Friday Five: Dream a Little Dream

The Typist here, playing this week's Friday Five (although I'm sure the other owner of this blog dreams frequently of chasing squirrels and bunnies).

"In the Last Days," God says,"I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people: Your sons will prophesy,also your daughters; Your young men will see visions, your old men dream dreams. When the time comes, I'll pour out my Spirit On those who serve me, men and women both, and they'll prophesy."(Acts 2:17-18, The Message)

On this final Friday of 2006, it seems appropriate to speak of dreams. A very important dream about a lighthouse played a role in my journey towards ordained ministry, and mine last night were vivid and included a flying church. Please feel as untethered yourself in responding to this Friday Five. Tell us all about:

1) a dream you remember from childhood: See answer to #3.

2) a recurring or significant dream: One of my mother's hobbies was stained glass. More than a decade after her death, I had my one and only dream of her thus far. In it, she was showing me a large multi-paneled stained glass window, and one of the upper corner panels was clear glass. She didn't say anything, but gestured at that one, and I got the distinct impression it was for me to finish. (Hoping it was a metaphor, as I have no plans to take up that hobby... but soon after, I felt called to a much more active role in the life of the church, and I know she sorely missed being active in church during her illness.)

3) a nightmare: As a small child, I had such a vivid dream that the amusement park in our hometown had burned, that I convinced my big sister to drive me there that morning to check on it, even though it was closed that day.

4) a favorite daydream: That I can one day become a full-time philanthropist.

5) a dream for the New Year: That I will become more open to that particular life change I find especially terrifying. Tried getting there this year, and it didn't happen.

First New Blogger Post!

Here we are on the New Blogger. Don't want to jinx it, but hey, that didn't seem like it was too difficult.

We had a great Christmas, yes we did. The Boy and I got a new Squirrely to share (we've already broken one of the squeakers, but now it sounds like crunching bones, so that's good, too), and we each got one of these fake bones that the thumb-havers want us to chew on instead of real bones. Something about not cracking another molar. I've eschewed mine thus far. But I think it's buried in the chow bin right now, so maybe when it comes out of there it'll smell better.

The Typist is making noise about more travel. I hope she hides her suitcase from The Boy, because he's pretty neurotic when it comes to that sort of thing. Not wanting to Get Left and all.

She says she's going to get to see some of our blog friends, though: Reverend Mommy, Rev Abi, and John the Methodist, to name just a few. Wish I could go, but she tells me that Molly and Amie and their thumb-havers won't be there, anyway, so I wouldn't have much fun. Better to just stay here and hang out with The Alpha so he doesn't get lonely.

2006: Year of the Best Lazy Christmas Tree Ever

The red box of ornaments sat on the fireplace hearth for, oh, 3 weeks at least.

One ornament (purchased in honor of The Boy's arrival to the pack last year) came out of the box and made its way onto the tree, but only because it defies description and had to be shown to a certain visiting niece late on the night of December 5.

Yes, that's a wide-eyed goose.

Running.

With a tomato strapped to its back.

No, we don't know why. But it does capture the spirit of The Boy quite well.

A nice little cross received as a gift landed there, too, but besides that and the pre-lit niftiness, the tree remained bare.

Until The Typist decided that the stack of Christmas cards on the kitchen counter had to go somewhere else, and she and The Alpha nestled them in the branches of the tree. It's as crafty as she gets these days -- no, wait, she started knitting lessons the other night -- and we're all quite pleased with it:

There's even a card from a Blog Friend on there:

Oh, and The Typist and I joined RevGalBlogPals today. It's about time. We've played plenty of Friday Fives and all.

Merry Christmas!

The Alphabet Meme

Mindy gave The Typist my letter, F, over the weekend, and we are just now getting to it. The delay is not my fault; I have plenty of time on my paws. Somebody's been flitting around to activities not involving dogs, though.

So, finally... 10 things I love that begin with F:

1) Food. My food, The Boy's food, thumb-haver food...although I don't get much of that.

2) Friends! Friends who come over. I like to hear "coming over." Because that usually leads to friends.

3) Family. Our pack is really really the best pack to have.

4) Fall. The tan in my coat looks really, really pretty when the leaves start to turn. Plus, fall air smells especially good.

5) Fetch. Actually, I don't so much fetch as I do capture, then taunt the thumb-haver that wants me to bring it back. But Fetch starts with F.

6) Football. It's a nubby football that screams when I bite it. The Alpha doesn't let me have it very often because it screams when I bite it.

7) "Free puppy": a phrase we all know has no truth to it, but somehow it got me to where I am anyway.

8) Fast chases around the living room with The Boy.

9) F is the letter that starts off my last name. So I like F.

10) Flowery bandanna that I got for Easter one year.

The Typist says no more posts until we switch to the new Blogger, so who knows when that'll be.

Friday Five on a Saturday: Yuletide Favorites

From the RevGals:
For this mid-December Friday Five, let's explore some Yuletide favorites.

1) It's a Wonderful Life--Is it? Do you remember seeing it for the first time?
Eh, honestly? I'm bored by nearly everything filmed in black and white. (But no, I do not want Ted Turner to colorize it; I'll just have a nap in front of it instead, thankyouverymuch.) I love b&w photography, though; go figure.

2) Miracle on 34th Street--old version or new?
How 'bout neither?

3) Do you have a favorite incarnation of Mr. Scrooge?
Either Bill Murray or Statler the Muppet.

4) Why should it be a problem for an elf to be a dentist? I've been watching Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for years now, and I still don't get it.
Elfin food groups are not conducive to good dental care; most of them would rather live in blissful denial, feasting on candy canes, cotton candy, candy corn, and syrup.

5) Who's the scariest character in Christmas specials/movies?
The Bumble
The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, Muppet Version
That Mean Magician Who Tries to Melt Frosty
Your Nomination
This is a tough one. I kinda like Will Smama's Osmond insinuation, but of the four above, I'd have to say the Muppet Ghost.

Wow, The Typist isn't a heretic, either!

Turns out she and all her blog-friends so far aren't as bad as they were afraid they might be.

You scored as Chalcedon compliant. You are Chalcedon compliant. Congratulations, you're not a heretic. You believe that Jesus is truly God and truly man and like us in every respect, apart from sin. Officially approved in 451. Chalcedon compliant 83% Pelagianism 67% Modalism 50% Monophysitism 50% Apollanarian 42% Arianism 33% Gnosticism 33% Nestorianism 25% Adoptionist 25% Monarchianism 17% Albigensianism 17% Docetism 8% Socinianism 0% Donatism 0% Are you a heretic? created with QuizFarm.com

Fa-la-la-la-la, La Friday Five

From RevGalBlogPals... seems I can't give just one answer to each of these this time around:

1. A favorite 'secular' Christmas song.
The Christmas Song ("Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..."). I liked it even more when I learned that it was written during a summer heat wave in an effort to think about winter, with the hope of cooling off through the power of suggestion.
Another favorite: Christmastime is Here, from the Charlie Brown special. I got to sing it at two parties last year -- one as official entertainment, the other an impromptu with a jazz pianist friend!

2. Christmas song that chokes you up (maybe even in spite of yourself--the cheesier the better)
What Sweeter Music by John Rutter. Except I'm not allowed to get choked up if I'm in the choir that's singing it.
Also, the last verse of Once In Royal David's City, but a different last verse than the one brought up by Quotidian Grace:
Not in that poor, lowly stable with the oxen standing by
We shall see him, but in heaven, set at God's right hand on high.
Where, like stars, his children crowned
All in white shall wait around.

3. Christmas song that makes you want to stuff your ears with chestnuts roasted on an open fire.
Santa Baby (with apologies to Songbird for dissing her answer to #1, but really... it's just creepy, folks...).
Also, Jolly Old St. Nicholas, for its blatant bring me stuff message.

4. The Twelve Days of Christmas: is there *any* redeeming value to that song? Discuss.
Yes, I think there is. While not on my personal top 10 list, it's easier to sing if it can be acted out with gusto (especially the Lords a'Leaping part).

5. A favorite Christmas album
I spend so much time rehearsing music for Christmas that I seldom buy a Christmas album just for listening to. But Barenaked Holidays (from the Barenaked Ladies, of course) is a pretty good one in our collection, as is Trans-Siberian Orchestra's big popular release from a few years back.

Snowy and blurry

We get excited when it snows, The Boy and I do. It all comes from snow only happening every once in a long while.

Today the thumb-havers made us stay inside when they went to work, but when they got back, it had started snowing and we got to go out and play!

We went round and round the yard. You can see here that I really streamlined myself, to make a well-furred machine totally determined to Get The Boy. Which I did, a few seconds later.

We both got a little blurry with all the nifty cold air and cold white stuff and action! I couldn't even chew on a stick slow enough for the camera to get the whole stick.

The Boy couldn't even stop being blurry for The Alpha to pet him.

See? Or, can you?

We sure had fun! (Molly, I remember what you mean about the snow now, even though we don't get as much as you do!)

Abandoned. (okay, not really.)

Yeah, we had different thumb-havers this weekend. The Typist and The Alpha took luggage into the garage -- and we all know The Boy knows what a suitcase means, and he tried to go with them, but wasn't allowed. Pretty soon, though, a back-up set of thumb-havers arrived and stayed with us a couple of nights, but they slept in that other room that we only hang out in when we're defending the perimeter from people who think they have a right to use our sidewalk or something. Anyhow, here's a picture Aunt Lidna took:

The Boy is either shy or itchy in this picture. My bet is on itchy, because he really needed a bath.

He got one, too, as soon as The Alpha and The Typist got home. For some reason, I was able to avoid the same torture by lying casually in the middle of the bedroom floor. Apparently, if I don't make a big deal about it by hiding, they forget to give me a bath. Then again, maybe I didn't need one; it's only been a day since his bath and The Boy is already getting his stink back. He has a natural talent for that. (Why can't he have some other natural talent?, The Typist wants to know.) My natural talent is shedding... I'm a German Shedder, after all.

The Boy swears that the next time the suitcase comes out, he will not get left. (Apparently he has some sort of plan, though I can't imagine it would be very involved, with his thought process. My guess is it's something along the lines of see suitcase, run for back door.) Like it's any sort of struggle being here without them -- heck, we get pampered either way -- but he has definite preferences for our regular thumb-havers. He won't even go outside to pee for Grandma.

RevGals' Friday Five: Giving Thanks

From RevGalBlogPals: It's that time of year. In the U.S., college students will be on their way home, traffic on the highways will be at its highest point, cooking and baking will ensue. But before the gorging and napping begins, let's take a moment to give thanks. Please tell us five things or people for which you are thankful this year.

The Typist and I are both going to play! Here goes:

DogBlogger: I'm thankful for The Typist and The Alpha. They took me in when I was a wee pup with missing fur, and they helped me grow my fur back and everything. Also, they're still very nice to have around. I have a feeling I wouldn't be allowed in this house if it weren't for them.
The Typist: I'm thankful for my PoppyGirl! She's truly been a blessing, and as my own very first dog, she taught me how amazing, smart, loving, and all-around wonderful pups can be.

DB: Aw, shucks...
TT: Don't mention it, SweetieGirl. Poppy kisses?
DB: Poppy kisses!!!

DB: I'm also thankful for The Boy. I wasn't too sure about him when he arrived on the scene, but he's proven to be entertaining, willing to share, and I still get the same amount of food as before he was around, which is comforting.
TT: I'm very thankful for The Alpha. He's also entertaining and willing to share. I'm especially thankful he shares my whole life with me.

DB: Hmm, number 3... I'm thankful for a sunny yard. I love lying out in the sun with my coat shining and getting all warm and toasty.
TT: I'm thankful for friends and family (two- and four-footed), especially friends who have become our in-town family and church family, like Mid-Life Rookie and her family.

DB: I'm thankful for walks and rides! Even when the rides get too long sometimes, because it usually means good stuff at the other end.
TT: I'm thankful that life, though it has its frustrations, is really pretty darn easy and good for us.

DB: And last on this short list, I'm thankful for everyone who comes through the front door to see me! I'm always so glad to have guests!
TT: I'm thankful for music and the great people and things it has brought into my life.

"S" is for Strangekitty

On our double-u-ay-ell-kay this evening, The Boy and I saw a really fluffy kitty! We wanted to go chase it, but The Alpha held us back. We pulled and pulled, and I noticed that the black fluffy kitty didn't quite look like the other neighborhood kitties -- it had a really fluffy tail, and some white stripey fur all the way down its back and tail, too.

So, the fluffy kitty ran away from us and behind some trees. The Alpha seemed pretty pleased that the kitty ran away, but I'm still thinking about what fun it would've been to run up and sniff that kitty. (You never really get a good sense of something until you've given it a good sniff.)

RevGals' Friday Five: What's Red and Blue and Purple All Over?

I can't see very many colors, but The Typist can, so she decided she wanted to play the Friday Five this week. So, here it is.

Those of us who are in the United States have just been through quite a topsy-turvy election. During the campaign we heard a fair amount about red states and blue states, when in fact most of us live in some shade of purple. And so... a lighter look at those confounding colors:

1. Favorite red food:
Strawberries.

2. Tell us about the bluest body of water you've ever seen in person.
When we took our Kenai Fjords National Park glacier cruise from Seward, Alaska, we saw some blue, blue spots near the mouths of Resurrection Bay and Aialik Bay, and at the toe of Northwestern Glacier, that were amazing beyond anything words or camera could capture. (We were too agog to be even a little worried about the icebergs bumping against the hull of our boat.)

3. It's movie rental time: Blue Planet, The Color Purple, or Crimson Tide?
Don't think I've ever seen Blue Planet, but I do remember liking Crimson Tide pretty well, even though it's been at least a decade since I've seen it.

4. What has you seeing red these days?
Lots of stuff! Injustice and stupidity are right there at the top, though.

5. What or who picks you up when you're feeling blue?
The Whats: The right CD for the mood I'm in; sweet and/or fatty foods; and the shirking of responsibility, even if it's just a tiny bit.
The Whos: The Alpha, The Best Dog Ever, and her goofy sidekick, The Boy, of course! Also, assorted BlogPals (RevGal and otherwise).

"Wild and Unruly"

So The Alpha and The Typist were watching their favorite girl band on VH1 Storytellers the other night. We were all on the couch together, and we overheard The Typist comment that she likes the lyric "I want to grow something wild and unruly."

That's when The Boy grumbled to me, "Every time I try to grow something wild and unruly, she tells me, 'Boy, put that thing away!'"

I think I know what he was talking about, but I just pretended I didn't hear him.

Why doesn't he get it? WHY?

Okay, I realize he wasn't around here when he was a tiny pup, so he didn't get all the benefit of growing up with The Alpha and The Typist like I did. But, you'd think, after all this time, that The Boy would've figured out the "down" command. He hasn't.

They attempt to teach him the same way they taught me... with voice, hand signals, physical guidance on positioning, praise, ear rubs, toys, even treats on occasion. But first off, he seems to like sitting way better. And second, he apparently thinks "down" is the same as "are you a bellydawg?" because he rolls over on his back half the time.

I can hear The Alpha still working with him in the living room. There are more "Good boy"s than there were a few minutes ago. So, maybe there's finally some hope. He's smart, The Boy is; he just doesn't seem to apply himself very well.

Any ideas, Internet?

Oh, my...

Check out what I got when I tried this trick I saw over at Zorra's blog:

dogblogger -- [adjective]: Extremely flatulent 'How" will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

The Typist says it's actually more true of just about everyone in the house but me. I'm kinda glad that word isn't in my vocabulary, because I'm not sure if I want to know.

Snoozy day

Today has been a day of not doing much so far.

This picture is actually from an evening a while back, but you get the idea.

I'm so darn cute when I'm all curled up for a nap!

Nothing like a good wrassle!

Last night The Typist held onto The Boy's collar and made him sit and stay in the kitchen while I got to do something very special: wrasslin' with The Alpha!

We hadn't wrassled like that in ages. Probably not since The Boy came to live here. There was crouching, there was play posturing (The Alpha looks kinda funny with his butt up in the air like that, what with no tail on it), there was faking back and getting caught for a doggy noogie. It was great! Eventually The Typist had to let The Boy loose again, and he totally tried to horn in on my wrassle, but that's okay because we were pretting much finished anyway.

It's nice to know The Alpha still likes playing with his Poppy Girl.

Bath? No bath.

But The Boy certainly got a shampoo and rinse today, even though I didn't. I kept expecting to have to take my turn, but I didn't have to. I guess my nose really does know -- I always thought he got stinkier quicker than me. I'm not sure if it's because of his breed or because he's a boy, though. Boys of any species seem to get stinky quick.

Anyway, he's cleaner and softer now (but his coat is still not as soft as mine). And he smells all clean (which I'm sure won't last if we spend any time in the backyard this evening).

And I think maybe it's time to chase him around the room again (The Typist says there's a country song about that, but I have no idea what she's talking about).

Shockingly normal.

Life has been ever-so-typical this week. That's why I have nothing to blog about lately. It did rain a bit the other day and we had to stay inside while the thumb-havers were at work, but that just meant a nice cushy couch for napping, and that The Alpha came home at lunch to give us an outside break.

Oh, yesterday The Boy got in trouble for chewing a branch off a shrubbery that The Alpha planted. I guess, technically, we both got in trouble -- the chewed-off branch was shaken in both our directions, with "no" happening behind it -- but I know who actually did it.

I'm an enigma... what's an enigma?

Yeah, so The Alpha did some mmm-hmm-ing into the telephone after it rang this morning, then he left and came back with... more prescriptions for me! I'm one pill-popping poppy. Or one druggy doggy. Or a prodigiously prescribed pooch. It's a good thing I don't mind when a finger full of peanut butter has something hidden in it.

Rumor has it I may even start eating prescription chow. My liver's giving them fits. They are mystified because I act fine, yet they don't like what the vet says after I get needles stuck in me. They've also mentioned it'd be great if I'd get a job so I could pull a little more of my own weight around here. (I'm thinking maybe a Cafe Press product line?)

Okay, off to chase The Boy some more. It's a lovely day, but even sunbeams can grow tiresome after a few hours.

Trapped at the vet...

Okay, I'm home now. But this morning I wasn't. I had to go get more needles stuck in me. At least they fed me between stickings, because I wasn't allowed to have breakfast when The Boy was. Instead, The Alpha got me all excited by telling me I was gonna get to go for a RIDE, then he didn't take me when he left. After what seemed like forever, The Typist put The Boy outside all alone (poor The Boy -- but he did get an extra-big treat for his trouble), and we girls went out to the car. For a ride with needles at the other end. Oh, well, I like rides anyway, and I got one after the needles, too, which is how I'm back home!

Upon my return, The Boy sniffed me carefully. All over. Several times. He knows what the vet smells like.

He was right!

The Boy was totally right about getting left! We never even saw the suitcase... I think The Typist snuck it out to the car while The Alpha took me and The Boy for a w-a-l-k. Because today when they came back, they rolled it on in from the garage like nothing unusual had happened.

We did enjoy the company of Aunt Jessica and Winston, which meant not just two, but three dogs with Aunt Jess on the people bed! (Even if Winston is a little tiny thing, he still counts. Especially because even at one-quarter The Boy's size, he can freak out said Boy quite a bit.)

He knows.

The Boy (new file photo at right) is suspicious.

When The Alpha left after supper, The Boy tried to go with him. Snaked past him out the back door and into the garage. It was only after a few seconds with the door shut on him in the darkness that he would come back in, away from the car.

"Aw, you know there's a trip coming, don't you?"

Why yes, he does.

Odd. We haven't seen a suitcase, or any Getting Ready of Things, but there's been talk. Not that he can understand fully, by any means, but The Boy knows.

I know that if we get left, it'll be with somebody nifty like Aunt Jessica or Aunt KitCat, so I'm not too concerned. The Boy, however, still has Issues. Poor The Boy.

I thought that was what they wanted.

Darned if you do, darned if you don't, I say.

A couple of days ago, The Alpha was out in the back yard washing something other than me, and he left the bottle of soap outside. Naturally, The Boy decided to play with it. I noticed it smelled pretty interesting, kinda like how we smell after they make us take baths. So, I decided to lie down in the goo that came out of it, just to make them happy.

Well, it didn't make them happy. In fact, it confused them, and The Typist spent a lot of time brushing the spots on my shoulders that were sticky from the good-smelling goo. Also, it took them a while to figure out what the goo was -- but tonight The Alpha found the bottle in the yard and solved the mystery.

So, they want me to smell good... but only if I agree to go about it their way. I say we have a new mystery there.

A creek!

So we went for a RIDE just now (two rides, actually -- one there, and one back), and at the other end there were all these cool woodsy trails and a creek! The Boy and I waded in the creek while the thumb-havers tried not to get too wet themselves. (And they're still forgetting to bring the camera to capture our antics. Silly thumb-havers.)

The Boy seemed to like the water much better when he could go in on his own terms. Not like at the city pool. He even took a drink or two.

We got nice and dusty/filthy after we got out of the water. Fun!

Mmmm, denim!

Jefferson, who lived with us when I was a puppy, came over this evening. It had been quite a while since we'd seen him, so I was very excited. I squeaked and fell down on his feet. A couple of times.

His blue jeans are really yummy to lick. I don't know why. He doesn't have any animals living with him or anything that would make his denim especially lickable. They're just that special, I suppose.

The toys are back in town!

Okay, well, back in my realm, otherwise known as the floor. They'd been confiscated when I came home all groggy a while back. But we had another (another!) trip to the vet this afternoon, and when I came home we got our toys back! I'm having fun keeping them away from The Boy already.

I heard something else about "two weeks," and judging from the warning I got from the heeler in Houston last time, I'm pretty much Eee Ex Pee Eee See Tee-ing to have to go back. (Yes, more spelling. They still don't know that I know, but I know! I do.)

St. Francis had a day

Yesterday was the Feast Day of St. Francis. He's my special unseen buddy who loves animals.

When I was a tiny puppy, Aunt Lidna gave me a medal with his picture on it to wear with my other tags. I wore out the hole where it fit on my collar, so the thumb-havers had to glue it to the back of another tag to keep it on me! This morning The Typist made me sit so she could look at it, and it's gone. It must've fallen off in the yard somewhere. That's okay, though. St. Francis and I are tight, so it doesn't matter where the medal is.

The Typist sometimes mentions getting me and The Boy blessed, but when we go to church we mainly just get petted. That's okay, too. The Typist says we're pretty well blessed all the time, anyway.

I'm being watched.

It's been a while since I got the hole where my toof used to be, but for some reason I'm still not allowed to go outside alone. The Typist is actually sitting out here in a lawn chair typing, and any time I try to pick up a stick, I get told no and drop it. I feel fine, really. I have no idea what they're so uptight about. That silly vet told them to boss me around like this.

Oh, hey, nobody's said anything about my seal! Why hasn't anyone admired my official seal? It's pretty nifty, if I do say so myself.

My official seal

As we all know how true it is, we thought we'd make it look more official.

Notice my Latin motto.
The Typist says it means, "The wolf in the story."
I'm so a wolf, and this blog is all a story about me, so that's perfect!

Adjusting

Well, I mostly feel better now, but I still have something weird going on in my mouth. The hole is pretty much closed up, but there's a blank spot where one of my toofs used to be. The Boy comes over and sniffs my lips from time to time. He knows it's different, but I think he will eventually lose interest.

Oh, and neither of us is allowed to chew on anything. The thumb-havers took away all our indoor toys. The Boy is allowed to play fetch outside, and I'm allowed to chase him, but the minute I try to pick up a stick or grab the Ropey Kong he's fetching, I get the old holler-off. The Alpha said something about 10 more days of that.

They're still soaking my food to make it all mushy, too, but I actually like that pretty well. And I'm taking extra pills, which means extra peanut butter! I like that!

uhh...

The commenters on the last post know what they're talking about Amie the Cattle Dog was right. Mid-life Rookie was right. I'm a groggy doggy today.

Mmmph. My mouth feels funny. There's a hole in there.

They made my food all mushy.

I'm walking realllly slow.

whoo... feel all floaty... why's The Boy moving so fast?... think I'm gonna go lie down again.

One of THOSE rides...

I should've guessed it when I got to go for a ride and The Boy didn't. He was whining at the back window as The Alpha and I left, thinking he was really missing out.

But he wasn't missing out on much. We arrived at the vet's compound, and I surmised it would be only moments until I had to defend The Alpha from those other thumb-havers who like messing with me. When it was time for that, though, The Alpha somehow talked his way out of going into the tiny room with me, and I was led to the back, alone. Without the weight of defense responsibilities, I more easily relinquished myself to the prodding and lifting up and holding down and looking. They spent extra time looking in my mouth, which they never even dream of doing when I'm using it to defend The Alpha. Good thing I'd left him behind for his own safety, or they would've really seen me in action. I'm not sure how they're planning to get to The Alpha by looking in my mouth, but they are nefarious, so I assume they are biding their time.

Before long, my captors led me back out to the Alpha, and we were joyfully reunited. The Alpha and the other thumb-havers said a bunch of words like cracked molar, calcified plaque, extraction, credit card, Friday morning drop-off, antibiotics, and other things they seemed to think were really important. I escaped unscathed, though, so I'm not really concerned.

Six Weird Things About Me

Found this little meme over at Rebel Without a Pew and thought I'd play with it.

Weird Thing #1: I was born with extra toenails. Yep, in the rear dewclaw area, I had two sticking out of each foot instead of just one. The thumb-havers made them disappear once while I was taking a nap at the vet. They didn't want me getting them caught on anything and getting hurt. (Over the weekend, I'll see if I can get The Typist to scan the picture they took before removal.)

Weird Thing #2: I'm missing a hip joint. Trust me, that's a good thing. Life is much better without it. So I walk with a wiggle -- my midsection does kinda go wub-wub-wub from side to side. I think that's why they sometimes call me Cubbins-Wubbins.

Weird Thing #3: Most dogs don't blog, do they?

Weird Thing #4: Even though I'm a girl, I mark things on walks. The Boy doesn't mark; he's afraid to ever since he got scolded for pooping out of turn, on an unfamiliar yard. The thumb-havers often have to remind me that I'm on a walk, not a stop-n-pee.

Weird Thing #5: If you let me, I'll sit and lick you. And lick you and lick you and lick and lick and lick you. And lick you some more.

Weird Thing #6: Okay, this isn't weird from my perspective, just from the thumb-havers'. I splash everywhere when I drink. Except for when I get to drink a wee bit of milk instead of water -- a rare treat. With milk, I never spill a drop. Why would I? How is that weird? Water's just so run-of-the-mill; now milk... milk is special!

Pool Poppies!

First off, the thumb-havers should've remembered their camera. They didn't, so you don't get to see for yourself.

This afternoon, The City gave The Boy a complex -- the municipal swimming complex, that is. It was the Pooch Pool Party! There were all kinds of dogs there!

I've been to Mr. Steve and Ms. Lynn's pool lots of times, so I know what to do. And I know what I like. The Boy has not been to any pools before, so he did not know what to do. But I think he knew he didn't like it.

The first pool we went to didn't have very good steps. I don't just haul off and jump in; I like a pool with steps. So, after The Alpha forced us both over the pool's edge a couple of times (The Boy wasn't sure about that at all), we saw that the next pool over had steps and I could go in at my own speed that way. So, I grabbed a tennis ball and swam some laps all around that pool. At one point it was kind of like a walk, when The Alpha had my leash and followed me around pool-side. Except I was swimming instead of walking. Which was pretty neat. The Boy and The Typist were following too, and The Boy seemed really concerned about me being in the water. At first he wouldn't come join me, and when he did, he didn't stay long.

So, The Alpha took us over to the kiddie pool, even though it was only supposed to be for little not-dogs and mops and stuff. That's where The Alpha and The Boy and I could go wading together (thumb-havers were not allowed in the bigger pools). On the way over there, The Boy had some nervous poop in the flower bed (which had to be Cleaned Up by the thumb-havers right then). Clearly, he wasn't very into this whole adventure. But in the kiddie pool he seemed to get more comfortable with the whole idea of water, because he could keep his feet touching bottom. That didn't stop him from trying to eat the water. Or maybe just bite it. I'm not sure which.

Back in the bigger pool again, I went diving for a Frisbee(tm). I really didn't mean to be sticking my whole head under water, but the thing kept getting away!

I think The Boy might like swimming if he got another chance, some place where The Alpha could go in with him. I didn't like swimming when I first tried it, but now it's pretty neat. I especially like all the shaking off when I get out!

Guest post

He's been wondering what the deal is with this blogging thing, so I decided I'd let The Boy give it a try. Here he goes:

Um, hey! Hey, yeah, hey! I'm Angus. Or 'Guus. Or Goosey Boy, or Anus (they really think that one's funny and I'm not sure why), or Shebangus. Cub's loyal readers know me as The Boy. Which I am. I'm a The Boy.

Today I've had fun. Let's see, what all did I do... I peed, ate, rolled on the carpet, poo-ooped, ran, barked, dug, napped, crawled underbed, went for a walk -- whaaaaaaaaah, I love walks!!! That's the noise I make when I figure out we're going on a walk -- whaaaaaaaaah!!! Oh, and then I did some of that stuff again. Like pee and eat and run and bark and stuff. And guess what -- guess what? You know what? Tomorrow I get to have fun again! Whaaaaaaah!!! Thanks, Cub, for letting me guest blog!

You're welcome, The Boy. (A valiant first effort for a two-year-old, I suppose...ACDs can be a little ADD, or so I've heard. He certainly fits the bill.)

We're off to hang out with the thumb-havers for the rest of the evening. So, we'll catch you later.

Back-yard Hunting

The Boy (file photo at right) started off the morning with an adventure and a mystery.

First thing in the morning, while it's still dark, is pee time. Sometimes we both go out, and sometimes I hang inside with The Typist. Today I hung back. Sometimes the light in the backyard comes on, sometimes it doesn't. Today it didn't.

Not usually, though, does a squeaky noise come from the backyard when there are no squeaky toys in the backyard. Today, it did.

The Boy was called inside, and came in looking a little guilty. The Alpha was informed as he stepped from the shower. Dressed and armed with a flashlight, he took to the backyard. He came back and informed The Typist that he found downy fur, and a spot that looked like it had been burrowed into, but no blood and no bunny.

The Mystery is whether the bunnybunbun got away, or whether The Boy swallowed it whole. Either way, the thumb-havers hope it's feeling no pain now.

And The Boy, while he was doing a lot of lip-licking this morning, is certainly not talking.

On Notice!

The thumb-havers are rather fond of The Colbert Report, so when we saw we had the power to create our own On Notice boards, we couldn't resist. Here's The Typist's:
















And here's mine:















And, here's The Boy's:







(We expect to receive The Alpha's board tomorrow.)

Wet and cool

I kept hearing about Wet and Cool from the thumb-havers after they got back from the whole not-being-here thing (Alaska, they call it). Well, yesterday we finally got some Wet, and compared with what the temperature has been like lately, we also got Cool, too!

It was so refreshingly Cool, we finally got to go on a w-a-l-k (I'm six, I can spell...). Funny thing, though -- even though it was Cool and the rain wasn't falling from the sky anymore, we wound up feeling kinda wet anyway. Humidity, they call it.

But, I didn't let the rain go and drizzle on my muzzle. (Thanks for the advice, Trout Fishing in America).

Ah, visitors!

Friday afternoon the bandannas came out of the drawer and were slipped over our heads, so The Boy and I knew some coming over would be happening. And we were right!

First, two folks who may consider us their granddogs (although Grandaddy might not admit it). They sat around in the living room for a while, then they both went somewhere with The Typist and when they came back, it was just The Typist and Grandaddy. Not sure where the other one went. Something about a conference, whatever that is. I bet there are no dogs there.

Then, lots more in the evening! Miss Martha, and Miss Julie, Mid-Life Rookie and her man, and Mr. Steve and Miss Lynn, who I looooove. (I miss their pool, too; Emmitt and The Boy don't get along well at all, so I don't get to go over there much anymore.) The Alpha and Grandaddy went out for a while, but they came back and had dessert with the rest of the thumb-havers. The Boy and I snagged some dessert crumbs from the kitchen floor, but then The Boy threw up on the dining room carpet, so I think next time they will keep a closer eye out for falling pie.

Grandaddy stayed until this morning. He even let me lick him some. (He probably would've let me lick him more when nobody was looking, but The Typist kept telling me to stop, as she did when I tried licking all the other guests Friday night, too. Guests are yummy.) He also played ball with The Boy, which was fun except when I got jealous and tried to steal the ball.

If he saw our doggy-fur tumbleweeds rolling around, he didn't say anything about them. Whew!

They came back!

Yeah, yesterday the front door opened, and it was The Alpha and The Typist! We could hardly believe what we were seeing through the patio windows. The Boy even stood on the windowsill to get a better look. But seeing them before getting to come in and smell them helped us stay a little calmer, I think. I mean, what if it had been the whole garage door thing? We might've just thought it was Aunt KitCat again. (Not that seeing her every day wasn't great, because it was!)

They had lots of interesting smells when they got back. Places I've never smelled before. Also some outdoorsy-type smells. I think I caught one hint of wet dog, but then they did laundry, so I didn't get to investigate further.

I have no idea...

...where The Alpha and The Typist are, but I don't really so much care! The Boy and I are being spoiled rotten by Aunt KitCat. (As if we weren't rotten enough already.)

Wheee!

Hrrmph.

Remember that Best Day Ever report? Well, the thumb-havers decided to rain on our little doggy parade: showers for both of us before bed. I should've guessed, what with all the brushing (The Alpha harvested another pomeranian from my undercoat). And this morning, that squirty stuff between our shoulder blades where we can't lick it off. I'm not too fond of routine maintenance, but I gather that it does serve some sort of legitimate purpose. Still, it's always a challenge to get my proper scent back.

The Best Day Ever!

Or in a while, at least.

After supper tonight, we got to go for a RIDE!!!!

And it was to a place where we usually just walk -- down to the window at the pharmacy. (I guess that's why they call it a drive-up window...maybe we're the only ones who ever walk there.) The Alpha said something like, "Pickup for Cub the K-9," and then there was a bunch of back-and-forth paper passing, and a little paper sack that I'm pretty sure contained those things they wrap in peanut butter and give to me before breakfast. But then it was time for the fun part.

The guy in the window brought out two huge Milk Bones -- way bigger than we ever get at home -- and handed one to me through my window, and another one to the thumb-havers to pass to The Boy on his side of the car. We crunched and crunched and they got all over the back seat and the floor, and we licked it all up. The car started moving again, but because of all the crunching, we didn't really notice except for the rocking around a little (we were buckled into our harnesses, so nobody fell down).

But then before we knew it, we were turning in somewhere else and going up to another window! This time it was pretty clear that whatever the thumb-havers were getting would be just for them. That is, until the guy at the window said, "And would you like a Puppy Cup?"

Puppy Cup? That sounded good. The thumb-havers agreed, but only if they could have two. "Oh, I didn't see the other one back there -- hi!" said Window Guy to The Boy. And in a minute he came back with big cups of creamy treats for the thumb-havers, and Puppy Cups for us! They were kinda like Frosty Paws, only not as much like frozen gravy. Also, they were not as full. There was just enough to lick all around the inside. Which was nice, and not too messy to be had in the car.

So, two windows, two snacks for two dogs. Yes, this is the Best Day Ever. And nothing will spoil that!

Snack captured, confiscated

This afternoon in the backyard, The Boy made a great catch. No, it wasn't a Frisbee(tm). Or a ball. It was a bird!

The Alpha spotted what was going on, but it was too late. He hollered and hollered, but The Boy messed with the bird until it stopped moving. The Boy did not get to keep the snack he caught. I think The Alpha buried it in the side yard. I can't be sure, but I think I heard "Taps" playing softly in the distance.

I wonder why that silly bird didn't remember it could fly.

Indignities

Last night was a night of awkward inconvenience for dogs.

First, while we were out going pee, The Boy started limping, and when the thumb-havers managed to get a look at his right front paw, they sprung into action. Seems he'd managed to leave some of the skin dangling. The Typist went on a ride (without us) and came back with stuff to wrap around his paw. The whole time she was gone, The Alpha insisted that The Boy stay right in the spot where he'd put him down from bringing him inside. And, of course, being low in the pack order, The Boy stayed in a quite submissive pose, showing us all his belly. The good part there was that The Alpha could keep an eye on the offending paw, which, oddly enough, wasn't bleeding.

So they put goo and gauze and a bandage on his paw, but the real indignity came when they decided they didn't want him picking at it all night... and made him wear one of The Typist's socks:

The good news is, he can walk on it quite well. I'd be a limping wreck if they did that to me.

To add insult to injury (literally), a comment soon came from The Alpha: "With that sock on his arm, he looks kinda like Britney Spears."

Anyway, this morning's bandage change revealed that there had been some bleeding during the night, so he's still Socky M'Goose today.

As for me, well, when they got The Boy all wrapped up, they decided it wasn't fair to torture him all alone. I knew something was up, but I'm such a good girl that I couldn't run off and hide or anything. Turns out they bought a new instrument of torture for me -- one of those sticks they call a "toothbrush." This one had three brush heads and is supposed to get all sides of my molars at once. Doesn't work too well when I chomp down on it, though. Yet, The Alpha persisted, and I think my breath probably smells better.

Behind the Camera

I know I've already told you we had a week of Dogs On the People Bed recently, but here's the proof. Yeah, it pretty much looks like the last time.

The difference is that this time, while taking the picture, The Typist was sort of hopping up and down on one foot, so as not to bleed on the carpet with the other foot. She insisted on getting the shot of us before she got a Band-Aid.

You see, somebody left a bone in the major thoroughfare of the living room, which The Typist chose to enter in the dark, barefooted. And the bone in question had been nicely sharpened by hours of concentrated gnawing.

I don't really "get" irony, but according to her, the irony of it is that her reason for going into the dark room to grab the camera off the end table was to take a picture of her cute, cute poppies.

Who, while staying on the bed, managed to indirectly cut up The Typist's toe.

I hear that little thumb-havers sometimes do the same thing with Legos.

Oh, her toe is okay now. But she's been much more careful in the dark lately.

Friday Five: Hot Hot Hot!

The Typist and I have decided to play this RevGalBlogPals bit together. See my answers first, then hers:

1. What's the high temperature today where you are?
Cub: Uh, hot!
Typist: The forecast is for 97 degrees, cooler than some recent days and some expected next week.

2. Favorite way(s) to beat the heat.
C: Either sitting on the top step of Ms. Lynn and Mr. Steve's pool, soaking up to my shoulders (Wet Dog Alert!), or stretching out on the cool tile in the front hall. OR, Frosty Paws.
T: My more selfish, sinful, and costly ways include cranking up the A/C and camping out under a vent, opening up the side-by-side freezer and standing where the door would be when it's closed, and turning the car's A/C on full blast even though I know it sucks power away from my dutifully functioning four squirrels -- er, cylinders. Less selfish, sinful, and costly, but also less available: wading in a chilly creek and falling down accidentally on purpose.

3. "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." Evaluate this statement.
C: It's all of it.
T: I have to agree with the four-footed furry on this one.

4. Discuss one or more of the following: sauna, hot tub, sweat lodge, warm-stone massage.
C: I think those things fall under "Not for Poppies."
T: Sauna, no thank you. Hot tub, like 'em in the right weather (and this ain't it). Can't comment on the sweat lodge, but warm-stone massages are nice when they are a free upgrade from your regular massage.

5. Hottest you've ever been in your life
C: That time we were in the tiny room with zippers on the doors and windows, out by the lake and The Boy and I panted half the night and weren't allowed to go chase whatever was in the brush.
T: Ah, yes, the camping trip to Oklahoma. I think I'll agree with you there. (At least you didn't have you and The Boy panting directly ON you, like The Alpha and I did.)

Non-temperature related bonus: In your opinion... who's hot?
C: Rex and Tuxedo. But Tux was a little chunky the last time I saw him.
T: The Alpha, of course; also Nathan Fillion and I'm sure some assorted other musicians and movie stars I can't think of right now.

Tidbits

• The thumb-havers have stopped taking showers outside. Nice to be back to the usual routine.
• I think they've been shorting my food allotment by a mouthful or two lately. No, I am not fat! But apparently they want to keep it that way. And you know what? I do, too. Uncle Ren doesn't really even look like a dog. I like looking like a dog. Because, you know, I am a dog.
• Early mornings have been nice for sitting out in the yard, but it still gets pretty hot every day around here.
• Miss Cathy came to see us yesterday! I love her. And she loves me. And I love her for lovin' me and she loves me for lovin' her. And we loooooove each other. (Apologies to Roxie Hart.)
• The Alpha gave me a brushing last night. He gleaned a pomeranian-sized amount of undercoat. Even if the process is kind of annoying, I do feel a little cooler now.

Abnormal Activity

Yeah, it's been a week since I posted. That's like a month in dog years or something. Suffice it to say there's been a lot going on.

First, no Alpha for a week. (DOGS on the PEOPLE bed...wheeeeeee!)

Then, friends over! (Including wee dog Winston -- and yes, The Boy, at 40 pounds, is still afraid of a chihuahua.)

Then, we got to pile in the car and go to Church to pick up The Alpha. (The Boy got to see lots of people I'd met before and he hadn't; plus, he wanted to get in the big white van. I don't know why. Also, we got to sniff a daschund.)

And since The Alpha got back, the thumb-havers have been taking their showers in the backyard. It doesn't really make sense, but then, neither does showering every day, if you ask me. Something about the big tank in the hall closet and not being able to keep a fire lit under it, and The Typist calling a plumber, and it being the weekend and this not being an emergency, and them filling this big bag with water and leaving it out in the sun, then taking their showers with what comes out of the bag. Oh, and them being really glad we have a privacy fence.

Yes, definitely some abnormal things happening around here. Must be that "new normal" I keep hearing so much about.

Got in trouble.

It's all better now, but Friday night there was some yelling in my direction. You see, they turned on that big hot thing in the kitchen and made sweet yummy cookies for thumb-havers. And one of them was given to the Maris (see "What's a Maris?"), who thought it was still a bit too hot and gave it to her Mom, who then let down her guard, and the cookie, to my nose level, right on the arm of the couch.

So I ate half of it.

I would've eaten the other half of it, too, if it hadn't been for the yelling. The Alpha and The Typist did all the shaming and hollering and everything, and after a few minutes it was all okay, but I certainly did not get any more cookies anywhere near my nose that night.

Oh, and Maris was very good. And I'm not just saying that because I got to eat half her cookie.

Misuse of Sticks

Once again -- I'm pretty sure this happened in the dining room last year -- the thumb-havers rubbed various sticks against the wall over a period of several days. No chewing them at all.

Yeah, the staging area for w-a-l-k-s (or entryway, or foyer, or front hall) looks different now, but that doesn't really concern me much. It smelled a little different for a while, too, which was interesting. But thankfully I know better than to stick my nose in one of those buckets (I learned that when I was a puppy and they were rubbing sticks against the wall in the room where we watch that flickery box thing while I take naps on the couch).

So, The Typist didn't have much time for typing for me in the past week. Too much other stuff to be done. Also, we had new dinner guests -- nice folks, all thumb-havers, no poppies. Thank goodness, because sometimes it's just embarrassing to watch The Boy get his pack order challenged by a chihuahua.

Oh, and tonight The Alpha got The Boy all wound up. "Don't encourage him," said The Typist. Which made absolutely no difference.

Nicknames

If I had blog categories, this would be one for the "I Don't Get It" file.

Two trips to Arkansas ago, The Boy and I got new nicknames. Gavin, the short little thumb-haver who spills lots of food on the floor and himself, came toddling through the living room at Grandma and Pop's house, greeting us with "Hey Tub," and "Hey, Anus."

Okay, obviously we knew what he meant. But we get the impression we're missing something in the translation. While The Typist nearly fell of the couch doing that silent laugh thing, The Alpha's first response was, "Oh, that's never gonna get old." And, now, maybe once a week or more, we find ourselves referred to as Tub and Anus. They seem more inclined to use Anus than Tub, because for some reason it's funnier.

Like I said, I don't get it. Glad they're having fun, though.

Home Adventure Kit

1. Take one home security system;
2. Add a really big thunderclap;
3. Observe interesting loud siren-type noise;
4. Bark a lot.

That's pretty much the adventure The Boy and I had tonight, all without leaving the yard. We had a teeny little storm, really, but the thunder wasn't playing nice, and so the house siren decided to play back, and then it quit, and then nothing happened for a while, and then somebody came around on the other side of the fence and we did our Ferocious Barking Act even though I was pretty sure it was only Mr. Jim, who I love, and then some other guys with big lights came and we kept up the Ferocious Barking Act, and then a few minutes after we calmed down The Alpha and The Typist came home. They seemed a little goofy about going to all the rooms in the house and looking at windows, but other than that, things were normal. Sorry they missed it all.

...and they Wouldn't Let Us OUT!

The Alpha was out mowing, but just came running to the back door calling for The Typist in his Urgent Voice. She went out in her sock feet just as we were being told to "stay, dogs, stay," and we got shut inside the house. Then, we watched from the window in disbelief as they messed around with a little bunny, trying to get it to leave our yard! Yes, leave our yard, instead of letting us out to play with it!

After a few minutes, they coaxed the bunnybunnybun to the gate they'd opened and he hopped out along the fence line.

I don't get it. I just don't get it. That would've been the coolest snack.

Maybe they just didn't want The Boy and me fighting over it.

Oh, well.

UPDATE: I forgot to mention the part where the bunny tried to come see us. Hopped right through our doggy hole (I'd say doggie door, but The Boy tore the flap off) from the yard to the patio. The Boy was thinking about trying to get through the glass; I could see it on his face. And ears, and tail.

Uncle B!

We had a surprise Friday -- no, not more dead varmints, but something much better: Uncle B came to visit! The Typist didn't give us the usual signals of bandanna adornment or use of the word "comingover," so it was quite a surprise. We hadn't sniffed him in a long time.

Anyway, Uncle B and The Typist sat at the table and didn't eat any food (although I think they did partake of our signature beverage, since Uncle B designed the label). Instead of eating, they did Work stuff with the Laptops. Which I guess is okay, because The Typist says it's how we get toys and oatmeal, plus occasionally I get to blog. Oh, and apparently the way the laptops were set up was funny, because they hollered, "You sank my Battleship!" a time or two, but I don't get it.

Oh, and Happy Birfday Uncle B -- I say "Woff" and The Boy says "Wwwweeeweeeweeee!"

This Just In...

And by "in," I mean IN the living room. Where I was pretty sure it ought not to be. I became certain of that fact when The Alpha took note of what The Boy (shown in file photo at right) had just snuck IN from the trip to the mailbox. The Alpha was most definitely not pleased to find approximately one-half of a dead varmint in the living room floor, with The Boy merrily chewing away on it.

It smelled sorta like a squirrely, and it sorta looked like the back end of a squirrely, but with no tail. There's a slim chance it was a bunny. However, there's no chance it was among the living within the past week. The Alpha called it "half-dead," but quickly realized his error, as it was obviously all the way dead, and there was only half of it left.

We were both immediately ushered out the back door. As we watched through the sunporch window, The Alpha procured a shovel while The Typist went for the can of Lysol. No more squirr... er, bunn... uh, varmint for The Boy. And he was so proud...

Friday Five: Sleep

From reverendmother, via RevSongbird (Molly's dog-mommy):

1. In what kind of environment do you sleep best? (e.g. amount of light and noise, temperature, number of pillows, breathe-right strip, sleeping in the buff, etc.)
Inside is great, because I have lots of choices -- the big green bed, my comfy chair, the couch, the bed on the floor, the carpet, the cool tile by the front door... outside, in the sunny grass is nice, unless it's too hot. Then I like it on the shady tile.
I also like it when the thumb-havers take off my collar for the night. Relaxing!

2. How much sleep do you need to feel consistently well-rested? How much can you get by on? What are the consequences when you don't get enough?
These really aren't issues for me, seeing as how I'm a dog, and I don't have many obligations that get in the way of sleeping.

3. Night owl or morning person?
Morning! I like morning! The sun's up! It's always an exciting time!

4. Favorite cure for insomnia
A nice w-a-l-k (and they think I can't spell...)

5. To snooze or not to snooze? Why or why not?
The Alpha uses the snooze regularly. Which means The Boy and I have plenty of time to pace around the people bed to let both thumb-havers know that even if the sun isn't quite up, it will be soon. Oh, and that The Boy has to pee. So can you hurry it up a bit?

Friday Five

I'm playing with the RevGalBlogPals, which includes Molly's thumb-haver. Today's Friday Five is about Rain. Molly's thumb-haver has this odd picture of a dog wearing an umbrella. I think I'm freaked out a little by that getup. Oh, well, on to the list:

1. Favorite way to spend a rainy day
Napping on the couch with my thumb-havers.

2. Favorite song about rain
It's not really a whole song. There's a line in a Trout Fishing In America song, "It's a Puzzle," that declares, "Don't let the rain go and drizzle on your muzzle." I try to follow that advice.

3. Favorite movie featuring rain
Have to punt to The Typist on this one, who says, "Well, it only involves rain in that you have to have rain to make a rainbow, and to sing 'The Rainbow Connection,' which brings me to The Muppet Movie."

4. Favorite piece of raingear, past or present
Like I said, that dog umbrella getup kinda freaks me out. I pass on this one.

5. Favorite word for rain
"Comeinside," as spoken by a thumb-haver.

Odd morning in the kitchen

So these three GREAT guys came to see us today. We really liked them, and of course they liked us, because there really is no other option. But they spent most of their time digging all around the edges of the house while The Typist kept The Boy and me penned up with her in the kitchen while she did "work" on the "computer" at the table where there's usually "food." One of the great guys came inside and cut holes in walls and sprayed stuff in the cabinets and behind the fridge and behind the washer, and we really liked him. His pants leg smelled like Simba, or at least that's what he called it. Smelled like another dog to me.

Then, after those neato guys left, The Typist left, too, but had us stay inside instead of going out. Something about waiting 24 hours for the stuff to dry, and not wanting The Boy digging in his digging spot. We'll have to see what that's all about later. Everybody's home now, so there's not much reason to dig.

Incriminating evidence

Yeah, I don't know why we posed for this one.

Note that there is a protective barrier between us and the comforter, though.

Can you tell The Alpha was out of town last night?

Long overdue photo

The Typist realized it had been quite a while since I'd posted my lovely face on here. All the typing was getting boring. So, here's a shot from a while back -- a promotional photo, if you will, of me with a bottle of Two Hounds Nut Brown Ale, one of many beverages I am not allowed to drink (beer is Not For Poppies, I know, I know...even if my face is on the label).

There was another pic where I looked kind of schnockered, which I thought was funny because I'm not allowed to have beer and the cap was even still on the bottle. But The Typist did not think it funny enough to risk public embarassment over it.

Lots o' People!

Whew... what a distracting last few days it's been. First, Doc showed up -- All Dogs Love Doc, so that was nice. Then, people showed up with little bitty thumb-havers, which always make me nervous. This time there were more of them than there were of me and The Boy. For some reason, one of them was particularly enthralled with me. I wanted no part of it, but I put-up-with as best I could, because, after all, "Good girl puts up with." Or so they say. And why would they lie?

Also, the biggest of the little thumb-havers fed me, although I think they didn't want her to. Because there was some yelling no and some trying to pry my jaws apart before I swallowed the big long piece of meaty goodness that she gave me. (Their attempt was unsuccessful. I can swallow big things really fast if I need to.) The rest of the day The Alpha and The Typist kept looking at me like they expected me to puke on the carpet. But I didn't.

Whew, I'm sure tired after all those visitors, though. Glad it's quiet around here now.

My new blog friend!

Givin' a howl-out to Molly, who lives with Rev Songbird and some other thumb-havers! Glad you're starting to feel better. I've totally been there. Oh, and even though I haven't been officially blessed (yet!), I do wear a St. Francis medal on my collar. He and I are tight.

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In other news, The Boy and I got to go camping last weekend. The Typist was way too tuckered out to post anything about it. Because, well, first, The Boy was very out of his element. It took extra energy to convince him we weren't going to leave him alone in the woods. (After all, he did time in the woods, with ticks all over him, before he landed here.) And second, there were all kinds of new things to see and sniff! There was this funny-looking thing called an armadillo that made a whole lot of noise in the brush, and they wouldn't let us chase it (party poopers). After that, we all went to bed in the tent, but it was really hot for a while, so it took some time to get to sleep. And then when we all quit panting and started the nap, the armadillo came around and got The Boy and me all up on High Alert again.

I'm not sure what I'd do with an armadillo, but I would definitely like to have a closer look at one some time.

Whirlwind of a week

There was another road trip for me and The Boy last weekend. We all went to Grandma and Pop's again. At one point The Alpha and The Typist were gone for several hours, and The Boy went on some sort of strike... he refused to go out and pee for Grandma. I think he still has abandonment issues. Anyway, we did have a pretty good time.

Then yesterday it happened again: another ride with needles at the other end. At least the vet seemed satisfied with checking my teeth when I showed them to him all on my own. He also complimented my shiny, shiny coat, and my svelte figure.

I've got Clean all over me.

Yeah, last night turned out to be Family Bath Night. First me, then The Boy had to hop in the shower and put up with all that sudsy stuff. Afterward, of course, the thumb-havers had to shower too, because of all the energy they spent on us. Then again, they take showers every dang day. I have no idea why. It takes me at least a week to get back to smelling right again after one of those.

The good news is, we're soft and shiny. That is a nice side effect.

Can I call 'em, or what?

Yep, a ride with a needle at the other end! Oh, well, I got another ride after that, and now I'm back home and stuff. Not much else different going on. The Boy and I got some after-dinner Cheerios, which was nice. Fun to snatch out of midair, like a little crunchy bird, only not so messy.

Hmmmph.

I sense an impending trip to the vet. The Alpha mentioned "ride" before he left for work, but the last couple of times, "ride" has meant "let's go have somebody stick a needle in you."

Sick...

Okay, so I haven't been feeling like my normal perky self all week. Which is why The Boy and I could no longer delay our checkup trip to the vet. Went Thursday, and the thumb-havers got a follow-up call today. Apparently, I have something bacterial. And I have to go back in on Monday. Ick. Probably caught something from hanging around with Samson the Poop-Eater of Saline County on our last road trip.

The Alpha says I'm expensive. Calls me the Six Million Dollar Dog. And that doesn't even count bionic parts, because they never installed those.

The Boy's Birfday!

Yes, today's the day. The Boy is two. I'm still not sure what a birfday is, but I suspect it will once again involve Frosty Paws.

A to Z meme

Accent: German.
Booze: Not For Poppies.
Chore I Hate: Getting my toenails clipped.
Dog or Cat: Duh! Dog!
Essential Electronics: Fan
Favorite Cologne(s): Puppy shampoo.
Gold or Silver: The chain on my leash is silver.
Hometown: Carrollton, Texas
Insomnia: What’s that?
Job Title: Guardian of the Realm, Patroller of the Perimeter
Kids: Why? On? Earth? I’m spayed, anyhow.
Living arrangements: Sweet, very sweet. I’m waited on, tongue and paw.
Most admirable trait: I’m Cubtastic!
Number of sexual partners: They call me the Virgin Poppy. Nobody but me knows for sure, though.
Overnight hospital stays: Two.
Phobias: Linoleum.
Quote: “Have you been in the milk?”
Religion: Methodist/Catholic hybrid.
Siblings: The Boy.
Time I wake up: Whenever I feel like it.
Unusual talent or skill: I know how to use my inside voice/bark.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Onion. But it’s not that I haven’t tried. Repeatedly. Whenever any falls on the floor.
Worst habit: Licking myself for no good reason.
X-rays: Too many. (Stupid hip.)
Yummy foods I make: Does my own vomit count?
Zodiac sign: Aries

Flat Stanley, my new friend

This is me with my new buddy, Flat Stanley. The mailman brought him. I barked.

Flat Stanley doesn't like to do a whole lot, but he's okay to have around. He says he wants to see the town, then go back to Fayetteville. I have entrusted him to the thumb-havers for sightseeing duties. I think they are planning to implicate him in the Kennedy Assassination. We'll see how that goes.

Who's Kennedy, and what's an assassination? Does it involve having two butts? Because that would be great for sniffing...

Hey there, Flyboy...

Okay, so The Boy can jump. Leap, even. We know this. But last week he started flinging himself up in the air any time a ball was thrown, and not necessarily in the direction of said ball. Just general flinging. It was quite silly, actually.

So, in an effort to encourage directed flinging, The Alpha and The Typist starting tossing around that round rope thing with the cloth in the middle. They call it a Frisbee(tm), but I'm pretty sure that's copyright infringement going on right there in the backyard. No matter; The Boy is chasing after it, leaping for the catch, and then trying to make noise with the squeaky thing in the middle as he brings it back for another throw.

Me? Well, I'm not really supposed to jump like that. Sometimes I demand some tug-of-war with it, or they'll toss me low-hanging Frisbees so my feet don't have to leave the ground, but mostly I just chew on a stick. Mmmmm, stick!

Today's My Birfday!

I'm not sure what it means, but there it is all the same. I do know I got lots of belly-rubs this morning.

Happy Birfday to me!

Ah, fresh air!

Yes, the thumb-havers gave The Boy a bath last night. We're all feeling much less sniffly, but for some reason he's still scratching a lot. Perhaps he formed a habit while collecting stuff from Outside all over his fur.

Speaking of habits... he lives -- LIVES -- to be chased around the living room. If we are in there and I'm not getting him, he's hollering about it. Grrr, haaawhh, arrrrr... usually with his mouth around a toy, trying to taunt me into wanting it. Which usually works.

Oh, I fulfilled one of my new year's resolutions last week. I caught him. Knew I could.

We Are a Brand!

Presenting.... Two Hounds Nut Brown Ale!

Notice who the Two Hounds are? Do ya?

Uncle B pointed out, while designing the label, that we aren't actually hounds, but The Typist pointed out that "herding dogs" doesn't even remotely rhyme with "nut brown," and besides, we aren't talking Westminster Kennel Club here, anyway. We never do. It's likely you'll hear "Release the hounds!" when we run out into the backyard; to heck with breeding particulars.

I must say, The Boy looks perhaps his very best here. Very jaunty.

Of course, we aren't getting a single drop of the limited edition, 24-bottle brew. "Not for poppies," yes, we know. We've made a deal, though. A good stock of Frosty Paws awaits us in the freezer. For we are Good Dogs. Yes, we are.

Feeling Famous

Yeah, so The Typist shot her mouth off somewhere, and it means I'm getting fan mail! Sweet. Locusts and Honey John likes the way I write. (It's made even more spectacular by the fact that I'm using borrowed thumbs.)

Wait 'til he sees my upcoming debut in beverage marketing. Actually, The Boy and I are sharing the label; we're learning to be a team, after all. But still, if I hadn't been calendar-worthy from my very first photogenic appearance on the puppy scene, it's likely this blog wouldn't even exist. It's been almost a year (or seven years? I can't tell which), and The Boy has yet to figure out that you're supposed to smile when they point that silver box thingy at you. They stooped to bribery so they could get a shot of him with his mouth open. Some of us are just born to pose. Others, less.

Stuff and more stuff

Wow, we've had a neat last few days. Aunt Jessica came over two days in a row and brought that little thing she calls Winston. The Boy hadn't met Winston more than one or two times before, and it was nearly a Major Issue for him. But we convinced him not to be scared of a chihuahua, and a good time was had by all.

Okay, so then after Aunt Jessica and Winston came over for the second time, The Typist came home, but The Alpha didn't. And we know what that means...
DOGS on the PEOPLE BED!!!!

Not before the top sheet is properly spread over the comforter, of course. And even then, The Boy kept trying to tell The Typist that he didn't think it was right. Kept honking at her, even when he had his head up on her belly and his body sprawled out on her legs. (Still on top of the top sheet, of course.) Long, extended honks. How can one The Boy be a dog and a goose? Eventually, he hopped down and onto his own bed, and got quiet. Which meant more big bed for me, and a really nice night's sleep for all of us.

The Alpha is back home now, and tinkering. Also, trying to keep me from licking him all the dang time. Don't know what his problem is.

How Good Are We?

We are very, very good, yes.

And very, very, very cute.

Look at us, sharing a crate.

It's easy to do when you suspect that the next sound you hear will be the jingle-jangle of leashes and you'll get to take your w-a-l-k around the neighborhood.



Our faces convey a simple message:
Will Behave For Walks.

In Memoriam: Aunt Sissy

She was tiny. Runt of the litter. Her tail was crooked; she had bugged-out eyes and an underbite that gave us a good view of her crooked teeth. She hardly ever barked -- it was more likely you would hear her sputter and hiss when intimidated. She slept, on average, 20 hours per day. If the bed was unmade, she was too small to spot amid the thrown-back covers.

Ren, the Lead Dog, Pop's Pardner, didn't take too kindly to her arrival back in '94 (or was it '93?). Not sure how kindly he will take to her departure, either. It only happened this morning.

She would wake up Mom in the middle of the night, asking to go out. But when Mom got up to open the door, she'd double back and take the freshly-vacant warm spot in the master bed. Clever little dog, that Sissy.

She was one of Gavin's first words: "Iddy!" (Other dogs, including his own, are merely "dog" to him.)

She had a stroke last year, but managed to get around with just two and one-half of her legs functioning. At Christmas she had a seizure and we had to clean up her pee. But with a little help, she would still take her place on the couch and make a little nest in the top cushion.

Enjoy your nap, Sissy. Rest well.

The switcheroo...

Okay, we still have two thumb-havers here, but The Alpha is missing. Last night he was here and tonight he's not, but last night a guest-room-dwelling thumb-haver showed up, too, and she's still here. Nice enough, but she's definitely no Alpha. The Typist may be promoted, if only for a little while. Especially if she lets us take over The Alpha's spot in her bed. Serious extra points there.

I get the feeling he will be back tomorrow. I didn't notice any of the warning signs of extended travel -- no rolling suitcase, no extra trips out to the car. And no taking me and The Boy and The Typist for a big long ride, which is usually part of the package.

When he does come home, I hope he brings me a big kill from the hunt. You know, Purina One. From Target. I have no idea how he keeps from getting all bloody when he goes out looking for food... maybe he can lick more of himself than I give him credit for...

Episcopalians!

Yeah, the Episcopalians came over yesterday, and they brought big bottles o'drink. Naturally, nobody shared with me. "Not for Poppies," they all said, as they began to get silly. But we certainly don't want anyone sharing with The Boy because a few months ago, and quite by accident, we discovered he is a Mean Drunk. So I'm okay with Not for Poppies if it means Not for The Boy, too.

Anyway, I got some snuggle time on the couch, which was quite nice. For some reason, though, The Typist doesn't want me licking the guests. Go figure. She just doesn't know how yummy guests can be.

Front-yarding it

So, yesterday while The Alpha was completely in charge of our place, he showed up out front with a load of bricks. He let me and The Boy out to come help, only this time "come help" didn't mean look in the box with the little flag on the side, it meant watch him dig in the dirt and rearrange bricks around the tree for an hour. The Boy, I think, kept expecting squirrels, but those squirrels know better. I'm glad we now both know better than to go out in the road. Well, most of the time.

Because when The Alpha brought The Typist home from wherever she'd been all night and day, she was very excited to see the new bricks (yeah, I don't get it, either). But then The Boy ran out in the road and she was very excited about that, too, except in the other kind of way. The "NO" kind of way. But it's okay, because no cars came along. Still, he'd better watch it.

What's a Maris?

A Maris is a little thumb-haver. She fed me and The Boy, so she can't be all that bad, but she made me a little nervous at times. I really appreciated The Alpha explaining my hip problem to her, and that what I was trying to tell her was do-not-touch-me-back-there-where-I'm-not-all-there. Because after that, things were lots better! She's a fair amount of fun, that Maris.

Word got back around that she told her grandmother the next day, "MeMe, I was so excited to play with their dogs that I got a little out of control. But, they really loved playing with me." I'm not sure I'd go that far, but we did have a really nice time.

I Resolve...

Okay, yeah, I'm behind, but what does a dog know about New Year's Resolutions?

I resolve to:

• keep on chewin'.
• not gain any more weight. (I don't want to look like Uncle Ren.)
• sun myself whenever I see sun for sunning in.
• actually catch The Boy when I chase him around the living room, just once, to prove I can.
• be tolerant of human toddlers.
• remember that "crate" means the black wiry thing, not the spot where said thing used to be.
• create opportunities for love. (As if my very existence doesn't do that already.)

The Typist's big resolution is to "Live the Question." Whatever that means.