First a disclaimer. The writer of this post is actually very fond of both his dogs

and his Grandson. Please don't think otherwise. Sometimes he's just more fond of

them than at other times. He also prescribes to the wit of the late comic W.C.

Fields who claimed: "The best thing about small children is that they're tender

when properly cooked". Wise man, old W.C. Kidding, just kidding--<VBG> What a

week. We've been sitting our 2 1/2 year old Grandson. He's very involved with the

"terrible twos" right now. For those of you who haven't raised a child through

this stage, I'll explain. It's rumored that two of the "P" [Pee?] words in Webster's Dictionary evolved because Mr.. Webster was sitting his Grandson while

writing. The two words are: Perverse, and Petulant. Look 'em up, if you need to.

Self-explanatory. This is the age when they discover they're not kids.

They're small people, with opinions and strong wills. This is a very important

developmental stage for children. The way you handle their perversity and

moodiness will impact them the rest of their lives. You must find a way to jolly

them out of their dark moods. Otherwise, they may grow up to be Republicans.

A case in point. Newt Gingrich. His mother didn't change his diapers often

enough. A staunch Republican. His sister, Candice, was raised with clean diapers and

jollied out of her dark moods. Yep. A gay Liberal. So you have to be careful.

Goldens can really help in the raising of a child. All week, when the boy arises from

His naps, the dogs can hardly wait. They sleep while he does, anxiously awaiting

His emergence from the hall bedroom. Now this kid does **not** get up in a good

mood. Picture a hungry bear with a sore ass, if you can. Does this bother the

dogs? Of course not! The instant they see him standing in the hall with those

storm-clouds on his face, they go to the rescue! Peggy Sue grabs a big whiffle-ball,

Becky her rubber hamburger, and Earnie whatever's handy. They circle him in a

Clockwise direction, nose to tail, "singing" loudly! Full-body wagging. Peggy Sue

Sings "Roo-Roo-ROOOOOOOO!" Becky sings in falsetto bursts, Earnie "grunts" like a

hog!

Now, **nothing** infuriates a two-year old bent on passing on his bad mood

To everyone in the vicinity more than three happy dogs circling about him.

"NNNNOOOOOOOOO! GO AWAY!!!!" He yells. This; naturally, the dogs take as

encouragement, so they turn up the volume on their singing. Earnie also

takes this yelling as a sign the boy needs a few kisses. Getting kissed by Earnie is

like getting whacked with a wet towel. That's for an adult. Picture that giant

tongue, covered with "pupkus" kissing away at the head & face of a screaming 35 lb..

kid. We let this go on for a minute or so. It's good for the boy. He needs to

know there are some things you cannot "shoo" away. Later in life this prepares

him for timeshare salespersons, door-step evangelists, and hornets at picnics. I go

and rescue the boy from the happy trio. It's now time for some food for the boy!

Dogs aren't stupid. It took them all of one meal to realize that a two-year old

at meal time is an important food source! Learning how to wield a fork and spoon

ain't easy. A lot of what should go in your mouth ends up on the floor! So, this

is the true test of who the "Alpha" dog really is. Becky wins! She gets the prime

location right under the boys chair! Chow time! Earnie is off to one side,

as is Peggy Sue. They get the occasional crumb, but Becky *really* scores. Now,

another thing two-year olds dislike is having their hands and faces cleaned off

after a meal. They see no reason they shouldn't be able to spread what's left of

dinner on Grandmas nice white walls. The grandson escaped one evening, Granny wasn't

quick enough with the warm towel. He soon discovered *why* it is a really good

thing to get your hands and face cleaned by Granny. If you don't, you become a human

lollipop. Three dogs, all licking and slurping the remains of the meal off

of you. He now **asks** to be cleaned up before leaving the table. Quick learner!

But, with all the trouble these kids & dogs can be, there is no moment quite as

Golden as coming into a room with the boy laying next to one of your dogs, firmly

[but gently] hugging a very happy Golden. He's been raised with these dogs, and

they all love him, and he they. It's a very special relationship, and very heart

warming for Grandparents to know that this child will not grow up and abuse

animals. I even got a lecture from the Grandson the other day! Our house is

a **no-hit** zone. We do not allow animals or children to be corrected using

physical means. Time-outs work just fine when necessary. Early on, when he

was just a little tyke, he would hit at the dogs if they bugged him. This we

always corrected, telling him that "you never, EVER, hit a dog"! Kids are like tape

recorders. Yesterday I was sitting on the floor playing Legos with the boy,

when Earnie stuck his head under my arm. I hugged Earnie and gave him a "love

pat"--which makes a thumping sound. Grandson looks at me with alarm and

states imperiously: "Grandpa! You *never EVER* hit a dog!" I spent the next 20

minutes trying to show a two-year old the difference between hitting and

love-pats---not an easy task, BTW!

Becky [When's his next meal? I reallyreally like his meal times!]

Peggy Sue [I love to cheer the little tyke up! Hear me sing? ROO! ROO!]

Earnie [He's my brother. I love him to bits. How come you won't let me sit

in his lap?]

I have a serious subject I wish to discuss with all of you who live in theMidwest. Ticks. Yeah,

Ticks. You know, those little creepy buggers that somehow manage to crawl unseen and unfelt

up your leg. After crawling up your leg, they manage to insinuate themselves under the

waistband of your BVDs. I can hardly get my fingers in the waistband of my shorts. Fat roll

problem. How does a Tick manage to do wedge itself under there without me noticing it?

Now, after the Tick has managed to position itself under the waistband of your shorts, it then

[gag; barf] proceeds to screw it's pointy little head into your flesh. That's bad. That's *real*

bad. But it gets worse! Then this creature; supposedly created by the same God that created

us--ever wonder about that? I do----! God *must* have a sense of humor. I can just imagine it:

"Let's see--yesterday, I created the Golden Retriever. What to do today? I know! I'll create the

Tick!! That'll make the fundamentalists wonder what I'm up to! hahahah!" Anyway, now this

creature **sucks your blood**--! This causes it's little body to swell to several times it's

normal girth---are you following this? I admit this subject reminds me of some of the

management where I used to work. Sorry, got off track. Then, if it's lucky enough to get this

far undiscovered, it drops off the "host". OK, gotta sidetrack here a moment. The word

"host". Doesn't the word "host" imply that you're willing--? Why not use the word "victim"?

Host, my a**! So, now the Tick has gorged itself on *your* blood. It drops off. It lays eggs --

feeding on your blood allows it to reproduce. Now, in addition to being the unwilling victim of

this creature, you're responsible for the birth of thousands of more of these things! Talk about

a bad joke! Then, of course, if you're really unlucky you may get Lymes disease! Arrgghhh!

Now some of you are asking *why* is Scotty off on this tangent--right? It's all related to our

recent journey through many of your Midwest states. Wow, do you guys ever have *Ticks*!

Sure, we have a few out here in the NW, too. But you might hike 50 miles and see one Tick.

Maybe none. In my 56 years I have been drilled [up until now!] by only two [2] Ticks! I can

live with that. Now, get this! I've been following the "not alone on the throne" series. Pretty

funny, Golden Retrievers in the bathroom with you. Haha! Mine do that, too! They're always

welcome, wherever I am. But--after spending a day walking around in the bushes somewhere

in the Midwest--I noticed I had picked up a few Ticks. One even drilled me. No panic. Pull the

bloodsucker out, check yourself over for more. I even turned my Levis inside out, checked the

seams. Looked uninhabited. Weren't. The next day I'm tooling down the freeway, somewhere

in Indiana, I think. Got the urge. Pulled into a rest stop. Pretty crowded place. Entered the

stall. Closed the door. Dropped the drawers. Sat on the throne. Looked down. I was *not*

alone! There were five [5!!!] Ticks partying in my undies--and one firmly planted in my thigh!

I'm certain there are still folks talking about the ensuing ruckus in the rest stop stall. My first

thought was to strip off my clothes and burn them right there in the stall. Run naked to the

trailer. No matches. Had to improvise. Ever try to kill a Tick? Trust me, they don't die easily.

However, if you place them on the toilet paper holder and whack 'em with your jackknife, they

expire. I admit I may have hit a few of them more than once. All right, so maybe I hit them a

lot of times. Funny, the rest stop was crowded when I went in there. By the time I came out of

my stall--nobody there. Lots of folks standing around outside, though. Next time I come

through there I'm gonna wear Tick collars on my ankles!  

Becky [I remember the time you got in the hot tub and found that Tick in your leg!

Sure did a lot of splashing around!]

Peggy Sue [I've hosted a few Ticks! Sure glad I'm blonde, they're easy to see!]

Earnie [What's a Tick? ]

Michael & Scotty

Earnies at it again. "My son" has learned the fine art of landscaping. Unfortunately,

his tastes and mine differ a bit. I like a nice, orderly lawn; preferably flat, bearing

no resemblance to Normandy Beach after the invasion. Earnie is a more modern

kind of guy. Likes random placement of holes, lawn divots, etc. He's been known

to "trim" a shrub, something he's not particularly neat about. Sometimes he eats the

side off of it leaving a slightly lop-sided appearance. This is probably my fault.

During the time we were traveling, hobnobbing with other G&H Listers and their

dogs, Earnie was spending his time learning a trade. Earnie & the girls are boarded

at a place that has nice fenced pastures, they have freedom to make choices of

whether to dig--or not to dig.

Digging at our home is er, discouraged. So, when we got home, we had to remind

the Earnster that escavation can lead to -- trouble! However, dogs, like children,

tend to learn by example; right? So yesterday when I dug large holes around the

existing fence posts to straighten them--Junior, "My Son"; Earnie-- was watching.

He would hang his big jowls over the lip of the hole--then grab a large chunk of

turf and run off with it, shaking it so the dirt flew everywhere. My cries of

"Earnie Dammit" [he thinks his last name is dammit, BTW] went unheeded. I

was on the opposite side of a cyclone fence from a very quick blonde boy. He's not

stupid--he knows I can't jump that fence! I would have used a different command if

I knew one. Anybody know the correct command for "get your teeth out of my

Lawn immediately or I'll kick your butt into next Wednesday?" Our training

Classes didn't cover this area. There may be a bright side to all this. Caterpillar

Is bidding against LeTurneau for the rights to use Earnie for strip mining coal

In Utah. Can you dig it?

Becky [Uh-oh! Earnies gonna get it--! I'm staying in the house.]

Peggy Sue [Me too. Dad gets really anal when Earnie tears up the lawn.]

Earnie [Hey dad! Want some help? Whaddaya mean, *no digging*? YOU'RE

digging,

aren't ya? I just wanna help!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

 Ah, my Golden boy! Always up to something. He suffers; as do most Goldens,

from a tennis ball fetish. He'll do *anything* to get a tennis ball. Go

anywhere--behind chairs, under couch cushions, behind the drapes, even crawled

under my 4x4 to get one. The boy has *No Fear*. Except---he has learned, the

*hard way*--that if the tennis ball rolls under a supine Alpha Bitch--or for that

matter into her imaginary "buffer zone"--do ***not*** make an attempt at

retrieving that ball! Too funny! He circles around and around Becky, emitting little

"mewling" sounds--making eye contact with me as if to say "please, dad--I need

that ball, but you KNOW how Becky gets--!" Meanwhile Becky is giving him the

"go ahead--just try it--make my day!" look. So much for the macho tough guy

image, right?

Ah, well, I drop what I'm doing and get the boy the ball. The least I can do for

My son. Perforated noses hurt. Particularly one as large as his honker. Big

target. Becky can't miss.

Peggy Sue [What about me? Remember the other night when he rolled that

damned ball into my feathers while I was sleeping on the Futon? I gave him a

*righteous* bite, hey? Bet he won't try THAT again!]

Becky [Just you *try* for that ball, dimwit, and there won't be a plastic

Surgeon anywhere who can piece you together again!]

Earnie [Aw, c'mon Becky, it was an accident and if you rolled a ball near me

I'd give it to you. Can't I *PU-LEEZE* have my ball back? I'll tell dad---!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Nice day here. 72 degrees. The sort of weather one opens the doors &

windows; get some of that fresh air in the house. Yours truly out back pressure

washing the deck. Been at it a couple of hours. Break time! All three dogs had

been out *helping* me with the *Hissing; Pissing; Hose Monster*--Becky lays

close to get the spray. Must feel good. The other two [must be a blonde thing] run

away from it, bark, come back, bark; run away, etc. Weird. Anyway, into the house

I go through the bottom patio door--open the screen door, go inside-- get a

Pepsi, walk outside; close the screen door--and plop my derriere in a lawn chair.

Ahhhhh! Relaxation! Earnie plops a tennis ball in my lap. I nonchalantly toss it

Toward the end of the lawn. **Pandemonium!** **BLAM!!** **WHAP!!**

Funny how your mind works. As the screen door went past me at roughly 50 MPH

with a red dog under it I thought "guess Becky must have been in the house".

Moral of this story:

NEVER throw a tennis ball if there is *any* possibility there is a Golden

Retriever inside your house looking through the screen. Oh, well, no injuries.

Except to the screen door. Scared the other two dogs so badly she got the ball, too!

Becky [BALL!!!!!! GOTTAGET THAT BALLLLLLLLLL! OOf--didn't think about that screen, sorry dad.]

Peggy Sue [I'm afraid of paper bags and cardboard boxes. Imagine what that

Screen door charging me did to my psyche--Arrrghhh! Door Alert!]

Earnie [Wow! Some trick! That's really using your, er; *head* Becky! Cool!

You can have the ball if you want it that bad!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Golden proof screen door? LOL! Becky doesn't bother going through the screen--

The fabric was perfectly intact. She just takes out the *whole door*; quite

literally! Stiffening the portion of the door where the Golden makes contact will

only cause the door to fly through the air at a greater velocity, increasing the

possibility of injury to non-witting humans in the immediate vicinity! Now, if you

covered it with something she couldn't see through, you might have something!

Geez, I shudder to think what a *big* Golden could do--Becky is a svelte 63 lbs. If

Earnie ever decided to go through the door--call 911--! <VBG>

Becky [Are you still complaining about me knocking out that door? Geez, you

Go through a door thousands of times, no body complains. Go through it *once*

Without opening it---]

Peggy Sue [I'm still watching that door *very carefully* when I go through

it. I *know* I saw it move! It may be a---killer screen door!]

Earnie [I'm thinking of showing you pink-pantied girls how a **real man**

Takes out a door--!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

I have three Goldens. They're *all* "Watchdogs"--depending on your definition of

the word "Watchdog".

[1] Becky: If you ever need a dog to help you hunt cows from a moving

vehicle--she's the one. Unfortunately, she seems unable to make a

distinction between cows, horses, sheep, goats, buffalo; and on a bad day,

mailboxes. She'll bark at any of them from inside the car. On a long trip, the other

dogs sleep. Not the great Cow Hunter. Alert--always watching! Other specialties

include Deer, which, BTW, she *is* able to distinguish from other large mammals

and mailboxes.

Deer really wind her clock. While driving slowly down a dirt road in the

Local woods, a deer stepped out in front of us. We still had the Vanagon, so she

got a pretty good run towards the front before smacking the windshield so hard she

dribbled off it like a punch-drunk prizefighter. Any harder and I'd of had a heck

of a time explaining the large, hairy red bug splattered all over the *inside* of

the windshield. People of any description, up to almost anything, are not

particularly noteworthy in her book.

[2] Peggy Sue: Some of the things she specializes in "Watching" are any

strange item [her definition of strange is *new*] such as a paper bag on the kitchen

floor. A *moving* garbage bag, blown by the wind, is sure to send her into

barking fits. Movement of furniture is something she watches closely. Freaks her

out if you move the couch to the other side of the room. She watches for

opportunities to munch on Lawn Tacos, too. She watches out the Dining Room

window in hopes a dog will come down the street. We *always* know when

there's a strange dog outside. But--she never met a person she didn't like.

[3] Earnie: Each morning; without fail-- stands; watching--the refrigerator

where the tennis balls he drove you nuts with the night before were put *out of

play*. Tries to watch those balls off the refer. Works sometimes. Not often.

Depends on the level of abuse his humans are capable of on any given day.

Watches for anything unusual outside our fence. Things like the new pile of topsoil

In the driveway--pretty scary stuff, that pile of dirt. First, he barked at it.

Then it became edible, in his pea-brain. Must have horse padookey mulched in it.

Once again, any person is OK-DOKEY with him. Even one without cookies.

Becky [I watch you if you're in the cupboard where the treats are kept, too!]

Peggy Sue [I watch the microwave when you "Nuke" the popcorn--yum!]

Earnie [I watch any hand, armpit, pocket or crotch where there *might* be a

Tennis ball--]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

I am completely cracked up--just had to share this one! Many of you know that last

week Becky ran *through* the screen door! That was pretty funny--! But--Earnie

just outdid her in the collision dept. I let him out to go "potty" after dinner.

Let him out of the sliding glass door of the family room; which adjoins the

kitchen. It's a straight shot from the sliding glass door to the kitchen--maybe 35

feet or so. Michael picked that point in time to load the dishwasher. Earnie

*always* does the "pre-wash" cycle--<VBG>! Go ahead, barf; you hygiene

freaks!

Anyway-- Earnie comes up the stairs, looks through the door and sees the

dishwasher is being loaded! He excitedly took off running toward the

dishwasher--and failed to remember the kitchen floor is linoleum; and

somewhat slick! I'm still holding the door watching the rear of a dog whose "put on

the brakes" as hard as he can--but he's sliding--sliding--he's in the "Frog-Dog

position, dragging his big butt--front paws braced in front of him--sliding---BAM!

He hits the open dishwasher; sounded terrible--fortunately for all of us it has

those pull-out sliding trays. He knocked 'em all the way back. No harm other

than side-stiches! Did this deter the "Potlicker"--? Nah! He licked off the dirty

dishes while we held our sides from laughter--gotta love 'em!

Becky [Uh-Oh--Earnie just went sliding past me and I don't think he's gonna

Get stopped--Oooooo I bet that hurt!]

Peggy Sue [Hurt? Nah! Lookit, Becky--he just hit his *head*! No problem--!]

Earnie [Oh, man, I *know* you had Leg of Lamb tonight and I *ain't* missing

out---OW!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

I'm fairly certain that most of you have certain rituals you perform on a daily

basis with your dogs. We here at the Richardsons surely do. One daily ritual

revolves around bed time. Just before bed time, there is what we refer to as

"final potty". All three dogs respond quickly to the phrase "Final Potty Time"!

They all head for the sliding glass door in the basement, where they're always let

out. Becky & Earnie are really good about "just doing their business" and coming

back in the house. Peggy Sue, on the other hand, needs to be reminded why she's

out there, because she feels it's her duty to sniff each inch of the fenceline. By

the time she's finished sniffing, she's completely forgotten the original purpose

of going out there was to go to the bathroom! So after a few "hurry ups!" she will

eventually do her thing. Then you have to catch her, as she goes temporarily

**deaf** to calls of "come, Peggy Sue"! OK. All three dogs are in the house.

Becky and Peggy Sue head for the bedroom and their respective "spots" by the

bed. Earnie, for some reason, will lay down in the hall and need coaxing to get

him in the bedroom. If you close the door while he's in the hall, he gets frantic.

Really wants in. But that's not nice, right? Remember my old saying "it helps to be

smarter than the dog to train it"? Ha! last night it hit me! Out in the hall lays

the Bubba-Boy. I grabbed my wife's hand mirror and snuck that sucker around

the corner into the semi-dark hallway. Earnie looked up. I never saw him move so

fast!

There in the hallway with him was this big, gorgeous, male Golden. He followed

Him all the way into the bedroom. I put the mirror on the dresser while "my son"

Spent the next 10 minutes looking behind and under all the furniture for that

Strange dog---<VBG>! Sneaky, eh? Whatever works!

Becky [Boy, is he dumb. That's a mirror, you idjut.]

Peggy Sue [ ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz]

Earnie [Wow, was that dude handsome--did you see him, huh, didya dad? Where

did he go? You say he'll be back tonight, right here in the bedroom? I can hardly

wait!]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA

Oh, these dogs. Sorry I didn't write about this sooner but I was busy practicing

my smile. Maybe it's really more of a smirk. You decide. As some of you know

I retired after working 23 years in a Bureaucracy; just last year--2 days

short of my 55th Birthday. Most of the people I worked with for all those years are

still there. Waiting it out. Didn't save their money. Bought boats, beach houses.

Bills to pay--no early retirement for them! So on they grind in the old stress

mill. Anyway, my old workplace held their Annual Award Banquet today, I was

invited along with my bride to receive a fancy plaque commemorating my years of

service.

You **have no idea** how good it felt to look across the large *captive*

Audience and smile---eat your hearts out, suckers! Ha! Lunch wasn't bad, either.

On to the *hat* incident! Every Wednesday for the past 18 years my bride has

worked at a Rummage Sale--they sort stuff every week. Big sale [HUGE] end of

October. She brings home some pretty bazaar stuff. The dogs always hear her

Come home when she hits the garage door opener. Big greeting. You know, like

You were gone for years. Last Wednesday afternoon, I hear the garage door

Coming open. "Mom's home"! I chirp. All three dogs dive down the stairs in

Anticipation of the *Great Reunion!* Then, it sounded as if all *hell* broke loose

down there. Terrible, vicious [well, vicious for a Golden <BG>] barking, snarling,

etc.

I ran downstairs to see what the problem was. Michael had found a hat, a perfect

caricature of a large rats head, complete with a snout terminating in a huge

honker, big beady eyes, pointy, evil looking little ears--and it squeaked when she

pressed the nose. Yeah, you guessed it--she was wearing the danged thing.

Earnie nearly lost his lunch he was so upset. Becky was frantic. Peggy Sue was

Yapping like a Chihuahua on amphetamines. So, I saved the dogs from the devil

woman. I put the hat on the dryer where they couldn't see it. All is well again.

Moral of the story: Don't wear your Rat-Hat in front of your dogs. The bedroom is

OK.

Becky [Get it! Get it! It's attacking mom! Didn't you see Alien?]

Earnie [It's sitting *right* on top of her head! It's eviiillllllll!]

Peggy Sue [yapyapyapyapyapyapyapyapyap]

Michael & Scotty

The Golden Gang

Becky; The Red Scourge of Squirrels, Feline Track Coach; Peggy Sue; Pixie,

Lover

of Every Creature; Fecal Gourmet

Earnie; Marriage Test, Woobie Shredder, General PITA

Living in SW Washington State; USA