The Birthday Boy

 

Look who’s turning 12 years old today!

That's right, yours truly!

And it's going to be a great birthday.  I've already been promised parades (some might say they are in celebration of Memorial Day, but we all know they're really for the birthday boy), lots of new toys, some tasty snacks, and a visit from Aunt B (first time in a very long time).  

I can't wait!

The Hotline

Despite taking to blogging like a fish to water, I rely a lot on more traditional forms of communication for much of my local knowledge.  Of course, there’s the “newspaper” which includes all the bushes, trees, fences, fire hydrants, and telephone poles I sniff on my walks with Pa, but my real source of information and gossip comes from checking the hotline.

The hotline is the web of dogs situated throughout the neighborhood who call out news to each other.  Think of it like the game “I’m Going On A Picnic” but done with town criers.  Fluffy learns that the mailman has arrived on the scene and calls out the news.  Spot hears Fluffy’s news and spreads the word that the mailman is on the scene and a new dog just moved in next door.  Then Prince howls that the mailman is on Fluffy’s street, a new dog moved in next to Spot, and his (Prince’s) human is cooking hamburgers.  Before you know it, the whole town is barking and information is freely traveling from one street to the next.  

But the hotline isn’t just there for information transfer.  No, it’s also there as a superb way of causing a ruckus which, as everyone knows, is one of my favorite pastimes.  Here’s how you cause a ruckus using the hotline:

1. Stand at the front gate and bark a few times
2. Listen for the inevitable chorus of barks from nearby streets
3. Listen for the inevitable cry of humans calling their dogs inside because they are making too much noise
4. Smile to yourself and go back inside knowing that you got others in trouble.

But sometimes, there’s no one on the line.  I go outside and bark and bark and bark and no one responds—not one yip, howl, or “woof.”  Desperate for gossip and/or a hankering for trouble, in these situations I end up walking from one end of the property to the other—from the front gate to the outdoor “Land of No” to behind the garage—barking loud and long and listening for any response from any direction.

Today was one of those days.  I came charging out of the house in full voice and barked for two solid minutes without a single neighborhood dog responding.  Talk about depressing.

Deck-Time

Comfort is really important to me.  Now, obviously this is not a stop the presses moment to my loyal readers.  I know that I wax poetic about comfort all the time on this blog.  And as a result, you all know my go to comfort spots including...

the couch,

Sister's bed,

my pillow,

and the nice cool floor.

But there's one other place--one special place--that is quite possibly my all-time favorite relaxation zone.  It is none other than the porch out east.

Now, I know what you're thinking.  How could a hard splinter filled porch compete with a nice soft bed?  Well, it does.

It's called "deck-time" in my house.  As the winter turns into spring and the warmth of the sun starts overcoming the chill in the air, I take every opportunity I can get to spend all my waking (and non-waking) hours sprawled out on the deck soaking in the sun.  With my giant water bowl beside me and my spare pillow at my disposal, I can spend hours out there.  And I don't even need company.  Pa and Ma can come and go from the deck to the yard to the house and I won't bat an eye or bark hysterically (yes, Rigby, the King of Barking, who barks at everything real and imagined and never wants to be left alone for fear of being left out of an exciting event or maybe a snack, actually lounges quietly by himself for hours on end ignoring passing dogs, squirrels, and humans).

And I take advantage of my entire deck when I'm out there.  I start in a nice sunny spot facing the street then, when the view gets old or I've drooled excessively in that spot, I get up, get a drink of water, and find a new spot facing the backyard.  A little while later, I get up again, get another drink, and relocate to a third spot.  As long as it's a sunny spot on my deck, it's got my name on it.

Of course, it's possible to overdo a good thing and sometimes my family has to interrupt my lounging to suggest that maybe I've spent enough time in the sun and should come in and cool off (it's never good when you start smelling like roasted chicken).  They're right of course, but even still it is always hard to walk away from my deck...unless of course the air conditioner is on inside the house.

A Bad Idea from the Start

A couple of months ago, Ma and Sister decided to attach a clear plastic bird feeder to the outside of the window of my office (without asking me I might say).  They thought it would be interesting and even fun to observe the birds eating throughout the day.  I, on the other paw, through this was a bad idea from the get go.  Turns out, I was right.

It started innocently enough I suppose.   The cardinals were the first to discover the feeder followed closely by the sparrows.   For the most part, I wasn’t troubled by either of these interlopers as they pretty much kept to themselves and their daily replacement of seeds consistently distracted my family long enough for me to munch on a few mouthfuls of grass. 

But then things got out of hand.

First, the mourning doves came.  Although I don’t dislike mourning doves nearly as much as I dislike robins (stupid robins hop around in front of me, never truly flying away), they're still annoying.  I especially hate it when they hunker down in the grass and startle me when I walk by.

Anyway, the first mourning dove landed with a deafening thud on the feeder (it woke me up from my nap) and immediately started stuffing its face with seeds. 

A little while later, the dove’s friend showed up and spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to land on the feeder next to his buddy (apparently they aren't very smart).  This normally wouldn't have bothered me, but Ma and Sister keeping me awake with their laughter.

Then it got worse--the squirrels discovered the feeder.  All of a sudden, squirrels started leaping from the nearby tree onto the window sill before clawing their way up to the feeder.   Once in the feeder, they took up residence, spending twenty minutes at a time gorging on seeds and scaring sparrows and cardinals alike.  At one point, a squirrel even managed to pull the seed tray out of the feeder sending the tray, and itself, hurtling to the ground.

The window in my office is partially obstructed by Sister’s work equipment, so I wasn’t aware of the squirrel at first, but once I was made aware, I assure you that I made sure it knew who was boss.  I barked long and loud at it, eventually driving it away, before running to the side door insisting to go out to push it further back out of my territory.

I mean, I’m not totally intolerant of squirrels.   They serve a purpose (mainly depositing half eaten peaches and pumpkins for me to sample) however, clawing up onto my window and looking in on me—that’s going too far.

Now that I’m aware of their latest scheme for world domination, I have upped my vigilance.  I watch for those squirrels in the window and when they get too close (and standing in the tree is too close for my taste), I let loose with a bombardment of barks.

Not on my watch, squirrel.   Not on my watch.

Easter 2021

Happy Easter

to all my friends.

I hope you catch yourself a bunny!

And now, from the collection of "If Looks Could Kill" Easter edition:

One Year Later

Crunching Numbers

It started as a temp job—I’d be employed as Sister’s Administrative Assistant for maybe two or three weeks.  Then it turned into five weeks, three months, half a year, nine months, and eleven and three quarters months.  Calendar pages flew by as did St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Memorial Day, July Fourth, Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Day.

With Sister, I’ve participated in dozens of meetings (both on screen and via audio feed), am beloved by librarians throughout Long Island, and am asked for by name by vendors across the country.  I’ve appeared on library advertising and even attended Sister’s office video holiday party!

And while doing all that, I also took on a couple of more “temp” jobs, working with both Ma and Pa.

Waiting for the Day to Start

I’m always there for my co-workers—providing companionship and reminders that they should take their 15 minute breaks (according to my schedule, of course).  But I’m not a pushover; I’m a tough co-worker.  I make sure that their days start on time and lunch breaks don’t go a minute over.  If they need a laugh, I’m always up for stealing a shoe, shoving a toy in their face, or having a vivid dream at an inappropriate moment.  And if things get too quiet, I’m there howling and barking my head off.

Today marks my one year anniversary as Sister’s Administrative Assistant (the anniversaries of my side hustles as Ma and Pa’s assistant are coming up in the days and weeks ahead).  Who knows how long these gigs will continue, but as long as my desk (AKA my pillow) is there, so will I.

 

Tastes Like Chicken

Did you know that there’s a breed of squirrel that lives on eastern Long Island that can regenerate its tail?

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking, “Rigby, there’s no such thing as a squirrel that regenerates its tail.  If it loses its tail, it doesn’t grow back (see Stumpy).  You’re thinking of those little green lizards you have back at home; like that one you caught all those years ago who jettisoned its tail in your mouth to escape.  You know, the lizard that launched this blog?”

Well, I most certainly have not forgotten about that lizard (or the disgusting wriggling tail I got stuck with), but how else can you explain the fact that twice now I have found the very tip of a squirrel tail lying in the middle of my backyard and yet I have not found a single local squirrel missing part of its tail (and believe me, I chase after every squirrel that crosses my path just to check)?

Anyway, whether it is a mythical breed of squirrel with a regenerating tail or a few seriously unlucky and elusive squirrels that keep losing their tails to horrors unknown, I think we can all agree that it is really creepy to find squirrel pieces scattered across your yard looking for all the world like pom-poms on a craft table. 

But there’s more.  Not only are bits of squirrel tails creepy when they’re littered throughout the yard, but they’re also really tasty (though the fur’s a bit off putting).   Yes, you read that right: Pa found me chewing on the latest bit of squirrel.