pack walk even earlier.

My bff Mecki!

We met tons of dogs on Saturday, Mecki and I, including a half dozen Golden Retrievers of various ages (one was only five months old!) and a pup who looked a lot like Bastille (Bastille stayed home during this adventure because he can be a bit of a handful).  In all, Mecki and I spent almost two and a half hours walking around the lake, up and down the stairs, and through the Rose and Walled Gardens which are usually off limit when it comes to my species (sadly, the Woodland Walk, home of the tree that Mecki and Bastille are always pictured in, was closed due to storm damage).  As is our custom, Mecki and I spent a fair portion of the day vying for pack leader status--scooting in front of each other at every bend of the path.

Surveying My Estate

But then something funny happened.  Mecki, Karin, Sister, and I had made our way to the vendor booths to check out all the bandanas (thankfully, Sister didn't buy me one...she did once and, let's just say, it didn't go over well), dunk our snouts in all the complementary water bowls, and glom pets from anyone who would give them.  Suddenly, a nice lady from behind one of the booths stepped forward and asked Sister if she could give me a sample of one of the home made treats she was selling.  Sister said "Sure," but warned her that I was a bit of a picky eater.

I know, I know, you just did a double take on that sentence.  You might have even heard an old timey record needle scratch.  Yours truly is a "picky eater"?!  Well, in a way, I am, but it's complicated and rather than explain my issue, Sister usually just leaves it at "he's a picky eater."

Smelling the Flowers

Undeterred, the nice lady went back to her booth, picked up a cookie, and handed it to me.  I sniffed it once then turned my head away refusing to take it.  Sister then expanded on her initial statement and explained to the lady that I'm just not a fan of taking food from anyone but my own family. 

And that's where it gets complicated.  You see, I rarely take food from anyone who is not a family member.  I've even been known to spit out carrots (which I love) given to me by Mecki's mom (though I've also been known to root through her bag in search of cookies which I then inhale).  I don't mean it to be impolite or ungrateful when I do this; I guess it's just a little quirk I have.

"Okay," said the nice lady trying desperately to save her sale, "you give it to him then" and she dropped the cookie in Sister's hand.  Sister took a deep breath and placed the cookie in front of my nose.  "Hey Rigs, want a cookie?" she asked though I know what she was really saying was a simple chant of "Please eat the cookie...please eat the cookie."

I tried my best.  Really I did.  I tried to convince myself that the cookie was from the bag of Milkbones Sister had her in her pocket.  I even managed to take the cookie and bite it in half, but that was it.  I ended up spitting it out and sniffing at it suspiciously before walking away while Sister apologized profusely to the nice lady.

Mecki Rollin' In the Grass

Shortly thereafter, I said my goodbyes to Mecki and Karin and climbed back into the car.  While Sister drove, I snoozed in the backseat.  When we got home, I threw myself down on my pillow, fell into a deep sleep, and only got up when it was supper time.

Sunday morning came bright and early the next day--maybe even a bit too early for me who was still recovering from the fun and frivolities of the previous day--but even still, I was up and raring to go when Sister told me that we were going back to my estate.  Into the car I climbed and off we drove, but this time, Sister went the wrong way.  Instead of turning right at the end of the block, she turned left.  Immediately, I became concerned.  Where were we going?

Posing

A minute later, Sister pulled over to the side of the road and the passenger side door opened.  Much to my surprise, my friend Joan climbed into the car.  Now, I haven't seen Joan in a really long time (not since that BBQ at Mecki's house) so I was super excited and by the time we pulled into the Old Westbury Gardens estate, I was pacing back and forth in the back seat with anticipation.

Sleeping in a Pool of Drool

Like Saturday, my estate was packed with dogs and once again, there was a plethora of Golden Retrievers to bunk noses with.  I even got to say hello to my old friend and fellow Golden Retriever Emma Rose and her mom and grandma.

Needless to say, by Sunday evening I was completely and totally exhausted.  Once again, I only woke up long enough to eat meals and I'm not ashamed to say that I was kind of looking forward to my family going back to work the next day because it meant that I would have a good seven hours to really catch up on sleep.  But as tired as I was afterward, I wouldn't have missed Dog Days for the world (and I probably would have still passed on that cookie). 

Outtakes:

Easter 2018

 

 

 

 

Happy Easter!

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o(")(")

(Watch out for stupid little bunnies masquerading as the Easter Bunny!)

Just As Good the Second Time

Cheerios have played a significant role in my life since I was a pup.  Early on, Sister clicker-trained me (kind of) by rewarding me with Cheerios.  I learned how to play "Get, Bring, Toss" (my equivalent of fetch) with the promise of those tiny little "o"s motivating me.  I've been given them in my puzzle Kong toy and scoffed them up when I inexplicably became freaked out at stairs and needed to be bribed to climb them again.  And when Pa eats a bowl of Cheerios for breakfast, he always makes sure to give me a couple to test.

But the problem with Cheerios is that they are very tiny.  I mean, I don't even have to chew them (in fact, I'd probably bite my own tongue if I tried).  But not chewing food is dangerous and occasionally those tiny little "o"s have turned into attack cereal.

For instance, last week I was outside with Pa and he was running me through my list of tricks.  I came, I sat, I said my prayers, I played dead, and I did figure eights in quick succession despite the fact that Pa had only asked me to sit.  As a reward, he tossed me a Cheerio which I inhaled before immediately begging for more.

But something went wrong as I looked up at Pa expectantly; the Cheerio he had given me did not want to go down.  In fact, it seemed as though it was fighting to come back up.  Pausing, I looked down at the floor and with a mighty hack the Cheerio went shooting from my mouth and landed a foot away.

Amused by the concept of an endless food supply, I strolled over to the attack Cheerio, scooped it up, and swallowed it for a second time.  It was just as tasty. 

Oh My God, I Bit Pa...Again!

A couple of years ago, I told the story of the time I accidentally bit Pa (the story can be found here). As you might remember, I was absolutely horrified at what happened that day--it was Pa, the boss, the head honcho, the top dog, the guy who “gets” me and I bit him! And as horrified as I was, I can only image that you, my loyal readers, were equally if not more horrified and disappointed in the misdeeds of yours truly. I’m just not that kind of dog anymore (as you know, I was quite the juvenile delinquent when I was a pup).

Well, I hate to report it, but it happened again.

I know, I know! How could this happen, you ask? How could I possibly make the mistake of biting Pa a second time? Well, as before, I blame him.

It was Sunday morning and I decided to help Pa make the bed and by that I mean I got in his way and prevented him from making the bed. How? After he pulled the sheet up on one side of the bed, I took a running leap and threw myself down onto the middle of the mattress. Assuming the “dead weight” position (going limp while lying on my side), I turned my head and smiled up toward Pa. He tried to act angry. He tried to make it look like he didn’t find my shenanigans 100% adorable. But he was unable to fully suppress the laugh that started emanating from his throat as soon as I collapsed on the mattress. So, Pa did the only thing he could think of: he decided to rough me up.

Now, I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this before, but my family has always said that I don’t know how to play like a normal dog. I don’t play with my toys, I kill them. I don’t retrieve a thrown ball, I just look up at you as if asking “why did you throw it if you wanted it back so bad?” I also don’t roughhouse like other dogs nor play a game that my family refers to as snarly face (a game in which I'm expected to playfully show my teeth and gently nip at hands which sounds so completely wrong, but apparently is not as violent as one might think).

So, long story short, I don't normally roughhouse, but Pa was so annoying and so insistent that day (rolling me over, giving me a gentle shoves, and pulling the blankets over my head), that eventually I cracked. Without even thinking, I turned my head sideways and grabbed hold of Pa’s shirtsleeve.

Suddenly, time stopped. I had Pa’s shirtsleeve in my mouth. Did he notice? Did he realize that I bit him again? Granted, the first time, all those years ago, I actually caught flesh and this time I only caught his sleeve, but a bite’s a bite, right? I quickly spit the fabric out and sheepishly looked up at Pa, my ears back in shame.

“What did you do?” he asked, but not in an upset or angry sort of way. He looked like he did before when he was trying to scold me for jumping on the bed—he was barely able to suppress his laughter. Despite the fact that I didn't appear to be destined for a hollerin’ at, I must admit that I was a little shook up from the entire experience. There would be no more roughhousing from me.

So there you have it. As you can see, Pa was fully to blame. He caused me to bite him and nothing is going to change my story.