Another Way to Terrorize the Dogs...
I can only imagine the chaos that would be unleashed if we got our hands on one of these (sans the muzak):
Walk the Dog
Alas, this year's Mighty Texas Dog Walk didn't live up to the high level of expectations set by last year's. A big part of that, I believe, was due to the wind, which was hustling in from the northwest at a pretty much constant 25-30 miles per hour.
Wandering around the exhibitor booths and watching your dog make a fool of himself is great fun when the weather is gorgeous. Not so much when it is cool and blustery. That, and there did not seem to be as many vendors around this year.
Pre-Walk Highlight - Taking Smith over to the "agility course" the fine folks at Roger Beasley Saab had set up. After a flat refusal to go through the tunnel, we coaxed Smith over to the hurdles. He jumped the first one - maybe a foot off the ground - without incident. At the second hurdle, however, he made no attempt, and instead reared up, knocked the whole thing apart, and then walked across. He's a problem solver, that one.
On the walk, sadly little occurred in the way of Smith chaos. He did have a moment of quite loud whining, and he did reclaim his role as water dish tester, but sadly, there were no kiddie pools for him to pee in, and no girl scouts for him to make cry.
Still, it was in all another fun morning, and I fully plan on partaking again next April.
Dog Walkin'
After the fantastic experience that was last year's Mighty Texas Dog Walk, I couldn't resist registering for this year's event, which promises even more dogs, and likely even more chaos.
Smith will be making his return and, I hope, will live up to the high expectations he set for himself last year.
Of course, since both the wife and the camera are coming along, he will probably be calm, quiet, and otherwise well-behaved, robbing me of some much anticipated hilarity...
Dog With College Degree Called to Court
"My client had absolutely nothing to do with any animal getting a degree from an institution of higher learning," said McGuire's attorney, Dean Henry. "The whole thing is bizarre."
I'll say.
LINK to the story.
Must Love Dogs - Here Comes the Science
Slate posted a fascinating article this morning exploring the bond we humans have with our pets - and more specifically our dogs. Considering the wife and I have four of the critters, I found it of particular interest, and imagine that anybody else who has a canine (or feline, bovine, or equine) in their lives will find the same.
Money quote:
They dance with joy when we come home, put their heads on our knees and stare longingly into our eyes. Ah, we think, at last, the love and loyalty we so richly deserve and so rarely receive. Over thousands of years of living with humans, dogs have become wily and transfixing sidekicks with the particularly appealing characteristic of being unable to speak. We are therefore free to fill in the blanks with what we need to hear. (What the dog may really be telling us, much of the time, is, "Feed me.")
Check out the rest..."The Real Reason We Love Dogs"
It is Impossible to Look Cool While Pleading with a Dachshund
Usually, when the wife or I tell people that we own four dogs, we are greeted with an expression one might reasonably expect to see upon informing someone that they like to dress up like Nazis while they make Pop-Tarts and watch documentaries about predatory cats. Then follows the inevitable questions which revolve around how we manage, etc.
The answer I give (I don't claim to speak for the wife - I know better) is that it is not that difficult. The dogs have a certain pack momentum that makes feeding them or getting them outside or whatnot a relatively simple task. So long as the routine is maintained, they are mostly simple to manage.
Or so I thought.
Ever since moving into the house, our (or rather my) method for getting the dogs into their kennels has remained the same. It begins with me saying "come one, everyone, let's get in our kennels!". With that, I secure treats. Sam, our obsessive-compulsive creature of habit, heads for his kennel. Smith and the two girls follow. After some tail wagging, prancing, and drooling, the dogs get their treats, the kennel doors get closed, and the mission is accomplished.
This has been the way of things for the past year. It has become as predictable as the rising and setting of the sun, or the string of expletives that pass my lips when I go to leave for work in the morning only to find that some construction worker has parked his pickup truck (or poorly modified import car) so that it is blocking our driveway.
Well, not anymore. For some inexplicable reason, the dachshunds have decided sometime in the past forty-eight hours to stop recognizing the kenneling procedure. Now, instead of running into their kennels like two crazed squirrels, they stand in the living room and stare. If I stare at them, they cower and slink toward corners. If I approach them, they call upon their special dachshund powers and pee on the floor.
For me, this is grounds for picking them up and personally depositing them in their kennel. This is also grounds for doing so without bestowing treats upon them. I think having to clean up urine is fair grounds for witholding the treat bribe.
The wife, on the other hand, disagrees, and last night proceeded to sit on the stairs and watch as I tried in vain to get the dachshunds into their kennels. What followed was about twenty minutes of humiliation as I stood in the dog room and called to the girls in a high-pitched, pleading voice, trying my best to sound like I had no desire to drop kick them like footballs (well, they are about the right size...). In the end, they peed on the floor anyway, I declared the game over, and put them away.
It goes without saying that they behave like little angels for the wife. No mind games or staredowns or floor waterings with her. Only with me.
So...no...owning four dogs is not particularly difficult. Owning two dachshunds, on the other hand...
Vomoop
"Just wait until you have kids..." Jamie and I hear this pretty much any time a discussion turns toward our four dogs.
Yes, thank you. We realize that dogs are different than children. We realize that you cannot stick your child into a kennel and leave the house for hours on end without consequences. We realize that we will never have to send our dogs to college, and I am well aware that I will never have to put the fear of God into Maggie and Millie's dates.
We know this. And besides, there are aspects to dog ownership that are assuredly worse than having children.
Case in point: vomoop.
Vomoop is, quite simply, the unholy mixture of vomit and poop. It is created when a dog (let us call her "Millie"), eats a load of poop in the backyard, gets it halfway digested, and then vomits it back up on your bedroom carpet.
I think the next time somebody tells me to "just wait until I have kids", I'm going to be thankful that their kid doesn't scarf his/her own feces and then spew it back up a few hours later for them to clean up.
Ride & Drive
For the most part, my weekends are uneventful. Usually, they involve mountain biking, errand running, maybe some sort of yard work. Every now and then I head out to write, stay in to read, or install something into a wall. If I'm lucky, I see a movie.
This past weekend, though, was one for the books...
Mighty Texas Dog Walk
Today was the 6th Annual Mighty Texas Dog Walk, benefitting Texas Hearing and Service Dogs. Oddly, I'd never heard of it before, but presented with the chance to walk one of my menagerie for three miles surrounded by several thousand other dogs, well, I couldn't pass that up.
Since the wife is still recovering from sinus surgery, I had to go by myself, so this morning I piled Smith in the Mazda and off I went.
The event itself was a blast, and very well put together, complete with water stops every half mile or so. But the best part, for me, was Smith. As usual, he found a way to stand out in the crowd. Okay, several ways.
First, at the staging area, there were several vendors set up with all manner of organic dog treats. Smith was everywhere, sampling everything. One of the vendors had cleverly placed their treats in a kiddie pool filled with dirt...Smith just saw free treats and snarfed about four before I could pull him back. In another instance, he snagged a treat out of a woman's hand as she was feeding it to her dog. He loves him the treats, he does.
Fast forward to walk. For Smith, the first mile was more like a sled pull. He wanted...needed...to be up front. So did every other dog. There was barking and howling and yipping...and then Smith opened up with his "death yowl". This a pain-stricken, high-pitched, whine-scream not unlike what I would imagine emanating from a howler monkey. People within a hundred foot radius turned around, expecting, I don't know, that somebody had stepped on a chihuahua or something, but no, it was just Smith, all seventy-three pounds of him, wanting to be up front.
A half mile up, we came to the first water stop. Dozens of plastic water dishes are laid out, filled with water for thirsty dogs. Most head up to a dish, drink, and move on. Not Smith. No, he has to drink from every single one.
But the water antics did not end there. Oh no. Later in the walk we wound through a neighborhood, and here the local Girl Scouts had set up watering stations. Again, Smith had to sample each dish. But then he came to a kiddie pool (the plastic kind, not the inflatable type) filled with water. Other dogs were lapping daintily at the edges when Smith, water dog that he is, steps right in. He puts his head under, drinks for a moment, looks up, and then, in clear view of everybody, pees in the kiddie pool.
As I tell everyone, with a dog like this, who needs television?
Shelter Kills Dog Before Family Can Pick it Up
This is awful. Just awful. If I were in this family's position, I would be talking to a lawyer this very moment.
Their dog, a ten-year old Golden Retriever named "Cowboy", was euthanized despite being identified by microchip and claimed by his family, who twice attempted to come pick him up.
Miami-Dade County Animal Services attributed the tragic mess up to "human error". I'm sorry - human error is putting a decimal point in the wrong place, or accidentally putting the car's transmission into drive instead of reverse when backing out of a parking place.
How do you accidentally euthanize a dog? And, moreso, how do you euthanize a dog three days before he should have been if his owner had not been located?
Shelter employees should love animals. I mean, teachers love kids, doctors love life, and lawyers love money, right? A fondness and a desire to help these animals should be a prerequisite for shelter employment. These people should go out of their way to locate the owners of the animals that show up at their facilities. They should do everything in their power, and resort to euthanasia as a last resort, if the dog is violent or if no other accomodations can be found.
That they could accidentally euthanize a dog, and an already identified and claimed family pet, a golden retriever at that, is beyond me.
My thoughts and sympathies go out to the Rodriguez-Porras family.
Millie Movie!
Sure, the pictures are cute, but there's nothing like video to capture the crazy movements of a dachshund puppy. While Maggie was off taking a nap with Jamie, I took the opportunity to shoot some video of Millie. Enjoy.
Maggie and Millie
Well, they've home now. Most of their time has been spent sleeping, with the occasional breaks for playtime or traipsing about outside. The boys are pretty curious, but are keeping themselves behaved. It's been a hoot watching Sam try to goad the pups into playing.
More pictures are up on Flickr, and even more will be later today once I get them properly retouched and uploaded.
Puppy Watch
Yesterday, I got the worst stomach ache of my life. There were points last night where I was literally doubled over on the floor trying to keep from clamping my jaw so hard that I broke my teeth.
Before that, though, Jamie and I made our way out to Burnet to visit the puppies. I say puppies, because we now have to make a choice between two little girl dachshunds. One is red, and the other is more "blonde".
Both are very cute.
This is "Red":
And this is "Blondie". She's the smaller of the two.
Who Needs Pictures
With Meg's passing, one of the things Jamie and I have been lamenting is that we did not take any video footage of her during her life. Fortunately, my dad did. It is a quick snippet of film, but it is better than nothing.
It has been a hard lesson to learn, and, from here on out, I plan never to have to again. We have been filming the dogs of late. When we get our puppy in April, you can bet we'll be rolling through the tapes at a furious pace.
And...as an introduction of sorts...I've posted a short clip online.
Smith Licking Water Off the Sidewalk (Quicktime)
NOTE: Please Right Click and Save As. It will help spare me the bandwidth.
Puppies...
We ventured out to the hill country town of Burnet, Texas this morning to visit a litter of dachshund puppies. They are from Meg's mother and father, so in a weird sort of way they are actually her siblings.
They are only about a week old, and they are tiny. They haven't even opened their eyes yet. Regardless, they were adorable.
We have decided that we are going to get the little girl in the middle. More pictures are sure to follow in coming weeks. In the meantime, here are some pictures of the mom and dad. The mom looks a lot like Meg, and the father, well, we know where our Meggers got her voice from.
The mom:
The dad:
And...for kicks...here's a random donkey:
Meg Update
We are slowly coming to terms with Meg's death. Jamie's mom was in town all last week, which I think helped enormously. Jamie still has her rough spots, but the healing process has begun. The return of cable TV to our house will, I think, prove a great help.
In other news, our vet called yesterday. Meg's ashes are in.
Also, the time came this week to take action. On Monday we faxed a letter to the owner of the daycare institution where Meg was killed. In the letter, we requested damages for her death. The company has called to inform us that they received the request, and that the owner (who was travelling, and gets back into town today), will be in contact shortly.
Hopefully, once the unforunate matter of damages is settled and behind us, we will be able to truly begin moving on.
Regarding another dog, we had planned to wait until returning from a trip we are taking in July before finding a puppy, but those plans seem to have changed. The breeder from whom we got Meg recently bred Meg's mother and father again. The puppies were born last week, and should be ready to leave their litter and be taken home in six to eight weeks. Were they any other puppies, we would be waiting, but I don't think either one of us can turn down the chance to have one of Meg's sisters in our life, if we can't have her.
Well, This Happened...
To help take Jamie's mind off of things, her parents are graciously paying for us to once more have cable television.
The cable guy came out to the house yesterday. While he was busy installing, reinstalling, swearing, and whatnot, I put Sam and Smith in the bedroom. I figured they were safe enough in there.
Apparently I was wrong.
Smith, it seems, is just as voracious a reader as Jamie and I are.
And...for giggles...here's a goofy picture of Smith.
"And...She Died"
Three words. Three little words.
I will never forget them as long as I live.
The call informing me that Meg had been killed came while my boss and I were walking back from Whole Foods. I thought it was another real estate agent wanting to look at the house. I almost didn't answer.
I don't remember much else that was said. There was a situation with one of the dogs. Meg had been attacked...
"and...she died".
Until that moment, I thought one of the dogs was sick. When I heard Meg had been attacked, I thought she was beat up, bloodied maybe, but not dead. Never dead. The thought didn't so much as enter into my mind. Three words...
In moments of stray thoughts, those three words whisper in my mind. They bring back something of the sensation I had when I first heard them. The tightening of the chest, the numbing of the legs. For an instant, the world loses its color. Everything looks faded.
My Meg
To: Meg
From: Mom (Jamie)
Meg was Matt and I's dog...but she was really mine. She was my baby. The first night I had Meg I washed her in our guest bathroom sink. So much dirt came off the water turned brown, and little black specks, fleas, spotted the water. I loved her so very much the minute she and I got back in the car to drive from Burnet back to Austin. The next day I brought her to the vet and she weighed a whopping 1 pound, 15 ounces. The vet said she was the littlest dog she'd ever examined. Matt and I bought her a little kennel, a pink collar, a pink leash, a pink dog bed, a pink baby blanket. She was my princess. Oh, how much I love her.
But she was not your typical sit in her bed looking cute kind of dog; she was fiesty. She held her own with Sam from the very beginning. Sam would lie down and let Meg just attack his head. She would growl and bite as if she was the biggest, fiercest dog in town. She loved to hunt in the backyard. We have received lots of "presents" over Meg's little life, a couple of snakes, a frog, a bird, a few lizards. And when Smith arrived , she quickly showed him she was in control. Yes, our little Meg would hump Smith's hip to exert her dominance. This little 10 pound dog humping a big ol' 70 pound yellow lab. It was hilarious!
And she was smart. Most dogs when they want water will go to their water dish. But not Meg. She would jump on the kitchen cabinet in front of the sink and whine to let us know she needed, must have water NOW! She was very persistent.
When I got home in the afternoon Meg would greet me with her frantic butt wiggling, shrieking, but then she would put her front legs on your leg and scratch, scratch, scratch until you picked her up. Oh, it was so annoying....and I miss it so much. When Meg was tired she would "rub" her eyes with her paws just like a little kid rubbing their eyes when they're tired.
I'm going to miss how she would scratch at the bedroom door until I woke up, how she would wine if she couldn't get into the room I was in, how she would get under my shirt and curl up and fall asleep, how she would lay in betwen my legs in bed and fall asleep, how she was always, always there to cuddle with me.
Meg helped me through some tough times. She gave me something to take care of, to devote myself to, to love.
So to Meg, Megamoo, Megaroni, Meggers, Pretty Girl, My Baby, My Pretty Princess, you were my first child, and I will always always love you . There is now a part of my heart missing. But I hold fast that Matt and I loved you as much as two people can love, and that you loved us SO MUCH right back.
I keep saying I want you back, that I'll given anything to have you back....and I would, but that's not how life works. Life SUCKS! But I will get through this.
Meg, please come visit us often, and Matt and I will see you again.
Meg, you are so smart, and so pretty I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!
-- Jamie
Godspeed, Sweet Meg
I remember when we first got Meg. Jamie had to drive out to Burnet to get her, she was living on a farm at the time. She was so small you could hold her in your hand. She had to be bundled up and cuddled continually those first few weeks - she was too small to hold her body heat. I remember Jamie putting Meg in her purse, taking her to the mall...
Meg died today.
She, along with Sam and Smith, were at doggy daycare. They've been going there since we put our house on the market. They've loved it. Today, though, when all the dogs were going outside to for playtime, one of the larger dogs attacked Meg. He grabbed her neck and, we think, shook her, breaking her neck.
I don't even know where to begin. The grief is still so raw. I'm still in shock, even though I saw her when I got to the daycare place and again at the vet. I still can't believe our little Meg is gone.
She and I did not always get on. Her loyalties were to Jamie, not me, but I loved her just the same. Even when she'd refuse to go bathroom outside, only to leave a treat in the dining room, I still loved her. I loved the way she'd put her head against the ground and start barking when she wanted to play. The way that she'd whine when she wanted something (I'd always give in). The way she'd put her little legs up on the door's armrest and look out the window as we came home from daycare every day. The way she'd pee all over the floor for every new person. The way she'd lick you - quick and absolutely without warning - with that long little tongue of hers. The way she'd bundle herself up under blankets. The way she'd bark from the couch when Sam and Smith would go to the front door to investigate somebody walking by outside.
She was such a sweet dog. She loved us unconditionally, and we loved her right back. She had everything a doggie could ever hope for - she was absolutely spoiled rotten. It is hard to believe that she was only a year and a half old. It feels like she was with us far longer than that.
I guess, somehow, it was just her time. Maybe she knew. She lived every day to the fullest. She was never shy, and never held back. Even if all the dogs around her were five times her size (or more), she was always right in the middle of the action. She always pulled harder and more incessantly at her leash than the boys.
I don't know what else to say, but that, Meg, we love you, and we miss you. You will live on in our hearts forever and, one day, we'll see you again, and you'll be there to greet us with that wriggling little body, that shrieking bark, and a puddle of pee.
This Is Smith
He is utterly lacking in grace and coordination. He falls off of furniture. He slips on the floor when he gets moving too fast. He smacks into walls on a regular basis. He spills half the water he drinks onto the floor, and the rest he leaves on your pants.
Basically, he's a big, bumbling doofus.
And yet, he somehow managed a feat of unparalleled precision last night. He managed to defecate in one of Jamie's boots. Not around, mind you. Not on. In. Directly into the boot.
As disgusting as it was, I couldn't help but commend Smith for his accomplishment. Who'd have thought he was such an accurate bombadier?
Bad Dog!
Yesterday morning, while I was showering, Smith got out of his kennel. It has two doors - and the one that we seldom use was apparently left open. I only realized this when he sauntered into the bathroom and licked the shower door.
Thinking nothing of it, I got dressed and went out to the living room. There, I found that the laptop (which was sitting on an ottoman) was unplugged. I guessed Smith must have walked past and pulled the power jack out. So I plug it back in and...nothing. The little light on the front doesn't come on. That's when I looked down at the cable and see...teeth marks.
Friggin' dog.
4 New Photos in the Dogs Album
CLICK HERE to check it out.
Sam for Homeland Security Secretary
As you are all surely aware, Tom Ridge is set to resign from his post as Homeland Security Secretary. During the next several days, President Bush will likely weigh his options before appointing some ill-qualified lackey to the post.
In the meantime, however, I wish to put forward my own candidate.
Sam.
That’s right. Sam for Homeland Security Secretary.
The way I see it, Sam is adept at defending our home, so why not our homeland?
Sam is an unyielding sentinel. Every day he courageously defends us from the terrors of neighbors checking the mail or walking their dogs, strong gusts of wind, children at play, giant, inflatable balls, frogs, and the occasional bird. In the rare event that a threat slips past his net of vigilance, he is quick to act, grabbing even the smallest flying insects from the air, or at least giving his all in the attempt.
Sam confronting one of the daily threats to his treasured backyard.
Meg and Smith provide support, but Sam is the one who gets the job done. He is the one who tirelessly watches the front door, and stalks up and down the fence, warning innocuous looking three year olds to stay the hell away.
What has Tom Ridge done, I ask, besides coming up with that silly color code and scaring people into buying duct tape (I smell pork there)? Sam could do that, and much more. He would tirelessly patrol the nation’s borders and coastal waters, on the lookout for any and all threats. He would teach children the importance of being ever-vigilant, of licking themselves, and of turning around three times before lying down.
War
Last night, my wife was perusing iTunes and came across the song "Lowrider".
As it played, Meg began running around, barking, and just in general freaking out.
See, it's funny because Meg is a dachsund....
No Words...
Welcome to my life. And why I hate the rain.
Sign Me Up!
It is well founded that I find cows infinitely amusing. I may have a disinclination toward the feline members of the animal kingdom, but certainly not the amiable bovines.
Of course, living in a city, even with the yard that a spot in the suburbs affords, owning a cow is not really practical. And as relaxing as the occasional moo would be, I for one wouldn't like to live with a) no grass and b) cow patties everywhere.
Well, allow me to extend a hand of thanks to Raul Hernandez, Cuban rancher:
"Rancher Raul Hernandez's cows look just like other breeds - only they are no larger than big dogs. They're a perfect source of milk for Cuban families, he says.
Standing about 23 to 28 inches tall, the minicows can be kept in a small area and they feed on simple grasses, Hernandez says. "
It's touching that Cuban families can drink milk and all (I guess the advertising is working), but Raul doesn't know what he has here! Minicows! That look just like real ones, but they're the size of a dog! And, like all cows, I'm going to assume these are domesticated. Which means...PET MINICOWS!
Yes, now you can have your own pet minicow, keeping your yard nice and trim (no more lawnmower - you've got a natural one!), mooing gently from time to time, proving a good friend for your herding dog, and even providing delicious milk for your family.
Animals I Like More Than Cats
Dogs, squirrels, falcons, lemurs, sloths (of all kinds), wolves, giraffes, aurochs, hippos, wildebeasts, deer, marmots, ferrets, racoons, bears, salmon, geckos, bats, frogs, chinchillas, coyotes, dingos, bison, hyenas, cows, horses, mules and assorted asses, most whales, seals, sea lions, sea otters, minks, howler monkeys, the overlooked aardwolf, wolverines, tazmanian devils, kangaroos, wallabees, antelope, hedgehogs.
No. I Do Not Have a Cat
3:30 PM - the wife and I went to go for a drive. We stopped at Racetrack to acquire some beverages, and as I checked out, the clerk asked me if I had a tab.
"Excuse me?" I asked. I did not know that gas stations had tabs.
"Do you have a cat?" she said, enunciating this time.
I froze. A cat? Pardon me, but why would I have a cat?
"No!" I answer, as if someone had just asked me if I'd like to compete against Michael Moore in a pie-eating contest. "Why?"
"Oh, then why you do have hair all over you?"
I look down. I'm covered in dog hair. "I have three dogs." I explain.
*******
5:15 PM - the wife and I are near a Baja Fresh. I've heard good things, but never been, so we decide to give it a shot. We walk in and order, and as the clerk waits for the credit card to authorize, he looks up and asks,
"Do you have a cat?"
Okay...once I can understand. But twice? Two counters, two clerks, two queries about my feline ownership status. How does the fur on my shirt automatically signal "cat"? Do other animals not shed? Why cat? It could have been a sea otter, for all they know. Or a marmot. After all, who doesn't love marmots?
But back to cats. Why cats? Do they own cats? Is that why they assume everyone else is like them? If so, that's awfully rude and culturally insensitive. Or do they think I look like someone who would own a cat? And if so, why? I need to know, so I can change whatever that thing is about myself immediately.
Its not that I have anything against cats. I don't have anything against aadvarks, either, but I sure wouldn't want one for a pet.
"Dogs" Album Updated
Click HERE to see four new pictures - two of Meg, two of Smith.
Sam is old hat now, so he gets neglected.
Ah, the Miracles of Science
Just read...words cannot describe this.
As part of an ambitious effort to identify genes that cause disease in dogs and humans, scientists at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle analyzed DNA collected from 414 dogs representing 85 breeds, including some of the most popular.Among other findings, the analysis determined that the Chihuahua is actually a type of large rodent, selectively bred for centuries to resemble a canine.
The study found that several diminutive breeds had been independently created around the world from a variety of other animals, including the Lhasa apso (Tibetan snow rabbit), Pekingese (Chinese water rat), Shih Tzu (stoat), and Yorkshire Terrier (pigeon).
Sort of gives the term "rat-dog" a whole new significance, doesn't it?
But wait, it gets better!
The potential ramifications of these findings are significant as condominiums and rentals around the nation which prohibit exotic animals anxiously await news as to whether scientists will be officially reclassifying these breeds as other animals."Oh, heavens, if they make it official that Chihuahuas aren't dogs, it would make my day," said Miami condominium owner Frances LaCroix. "I would finally have grounds to make Elsie Tabernathy get rid of her wretched little yapping pack of – rodents, did you say they were? Oh, that would be marvelous."
DNA Study Finds Chihuahuas Aren't Dogs
The Big Snip
Smith goes in for the big surgery today. By 4 PM, he will be a eunuch.
Wish him well.
Just Now
Me. Sitting in my chair, messing about on my laptop.
Meg. Across the living room, perched regally upon her ottoman (the furniture, not the empire).
I notice Meg staring at me, and say "Meg!". Her tail wags.
I say "Come here, Meg!". Her tail wags.
I pat my leg. She stands up and drops her head to the ground. That's her "I want to play" move. Her butt starts wiggling, tail starts flying.
I pat my leg again. "Come here, Meg!"
In her enthusiasm, Meg backpedals...right off the ottoman. Her fall is somewhat lacking in regal bearing.
Laugther from the human.
Dirty, "I can't believe somebody witnessed that" glare from the dainty little dachsund, who promptly runs outside to pick a fight with an innocent yellow lab. Sounds of play (weird, high pitched growls and yips) waft in from backyard.
Sam saunters in, stares at me, as if to ask "what did you do?"
I shrug.
Sam does something goofy with his ears, which I guess is kind of a shrug, and then wanders back outside.
Ah, life with three dogs.
More Pictures
Some more pictures of the pups that I took this morning. They have also been uploaded to the Dogs Photo Album.
Sam takes a breather
Smith, now nearly three months old
Chinese Water Torture
So Smith is a puppy. He is not fully potty trained. Fine. I expect that.
Yet there is something cruel about this new habit. He's taken to leaving me presents in his cage, which he announces by barking loudly at about 5:45. Now, not only is staring down this kind of thing a very unpleasant first activity of the day, but I think my alarm clock is set early enough. I'd at least like to sleep until it, okay? Maybe hit the snooze button?
I wouldn't get so worked up over it if it happened every one in awhile, but this is the third time this week. It's Thursday. I'm starting to feel traumatized over my pre-dawn crap extraction duties. Smith barks, I'm up in a heartbeat, hissing out expletive after expletive while my sweet wife sleeps on. She would say "he's just a puppy".
Sad. I've even woken up a minute or two before Smith's barking begins, waiting, gnawing at my fingers for it to at least begin, so I could get it over with. So I could fumble about in the dark trying to find some sandals or something I could put on to make the run out to our trash can more bearable.
I have even tried talking to him. Begging him to at least wait until 6:00 to start the fun. Or 6:15. That'd let me get up, maybe even begin sipping on a Diet Coke.
Lesson from the Greenbelt
Took Smith to the Lakewood Greenbelt today for his first romp in the water, and I took away the following:
Yellow lab puppies may not get the chicks, but they sure do attract gay men. Or maybe that's me...
More Smith
Five new pictures have been added to the Dogs Photo Album.
