Can't Fool Me

I was aimlessly wandering the kitchen, checking for any post-supper droppings, when I smelled it. Food. Only dog kibble, but still, food is food. I snuffled around the bottoms of the cupboards, under the bar stools, and even in Boss Lady's Father's slippers, but found nothing. I sniffled intently along the floor, inhaling random dust bunnies that smelled promising. Still nothing. Finally, my nose locked upon the kibble smell: under the fridge.

I could smell it, a gold mine of kibble under there. I wedged my nose between the fridge and cupboard and snuffled and sniffled and licked around, but couldn't capture the elusive kibbles. I whined, moaned and directed pathetic looks toward Boss Lady's Mother. I scratched at the floor until finally Boss Lady's Mother went in search of Boss Lady to solve the problem.

When Boss Lady appeared, I eagerly looked at the fridge and whined. Boss Lady's gruff response was to "back up and down stay." So I did. She proceeded to dig out gobs of dust bunnies, a Chihuahua sized ball of pet hair (that cat sheds so much!) and 3 wonderful pieces of kibble. They glowed at me from within the dust and dirt. I could barely contain myself, a little puddle of drool formed under my chin. Boss Lady wandered out of the kitchen in search of a dust pan, leaving me all alone with the wondrous kibble. The kitchen was flooding with drool when she finally returned. I was dismayed when, instead of releasing me, she swept up the mess and unceremoniously dumped it in the garbage.

"What about my kibble?!" I wailed. She gave me a disgusted look, dug three Charlee Bears out of the cupboard, dropped them on the floor where the mess had been, and released me. Mmmmmm. Charlee Bears. But, you can't fool me. I know there was kibble, and I know where you put it. I may never forgive you for this blatant display of kibble abuse. I hope you're happy with yourself.

I Know How To Spell, Thank You Very Much

Pain. Do you know how to spell pain? I'll tell you. P. E. T. E. Pain. Pain in the ass. That's what you are, a pain in the ass.

I think that's kind of harsh, Boss Lady's Father. I don't think I'm a pain in the ass at all. In fact, I think I'm quite helpful, really. Just today, I helped Boss Lady's Mother clean the cupboards. She took out all the cans and boxes and packages of food. She put them all on the counter, and then she got out the vacuum to suck up all the random crumbs that had fallen behind the drawer. I thought she probably needed some help, so I went out to see what I could do.

Hmm. A piece of stuffing. Yum. Mmm. And some ritz crackers. Oooh. I think those are peanuts. Yum yum yum. There you go, Boss Lady's Mother, all clean. No need for the vacuum now.


Pain in the ass, indeed. I prefer the title Cupboard Cleaner Extraordinaire.

Where's That Dictionary?

Boss Lady is obviously confused as to the nature of an adventure. Today she loaded me into the car for our maiden adventure with the new snow shoes and backpack. She thought we would head up to Moosalamoo because she was sure they'd have snow even though we don't. Plus, she was pretty sure there weren't any VAST (re: snowmobile) trails in Moosalamoo.

As you can imagine, I had myself all psyched up for a nice 2 hour romp in the snow. Why I ended up sitting in the car for 3 hours is beyond me. See, we left our house in the rain. According to the weather channel, there was only supposed to be a little rain at Moosalamoo. Normally we wouldn't hike in such inclement weather, but I really needed the exercise and Boss Lady really wanted to try out those new snow shoes. As predicted, it was only raining a little at Moosalamoo. And, as Boss Lady expected, there was plenty of snow. Too much snow, in fact, Or maybe just a driver with too few brains. Can you see what's going to happen to here?

Boss Lady was excited to find that the forest roads were mostly plowed. That is, most of the ones she needed to use were plowed. Not all of them, though. The last forest road, the one that leads to the trail head and summer (re: non-snowy weather) parking area, was not plowed. There were, however, tire tracks. Someone had managed to drive at least part of the way up the road. Boss Lady, equipped with a 4 wheel drive vehicle figured she could at least get up to the first barway where she could stop and turn around in preparation for our exit. And she was right. We reached the barway with only a little trouble. That's when the brains failed her. She decided that, being as we'd had such good luck with the first part, that we'd continue driving up to the parking area. She got to the first bend, not even out of sight of the barway, and realized that going further was a bad idea. Just as she was deciding to stop and back up, she slid off the road into the ditch.

Now, she doesn't have a lot of experience not getting stuck, being as she hasn't often chosen to drive in conditions that cause vehicles to get stuck. Which is to say, she's not perfect at preventing a vehicle from becoming completely stuck once it is a little bit stuck. Quite the contrary, as we discovered today.

So, once she was a little bit off the wheel track and into the ditch, all her efforts to remedy the situation only caused her to further mire the car in snow. Would you like to know just how mired she was? When she opened her door, she was pushing snow with it. Realizing that having snow up to the door frame is not an ideal situation, she set about to kicking as much as possible out of the way, in the hopes of being able to drive back out of the ditch. When she'd completed that plan, she found herself so far in the ditch could barely open the door because the car was plastered against the hill on the far side of the ditch. Yes, folks, she was well and truly stuck. And we hadn't even begun the adventure.

Being as Moosalamoo is a 45 minute drive from home, Boss Lady called home immediately to report her distress. She spoke to Boss Lady's Father, who agreed to attempt a rescue. She gave him directions as best she could (he's never been to Moosalamoo) and took note of the time. It was 1:45pm. She considered the fact that he would have to put on cold weather rescue appropriate clothing, find a couple shovels, get together some chains, and generally put himself into the right mindset before he could even leave the house, she didn't expect to see him until about 3:00pm. Which gave us enough time to hike up the road and back down, thus getting at least a little bit of hiking time. It also made sure she was still just barely within cell phone range in case Boss Lady's Father got lost on the way up.

About the time we got to the end of the road and were turning around, Boss Lady's phone rang. She answered and was informed by Boss Lady's Mother, that Boss Lady's Father had only just left the house. It was almost 2:30pm at that time. Which pushed back his arrival time to 3:15pm. Hmph, she thought. We could've just hiked the trail and probably still have gotten back to the car in time. Of course, it was too late for that now, but she wasn't about to sit in the car waiting when we could be hiking. She planned to use every moment she had. So, off we went on another trail, with the intentions of hiking out to one of the other intersections and then simply turning back.

Off we went, me digging buried branches out of the snow all along the way. Her purposely finding the deepest snow in which to tromp through. When we were most of the way back, Boss Lady's Father called to report that he had reached a nearby intersection and should be there immenently. She told him we'd probably be there a little bit after him. About 15 minutes later, we reached the car. Boss Lady's Father was not there. We walked down to the end of the road. Boss Lady's Father was not there. We tried to call his cell phone, but Boss Lady's Father was outside the reception area. Cold and wet, we settled ourselves into the car, hoping that he would appear momentarily. Fifteen minutes crept by. He did not appear. Another 10 minutes slid away, and still no Boss Lady's Father. At this point, it was 3:30pm. Boss Lady was beginning to get really cold. She decided to climb back out of the car and make some effort at dislodging it from the ditch. But, there really wasn't much she could do without a shovel. She looked at me, sitting cold and wet in the back of the car and figured I was getting pretty cold, too. And the only solution she could think of, was to let me out to play in the snow. At least if we were moving around, we could keep the cold at bay, right?

Ten minutes later, her gloves soaking wet from throwing snowballs, Boss Lady decided she was tired of waiting for Boss Lady's Father. She tried to call him again, but still no signal. Then she called home, to see if they'd heard from him. They hadn't. So, now both Boss Lady and Boss Lady's Father were stranded somewhere in Moosalamoo. And Boss Lady's cell phone was quickly draining battery life. She decided to wait 10 more minutes and then start walking out. If nothing else, Boss Lady's Mother would have to begin a secondary rescue mission to at least get us home and dry, even if we had to leave the car stranded in the ditch over night.

Boss Lady packed up the backpack again. She grabbed the extra set of hat and gloves she keeps in the car, and the giant maglite/club, leashed me up, and headed for the road. She was almost hoping to find Boss Lady's Father in a ditch somewhere along the way so she'd at least know where he was. She didn't. Instead, mere moments after she phoned the house to say that, yes, a second rescue mission was in order, Boss Lady's Father phoned her to find out where he was and how to get to her. It turns out, he was just barely out of sight around a bend in the road. So, yet another phone call was made, and the 2nd rescue mission was canceled. Then Boss Lady and I climbed into Boss Lady's Father's little Ford Ranger (have you ever tried to put 2 grown adults and a large dog in the cab of a small truck? It's cramped quarters, I'll tell ya.) and off we headed to dig out the car.

And that's how we ended up with both vehicles stuck in the ditches on either side of the road. That's also when it really started raining. And getting dark. It's also when Boss Lady determined that I would be best able to help if I was inside the car staying out of the way. And, 45 minutes later, after lots of shoveling, several almost successes, and a whole lot of cussing, Boss Lady's car was out finally out of the ditch. Leaving only 1 vehicle still stuck in a ditch. And stuck it was. Boss Lady's Father went into the ditch on the wrong side of the road. The side that slopes downhill. Very downhill. He had both front tires mired in snow, with a tree about 1 foot from his front bumper, and his driver side tired lodged on the far side of what appeared to be an ancient stone wall. It was not a happy place. After another 30 minutes of shoveling and cursing and kicking at immovable objects, they were just about to give up on the truck. That's when Boss Lady's Father's shovel struck the stone wall, and the frozen mass moved. Moved, I say. It wasn't a stone wall at all. It was simply a massive lump of frozen dirt and rocks. Another 15 minutes later, Boss Lady's Father had extracted from behind the tire and beneath the truck, two massive lumps of frozen dirt and rocks. With those out of the way, and the bonus addition of loose dirt behind the rear wheels, Boss Lady's Father finally succeeded in getting out of the ditch.

Both cars finally back on the road, we headed home. And, finally, after another 45 minutes in that blasted car, I arrived home. I'm telling you, this 3 hours in a car for 1.5 hours of adventuring is not fun. Most especially not when it causes my supper to be late. Nearly two hours late. A dog could starve to death in these circumstances.

I hear the plans for tomorrow are to head for Shrew(woohoo!)sbury and see if we can get stuck up there.

And You, Little Johnny?

"What did you get for Christmas?"

I got a whole lot, actually. Even some of what Boss Lady got was for me. First off, Boss Lady's Mother gave me a new Bone. The Bone I got last year for Christmas is looking kind of sad. Boss Lady's been thinking about retiring it, because I keep breaking off pieces. And you're not supposed to be able to break off whole pieces of a nylabone. Anyway, I really appreciated the new Bone. Of course, I would've appreciated it more had they actually taken it out of the package and let me chew on it. No, they thought it would be funny to make the poor, stupid, dog open it himself. Have you ever tried to open those plastic packages? It's impossible. I scratched it, and chewed it and I couldn't get into that thing. Finally I settled on chewing Bone through the plastic package. And they wouldn't even let me do that. What party poopers.





Bone vs One Year Old Bone. Hard to believe, isn't it.


So, on to the plain, white envelope from Aunt A. I had some pent up frustration left over from the Bone, so my initial approach to the envelope was a bit rough. I was thinking about good old fashioned paper shredding, Boss Lady wouldn't let me. Which turned out to be a good idea. That plain, white envelope was more than it seemed. It was a whole $30 to our favorite pet store. WooHoo! Doggie level treat buffet, here I come!!! Boss Lady tells me I'll have to spend some of it on non-food items. Maybe a new collar, to match my snazzy harness. I think I even heard her mention doggie shampoo. I'm going to have to veto that. Christmas presents should not be spent on implements of torture.

That was it for my presents. I know, I think I got cheated. Maybe I shouldn't have chased away that fat dude in the red suit. Or threatened to chew on his reindeer. Oh well. As I mentioned, some of Boss Lady's gifts are really for me, so I'll tell you about those.

First, she got a new adventuring backpack. Considering the old one was an original from when she was little and they all went on family hikes, it really was time for a new pack. This one is a little bigger, the better to carry 2 water bottles. And it has more padding. The better to protect ones back from the banging of 2 water bottles. And it has numurous pockets, one of which, I am promised, will be dedicated to me.

Now, for the bestest of her presents: snow shoes! Tubbs snow shoes, to be precise. And anybody who knows snow shoes knows that Tubbs makes mighty fine snow shoes. Boss Lady can't wait to get out and try them this weekend. We might have lost all our snow to the rain Wed. night, but we know where we can find plenty more. Having her very own snow shoes means she doesn't have to steal Boss Lady's Mother's pair. And it means they can go hiking together instead of only one at a time. Nothing can stop us now.

I figure I should mention the crowning glory of presents now. Boss Lady protests that it is not actually a Christmas present. She tells me that it is simply a coincidence that it appeared Christmas Morning. I don't really care. It's for me, and it's pretty grand. My very own Dog Crib. We're either going to have to amend the name, or seriously work on PR. I know it started life as a stinky diaper type crib, but I plan to convert it to my very own Crib.


It only needs a little work. A slab of plywood so it doesn't sag. A nice thick mattress so I'll be comfy. Maybe a new coat of paint. A more permament place in her room.


Are you jealous, yet?

My Grandson is Furry And Four Legged

Lots of surveys, research, anecdotal evidence and retailers will tell you that these days people spend a lot of money of their pets. People consider pets part of the family. Some people (particularly those who are approaching Old Maid status) even consider their pets to be their children. And this household certainly doesn't provide any evidence against such thinking. On our fridge there is a picture of moi, in one of those cute little magnetic frames (dog themed, of course.) In Boss Lady's wallet there are 2 pictures of moi. In Boss Lady's Mother's wallet there is one picture of moi. Whilst Boss Lady may not spend millions on me every year, I do have my very own savings account, into which she regularly makes deposits, and out of which she rarely makes withdrawals. I'm definitely more than just a dog.

When Boss Lady's Mother is asked about current grandchildren, or the possibility of future grandchildren (both Boss Lady and Aunt A being of such ages that grandchildren would be expected) she replies that yes, she does have a grandchild: he is furry and four legged, and then she pulls out her wallet. Upon further questioning, she'll divulge that quite likely she'll only ever have furry and four legged grandchildren.

When Boss Lady is asked similar questions regarding children and the having of them, she says there will likely never be any children. She prefers dogs and cats, really. At least she can lock them in a cage or the cellar when they're obnoxious, she'll joke. And when she's asked whether or not she considers me her "child," she replies no. I am not a child. I am not the equivalent of a child. I am a dog. It's a whole different category. No other explaining is needed as far as she is concerned.

I'm not so sure her actions today properly reflect her position on children vs dogs, though. Today she drove all the way to Pittsford, without me, mind you, to purchase a new bed for me. It's more than a bed really. Almost a throne. It's certainly quite the set up for a dog. It was, in it's previous life, a child's crib. It was used for a child who is probably now an adult several years older than Boss Lady currently is. It has metal bars, and metal springs, and two sides that slide up and down. Most likely today it would be considered most dangerous and anathema for children, let alone an infant.

The perk of this little piece of furniture is that when one side is down, it creates a wonderful little day bed. Or, for those who see such things, a dog bed. Thus it is that a child's crib becomes a dog bed, further blurring the line between children and dogs. Just to be sure, though, Boss Lady maintains that I am not a child, nor a child replacement. It's just that this piece of furniture was perfect, and can't adequately be described as a mere dog bed. I am the proud new owner of a dog crib. And if she ever manages to make space in her room, put the thing back together and make a cushion, I'll encourage the taking of pictures.

The Cursed Middle Man

Most evenings Boss Lady, Boss Lady's Mother and Boss Lady's Father all gather in the living room to relax. Usually the television is turned on, although they tend to multi-task and/or fall asleep. During these times when all the humans are gathered together in one room, I like to gorge on attention. I'm not overly particular about who gives me attention, so long as someone is. And I'm not overly particular about what kind of attention is it. Getting patted on the top of the head until my brain shakes out my ear is pretty much the same as having someone throw Mr. Green, as far as I'm concerned.

This evening, the sitting arrangement was somewhat changed. Boss Lady's Father was reclining in the ancient recliner, while Boss Lady curled up on the couch. The ancient recliner provides a better position from which I can chase Mr. Green, so I presented Boss Lady's Father with Mr. Green. He wasn't interested in playing toss, so he handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched Mr. Green and presented him to Boss Lady's Father again. Boss Lady's Father handed Mr. Green to Boss Lady, and she tossed him. I fetched him and presented him to Boss Lady's Father. Who handed him to Boss Lady. Who threw him. We continued with this game for several more throws until Boss Lady's Father finally informed me that he would prefer to not be poked in the crotch with a tennis ball one more time. Boss Lady told me I'd probably have more luck continuing the game if I eliminated the middle man.

I tried Boss Lady's version of the game, and found it somewhat lacking. Half the fun of the game is hearing all the odd little squeaks and squawks Boss Lady's Father makes when I poke him in the crotch. It's hard to poke Boss Lady in the crotch when she has a computer on her lap. And even when she doesn't have the computer, she doesn't make any fun noises; she just tells me to get my nose out of there. What with the fun of the game ruined, I decided it would be more fun to take a nap. Sometimes you really do need a middle man.

Green Energy? That's not what it sounds like to me

Have I told you about Boss Lady's latest plan for me? She dreamt it up the other night while we were walking. I've gotta tell you, this after work, after dark walking thing just isn't working out for me. All summer long, Boss Lady would take me for walks after work. Most of the time Boss Lady's Mother would accompany us. That's when it stayed light until 9pm. Now, it gets dark at 4pm and Boss Lady's Mother doesn't wait for Boss Lady to get home to take a walk. She walks as soon as she gets home. Which leaves Boss Lady and I to walk by ourselves. Or, more pointedly, it leaves Boss Lady walking with no one to talk to. When she walks with somebody else, they chatter away about this and that. When she walks by herself, by which I mean with me but without another human companion, she thinks to herself. She thinks away about this and that. The this and that are starting to get a little dangerous for me.

The other night it was a little chilly, but not nearly as cold as it has been. Boss Lady got to thinking about deep winter weather; the snow and ice and sometimes impassable snowbanks. She got to thinking about how she's going to get me enough exercise when we can't bike and it's just not possible to cover as many miles on foot. Whenever she gets to thinking about other exercise options for me, she comes back to pulling.

I must have told you about her original pulling idea. She's been playing with this idea for at least a year. She wants me to pull a wagon. Think Radio Flyer wagon. A really big one, though. Because she wants to put two garbage cans in the wagon. She figures I'll pull the wagon around town, and she'll pick up garbage. She needs two cans so she can separate the nickel bottles from the garbage garbage. We could have our own personal Green Up day every couple months. Yeah, that's her grand plan. She's yet to enact it for several reasons. One, none of the pet stores around here seem to have pulling harnesses. Being as Boss Lady's not entirely sure what a pulling harness looks like, or how it should fit, she's not comfortable ordering one online.

So, like I said, she keeps coming back to this pulling idea. And she had herself a light bulb moment on our walk the other night. "Wouldn't it be great," she thought to herself, "if I could figure out a way to create a doggie snow plow. I could make Colyn plow the driveway. We could plow the sidewalk as we walk after those big snow storms. Heck, I could rent him out and make money on his snow plowing." I lost her for a little while as she fell deep in thought engineering this doggie snow plow.

The engineering certainly slowed her down. She's no engineeer; she wouldn't want to be after all the years listening to her father (the mechanic who cleans up the messes made by the engineers) curse idiot engineers. The thing about a snow plow, is that it pushes the snow in front of it. And you've never heard of a dog who pushes. Dogs don't push, they pull. But, you can't put the dog in front of the plow because then the plow will cover the dog with snow. Not to mention the added difficulty of the dog gaining enough purchase to pull in snow that's who knows how deep. Nope, somehow you'd have to figure out a way to have the dog behind the plow.

Hmmm.

What if the dog was hitched up to something that he had to pull behind him? And that something behind him, was hitched to something in front of him? So, as he pulls whats behind him, it tranlsates the force to whatever is in front of him, which plows the snow? Yes, that idea has potential.

And, slowly, as our walk progressed, Boss Lady's Dog Powered Snow Plow took shape. In the end she'd decided that it would be a frame-type thing with the dog harnessed up inside the frame. The plow would be on the front. The whole thing would, maybe, be on wheels. She couldn't decide for sure about the wheels. Wheels would probably make it easier to move the plow, but would they get all clogged up with ice and snow and ultimately make it harder to move? Then there would be the question of the kind of plow. Should it be one of those double-angled, V-shaped ones that pushes the snow off to both sides, or should it be one that is angled in either direction and pushes it all to the same side? Probably a V-shaped one would make it easier for the dog, but then it would only be good for plowing sidewalks and walkways. The single angled one would be better for driveways. What about turning around and backing up, though? Aha! Put a plow on both ends, and then attach the harness to the top of frame in such a way that the dog can be easily turned around inside the frame and go in the other direction. Yes, the perfect solution to all of Colyn's winter exercise needs.

By the end of the walk, Boss Lady was all puffed up with pride at the thought of her ingenious invention. She imagined the first snow storm when she'd be able to use the Dog Powered Snow Plow. She imagined the people in the neighborhood coming out of their houses in curiosity to find out what this foolish contraption was. She imagined their loud ooh's and ahh's as she explained how the snow plow worked. She imagined them all exclaiming over her geniusness in creating the machine, and my amazingness in powering it. She imagined plowing all the sidewalks in our neighborhood, and how doing so would supersede the need for the regular sidewalk plow, which wastes gas. Oh, yes, she would win accolades and ride the coattails of the green energy movement.

Green energy? Green power? Are you colorblind woman? This isn't any green energy you're talking about here. You're proposing Black and Tan Power. As a Black and Tan myself, I'm not entirely sure I like it. Besides, who ever heard of a dog powered snow plow?

Fall In Vermont

It is now fall in Vermont. That time of year when the weather returns to comfortable temps, the trees dress up in their gaudiest clothes, and tourist season begins (we recommend a 12 gauge or a 50mm.) That time of year when the days get shorter, you harvest the last of the veggies from the garden, and everybody pulls the winter clothes out of the attic. The time of year when the cluster flies invade your home. They crawl through every crack, fly through any opening, and even hitch rides on the family pet. They’re gross. They’re obnoxious. And they multiply like rabbits.

The flies have been particularly bad at Boss Lady’s place of employment lately. They hover and attack in droves while she’s eating lunch. They buzz and annoy while she completes paperwork in the office. They drive her very near the edge of sanity. Boss Lady finally declared war on the flies, and she promised no quarter. Sarah Palin may shoot wolves from low flying planes for sport, but Boss Lady hunts flies with electrified tennis rackets for fun.

Several years ago Boss Lady’s Father received this weapon as a gag gift. It looks like a small, short handled tennis racket with wire strings. It is powered by several batteries and when turned on, the metal strings are electrified. It is the perfect tool for hunting flies. No need to wait for the fly to land on a hard, flat surface. no need to stealthily sneak up and quickly strike. Just gently swing your electrified tennis racket through the air and touch the fly. Then watch it fry, complete with audible snapping noise and visible spark. Oh, it’s grand fun.

Now, some people may allow as to how such a weapon takes away from the time honored sport of fly hunting, but Boss Lady is of the opinion that it simply provides more opportunities to perfect one’s technique. You can use the gentle, swooping swing. Or a high powered smack. You can come from above or below. You can even circle your prey before sadistically dispatching it. Perhaps it should be an Olympic Sport, judged on the creativity of your swing.

Boss Lady has had intentions of bringing this fine fly hunting weapon to work, but she continually forgot it. Today when she sat down for lunch and was immediately dive buzzed by three flies, she said enough is enough. She rolled up several pieces of paper and commenced to swatting the old fashioned way. She began with wild swings and lunges, which only served to make the flies laugh and tease her. She quickly settled into a hunting crouch, though. She focused on one fly at a time, and watched it zoom the room. She didn’t let herself lose track even when it flew against a dark object. She waited for it to land, snuck up on it, made sure she was within inches and struck. Pretty soon she’d killed her three attackers. They were immediately replaced by four more. In dismay, she continued her pursuit. For each fly she killed, it seemed two more appeared. In frustration she baseball batted two right out of the air. She mortally wounded several others, and then crushed them under foot. In all, Boss Lady bagged eight of the little buzzing bastards, and was able to enjoy her lunch in peace for the first time all week.

Ah, yes, fall in Vermont. What a wonderful time of year.

Some Dogs Are Obsessed With Tennis Balls

It’s true. Some dogs are obsessed with Tennis Balls. They want to chase tennis balls 24 hours a day. If a tennis ball makes an appearance, those dogs are totally focused on the tennis ball to the exclusion of all other things. I’m not one of those dogs. Nor is the Boss Lady. But, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any obsessions. She does. Aside from chocolate and books and writing about every little sneeze I make. Boss Lady is obsessed with television. Colyn, I rarely watch television. Do you even know what an obsession is? Ok, so maybe she’s not obsessed with television in general, but she is obsessed with one particular television show. And season six of that show just started.

In our house, the one television we have is located in the living room. On Sunday, Boss Lady’s Mother removed everything from the living room and painted the floor. This is what the living room will look like for about a week until Boss Lady’s Mother puts all the furniture back.





On Monday, the new season of Boss Lady’s television show started. Hmmmm. How to watch the television when it’s not in the living room? Put the television in the front hall, where the shoes usually live. So, Monday night Boss Lady, Boss Lady’s Mother, and Boss Lady’s Father (who is not actually obsessed with this television show, but does sometimes deign to watch) positioned themselves in the little front hall in front of the television for 2 hours.




They did this again Tuesday night for part two of episode one of season six of her favorite television show. Does this look like an obsession to you? It does to me.

Here’s the most important question: what’s missing from that picture? There are three chairs. There’s a television. There’s not a whole lot of space. And there’s no dog. I was locked in the kitchen because my toenails would mar the floor. Nevermind that I like to watch ballroom dancing, too. Nevermind that I hate being isolated from my Boss Lady during television watching. Nevermind that there was plenty of room for a dog; I could have squeezed in that little space between the tv and the wall. Nope. I was locked in the kitchen. I think it a very unhealthy obsession, one that separates a dog from his Boss Lady. Anybody want to help with an intervention?

Mixed Metaphors

I’m not sure what to call my adventure this morning. Maybe a run, hike, run. When Boss Lady was little Boss Lady’s Father worked with a fellow who was quite involved in the local foot and bike races. Lacking anything better to do, Boss Lady’s Father used to help out at said races. And Boss Lady used to tag along. She recalls lots of Run, Bike Runs. So, I guess my adventure was a run, hike, run.

I was none to clear what the adventure would be when we got started. Boss Lady collected my harness, rope leash, and back pack. That indicates a hike. She also packed a water bottle and my rope leash in the back pack. That indicates a probably local hike, because we’ll walk to the hiking trail. This could be a hike to the boardwalk, or out at the Rugby field. You’ll note she only packed water for herself. That indicates where ever we’re hiking is wet and I’ll be able to find plenty of water for myself. This rules out either the boardwalk or the Rugby field because neither have large quantities of drinkable water. It could mean swimming at Sabotka’s, but the weather really isn’t that warm. Just when I was thoroughly confused, Boss Lady grabbed my prong collar and short leash, which indicate either a bike ride or regular walk. Paired with the backpack, it must mean some sort of new bike riding adventure.

It was, indeed a bike ride. We went the long way around town and then out to Sabotka’s. And there was a lot more traffic than Boss Lady expected. Fortunately, we did just fine navigating it all. Only a couple people gave us dirty looks for being “in the way.”

Boss Lady’s reason for visiting Sabotka’s was the new hiking trail: The Town Farm Trail. There is a ribbon cutting ceremony tomorrow, but I obviously can’t go to that. And Boss Lady really wanted to investigate the new trail. She was worried it would just be a gravel path around the big field near the river. She didn’t expect to be impressed. She thought maybe it would be a nice place for those quick hikes when we don’t have much time. So, she was most surprised to find an actual hiking trail. Through the woods, up a hill, through muddy flats, with lots of tree roots to trip over. We ran out of time to fully explore the trail, but Boss Lady says she’ll go to the ribbon cutting ceremony tomorrow, take the “tour” of the trail, and then take me another day.

Oh, and despite the note in the local paper, the trail is not bike friendly. Not at all. Boss Lady does not say this because of the tree roots. Or the steep hill. Or even the narrow planks across the muddy parts. It’s because to reach the trail head you must cross a steel bridge. There are 4 steps up to the bridge and 4 steps down off the bridge. Bikes and stairs don’t mix well. Of course, I suppose you could always ride through the 4 inch deep stream that the bridge crosses. But, Boss Lady doesn’t think that sounds like much fun. It’s ok, though. She’ll just have to invest in a bike chain/lock so we can bike down to the trail and then hike.

A totally unrelated side note: the first person who guesses the meaning of today’s title will receive an as yet undetermined prize. Just post your guess in a comment.

Gas Powered

As I mentioned in my last post, Boss Lady and I have been biking frequently. As I also, mentioned these biking adventures seem to be doing a good job of taking the edge off my energy supply. They are not, however, exhausting me. Not by any means. These adventures hardly even tire me out, truth be told. We’ve been known to bike for an hour, only to come home and head out for a half hour walk, and even after that I’m not tired. Frequently my first action once released from the leash is too viciously attack Ted, which is something I normally do only when I’m particularly hyper and have no other energy outlet.

This evening after our biking adventure (which was boring as all get out) I was begging to play kick as soon as I had a drink and a quick rest to catch my breath. I gathered all four Mr. Greens (and how I managed to acquire four Boss Lady doesn’t know. I’m only supposed to have two, convinced Boss Lady to let me have three only because one was broken, and where the fourth came from I’m not telling) and proceeded to roll it around, poke her foot with it, and toss it at her (boy does she regret teaching me that trick.) After the bazillionth time I threw Mr. Green at her, Boss Lady wondered aloud where all my energy comes from. Boss Lady’s Father replied that I am gas powered. He has no idea how correct he is.

Lately, I have been very stinky. Not rolled in something dead stinky, but fart stinky. Imagine the stinkiest poo you’ve ever smelled, and that’s the kind of gas I’ve been releasing regularly. Boss Lady swears I have something dead in my stomach. She hasn’t changed my diet (though I regularly supplement it with things like soap or two of what might be the last four home grown fresh out of the garden cucumbers.) Boss Lady is baffled as to why I am suddenly so stinky, but I am on the verge of being banned from any room occupied by humans. That’s how stinky I am. Honestly, I don’t know what they’re complaining about, I haven’t noticed a thing.

Now, can we get started with this game of kick, already?

As It Should Be

A few evenings ago, Boss Lady and I headed out for a walk with Boss Lady’s Mother and Boss Lady’s Father. As we walked up the driveway, the neighbors up the hill started setting off little firecrackers. They were bright and sparkly and pretty. And, more importantly, in honor of me. I very much appreciated the recognition.

Then, as we were walking, Mother Nature contribute to the show with some great lightning strikes. They weren’t near us or anything; they were a couple miles away. But, they were very stunning. Our walk was punctuated with Oooh’s and Aaaaah’s and a few Wow-Look-at-that-one’s. Not too mention Boss Lady’s Mom’s Um-I-think-maybe-we-should-turn-around-and-go-home’s. Inevitably, we did turn around and go home.

Shortened walk that it was, I think more of my walks should be celebrated with such light shows.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Another of the Boss Lady’s shortcomings is her inability to choose creative pet names. She didn’t even name me, the boyfriend guy did. As you might have guessed Feeshy Feeshy Feeshy needs a new name. Something better, something more appropriate, something with a little bit of character. Something aside from his species spoken with a funny accent. Boss Lady is thinking about naming him Fish in another language. Or maybe F3, for Feeshy Feeshy Feeshy. Kind of like R2D2. She doesn’t know what the F3 button on the computer is for, though. Me, I don’t care what the fish is named, just as long as I get my breakfast first. I am the dog after all, and dogs outrank fish.

Boss Lady is now accepting nominations for Feeshy Feeshy Feeshy’s new name. So far the nominations are: Fang (Boss Lady’s Mother) and Squid or Spot (Boss Lady’s Father.)