I have mixed emotions as I write this--sadness, guilt, remorse. I have committed hairesy. The

vehicle we have all come to know and love as the Hairmobile is no longer with us. Perhaps

there are those of you on the list who won't consider this Golden related. It is. For the

doubters among you, and for the record, when the VW was traded in yesterday after a short

illness, it contained more Golden hair than any of your kennels. Pray for the detail shop that

cleans it up. They will surely take a little of Becky and the Pigger home with them. There were

many Golden miles traveled in that van, and each journey left a reminder. From the beach,

sand. From the mountains, rocks, dirt, fir needles. From our friends Newfoundland, fleas. Ah,

fond memories. My wife's flea-bitten ankles. The dog hair that swirled about and lodged in my

beard and on my clothes when a window was opened at speed. The night some poor soul

broke into it, and stole nothing, a result we are certain of choking on dog hair. Alas, after three

major breakdowns inside of a week, and scathing phone calls from a wife stranded in a bad

part of town, the

decision was made to part with the VW. Sigh. Alas, the story becomes sadder still. We have

joined the ranks of the nameless, faceless, masses. We have purchased the most blase, benign,

character less, vehicle imaginable. A mini van. [GASP!] It will be difficult to display my wife's

Grateful Dead stickers on this moving medium of mediocrity. Even the "Save the Whales"

stickers will look out of place. I may have to shave my beard. And out there somewhere

tonight, alone and hirsute, the lonely Vanagon [Vanagone?] sits waiting for its next victim, er,

owner. May they own two St. Bernards. And hiking boots. And a lifetime membership to

AAA. 

Becky [What's all the fuss? I like the new van! Except the glass is tinted and it screws up cow hunting. They all look green.]

Peggy Sue [ ***Where*** is the Hairmobile? What have you done with it? Did you save all the woobies that were under the seat? I **want** my Hairmobile back!!] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Chloes puppies are now 3 days old, and today Michael and I observed a marvelous

phenomena. All nine one-pound bundles of joy lined up nursing--and *all* the little tails were

wagging! So there you have it, listers. Goldens practically come out of the chute with wagging

tails! Some of the little devils are *quite* vocal when they crawl off the wrong way in the

whelping box and lose mom. Amazingly loud little squeals of dismay. Must be the females,

huh? That's my sexist remark for the day Seriously, these critters are **really cute**. Wonder

how long Michael can hold out without falling in love with one of 'em. Time will tell.

Becky [I'm with mom. I think there are enough dogs around here. Pay attention dad. If momma ain't happy--ain't nobody happy.] 

Peggy Sue [Hey, you're not speaking for me. Maybe the pup would play with me like my cat friend Izzy did before the coyotes ate her. I'd like another playmate. And I promise not to teach him the fine art of poop-eating. 'Cause it makes mom & dad really anal!]  

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

A normal day at the Richardsons. Becky, The Pigger & I went for a five mile jaunt. Took the

tennis racket, whacked some balls in the meadow for the girls. A bit warm for the girls,

perhaps 80 degrees or so, so they tired quickly. Home we go! While they're tired, trim the

toenails. Use the electric shears, trim the feet. This always wires 'em. Becky bounces up to me

with a tennis ball. I am standing on the outside of our chain-link fence, the gate is open. I throw

the ball for her. She doesn't bother with the gate, runs lickety-brindle right into the chain link

fence, full-tilt boogie--- missed the gate by a good four [4] ft. **Wham!!** She dribbles off

the fence, staggers through the gate and gets the ball. Then she glares at me as if to say "when

did you move that fence"? Guess she's OK, she's "helping" Michael in the kitchen. Gotta love

'em. Laugh a minute!

 Becky [Oooooooo! That smarts! Where *did* that fence come from?] 

Peggy Sue [If it smarts, try rubbing some on your head, you red idjut. Maybe now is the time for a dumb redhead joke, eh?] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

At 10:50 AM 8/10/96, Peter & Tamara wrote:

>Fiddy, even as I type, is out picking blackberries. Understand that this is >no mean feat. We

are talking those little wild berries on bushes with >thorns all over them. But he's out there, tail

going like mad, pulling them off and scarfing them down. >

Both our Goldens [as was our departed Doberman] are "berry pickers". The trail below our

home is thick with Himalayan Blackberries right now. We humans consider these danged vines

a scourge. I've fought them **all my life**--but the dogs love the berries this time of year.

They will "pucker" their lips and pull the berries off the vines very carefully to avoid the

thorns. Of course, the berries I hand-feed them are much tastier than the ones they pick. Even

better than the blackberries are the wild mountain Huckleberries just beginning to ripen along

the trails in our mountains this time of the year. There are four different species, and the girls

have learned that the reddish ones are tart, and not nearly as tasty as the fat black ones.

Perhaps it is smell rather than color, but they **do** know the difference. Probably the only

dogs I know who gain weight on long hikes. 

Peggy Sue [Picking these berries myself is beneath my dignity. However, if you hand feed me, perhaps I can be coerced into eating a few.]

Becky [ Outa my way, lard-butt. I would kill for fresh berries! MMMMM these are really sweet. Every once in a while I get a sour one. Makes my face pucker up. Ptui! There's a sour one now----!] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

The lobbying continues here for the new puppy. I am still getting a certain amount of

resistance from my wife. Today, though, their little eyes are open--and are they ever cute!

Michael cuddled a few of them, I think her resistance is lowering. Took her to dinner the other

night, wined, dined, picked the critical moment to pop the question--and she [almost] said yes.

Almost had her. So close. But--the next day, same story. Goes like this: 

Scotty: Geez, aren't the little guys cute? And wouldn't a third dog, a cute little boy, make a nice

addition to our household?

Michael: Yeah, I admit they are cute. But--who's gonna train him? Me! While you work. And

feed him? And take him out to potty? And keep Becky from killing him for the first few

weeks? Me, that's who!

Scotty: Well, sure, perhaps he might cause a bit of inconvenience at the beginning, but think of

the laughter he's sure to bring, and the love, etc.

Michael: Yeah, and the chewed up shoes, peed on rugs, the whining at night, and more vet

bills.

Scotty: Minor items, minor items. Little Dogbert is sure to capture your heart!

Michael: Probably. We'll see. Humph.

The debate continues. Roianne of course, is on my side and has explained to Michael what a

wonderful bond forms with a dog when you have been there from the whelping. Makes sense,

the pups all know Michael's smell from birth and have smelled her and now are seeing her

practically every day.

So, stay tuned as the critical period begins! The pups will be ready to take home in a few

weeks! Will we have a third dog? Wait and see! 

Becky [If you bring that little fur ball in here, I'll kick his butt!]

Peggy Sue [Lighten up, red bitch! The more, the merrier!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

After a full afternoon of batting tennis balls into the Columbia River for my girls, we stopped

at a roadside stand to buy some fresh corn. Two soggy Goldens in the back of the truck [yes,

inside a canopy!]. Everything was cool, until two **really** old people [Definition: older than

us] pulled in next to us with two Chihauhaus about the size of rats in their car. These itty-bitty

dogs had an attitude. Started lunging at the windows of the car, shrieking at Becky & The

Pigger. Who of course, then barked in return. Sounded terrible! The lady in the store was

alarmed at the terrible deep barking emanating from our truck. I told her, "hey, they're just

Goldens". "Goldens"? she said. "I ***just love*** Goldens"! So, out to the truck, down with

the tailgate, while this lady loves the two very wet girls. It takes a real dog lover to cuddle two

soaked, sandy Goldens. All the while the rat-dogs continued with their hysterics. But Becky &

The Pigger were far more interested in the lovin' than rat-dogs hysterics. Priorities, I guess.

Becky [Hey, I can kick those dust-mop dogs butts later, right now I've got a hot one on the hook! Gimmee some lovin'!]

Peggy Sue [Pet me! Pet meeeeeee! Dad, could you shut those idiot midgetdogs up? They're getting on my nerves!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Yessssssss! Michael has [finally] agreed to let us have a puppy! Wow, what an arduous sales

job this has been. Started in December--took the last 8 months to get her to say yes. I wined

her, dined her. No sale. I whined, I sniveled. Nope. I promised to pick up my clothes. Nah. I

promised to lower the toilet seat. She liked that one--but it wasn't enough. I bought her a car.

Nice, but still no sale. Got her personalized license plates. "TREHUGR" for those of you who

are curious. [The chain-saw wielding husband better not wield his chain saw around this

house.] But, I digress. What finally turned the trick, with a little help from the pups who now

run across the whelping box, tails wagging to greet us was this---I agreed to get a couple of

chairs re-upholstered for her. Yeah, go figure. Also, she gets to name the pup. There will be no

Dogbert. No Buddy. No Jughead. His name is Earnie. Yes, I spelled it right. Michael says she

earned this pup---what with all the mothering she has been doing with the litter. [She loves it!]

So, she suggested Earnie. OK by me, all the Ernies I know are nice guys. Not a politician in the

bunch. Please accept my gratitude, for those of you who wrote in my behalf on this issue, and

there were many of you! Poor Michael, world-wide pressure! Now, if I can just convince

Becky this is all OK when we bring Earnie home---? 

Becky [WHAT!?!?!? YOU ARE BRINGING WHAT HOME????? YOU HAD BETTER NOT BRING A PUPPY INTO THIS HOUSE UNLESS HE'S EDIBLE!!!!!!!!! ARGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!]

Peggy Sue [Will Earnie play with me? I can protect him from the red bitch, too! RRRRRRRRR!!!] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Got to our favorite beach today to find two cars parked above it. It's a small area, soft sand,

perfect for the dogs. Not wanting to screw with someone else s solitude, I walked down to the

beach to see how occupied it was before turning the wild dogs [they saw water] loose. Turned

out there were only two folks there--both elderly Oriental gentlemen, fishing for sturgeon. I

asked if it was OK with them if I worked my dogs on the beach. They both grinned widely and

said "yes, yes"! I asked them if they had caught any fish, "yes, yes"! Were they having a nice

day? "Yes, yes"! At about this point I realized they had no clue what I was saying as they

spoke no English. I could have asked if they minded me driving 100 head of cattle through

there. To hell with it, I went and got the girls out of the truck. As they thundered past the two

fishermen, Becky and the Pigger discovered the fish-bait. Rotten herring, yum yum! The two

fishermen both jumped up and shouted "no, no"! So--guess they knew a little more English

than we thought. What really threw them was what the devil my tennis racket was for. After

swatting a couple of balls out to mid-stream, they nodded at each other and went back to

fishing. Just another crazy American. 

Becky [Those guys were great! They always say yes!]

Pigger [Yeah, except when we found the bait. Boy, that smelled really delicious, too.] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Chloes' litter of 9 is now just over a month old. They are absolutely drop-dead cute. They

have even won the heart of my bride, Michael, who is now looking forward [I think] to the

arrival of little Earnie. Please, God, don't let Earnie be "The Pup From Hell" as Michael will

remind me this was my idea forever. At least, when you're as old as we are, forever may not be

as long as it is for some of you! <VBG> Today, the pups went outside for the first time.

Mixed response. Some were very curious, others just *wanted back in*! One little girl threw

back her head, made her mouth into a perfect "O" and howled! Looked like a miniature White

Fang! OWWWoooooooo! Cracked us up! The whelping box was moved into a spare room,

and the bottom covered with wood shavings. The new texture was fascinating to the little

critters, and they took big mouthfuls of the stuff to sample it. Looked real funny, wood chips

on their chins like little beards.

They are eating real food like little pigs, some of them climbing right into the food bowl. What

a mess! But the sight of 9 little butts sticking up in the air around that food bowl is a Kodak

moment, for sure.  

Peggy Sue [I sure hope Earnie doesn't out-cute me, and that he's half the fun to play with that my cat was.]

Becky [What makes you think he's going to live long enough to play with you? Let me at 'im!] 

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

At 8:24 PM 8/29/96, mcogut wrote:

>Hi everyone.>

>This topic is a real stinker. Pardon the pun. I too have a golden that>used to have this

problem, and one that is beginning to make me wonder>if I don't need to have her flushed out.

Read on....... 

Becky suffered from this problem [actually, we suffered together] when we first brought her

home. She was a little over a year old at the time. After paying the vet $15.00 to "express"

[interesting terminology] her anal glands several times, I bought a gross [gross applies here] of

rubber gloves and learned the 'ol finger wave myself. It's not a difficult maneuver. Of course,

Beckys opinion may not be the same as mine, and I notice she leaves the room if she spots a

rubber glove. I am [very] happy to say that in the last year [she's six] the problem has all butt

er, but disappeared. Hallelujah. 

Becky [Amen.]

Peggy Sue [Whatever is the old pervert up to now, Becky?] 

Michael & Scotty The Golden Girls

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach

Peggy Sue; Pixie, Lover of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet