My Type of Snow

I'm a cold weather pup.  I hate the sweltering hot days of August and I love the cold crisp days of January.  And if there's anything better than cool January days, it's cool January days with snow.

In my younger days, I took full advantage of blizzards: 

 

sprinting through snowbanks,

 

 

 perching atop mountains,

 

sticking my snout in holes,

and gutting snowmen.

 

 

Now-a-days?  I prefer to leave the blizzards to the young pups.  All I want are a couple of inches of snow; just enough to make dog angels in.  

 

 

Vincent van Rigby

My loyal readers know that I am a pup with many talents.  I maintain this blog, I’m Head of Security, I shred large things into smaller things, and I can hear (and respond) to a car door slamming three blocks away.  My loyal readers also know of my love for Bob Ross.  Well, I’m happy to report that I have added a new talent to my repertoire and it was inspired by Bob, himself. 

I am now an artist! 

Before I continue, allow me to take a step back. 

Sister spends a lot of time watching videos of cute dogs doing adorable things.  Normally, I am quite offended by this behavior as everyone knows that I’m the cutest and most adorable dog and that she should be spending her time doing more productive things like jotting down my inner most thoughts for you, my readers.  Anyway, every once in a while, she does come upon an interesting video with an interesting idea and her most recent discovery was one of those instances.  Even still, I will admit that I was a bit hesitant as I watched Sister bring all her art supplies down into the living room. 

With a glint in her eye, Sister set up all her acrylic paint bottles in a row on the living room floor and called me over.  Obligingly, I slipped and slided my way over to her (I’ve got an uncanny ability to find and snooze on the single one-foot by one-foot square space on the floor not covered by an area rug which therefore results in getting up with all four feet facing in the same direction something of a challenge) and observed the bottles.  There were colors everywhere: dark grey, medium grey, light grey and everything in between!  Sister encouraged me to come over and pick out my favorites.  Carefully I sniffed the bottles and zeroed in on one particularly pretty grey.  I picked it up in mouth and took a step in the direction of running off with it.  Sister tackled me and wrenched the bottle from my mouth with a “good boy! Now pick another one!”  I sniffed some more and found another grey to my liking.  I picked it up, Sister tackled me, and, again, pulled the bottle out of my mouth.  “Okay, keep going,” she said.  Again and again, I picked until I got bored with the remaining greys and started to walk away.  Sister grabbed my collar and told me that I had picked out four colors: black, forest green, teal, and brown.  I looked up at her kindly thinking “those are some pretty weird names for the color grey.” 

Sister scooped up all the bottles of paint then scurried away with the four I had chosen.  I, on the other hand, decided to take a nap. 

A few minutes later, I was awoken by the nutty smell of peanut butter wafting in from the dining room.  With great interest and a rumbling belly, I make my way into the room just in time for Sister to present me with a strangely shaped and yummy smelling item. 

Turns out, while I was asleep, Sister squirted a canvas with the four paints I had chosen and covered it with plastic wrap.  Next, she coated the plastic wrap with a layer of peanut butter.  My job was to lap up the peanut butter and, in the process, smear the paint around the canvas.  She had me at “lap up the peanut butter.”

So, I did my artistic duty and licked away at the nutty goodness.  By the time it was gone, I had created the following masterpiece. 

 

This one, Bob, is dedicated to you.

Christmas Roundup 2023

It’s been nearly a week since Christmas and all I can say is this: “Christmas is a young pup’s game.”

I am exhausted.  Totally and completely exhausted.  I’m so worn out from Christmas festivities (late night snacks and movies on Christmas Eve and presents, company, and limited naps on Christmas Day) that I’ve been walking around like a zombie ever since.  I’m so tired the dark circles under my eyes have dark circles.  I’m so pooped that I completely lost track of what was going on and found myself gnawing on Puddle’s head thinking it was a bone.

Puddles and me.

Puddle's no worse for wear.

But boy oh boy did I have fun on Christmas!  Here’s a quick rundown of some of the festivities:

I shredded wrapping paper.

I annihilated cardboard.

I played, gnawed on, and rested my eyes with all the toys Santa, my family, and Gina (and her pups Baci and Rocky) gave me and sampled all the cookies and treats I got from Santa and Karin (and her pups Mecki and Bastille).

So, like I said, Christmas was great.  My only complaint was that no one “accidentally” dropped a meatball for me at dinner time.

Christmas 2023

 

Wishing my family, friends, and devoted readers a very Merry Christmas!

Outtakes:

Calendar Pup

I’m no stranger to fame.  Obviously I have this blog and all the notoriety that comes with it, but I’ve also been featured on four separate social media posts (once for my estate and three time for library related offerings) and I’ve attended numerous parades held in my honor (okay, my birthday might have coincidentally fallen on Memorial Day a couple of times).  But now I’ve reached a brand-new level of fame…I am featured in a 2024 calendar!

You see, Sister’s co-worker Lisa put together a calendar of all the furry faces who live with the office’s employees.  There’s a fair number of cats featured (what can I say…you can’t account for taste) but there’s also a lot of pups and yours truly is featured in June and October and is the star of November.

I’m thinking I might have to invest in a stamp pad and some paper; strangers will surely soon be asking for my autograph.

Like Father, Like Son

There are moments when I think I surely must have been adopted and then something happens and I find myself saying “nope, I’m definitely one of them.”

Today, I was in a big hurry to return home from my morning walk with Pa.  You see, when I come home from a walk, I get a “good boy treat” and some days I can hardly wait to collect (I suspect that on those days I’ve been short changed on my breakfast, but I’ve never been able to prove it because I gobble it all up before I can count the individual kibble).   Anyway, I was so excited about my “good boy treat” that I pretty much dragged Pa past the last few houses and up the driveway.  Once I got past the side gate and was released from my leash, I ran full force toward the side door.

Now the problem with rushing, I’ve found, is that sometimes, in one’s haste, one starts to lose track of important things.   For me, there were four important things that I forgot about: my four feet.  In racing toward the door, my legs got all tangled up with each other and I ultimately ended up in a heap on the side step. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve ended up in such a state.  In fact, I’m frequently reminded by my family that I need to take it slow going up those stairs (“You’re a hundred and seven years old” they tell me).  Yet time and time again, I take a good long runup, leap in the direction of the landing, and either trip over the steps or clear the steps completely at such a speed that I end up skidding into the door with a mighty bang.   After checking to make sure I’m okay, my family then proceeds to remind me of the mistakes I’ve made.

So, there I was, lying in a heap on the steps.   A moment later, Pa came over, hoisted me up, and opened the door to let me in, all the while reminding me that I’m over 100.  As I walked into the house, Pa proceeded to follow but, in the process, managed to trip over his own feet (and he only has two of them).  Having cleared the door, I look back over my shoulder to see Pa in a crumpled heap on the side steps exactly where I had been moments before. 

Pa was alright; he was no worse for wear.  He got up, brushed himself off, and followed me into the house.  I won’t lie, I found the entire event rather funny.   Like father, like son, I thought.   Ma and Sister?  They laughed at “their boys.”

Thanksgiving 2023

Wishing all my readers a Happy Thanksgiving!

Anyone else getting "American Gothic" vibes?