Dog Art

I travel quite a bit on Interstate 20 between Georgia and South Carolina. I do this with four dogs. George insists on picking his seat first which is okay as long as he chooses the front passenger seat. George does not like other dogs sitting next to him. If they breathe, he growls. If they look at him, he growls. And watch out if the other dog has the audacity to TOUCH him! An Oscar-worthy impersonation of Stephen King’s Cujo comes out to entertain the captive audience. Snarls mixed with teeth flashing while a white froth of saliva forms around his lips. I try to encourage George to pick the front seat lest I am forced to pull over on the highway to make him a nice cozy nest in the trunk.

Chase always must be restrained by his harness and seatbelt. For a fifty pound ball of white fur, he can be very sneaky and has jumped into my lap. Yes, I am the driver. The only way to remove him from my lap is to pull over and pray that his paw doesn’t touch the electronic seat positioning controls. He has done this once before and I don’t care for my nose to be pressed up against the windshield of the car.

Charlie, as mentioned in an earlier blog (Travels with Charlie), has a weak stomach. He prefers the floor but will pop up every so often to look out the window which makes him queasy. The floor is best for him. In fact, all the dogs try to be as far away from him as possible especially when the heavy breathing begins.

Molly is a perfect traveler. She gets in her seat, curls up and all I hear is unladylike snorts and snores from behind my seat. She has selective hearing and ignores Cujo.

With Cujo in the front, Molly sleeping heavily, Chase restrained and Charlie whimpering on the floor, I am not sure how the dogs find time to complete their masterpieces, their dog art. Always, upon reaching my destination, every window is covered with nose drawings. Intricate squiggles and swirls adorn all passenger windows and sometimes even my window. Just like a spider’s web, these drawings are unique each time with new patterns and details.

Driving on the interstate, I pass other vehicles with the familiar sketches on their windows and it makes me smile. I don’t need a bumper sticker proclaiming “I Love My Dog” or “My English Setter is Smarter than Your Honor Student”. I have dog art and I display it with pride.

Back in the Jailhouse Again

When Chase first came into my life, I decided to crate train him. Maybe not immediately…I remembered when my Mom was training my childhood dog, Drummer. Pieces of furniture contained him in the kitchen, some newspaper was thrown on the floor, and magically the dog was housebroken! Well, that was how my nine-year old self remembered it. Since I was more modern, I purchased a baby gate, confined Chase to a small hallway and threw down a puppy pad in the corner.

Chase flung himself at the gate until he knocked it over and decided that the puppy pad was a toy that must be shredded. Undeterred, I replaced the gate, added all four dining room chairs in front of it to reinforce the barricade and duct taped the puppy pad to the floor. Chase tore the center of the puppy pad into tiny white and blue-backed confetti and peed on the floor next to it. He attempted to climb the barricade and howled for hours. I couldn’t take it and made a trip to the local pet store, handed over one hundred dollars and hauled a cage out to my car.

Crate training, while effective, took a lot of discipline on my part. I remember one night, lying in my bed listening to Chase cry, whimper and howl for forty minutes. As I started to creep from my bed, my roommate intervened and told me to be strong and let him howl. It was a long night but in the end, my dog was crate trained.

Unfortunately, two years later, he was out of the crate and into the bed. Not exactly 100% my choice but I won’t go into it here. It soon became clear, though, that my dog needed consistency, boundaries and a routine. I tried, unsuccessfully, to reintroduce the crate. At the mere sight of it he would run and hide. I couldn’t shove him inside as he would make himself as large as possible by spreading his legs and thrashing his head around.

A friend suggested that I try a different crate instead of the travel crate (with wheels) that I had purchased in case he ever had to fly in an airplane. I tried an all-metal crate that resembled a mini prison. I put his favorite blanket inside and ordered him in. Chase obliged but wasn’t happy. He made the most mournful and sorrowful cries and I felt like I was tormenting him in a cruel manner. After twenty minutes, I caved and let him out. A few weeks later, I tried again. This time I put his rectangular dog bed inside, a stuffed animal and his blanket. My friend encouraged Chase to enter the crate and stayed with him for thirty minutes until Chase relaxed.

It didn’t take very long for Chase to think of the crate as his own private space. Maybe it was because of the other three dogs who happily utilized their crates for sleeping or just having a place of their own. When Chase was upset or just wanted to be left alone, I could find him lounging in his crate. He would get very agitated if he caught one of the other dogs in his space and if he was sleepy, he put himself to bed. I very rarely latched it. He stayed in it all night and wouldn’t come out until morning.

I never thought it was possible to reintroduce the crate to Chase, in fact I had insisted that it couldn’t be done. I’m glad I was wrong and that Chase now views it as a safe haven rather than a punishment. I don’t need to worry about disturbing him in the night which is good since he gets agitated if he is suddenly woken from his dog dreams. It’s his own private room with a view from all sides and while I may close the door, he can still nudge it open so he doesn’t feel like he’s back in his old solitary jail-like cage.

The Birds and the Bees and the Flowers and the Trees

Spring had arrived. Birds flitted about the flowering trees and low lying bushes, unconcerned with the dangers lurking beneath in the form of Chase and Charlie. Chase loved all things that flew, fluttered, buzzed, and darted. He held firmly to the belief that if he barked long and loud enough at the winged creatures, they would oblige him by landing in his mouth. I am certain this belief was formed six years earlier when he caught a mockingbird in a similar manner. Charlie took a more subtle approach. He burrowed beneath a bush and lay very still. Birds would not see the small dachshund who blended in perfectly with the dirt and old leaves until it was too late. Charlie proudly stockpiled his feathered trophies for all to admire. Dogs can be just as lethal as a cat where a bird is concerned.

A favorite afternoon gathering spot for all four dogs and me was down by the pond in a shady patch of clover and wild violets. A canopy of branches and leaves was provided by a gnarly old oak tree. Very fine, soft grass carpeted the area not covered by clover and an old moldy swing, its tattered top long vanished was a perfect place to relax with a book or an occasional visit by a four-legged friend.

This was the place where you could imagine being a child again. A small, rugged door rested against the base of the tree trunk and it would be no surprise if it creaked open slowly by the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. Perhaps childhood memories encouraged me to sink into the lush green ground covering to seek four-leaf clovers and I found myself gently parting patches of green. The dogs, moments before content to sit on the hillside and watch the pond or sniff around the yard doing the things that dogs do, were suddenly keenly interested in my clover activities. Four noses sniffed where my hands had been. Four mouths nibbled on clover leaves. Sixteen furry feet trampled and bruised the tender plants. Four bodies chose that moment to roll on their backs in my clover patch. Sighing, I ceased my efforts and sat back on the swing. My patch was completely flattened. Despite the damage, there was one small area untouched. Nonchalantly, I moved slowly and deliberately toward that area. Sneaking a glance at the dogs, I surveyed the area and spied one four-leaf clover. Excitedly, I stooped to pluck it before all four dogs charged and trampled that area, too.

Several days later, I returned to my clover patch and happily discovered that clovers are very resilient plants. For a brief moment I enjoyed the shady spot until the dogs discovered me and crushed my patch once again. Sighing, I lay down on the swing. A bumblebee landed very close to my face and I watched it dry its wings. Smiling, I marveled at all its bee intricacies for a few fleeting seconds before Chase pounced upon it and snatched it in his mouth chewing furiously. Horrified, I admonished Chase for his actions but it was too late.

I retreated into the house with the dogs and thought that all things flying and all things growing must be relieved by the bit of safety I just provided.

The Scoop

My dog can embarrass me. I think he knows it, too. There are certain activities that I would prefer he conduct in the privacy of my yard or designated areas in public that I have first approved. I have three rules that I have established in order to help alleviate some of these more memorable moments in dog ownership:

1. Be prepared! Keep doggy clean-up bags or even plastic grocery bags handy at all times. Don’t leave home without these essential items and always bring extra.

2. Remember the Double Drop! My dog loves to “hold some back”. So even if I believe that he has done his doggy duties, he hasn’t. He is banking it and waiting for that perfect moment.

3. You can’t stop gravity! Once it starts any amount of energy or effort spent to stop it is a waste of time and can make matters worse. Refer to Rule #1 after gravity takes over.

Be Prepared: When my cousin Samantha encouraged the entire Southern family to participate in the Susan G. Komen’s Race for the Cure in Atlanta many years ago, it seemed a logical choice to bring Chase along. He wore his backpack with pride and even had Samantha’s number pinned to his pack in support of her cause. He carried treats and water bottles and a roll of doggy bags. I was prepared and even was able to give a bag to a man who was much less prepared. That was not the case during an embarrassing dog walk from my sister’s home in East Atlanta Village to the town center. First, I made him use her front yard facilities before we embarked but I was suspicious of the scant pile of poo and the fact that Chase was walking in a manner that suggested he was packing a pile toward his back end. It was a beautiful day and the entire neighborhood appeared to be working in their well-manicured front yards. I struggled to keep him confined to the sidewalk. He sniffed with disdain at the abandoned lots I offered as an alternative and soon I was confident that he had done all he needed to do back at the house. As my sister and I paused in front of a favorite shop window, Chase proceeded to squat in the middle of the city sidewalk. Liz offered to help by extending her hand to hold his leash. I grabbed a stack of napkins from a nearby café table and attempted to clean up the mess. A fresh streak of brown stained the cement and I looked up at the sky, praying for rain. Did I learn my lesson? Hardly. There are tennis courts that are close to my house and are a perfect place to take the four dogs late at night. The gates can be closed, leashes removed and the dogs can pursue forgotten tennis balls on the enclosed courts. The walk to the courts is long enough for all doggy business to be conducted beforehand. As my friend and I threw tennis balls to George, Molly and Charlie, I spied my dog at the far end of the court in the squat position. I screamed at him to stop but it was too late (see rule number 3). I found a discarded terry cloth tennis towel that seemed to be in very good condition in a corner of the court. I approached the steaming pile while my friend chuckled on the other side of the court. Cursing my dog for using the furthest corner from the trash can, I plucked at the pile as best I could and gagged from the smell as I walked quickly to throw it away. As with cement sidewalks, it is difficult to clean and a fresh stain bore evidence of his disrespect.

Remember the Double Drop: Last year I took a leisurely walk around my condo grounds and parking lot with my dog. There are two areas that have a dog bag station so I rarely had problems with Rule #1. He conducted a very impressive amount of dog business by the first station I was certain that he couldn’t have any more in him. Just in case, I walked toward the next dog station and spent extra time on that area of the lawn. Nothing. Feeling confident, we walked toward the far end of the complex. As we crossed a large parking lot, I felt his leash give a sharp tug. My dog had squatted in the middle of a parking space and produced an award-winning pile. I had no dog bags with me and both dog stations were very far away. Hoping no one would think I was shirking off my civic duties, I sprinted back to a dog station, grabbed two bags and returned to the parking space. It only took one bag but at that point, I wasn’t taking any chances on a Triple Play!

You Can’t Stop Gravity: While visiting a friend’s home and confident in my dog’s house manners, he excitedly sniffed his new surroundings. As I picked up my glass of wine, I noticed that Chase was in the squat position by her front door. I lunged toward him, opened the door and dragged him out by the collar. A thin line of poo marked our path like a trail of sticky breadcrumbs….the carpet by the front door, the stairs, the sidewalk and finally the grass. I had a lot to clean up.

Encore: A relative was staying at the condo and had agreed to walk Chase while I was at work. I left a roll of dog bags on the counter and put in an eight hour day. When I arrived home I asked how many times Chase had been walked. I was told none because Chase hadn’t asked to go out and only wanted to sleep. I glared at the family member and put Chase on his leash. I made it to the second floor landing when the leash became taut. Chase scrunched up directly in front of the front door of a sweet old lady’s condo. I tugged and tugged but to no avail. I returned to the condo to retrieve paper towels and cleaning solution and while cleaning up one pile, Chase dropped a second. I prayed that the woman stayed in her apartment as I struggled to clean up the mess on the concrete surface.

There are so many joys of having a dog in your life, even if that means four dogs. They brighten my day, they keep me company and they keep my secrets safe. But there are other things to consider. The things that no one seems to talk about until you have already made that commitment. I try to follow my rules but there have been times (clearly) that even I have forgotten – and paid the embarrassing consequences sooner than later. So, that’s my scoop and I’m sticking to it!

“Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them's making a poop, the other one's carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?” ~Jerry Seinfeld

These Paws Were Made for Walkin'

Several years ago, my dad had just retired and I was able to spend daddy/daughter time with him each day. One of our goals was to discover places around Aiken that would be ideal for walking our dogs. Odell Weeks on Whiskey Road was great because they had doggy waste bags at stations spaced along the track and a special dog water fountain if your pooch became thirsty. We also enjoyed Hitchcock Woods because of the soft trails and the feeling of escaping the modern world with the chirping of birds and scuttling of squirrels through the leaves and underbrush.

My favorite place was Redcliffe Plantation in Beech Island. The fifteen minute drive was satisfying to the dogs and the parking lot had plenty of spaces available. The trail was a mixture of fairly easy downward slopes and slightly more challenging hills to total approximately two miles of walking. Picnic tables and benches were scattered throughout and I have been known to pack a sandwich and book in my backpack. Chase’s account of the trail is detailed below…

Yesterday I got to go for a car ride and a walk – two of my most favorite things. Sarah put me in the back of the car with my special seatbelt (safety first) and then picked up her dad and his dog, Dolly. I’m still not sure that I like Dolly all that much. She is five years younger than me (in dog years that is a lot) and is really annoying.

We drove for a really long time, at least fifteen minutes, with the sun roof open (another favorite thing). Finally we arrived at Redcliffe Plantation. Sarah said it was a historic site but it just looked like an old house with lots of space to RUN! We all got out of the car and Sarah and her dad looked for a really long time at a big sign. Apparently there was a map on it but who cares for maps when you have a great sniffer? I won’t get lost. They stopped to talk to a man who had a giant golden retriever that kept trying to sniff my butt. I hate it when dogs do that to me – so rude! The man pointed out where the trail began and pulled his dog, Sam, away from me.

Finally I got to walk. Sarah kept issuing a ton of “No’s”. As in no pulling, no sniffing fire ant hills and no birds. The last one is particularly mean in my opinion. No birds? I am a bird dog! I love birds and there were tons of them around. As we reached the trail entrance, I noticed that Sam was following me. His person was following too. The man caught up and told Sarah and her dad that he had lost his keys. He was going back through the trail to find them but if we found them to turn the keys into the ranger. Sam and his person passed us but Sam kept looking back at us. I stayed far enough behind and kept my tail tucked until I was certain he wasn’t coming back for me. I think that dog has issues – maybe he just got out of prison or something. Speaking of prison, I thought that if this guy was a serial killer it would be a great story to tell his innocent victims and their dogs to look out for his lost keys. That way we would all be looking down and not on the lookout for bad people lurking in the woods. Hmmmm. Maybe I watch too much true crime on TV.

So off through the woodsy trail we traversed. I had a nice game of tug-o-war with Sarah. I tugged, she tugged. Worked out just fine until she shortened my leash. I stopped tugging. Strangely enough she allowed me to tug every time we had to go up a hill. Walking walking walking. Really big trees and a nice-soft-on-the-paws leafy trail. An hour later we were still walking. Well, Dolly was sort of lagging behind. She just doesn’t seem to have the energy that I have and she is younger than me! According to Sarah and her Dad, we walked at least two miles before we emerged from the woods. I was excited to see a small muddy stream and jumped in to cool my heels and take a drink. The muddy red clay felt so good on my paws but Sarah didn’t seem too happy with the fresh coating on my legs.

Unfortunately the trail let out at the end of the long gravel driveway so we had to walk all
the way back to the car. Sam and his Stalker-owner were there and now there was a woman (victim?) with them. They asked if we had found the keys. We hadn’t. Sarah then wiped all of my paws and legs with a special doggie wipe thing that I didn’t even know she had. She removed the mud coating that I had taken such care to evenly apply on all four legs. Back into the car and seatbelt, I curled up on my blanket and even shared some with Dolly. As we followed behind the stalker and Sam, they suddenly braked and the woman jumped out. She picked up something shiny from the driveway, smiled and waved. The sun roof was open and I drifted off into dog dreams as we drove home. It was a good day. Woof.

http://www.southcarolinaparks.com/park-finder/state-park/2015.aspx

Cookie Monsters

My mother planned a cookie baking session with her friend and three children on the same weekend that I was coming to visit with my four-pack. The dogs were thrilled to have three pint-sized humans to play with and eagerly showcased their favorite toys. After a quick lunch of sloppy-Joes, the cookie making production began. Although it was a beautiful day outside, none of the dogs wanted to leave the mouth watering smells that wafted through the house. In fact, they preferred to hang out in the kitchen, amidst the entire cookie baking activities.

The first cookies planned were a kid-friendly chocolate chip cookie made according to the original Nestle Tollhouse recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag. The two older boys helped measure ingredients in between playing Nintendo games on handheld devices. The youngest child, a tiny blonde girl, kicked off her Sponge Bob flip flops and climbed a chair she had pushed against the butcher block island. Armed with a cookie scoop, the five year old carefully measured the dough and dropped each cookie ball onto a metal sheet. She paused momentarily, face scrunched in concentration, as she counted the dollops on the tray. Her right arm, with the scoop clutched tightly in her tiny fist, dangled below and Chase was ready with his tongue to lick the dough clinging to its sides. I smiled at the Norman Rockwell moment but quickly rushed in and grabbed the scoop, admonished my dog and washed the drool covered gadget in the sink.

Mom pulled trays of cookies from the oven and held them for the boys who used spatulas to remove the treats onto cooling racks placed on the kitchen table. Once the last cookie was removed from the oven, my grandmother began to make her delicious “S” cookies. This was an old shortbread-like recipe that was mixed by hand. The cookie was formed into an S shape before baking in the oven. After baking, a generous dusting of powdered sugar coated each cookie.

Mom, her friend and I took a break in the living room until Grandma began yelling for help. Mom ran into the kitchen and discovered that George had climbed up onto a chair next to the table and retrieved two cookies! He and Molly were on the tile floor enjoying their pilfered cookies. All dogs were banished outside along with the children who ran them ragged. Tennis ball throwing and front yard races to determine who was the fastest runner…boys or dachshunds? The dogs and children frolicked until it was time to leave. I wasn’t sure who was more tired but I smiled as I surveyed all of the cookie monsters napping in the living room, paws twitching slightly, and wondered if they were dreaming of cookies.

Make a Wish

When I was searching for a dog seven years ago, I hoped that I would get a cool dog. One that wouldn’t hate the car, one that wouldn’t be afraid of thunder, one that would catch a Frisbee, one that wasn’t afraid to swim. My wish list was based on my experiences with other pets that I had.

My childhood dog, Drummer, was a Keeshond who was terrified of thunder. If a storm rolled in, he would shake and shiver and quiver while trying to dig his way under a bed for safety. I was grateful that Chase wasn’t afraid of storms or any loud noises. As a puppy, he would hop on the back of the vacuum cleaner for a ride while I attempted to clean the floors of debris created by him. He tried to catch the fireworks that lit the night sky on New Year’s Eve.

My cat Madison, as established in a previous post, hated the car. I believe his extreme dislike for water came from the bath that was waiting him after each car ride. He also didn’t appreciate boat rides. I’m not sure why I thought he would. My reasoning was that cats like fish; I was fishing so maybe he would like to be with me in the boat. It made perfect sense at the time until five minutes into the excursion he peed in my lap causing me to let go of my grip on his neck. In those few seconds Madison leaped from the boat into the pond and disappeared beneath the murky surface. Shocked and dripping with cat urine, I leaned over the side of the boat searching for my cat. No air bubbles. No cat. As I considered whether I should jump in and save him, which would take care of the cat pee situation, I saw a dark and wet scraggly thing pull itself out of the muddy water on the far side of the shore. It sort of looked like Gollum from Lord of the Rings as it struggled through the undergrowth. Madison turned and stared at me with hot angry eyes filled with hatred. My cat could not swim but apparently was fat enough to sink to the bottom of the pond and walk all the way to the surface!

My dogs love to swim. They enjoy the pool at my parent’s house after a long adventure in the woods. They enjoy the pond here in Georgia and all four track wet sloppy paw prints throughout the house before I can catch them with my dishpan of soapy water. They enjoy splashing in puddles on rainy days. They also enjoy playing with their yard toys, too. Chase had an interest in Frisbees until Mom kept trying to train him to catch one. He gained a fear of Frisbees slamming into his head and refused to catch them. If there is a Frisbee game similar to dodge ball, then that is what happens when a bright red disc is flung at my dog. He dodges it. George, Molly and Charlie would play with tennis balls. George used to try to catch them until I threw one directly into his head. Then he would only chase the balls if I kicked them…until I kicked one directly into his head. George refuses to play with me anymore.

I think that I wouldn’t make any changes to my wish list; however I would make a few additions to it. I would want a dog that was obedient and wouldn’t ignore me when I called because all four dogs currently have selective hearing. I would want a dog that picked up his toys, especially when he snuck them out in the yard. George has a habit of bringing every toy into the back yard. He also brings socks and shoes back there, too. Chase used to bring all of my clothes into the backyard of my old house and fling them around in full view of the neighbors. He even brought a trash can out through his dog door. I would want a dog that didn’t wipe his mouth on the carpet or couch after he was done eating as George and Chase do every single time.

Although it would be nice to have everything on the wish list, I wouldn’t want a “Stepford” dog either. I feel that it is the times that they are being “bad” that it makes them so cute. It’s the times that make me smile and the times that make the memories.

The great pleasure of a dog is that you make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, he will make a fool of himself too.   ~ Samuel Butler

Travels with Charlie

Charlie does not do well in the car. He can tough it out on the highway but a winding, curvy, bumpy back road causes his tummy to lurch and purge. This can be especially gross if he is sitting in my lap at the time. Almost all of my pets throughout my life have travelled well. Chase enjoys a car ride and will even hop inside, uninvited, just for the briefest of trips to the store, bank or mailbox.

The worst travel companion I ever had was my cat, Madison. He loathed the car so much that he would work himself into a frenzy before I moved the vehicle ten feet from the driveway. He would spit and howl and hiss and make himself sick almost instantly. He would froth and foam at the mouth like a rabid wild animal. The cat needed a bath one hundred percent of the time upon reaching our destination. The worst trip ever was a visit to my parents’ home when I was living in Charleston, South Carolina. It was more than two hours to their house in my small single cab pickup truck. Madison was hissing in his typical fashion from the cage on the seat beside me. On this trip he graciously waited forty minutes before becoming ill in his cage. I was too far from my apartment to turn around and too far from my parents’ to continue with an agitated cat kicking bits of puke out of his cage.

I pulled over at the first rest stop I could find. There was a long row of empty parking spaces and I selected a space furthest from the bathrooms so I could have a bit of privacy. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I reached over and released the latch on the cat cage door. Madison emerged; dry on one side and sticky wet on the other. As I attempted to locate a paper towel to clean him with, he jumped into my lap and began to rub himself dry on my shirt. My shirt was completely soiled, it was a hot and humid summer day and I had a long drive ahead of me. Great. I pushed Madison away and climbed out of the truck. The parking lot was still empty. I fished a clean shirt out of my suitcase and climbed back into the truck. I decided to change my shirt in the truck by pulling my arms inside the filthy shirt and using it to shield myself while twisting the other shirt on. Good plan and I had one arm pulled inside when a minivan pulled into the space next to me. Thirty empty spaces in the parking lot and they had to pull right next to me! Madison was now perched on the dashboard of the truck. I waited for some privacy but no one exited the minivan.

As I pondered a Plan B, I was startled by a knock on my window. I looked up and saw the rest stop attendant, broom in hand, giving me the thumbs up signal. “Nice Cat!” he yelled. I looked at Madison; his fur stuck to him in clumpy matted piles and realized that the man could only see his good side. I forced a smile and thanked him, praying that he would move on. He shuffled away, inspecting a few trash cans along his route. I eyed my clean shirt again and the minivan. Sighing, I decided to go for it. Another vehicle pulled into the other space. I was surrounded and gave up the clean shirt idea. Glad that I had a full tank of gas, I yanked an old sweater that was behind the seat and pulled it on to cover my shirt. Needless to say, at the end of this journey, both the cat and I needed a bath!

Charlie has never been as bad as Madison but I have had to clean my car more times than I wanted after a road trip with him. Recently I discovered calming pet treats in my favorite store to spend all of my money: Pet Smart. While a bit pricey, Nutri-Vet Pet Ease soft chews are the miracle I have been seeking. Now before any trip, I give Charlie a treat and he has no problems whatsoever. He also is very happy to get in the car and enjoys his rides just like the other dogs, looking out the window before curling up to sleep.

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Trails

When my friend Shane decided to move to Bermuda, his niece Gigi graciously took his small Shih Tzu puppy to her home in Pennsylvania. Cisco toughed out the harsh winters and made a friend out of the enormous black lab that already occupied the house. After three years of island life, Shane returned to South Carolina. He wanted his dog back and planned a road trip up North to retrieve Cisco. I was already in Pennsylvania visiting Gigi and Shane soon discovered this after postponing his trip several days in a row. On the final day of my visit, he asked if I would bring his dog back with me. I agreed even though I planned on making my way back South with a few days spent in the mountains of Virginia.

I packed up and left Pennsylvania, opting for the road less travelled as I made my way down a narrow highway leading into Gettysburg. I continued following back roads into Virginia and pulled over on a mountain country lane in order to hike a short trail to a lookout tower. It was June and leaving Cisco in the truck was not possible. At the lookout tower he refused to climb the rickety, rusty metal stairs and I had to carry him. I stayed in the tower to watch the sun set, but made my way down before it became dark as I had thoughts of bears in the back of my head. I pulled into a small motel that I had made a reservation with earlier in the week and realized that at the time I called, I was not expecting to have a dog. I wasn’t even sure if pets were allowed. I eyed the seven pound shaved Shih Tzu slumbering on the seat next to me and pondered my choices. I checked in the motel and returned to the truck for my luggage. I removed everything from my satchel and stuffed Cisco inside and zipped him up. I grabbed my suitcase and slung the now kicking satchel over my shoulder and quickly unlocked the room. Cisco was not happy. In fact, it was so easy sneaking the dog into my room, I repeated it a couple more times on my trip back to South Carolina!

On Interstate 81 there is a scenic mountain highway that I always wanted to take: The Blue Ridge Parkway. There is a fee since it is a national park and because the speed limit ranges between 10 and 30 miles per hour, it adds a lot of time onto the trip. I wanted to hike a portion of the Appalachian Trail and was proud of myself for bringing appropriate footwear for the first time in my life. However, I was now saddled with Shane’s frou frou dog who really didn’t like me after being stuffed, albeit temporarily, inside luggage. I stopped at the gift shop and nature center for a trail map. A park ranger highlighted the trails that allowed dogs. There were two and I pulled into the parking lot of the closest one which promised a waterfall at the end. It would be a four hour roundtrip hike. I clipped Cisco’s Harley Davidson leash to his matching collar and hoped that he was just as tough as his fashionable motorcycle gear.

Partway down the trail I found a fallen hollowed-out tree and thought it would make a cute picture. I checked it for snakes and satisfied that it was safe, I stuffed Cisco inside for a photo shoot. He kept jumping out so I didn’t get many pictures. I continued down the path with Cisco in the lead. It was a fairly easy trail all the way down. There were no ups. Just downs. Then the trail ended at a stream, not a waterfall. I began to think that I read the map wrong, which was entirely possible since I was known for being directionally challenged. Then I saw the trail marker across the stream. Great…the stream was part of the trail. I bent down to pick up Cisco, however he was already frolicking in the chilly water. I stepped on the stones in the water and tugged Cisco through behind me. Now I had a dripping wet shaved Shih Tzu and I was really getting the strangest looks from other more seasoned hard-core hikers that were on the trail. I finally reached the overlook and the waterfall. Underwhelmed, I took a few pictures and began the long hike back up the trail. I finally noticed that the trip to the waterfall was completely downhill and the entire trip back would be up, up, up. I didn’t even have my own dog with me who was much bigger and loved to pull. Looking at the seven pound dog in front of me who didn’t even seem tired, I doubted his ability to help pull me up the trail and he kept looking back, giving me dirty stares when I would frequently stop for a break. I reached the truck before the sun set and headed out of the park. Each time I would stop for a break and attempt to walk Cisco, he would back away from me with a growl. Even now, although more than three years have passed, Cisco growls and barks when he sees me. Sometimes I wonder what he would do if a brought a piece of luggage over…

The Dog Parade

I recently read that “dogs sleep a lot”. I wholeheartedly believe that statement. While my dogs have things that keep them occupied such as destroying their toys, barking at everything and nothing as well as backyard border patrol, they don’t have responsibilities, chores or hobbies.

When Chase was a puppy, my mother would frequently stop by my house to walk him while I was at work. Each time she found him slumbering, stretched out full-length across my bed with his head resting on my pillow. I am positive that even now, with the dog-shaped indentations in the memory foam mattress as irrefutable evidence, all of my dogs snooze the hours away between the time I leave and my return home. Sleeping and building even more adrenaline for their time to shine and entertain.

As I pull into my driveway I can’t help but hear the dog posse barking. Upon entering the house I am greeted by a tap-dancing English setter demonstrating the full-body wag, two English cocker spaniels joining in the dance and a dachshund slipping and sliding beneath the tangle of legs. Moving further into the house, the Dog Parade commences with Chase high-stepping in the front, Molly and George following with an enormous stuffed animal clutched firmly in their mouths and Charlie, The Little Engine That Could, bringing up the rear.

The Dog Parade is special, even unique, and only exists when these four dogs are together. I still receive a special homecoming performance when they aren’t all assembled. I’m just not treated to the parade.. And I find that no matter how tired I am or what kind of day I faced, the amazing Dog Parade never fails to bring a smile to my face and joy to my heart.

Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice

My mother and grandmother discovered Dolly on a December morning while delivering Meals on Wheels. As Mom approached the weather worn trailer with a foil-wrapped meal and sweaty carton of milk, she noticed a tiny brown puppy huddled against the moldy stairs. Upon greeting the meal recipient, she inquired about the new dog. “That ain’t my dog!” the lady rasped.

It was enough for Mom. She coaxed the shy puppy into her minivan and discussed with Grandma their options. They knew that my father, recently retired and ever-present in the house, would not approve. Grandma fell in love with the dirty, quivering bundle of matted fur instantly; however Mom decided that the only choice was to take the puppy to the animal shelter.

For two days Mom thought of the puppy. Finally, mind made up, she returned to the shelter to retrieve her. It was nearly Christmas and both my sister and I were in town. The small puppy looked clean but had awful tufts of brown, red and black fur that stuck out in a Medusa style of snaky cowlicks. She huddled in a pile of Chase’s plush animals and reminded me of the scene in E.T. when the alien hid amongst a shelf of toys.

Mom told everyone that she was merely fostering the dog she had named “Shy” until she could find a suitable home. Liz and I didn’t think it was appropriate to name the dog after an adjective and began to call her “Dolly”. Dad was not amused and began to refer to Chase as “the real dog”.

Because Mom needed to work and asking my father was clearly out of the question, Liz and I took Dolly to her first vet appointment. I gathered the paperwork from the shelter in case it was needed. Browsing through it, I found an adoption agreement and a receipt for seventy-five dollars…proof that my mother wasn’t fostering this dog! Even worse, she could have had the dog for free if she hadn’t brought her to the shelter in the first place.

Chase and Dolly’s initial meeting was not love at first sight. Dolly was huddled under the piano bench, her odd colors blending in with the assortment of toys she had surrounded herself with for protection. My five-year-old dog poked his nose beneath the bench to be greeted with snarls, snaps and growls. Now, more than two years later, Dolly charges him, knocking him over, and greeting him with barks of happiness and kisses. One mention of “Where’s Chase?” and she races through the house searching and whining.

It is amazing to see the two dogs, equal in size, run through the woods together. Side by side, their wavy fur is a perfect color contrast: his white with freckles of orange and hers gleaming brown with the sunlight catching flecks of amber.

Mom routinely takes Dolly on walks in the woods each day. Any dogs who are visiting are welcome and encouraged. Dolly has even guided them, sans human, down the pine needle littered trail revealing all of her secret places. She is a gentle dog, not easily excitable or high strung and a perfect companion for an older person.

On her continued Meals on Wheels route, down the narrow sand-packed road where Mom first spotted the wary bundle of fur, she still looks for Dolly’s potential parentage. The possibilities have been pondered and argued numerous times: Chow? Irish Setter? In the pet store there is a pricey mixed breed DNA kit available that would certainly end the debate once and for all, but I prefer to borrow from an old childhood rhyme. “Sugar and spice and everything nice”, that’s what Dolly is made of.

The Dogs of Babel

I love bookstores. I even love those huge bookstores with tables and shelves of bargain books. I have picked up some fantastic finds in the bargain section. The Devil in the Junior League was hilarious and was a perfect unabridged audiobook that helped me pass the time on a trip. Recently I found The Dogs of Babel by Carolyn Parkhurst.

I love dogs and other furry companions. I just don’t go out of my way to purchase a book simply because it has a dog theme to it. Yes, I’ve cried and laughed through Marley and Me long before it was a bestseller. This book seemed interesting because it tells the story of a linguist professor who comes home to find his wife has accidentally fallen from a tree in their backyard, breaking her neck. The only witness to her death is their dog. The husband has no idea why his wife was climbing a tree and begins to see strange clues in the house that lead him to believe that her last afternoon was anything but ordinary. In his grief, he decides to train the dog to communicate so that one day, he might be able to put all the pieces together.

While I haven’t finished the book, there is an early chapter where the main character is attempting to figure out just how many words the dog already knew. I began to think about how many words and commands Chase knows. He has the obvious words from training like “Come, Sit, Stay, Heel, Down” and an assortment of parlor tricks like “Paw, Roll Over and Bow to Sarah”. But he has picked up many words along the way. He loves the word “Cheese” and knows exactly what it means. He goes into a frenzy with “Walk or Car Ride”. He will tap dance with delight if he hears the words “wanna go out?” If a door bell rings on television he will begin to bark, but if I utter “It’s on TV, Chase” he usually stops. Each of his toys have names and he recognizes them as well. “Where’s Your Bear?” or “Where’s Your Puppy?” and even “Where’s Your Alien?” Chase will grab his teddy bear, puppy or even the lime green alien from Roswell, New Mexico and shake it in my face.

The book also reveals that a dog is very sensitive to other non-verbal language and can use those things to help interpret future events. Chase becomes depressed if he sees me packing a suitcase and doesn’t see his dog bag packed, too. He knows that I will be going on a trip without him. He knows that I am going out if I spend extra time in the bathroom with makeup and a curling iron. My grandmother used to swear that my childhood dog, Drummer, could tell time. At precisely five-thirty every evening he would plant himself at the door to the garage, waiting for my father’s arrival.

No, I am not about to embark on a journey to teach my dog how to talk. He already is persistent enough just the way he is. He knows how to communicate. He stands in front of me whining and wailing and slapping my leg with his paw until I utter the words he has been waiting for: “Show Me”. Off he runs, sure that I am following, to show me the back door, the water bowl, the food bowl or something he feels he deserves on the counter. He also uses his communication skills on the other dogs in the house. If one has a bone that he covets, Chase will whine and wail and moan, then race to a door or window barking crazily. The other dogs will follow and join in the brouhaha. Chase will then double back to the forgotten treasure and snatch it up.

As I continue to read my newest bargain treasure, I think that many of us, at one time or another, may have wondered what our furry companions would say if given the opportunity. They are witnesses to many things. My dog, Drummer was the sole occupant when my home was burglarized when I was in elementary school. Chase was remarkably calm with a neighbor’s autistic son who held him close and stroked his fur for nearly an hour. My three McClellanville dogs were a great comfort to me during some times of emotional distress and would gather around me, forgoing their usual romping and hunting activities in the marsh. Maybe the reason that we enjoy our animals so much is that they don’t communicate verbally. They don’t say things that would hurt us, there are no misunderstandings, and they truly love us, unconditionally.

Bring Your Dog to Work: A Ghost Story

I used to work in a haunted office. I can hear the snickers now, but it is true. I don’t consider myself the most sensitive person as far as that kind of thing goes. I remember, years ago when I was living with my cousin in his turn-of-the-century brownstone, coming home to find him pale and trembling on the couch. I laughed when he told me he had seen a ghost.

The ghostly activity began in the office shortly after the company owners purchased the renovated historic home. Typically footsteps could be heard pacing in the reception area in the later hours of the day. Things would disappear and then reappear in strange places. Door knobs would turn but no one would be on the other side. The accountant’s ten-key calculator would make calculations on the paper tape overnight. Because the strange occurrences were more prevalent at night, employees did not like to remain after hours. Even me, the non-believer.

One evening, I needed to be at the office to work extra hours on an important project. I intended to stay until about nine o’clock but didn’t relish the thought that I would be alone so I brought Chase along for protection. My office was on the second floor so I locked the employee entrance behind me and set the alarm for the doors. Upstairs, Chase seemed determined to inspect every office and every garbage can so I locked him in with me. He curled up on the floor beside me and went to sleep for approximately forty-five minutes. Suddenly, his head popped up and he stared intently at the door. Tail wagging, he approached the door and bent down, tail in the air, trying to peer underneath the base. I called him back but he wouldn’t settle down. He approached the door again and refused to listen to me. My dog was completely focused on what was on the other side of that door.

I decided to call it a night and turned off my computer. The switch for the downstairs reception light was on the second floor which meant that I would be walking down the stairs in the dark. Firmly clutching Chase’s leash, I turned off the light and then scolded myself for not leaving any lights on in another office below. The darkness was inky black as I hesitantly felt the first step with my practical three-inch heel sandal. I pushed Chase ahead of me and gripped the banister. We made our way slowly down the stairs. On the third step from the bottom, Chase froze. Then he slowly started to wag his tail at an invisible something in front of us. My heart was racing as I not-so-gently nudged him forward. He refused to budge and began to wag his tail more rapidly. As panic began to set in, I moved around him and pulled his leash from the safety of the floor, forcing him to comply. I walked quickly toward the back door, relieved at the small sliver of light from the outside parking lot. I locked up the building and retreated to my car, deciding once and for all that I would never bring my dog to work with me again!

The Name Game

It was a beautiful day, sunny but cool enough to work outside. A perfect day to finally clean my car. Despite being careful to put a blanket or towel on the seats before allowing the dogs entry, the leather always seemed to bear evidence of muddy paw prints. The windows had layers of dog nose drawings…even the sunroof bore the distinct nose writing of my dog!

All dogs were in the yard doing dog things: Chase was stalking birds, Charlie was destroying tennis balls while George and Molly walked on water. The pond was once again filled to capacity and the dock had disappeared two inches below the surface. George had a knack for finding the dock and it appeared that he was walking on the surface of the pond. Suddenly, all dogs were on border alert. The Yorkie from next door violated the border rules and entered protected territory. Molly, George and Charlie raced to defend their backyard. Chase was too preoccupied with the birds. The Yorkie disappeared and I resumed scrubbing the grime from my car.

I took a small break and watched Chase pointing and creeping toward a bird in a fruit tree. I noticed the Yorkie lurking in the cedar tree barrier. It too was stalking and creeping…right toward Chase. As it sprang forward yipping and yapping, a small ponytail bobbing from the center of its head, its owner began screaming at it to obey. Chase ignored the small furry football. The owner continued to screech from the privacy of her own yard, unseen by me. “Truffle! Truffle! Get over here NOW!” Seriously. The dog’s name was Truffle.

Before I adopted Chase, I scoured the internet in search of a perfect dog name. There are thousands of names out there but there seemed to be a common number one rule: think of how you will feel shouting the dog’s name in public. Throughout my life with Chase, I have had to shout, scream, yell, screech and holler his name in public more times than I care to admit. Usually I am running after him while others snicker about how appropriate his name is. The funny thing is I didn’t name him with the thought that I would be chasing him. He was five pounds when I got him. His head was bigger than his body. I could outrun that dog in four-inch stilettos. He is named after a poker hand. I like poker…not verbs. What can I say?

Truffle made a few more appearances in the yard with bold attempts to break Chase’s focus. Truffle’s owner remained hidden, anonymously behind the trees screaming Truffle’s name incessantly, imploring him to obey. I casually walked and played with Truffle toward the border, sending him home to the pair of legs I could clearly see on the other side. Then, quite smugly, I confidently called my own dogs home. They all ignored me. No surprise there. I went inside, banged their dog bowls around, and added kibble and rice. I had the attention of three dogs who sat in front of me drooling. I placed the bowls on the sunroom floor which overlooked the backyard. I could clearly see Chase in the garden, still focused on his beloved birds. The food won and he dutifully returned for meal time, no shouting, screaming or hollering on my part. Appearances are everything and bribery is not beneath me!

Clean car, four well-named happy and fed dogs…a perfect Sunday afternoon.

A Tale of Two Groomers

It was time. Six years overdue. Chase's first official haircut. A Kodak moment for certain and I was unable to take him for his scheduled time so I had a friend drop him off at the local groomer. The "stylist" would call me when Chase was ready which would take an estimated four hours. That suited me because then I could pick him up. I was more than ready when the groomer called. The GPS in my car had the address programmed and very soon I discovered "where the sidewalk ends"...literally. Dilapidated , faded clapboard homes with patches of clay and weeds lined the pot-hole abundant road. I actually passed the groomer's because I couldn't believe that it could be housed in the crumbling duplex that was a combination liquor store and pet couture. And it only got better. As I entered the pink and green garishly decorated waiting nook, Chase detected my presence and utilized his counter-surfing skills in an escape attempt. A wiry man with a mullet was brandishing a hair dryer at a poodle client. He deduced that Chase belonged to me and shuffled on over. I paid twenty-five dollars…a bargain considering Chase’s ears were completely puffed up in an eighties AquaNet bulky shoulder pad style and he smelled like he had been rolling in a Designer Imposters perfume. He also sported a Pennsylvania Dutch patterned bandana around his neck. I buckled Chase in the car and fled the ghetto. Back at home, his dog posse greeted him with growls and wary looks. I suppose he smelled funny.

Several days later when all of the styling gel wore off, I realized that the groomer had simply washed and fluffed my dog. No hair had been cut as requested and his style wasn’t even close to a traditional English setter. It was time for the bright lights and big city of Atlanta and Pet Smart. Yes…Pet Smart. Since they already had most of my money on pet products I figured that they might as well take the rest of it too. Seventy-five dollars and three hours later, my dog had his first haircut, pedicure and teeth cleaning. His orange spots were no longer hidden jewels and a report card detailed all products used and the fact that he was a “happy dog”. They even set a follow-up appointment out of courtesy. In order to continue to see his hidden colors, I would need to keep that appointment.

Back at home, the dog posse greeted Chase with their usual indifference. And for this tale of two groomers, the one at Pet Smart was definitely a cut above!

Birthday Treat

Today was Chase's seventh birthday. He spent the day in the back yard doing his favorite thing: bird stalking. I baked him a cake which he shared with his dog friends and all dogs were equally thrilled with their special treat. My dog is very particular about treats. At his graduation from dog training, he refused to partake in the very expensive dog cake from the local specialty doggie bakery. To make sure that he would enjoy his cake, I included his favorite ingredients. It was very easy and quick to make and there is even some left for him to enjoy for breakfast tomorrow.

Chase’s Birthday Cake
1 cup whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons beef granules
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 carrots shredded
¼ cup peanut butter
1 small snack sized container applesauce
¼ cup vegetable oil
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg

Mix dry ingredients together. Add remaining ingredients mixing well. Bake in a greased round cake pan for 35-40 minutes at 350 degrees. Let cool for fifteen minutes in the pan before turning out onto a plate.

Frosting
½ pkg cream cheese, softened
1 pouch salmon

Whip together the cream cheese and salmon. Spread on top of cake.

The Dog Days of Summer

Ever since I adopted Chase in 2003, I have wanted to introduce him to my family’s lake front cottage in Maine. I had many happy childhood memories and I was positive that my dog would enjoy paddling around the lake and chasing the chipmunks. The problem was it takes 18 hours to drive there and I couldn’t bring myself to put him on a plane. Over the summer, my dream was made a reality and I packed up my car, buckled in my dog and drove to Virginia to meet my friend Tracy and her family who planned on caravanning with us. Chase was happy to see his dog friend, Riley, for the first time in several months. Our first stopping point was in Pennsylvania. Tracy’s mother was out of town and graciously allowed all of us, including the two dogs, to take over her home for the night. The next day we drove on to the cottage, arriving in the late afternoon. My sister started a journal several years ago for visitors to the summer home to document their stay, recommend restaurants or other places to shop. At the end of the week-long stay, Chase dutifully dictated his thoughts to be put in the journal and I have decided to share my dog’s viewpoint of his vacation in Maine…

July 9, 2009
Today is my last day in Sanford. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like it very much here at first. On night #1, Jeanne told me that Aunt Kathy told her I was to stay off all furniture. Aunt Kathy wasn’t even brave enough to stick around to tell me herself. At least I could have growled at her. So for the first night I slept on the floor on my blanket…really “ruffing” it. The next morning I was awoken by men knocking on the roof. I wasn’t sure what they wanted but me and my pack (Dolly and Riley) tried to let them know that we had a door and they should knock there. For some reason we all got yelled at and told to be quiet. These men kept knocking on the roof all day long! They didn’t seem to be very bright. The next day, one of my favorite people in the whole wide world came to visit me…Liz! I hadn’t smelled her in months! After a brief reunion, Sarah and her friend took me away to see the VET. I didn’t like the VET. He stuck a thermometer up my butt. How rude! I mean, its one thing to sniff a butt however this guy had to take it the extra mile! Then it was off to Midas for an oil change. On the car…not me! I got to hang out in the clover watching cars go by for about 30 minutes. It was a beautiful day. Dolly took advantage of my absence by stealing ALL of my toys. The men knocking on the roof apparently discovered the main door and took away the stairs. Me and my dog posse still managed. It wasn’t too bad of a jump but boy was it hard to get back up! Then time for bed and I mean BED. Yes Aunt Kathy! I was now allowed back in the bed. Tracy, Steve and Sarah watched a movie in one. Liz cuddled with me for a bit until Sarah decided I was being a traitor. I had sweet dog dreams until about 6:45 AM. These people in Maine are INSANE! The men were back knocking on the roof putting lots of holes in it and it was RAINING. It was bad enough that I couldn’t sleep but then Steve decided to take away my primary fresh water drinking source and put it outside. He also kept the lid down so it couldn’t even fill up with rain water. So…no stairs, no toilet and no sleep. Me, Steve, Sarah and Ruth took a car ride to Shane’s for breakfast. Ruth and I stayed in the car. Later we met up with Liz and Tracy for shopping at Marshalls. Ruth and I stayed in the car. Ruth shared her blanket with me and we got some sleep before heading back to the demolition house. Everyone was making a big deal about no toilet. Everyone kept driving to Wendy’s a lot. Me and my dog posse didn’t understand why all our people walk us around outside to do our business yet they felt the need to drive somewhere else for indoor facilities? Ok…well…I think Sarah went outside. I was sworn to secrecy but I haven’t forgiven her for the VET. The new drinking source was finally installed in the house with the secondary one outside. I was really beginning to like this place until….6 AM…men knocking on the roof! What is wrong with this town? This time I managed to let out one weak bark before Sarah grabbed me and smothered me under the covers. Abuse! Abuse! I gave up barking. The drinking fountain outside vanished but we now have stairs. Sarah, Steve and Tracy did a lot of talking through the floor boards but all seemed to be okay with the bathroom and kitchen today. No rain, no more holes in the roof (dogs CAN look up by the way). I got to nap a lot today…even cuddled up with Steve on Aunt Kathy’s bed (yes Aunt Kathy, you read that right) for a long snooze while Commander Vic took Sarah to the hospital for a tetanus shot (payback for thermometer up my butt perhaps?) Tracy made a fabulous smelling macaroni and cheese for supper but alas, no dogs allowed. So sad. I am now waiting to see if Justin and Ruth will share S’mores with me later. Speaking of Ruth, she was so nice to me today making sure I was all tucked in under a blanket in the recliner. Justin even rocked me to sleep a bit, too. I love vacations. These are the dog days of summer.

~ Chase

P.S. I Love you Aunt Kathy!

Note: The cottage underwent renovations during our stay to include a new roof and new skylights, new porch and stairs at the front door and a new toilet. Aunt Kathy is the caretaker of the cottage while my family is not there because she lives 17 hours closer than us.

Beds are for the Birds

Pet stores are smart. You can bring your well-behaved on-a-leash pet inside the store. This is why I tend to stop at Pet Smart when I travel as opposed to using a rest stop. I can’t bring Chase into the rest area bathroom and during the warmer months I can’t leave him in the car. But there is no problem if I bring him into the pet store.

This afternoon, I stopped into Pet Smart to buy a new bed for Chase. I had basic requirements: the bed must be large enough for him to stretch out on, it should fit in with the décor and he should not be easily able to hump it. I brought him into the store with me in order to test the first requirement. I would have been mortified if he disproved the third requirement in the middle of the store.

The beds are kept toward the back of the store. Customers and dogs that are inclined to shop must pass by displays of plush dog toys. 75% off dog toys attracted the bargain lover in me and I stopped to shop for next year’s Christmas toys. My non-bird dog owning friend grabbed Chase’s leash while I loaded my arms with snowmen and candy canes. I assumed I would find Chase by the beds. Instead I discovered him in front of an aviary. Twitching. Trembling. Completely focused. I thought I spied a bit of drool on the floor in front of him. Society finches, zebra finches, brightly colored parakeets, and other downy song birds were happily flitting around the aviary oblivious to the dangers on the other side of the glass just inches away. Tugging Chase out of his trance-like state and admonishing my friend for giving my dog a taste of “Reality TV”, I attempted to select a bed matching all criteria. With the first two requirements checked off my list, I proceeded to the checkout counter. My sneaky dog had snagged one of the Christmas toys off the counter unbeknownst to me. Alerted by a squeak, I snatched the toy back and apologized for the drool as I handed it to the less than enthusiastic cashier.

Back at home, I clipped the tags from the dog bed and pushed Chase into the center of it. I held him prisoner for a few moments, then proceeded into the kitchen to make dog biscuits. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted him dragging the new bed around in his mouth, trying to find a corner…of course he was foiled because the bed was round. I intervened and the jury is still out on whether this bed will meet requirement number three. It is also yet to be determined if Chase will actually sleep on this bed at all. George, who is half the size of Chase, has been blissfully sleeping away in the center of the bed all evening. And Chase? Well he is hanging out in the kitchen dreaming of dog biscuits.

Ripe for the Picking

A house full of dogs, so it was a clever idea to have a Christmas tree loaded with all sorts of plush toys. Cute, Santa-hat wearing soft and cuddly puppies lined the sofa waiting for their rightful place on the tree. Boughs laden with real candy canes and colored lights highlighted all of the temptations like a neon sign in a store window, beckoning shoppers to browse the selections. And Chase was in a shopping kind of mood.

He restrained his canine urges for a few days before I caught him carefully plucking a toy from the tree. As he attempted his getaway, I ordered him to "drop it" and he was quick to obey. I retrieved the pilfered toy just in time to spy Chase picking several more from the forbidden tree. He was in a generous mood and had chosen several ornaments for the other dogs in the house. And just to ensure that this was the gift that kept on giving, he dutifully taught his canine companions how to select their own ornament. The deviant behavior extended far beyond the Christmas tree. I caught dogs attempting to pull the singing musical reindeer from an end table. One over sized stocking hung by the mantle with care had newly acquired teeth marks in the toe and the wiener dog had stockpiled miniature Christmas stockings that he found tucked away neatly within the branches of the tree.

Christmas canine chaos ruled the house for several days before the dogs finally began to understand the "new" annual rules and ceased their attempts to strip the tree bare. While the stuffed-animal themed Christmas tree was not my idea, I can't say that my Edgar Allan Poe themed Christmas tree on the sun porch was any better with its jet black bird glaring down from its lofty perch at my bird dog. "And quoth the raven, Nevermore".

Oh! Christmas Tree

Many of my Christmas trees past have been determined by what new pet I had in my home. Would I dare hang the expensive Christopher Radko ornaments with a curious kitten on the prowl? Would I unwrap the precious ornaments from my childhood, rich with Christmas memories, while a rambunctious puppy flashed through the living room?

My first year with Chase, I thought that I would forgo the tree until he was older. My roommate, Regena, had other plans and we purchased a semi-dry and barely "live" tree from the Food Lion down the street. We had a choice of three as it was December 23rd and all the other evergreens had been long since purchased. We wrestled the tree into the house and as expected, we were unable to align it within the cheap metal stand. Resorting to fishing wire to aid the tree in a tall, straight stance, we spent fifteen minutes decorating it with the Barbie doll ornaments that Regena had collected for her daughter over the years. No lights, no garland, our no frills Christmas tree was ready for inspection by my 10-month old puppy and her completely insane cat, Samantha.

There was no time to place wrapped presents under the tree. Each of us had plans for the next two days that kept us away from our home. Christmas was over and I expected December 26th to be spent lazing around my home, enjoying the companionship that can only be given by cherished pets. Pets who were very hyperactive that chilly morning after Christmas. Samantha was crazily dashing through the house with Chase hot on her trail. I cringed as Samantha lunged for the tree and clawed her way up, bits of dry pine needles floating to the floor. The tree leaned precariously, hanging on by a thread, literally. Chase studied the tree with its newly acquired crazy cat and flung himself at the trunk. It was too much for the fishing wire and the tree crashed to the floor flinging out Samantha from the brittle branches. I rushed to survey the damage and attempted to upright the tree. Most of the ornaments and pine needles were on the floor and I wondered why I was even bothering.

Decision made, I stripped the tree of the remaining ornaments, and dragged it with its bent stand to my truck. My neighborhood of senior citizens were in their yards watching their newest episode of live Sarah Reality TV. This was the earliest that I have ever taken down a Christmas tree. Back inside, I finished cleaning up the needles and water from the hardwood floors and sat down with Chase to pluck pine needles from his white fur.

Pets, trees, even roommates and their animals come and go throughout the years but the memory of the three-day Christmas tree comes to mind once a year as I pull out all of the Christmas festivities and my artificial pre-lit sturdy Christmas "tree". I tend to do a quick survey of the pets in my house as I place the hardiest ornaments at the bottom of the tree with the rest out of paws reach.

A Toy Story

Chase loves toys. He is especially fond of colorful stuffed animals with a squeaker inside and believes that it is his mission in life to frantically dig and pull all stuffing out in order to remove and destroy the squeaker. I have previously mentioned my financial support of the pet stores and they have a wide selection of dog toys. I feel they are also clever by allowing owners to bring their dogs into the store. Chase enjoys shopping for toys and looks adorable carrying one in his mouth, tail happily wagging, to the cash register. I have spent more money simply because my dog looks cute doing something.

As a puppy, he enjoyed the “Kong” so long as I filled it with peanut butter and would be entertained for the duration of the creamy snack inside. He also enjoyed the heels of my shoes, headphone cords and antique oriental rugs so it was critical to keep the Kong filled with peanut butter. Chase was not very impressed with those dog toys that have no fluff or squeakers inside. To him it was similar to having a non-alcoholic beer…a complete waste of time, effort and money.

The toys that I discovered lasted the longest and were most treasured by Chase were regular children’s stuffed animals. I find them at the Goodwill and other thrift stores for under a dollar apiece and have also discovered them at garage sales. At a recent garage sale, there was a bin filled to capacity with plush bunnies. As my talkative mother chatted up the owner of the bunny bin, she discovered that the woman proudly collected all things rabbit and her husband was forcing her to downsize her collection. I selected a bunny from the bin, handed the woman a dollar, and dragged my mother down the driveway before she could reveal my intentions to present the bunny to my dog for his chewing pleasure. Because of the woman’s passion for bunnies, I didn’t have the heart to tell her the fate of the toy and hissed under my breath at my mother to stop talking.

My experience with purchasing second hand stuffed animals has proven to me that they last longer than the pet store toys, they are easier on your wallet and less likely to be completely destroyed in search of the evil squeaker. I am always careful to squeeze the stuffed animal like a package of Charmin toilet paper to make sure there are no small pellets or beans in the bottom. I’m not sure if they are toxic to dogs but I do know that Chase has pulled them out on a penguin given to him by my sister and, once strewn across the floor, are very hard to clean.

A few toys purchased have been for my own amusement. I presented Chase with a gigantic plush flower with a large stem that could be bent and twisted. He would gleefully parade around the house with it firmly clutched in his teeth and run full speed ahead at the doorways simply to get stuck as the flower was too big to fit. Chase would back into the doorway, drop the flower and then grip the end to drag it lengthways into the next room. He enjoyed an Easter Bunny that sang an old “Easter Bonnet” song when pressed in the center of its belly. Chase would work his teeth around the center until the song would play, jump back and bark along. He currently covets my father’s Walter the Farting Dog toy which is placed out of reach above my dad’s computer.

There are so many joys to having a dog as part of your life, but to me, there is nothing better than watching my English setter race manically around with a favorite toy in his mouth shaking his head back and forth, trying to tempt anyone to take the evenly coated, drool covered, unrecognizable, tattered and torn, bargain bunny-bin animal from his grip.

Travel Bound

Ever since I first traveled to Nashville, Tennessee to pick up Chase when he was a mere six weeks old, he has been a road warrior. For Chase, the proper place for him to be in a vehicle is not necessarily in line with where he prefers to be. In my truck, he had no choice but to ride up front on the split bench seat, happily resting his furry white head in my lap. That is his preference in all modes of transportation...unfortunately. It is not a pleasant or safe experience while navigating the twists and turns of a southern back road to have a flash of white fur pounce into your lap like an oversized cat without the grace or agility of one. Legs dangling down the side of my seat, his toes will press into the buttons that control the seat moving it to press against the steering wheel or in the opposite direction away from the pedals below.

Solution? Off to the pet store to continue my financial support. A barrier or gate in my car was not an option. Chase was also too big for a booster seat doggy restraint.

I decided to explore the seatbelt systems that worked with your existing vehicle seatbelt. My first choice was a lambs wool harness system that attached to your dog in an intricate manner across his chest and then to the seatbelt. Satisfied that this was "the one", I muscled my dog into place and headed off on a short two hour trip to Atlanta to visit my sister. Twenty minutes into the trip, Chase was in my lap. He had successfully twisted and turned and squirmed his way out. In Atlanta, I visited the pet store to return the seatbelt and tried a similar version in a smaller size. Chase chewed through it in five minutes on the interstate. He kept me warm the remaining way home.

I found success with a much simpler design. It looks like a short leash of approximately 12-14 inches in length. One end has a typical dog leash clasp and the other end holds two types of universal seatbelt buckles and is guaranteed to fit your car. This is used with a regular dog harness and you can have the dog leash and the seatbelt attached at the same time. It is especially useful when pulling into a rest stop or other destination. I am able to detach Chase from the seatbelt while holding his leash. Chase is able to ride in a seated position or he can lie down. The only difficulty I have with this dog seatbelt is that sometimes it can be difficult to remove from the car if I have an additional passenger that is planning on being in the middle seat. It is also not for use with your dog collar as this will not keep the dog safe in an accident. It is best to splurge on a decent harness which is also good to use in walking the dog.

Now accustomed to the routine of travel, Chase will bow his head to insert it through his harness and wait patiently on the backseat to be clipped into place. After leaving several nose prints on the back window, he settles down to happily slumber until our destination is reached.

Doggy Devices

I believe that I am soley responsible for keeping pet stores in business. If there is a toy, I'll buy it. Dog collars with "Paws N Crossbones" or "Maine Lobstahs" and matching leashes keep Chase fashionably in style. I have no fewer than ten types of brushes and combs yet he still prefers my human brush. Urban dog gear including boots and a backpack for traversing the dangerous streets of Atlanta protect him from glass, hot tar and other hazards. Traveling dog dishes long lost have been replaced with simple tupperware. Chase still prefers to drink straight from the water bottle on trips and has mesmerized more than one person at the rest stops with his amazing talents.

So when Chase decided that it was his duty to bark at every sound at the new condo, I knew a trip to the pet store was in order. I had tried other methods for controlling the barking yet I was at a loss for what to do when I wasn't at the condo. I had images of angry residents in my head and knew that an anti-bark device would probably do the trick. I certainly didn't want a repeat of the recent grocery store trip where I decided to bring Chase along to stop him from barking at the condo alone. It wouldn't have been bad except that it was an especially hot August evening and when I parked, I left the windows down and the sunroof open. Chase popped out of the sunroof to survey the area causing a great deal of attention. Dark parking lot with a white head looking like a submarine periscope? I had no choice...my dog needed food. It was the fastest trip of my life!

After careful research and eliminating shock collars, I opted for a more humane collar that sprayed citronella when a bark was emited. The first time I tried it, I left the condo and lingered outside the door. I heard nothing. I creeped down to the parking lot. Nothing. No barks. Soon I was able to put the collar on Chase without actually engaging the collar. He did associate barking / getting sprayed with the collar because my smart dog knew the difference between his cute lobster collar and the citronella collar. A downside to the collar was that other dogs barking in close proximity could trigger the spray action. Chase also figured that out and tended to be anti-social if he was placed in that type of situation.

I was not only happy with the results of the collar, but also a bit smug that I could train my dog, with a little help, to control his barking. I believe it also is a fantastic deterrent for mosquitos as I discovered on a recent trip to Maine!