This might qualify for the "Bad Dad" contest. I admit it. I messed with Earnie's

mind. What there is of it. Naughty me. We'd just returned home from a particularly

dismal Obedience Class--his last one in this series, naturally. The one you want

him to shine in? You know that VW commercial on TV--"DaDaDa-DaDaDa--the two bored

dudes riding around with nothing to do? Yeah, that was my boy last night. Acted

like he needed a shot of Geritol. Tired blood. Long hour. All the things he did

**so well** at home the prior week went out the door. Forgotten. Total stupid

attack. Oh, well. I wrote it off to the bad nights you have now & then. Until--sat

down to watch the tube for an hour or so before bedtime. Three tennis balls in the

room. Nothing wrong with his enthusiasm now! Rolling those damned balls under the

futon, scrambling madly about the room to fetch 'em--trying to bark them out from

under the furniture. Brat. Total brat. So I'm thinking--OK---- you want tennis

balls? **I'll** *give* ya tennis balls! Out to the garage, to the *main stash*.

200 balls in a cardboard box. I leave the doors through the laundry room into the

family room open--and I start chucking those balls, two at a time into the room.

Two, four, six, eight, I just keep 'em coming. Pandemonium! Becky launches herself

from the recliner, gloms onto one in mid-air. Nice catch. Peggy Sue grabs one and

begins Roo-Rooing all over the room. Michael, my patient bride, is laughing so

hard she almost wet her pants. Earnie? He's trying to corral 35 or 40 tennis balls

all going different directions. He finally ended up in the corner of the room,

three tennis balls in his mouth, eyes crossed, glazed over, panting like a steam

engine--laying on about 25 tennis balls. You needed to be there. Next Obedience

class I'm bringing tennis balls. To heck with Ruffloves smelly weenies!

Becky [ Wow! Look at that idiot! Stop dad, we'll need a Dr.]

Peggy Sue [Roo! Roo! Roo! Roo! This is funnnn!]

Earnie [Oh, God. Gotta get 'em all, oh, no, this is toooo

much----Arrrgggggg!]

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

Ok--I gave the list time to settle down. Need to forget this "splitting" stuff.

Bantering? Indeed! Humph. All I have to say on that subject. On to--The National!

First, we need to establish how my mind works. Frightening, eh? I need *time* to

digest materials. Picture a Yard Debris Shredder. You put stuff in the top in one

piece, usually recognizable, right? Out of the other end of the shredder comes the

same stuff, in slightly different form? So, roughly, that's the way I see things.

As far as sitting down at the 'puter and just writing--nah, can't do that. I have

to be in the right "mode". Usually, if I write a post, humorous or otherwise--I

woke up with it. It rattles in my mind like a marble in a fishbowl. Putting it on

the list for you to review, or delete, whatever--clears my mind. Is there a

Psychologist on the list? Cheap Psychotherapy. <VBG>

On Tuesday, Sept. 2nd, 1998--something started. Then, it grew. Those of you

fortunate enough to be part of it know what I mean. The National. I've searched

for analogies--the closest I've come is the Love-Ins of the 1960s. Yeah, I'm that

old. Did the Rock Concerts, etc. Flower child? Nah. I just remember the *feeling*

we had. Didn't need drugs. Just a lot of folks coming together from all walks of

life, accepting each other for what we are, or were. Comfortable with each other,

even though in many ways, we were strangers. That sums up the National. All

friends. All comfortable with each other. The one common bond--Golden Retrievers,

of course!

For us it really started with the arrival of the Redlus/Rufflove Caravan! We had

boarded the "Blondes"; Peggy Sue and Earnie earlier in the day. Becky, my "heart

dog" and rescue girl, stayed home to be with us. Becky could *not* figure this one

out. She had seen us get out luggage--which throws *all* the dogs into fits of

depression. Moped around with long faces. Figured we were leaving them again.

Then--hey, we dropped off the other two and she *stayed home*! It was quiet for a

few hours, and then they arrived! Helen, Bob, Nancy, Mo, Bear, Hoss, Mad Max, [a

lot of attitude in a small package] Splash and Willow; and Buddy--the 14 year old

Rescue gentleman on the way to his new home. When we opened the gate and **all**

those dogs came romping into our yard--Becky could *not* believe her eyes! I

expected the worst. Didn't happen. After the initial rarfing & snarling, things

settled right in. Guess the old girl figured she couldn't whip 'em all--may as

well join 'em?

As Helen already told you, we humans felt like we were already friends. We are!

This was our first face-to-face contact, however! Our guests brought 2 lbs.. of

chocolates, and a lovely Golden Retriever Towel Rack for Michael. Nancy presented

me with a huge jar of her toasted weenies for training treats! We wish to thank

you all for the thoughtful gifts! Helen and Nancy, as expected, are wonderful.

But--there was another Great surprise. Remember the old axiom "behind every great

man there is a woman"? Folks, that works both ways. Helen's husband, Bob, [Best Of

Breed?] is a delight. I can see where Helen gets some of her strength. This

delightful gentleman with his Puckish grin and mild mannered personality is

amazing. Helen is fortunate to have this pillar of strength to lean on. As the

week went on, our admiration for this man grew and grew. I've known peopleon

drugs who could never attain the calm, sensible demeanor this guy has.Thanks for

everything, Bob! Wish there were more like you! Suffice it to say we had a very,

very Golden evening. One I shall never forget. Thank you Helen, Bob, andNancy for

the memories; and for gracing our home with your presence! We'll be seeingyou--be

forewarned! Sunnyvale CA isn't more than a couple of days drive. Nancy says she

has a big driveway. All we need is a power cord--! Nancy--are you listening? Helen

& Bob--? Tomorrow--off to Seattle!

Earnie [I stayed at Linda's and dug really big holes!]

Peggy Sue [ Way cool! The Alpha Bitch wasn't around--!]

Becky [I had *way* too much fun--let's do it again!]

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

Because St. Helen obviously has done such a remarkable job of covering the

*Happening* in Seattle at the National, I won't delve too far into the logistics

of the trip. Suffice it to say, I didn't meet *anyone* we would not like toget to

know better. What a "head trip" for Michael & I--! Not only did we camp right next

to our own Legends, St. Helen, Bob, & "Rufflove". We were also lucky enough to

meet other *legends*! There were too many to mention, but I *must* mention Ana

Brusendorf; the National Chairperson; and Nancy Kiesler; the Rescue Parade

Chairperson. Amazing people, beautiful through and through! What an honor and a

pleasure to meet these dedicated people. Jane Fish--you're generous to a fault.

The donation of around 60 woobies to the Elstons Picnic was an amazing sight! Deb

Haggerty? A quiet, totally amazing person. Talk about generous! I could goon and

on--but, I fear I should do what I do best. Report on the more [in my mind]

amusing aspects of this Great event!

Each morning we were awakened by the sounds of raucous cheering. It was early.

Probably before 9:00 AM. Maybe it's a dog thing, folks rising before 10:00 in the

morning? After some detective work, I discovered the source of all this racket was

the nearby conformation ring. Checked out the Obedience and the Agility Rings.

Nope. Some mild cheering, but the majority of the yelling was issuing from

Conformation. Now, you Conformation people may want to sign off at this point. Or,

of course, prepare your rebuttal. I promise you, you won't hurt my feelings. Ok,

so perhaps you might. Give it your best shot. It's always been a mystery to me

just exactly what all the cheering is about in Conformation. So, I donned my

floppy hat, my Walrus folding chair, sunglasses, jewelry and proceeded to try and

mix with the crowd. Didn't need my disguise. I could have been naked for all the

notice that was taken of me. All eyes were on that ring. Around and around and

around they went. Beautiful dogs. Didn't have to actually *do* anything. Just

looked pretty. Sported around a bit. Ate treats. Hell, *I* could do that! Except

maybe for the pretty part. So, then, this incredibly serious Judge-type person

bearing a good resemblance to my High School Principal would point their finger,

and a few dogs would exit the ring. Often, these dogs had the best looking

handlers. Disappointing. Some of those handlers were a big **10** on the Darryl

Hannah scale. Oh, well. Guess I was the only one to notice. So, then around and

around some more. This Judge-person becomes more serious, more animated. More dogs

are eliminated. A few groans are emitted from the crowd here. Hmm. The plot

thickens. Finally, after more trotting around the ring with many of the handlers

obviously close to suffering a heart attack, the Judge points to a few dogs and

the **wild cheering** erupts! What did I miss? Did one of the handlers flash the

Judge? Or are they just cheering because the dog is pretty? When I was younger and

several of us guys would tip a few, we would stand on the sidewalk and yell stuff

like "10!!!" Or "8!!" as the foxy young ladies sauntered by. This, by the way, was

considered to be in bad taste. <VBG> I guess I don't get it. All I see are two or

three pretty dogs that really didn't perform anything amazing. Didn't even have to

look intelligent. For all we know they may not be smart enough not to mess their kennels.

Now, the next day we went over to the Field Trials. Whoo-boy, what a difference!

No big blonde Bozo dogs here! Just these little spindly-legged mostly Red Dogs.

Not very pretty to look at, except for their performance! Not much crowd, either.

Now these dogs performed incredible feats! People in white coats [why do I fear

these people?] hiding in the brush threw dead ducks way far into some bushes, way

across a scummy pond, two of 'em in locations around 150 yards apart. They then

shot a live duck [head for the bathroom, you bleeding heart types] sometimes two

or three times, I might add. Not great shots. Might be a job opening here. OK.

Now, this dog is supposed to fetch *all three* of these dead birds with a minimum

of coaching from it's handler. These dogs had to **think** in order to do their

thing! First, they launch themselves into cold, dirty water, swim across the pond

and hunt up the dead bird. Then they have to put this disgusting; mangled,bloody

dead bird in their mouths; swim back to the handler, give the handler the duck,

and **do it again** until all three birds are in the handler's possession. Hell,

they didn't even let the dog keep it's ducks! Tightwads! Amazing! Does anybody

cheer??? Noooooooo! As a matter of fact, we were encouraged to shut up. Hmmmm.

OK; then there is Agility. I train two of my dogs in this sport. We train in an

Equestrian center. Now, while the dogs looovvveeeee training ankle deep in horse

padookey, I find it rather disgusting. Have to come home, bathe me, the dogs, burn

my shoes; etc. We run **miles** in horse crap training our dogs. By the time an

Agility dog is well trained there are thousands of hours of time invested. Burned

a dozen pairs of shoes. Have you watched Agility? Sure, there is some cheering

when a really good dog aces the course. Polite folks even cheer when a dog screws

up. But the level of cheering pales in comparison to Conformation. Hmmm. Same goes

with Obedience. Thousands of hours of training. Not much cheering. So, Ipropose

we gather a cadre of the loudest, biggest mouthed G&H ers [sure, I'll lead] to

attend every Agility, Obedience, and Field Trial event where we will shout our

lungs out in appreciation of the work that goes into these events!!! Send me your resumes---!

Becky [Well, there **was** a *lot* of cheering at the Rescue Parade, dad!]

Peggy Sue [Nobody cheers for me. I don't even get to train in the Horse Padookey.

;-<]

Earnie [Everybody notices me. I'm one of those purdy boys! Yeah, man, it's Great

to be handsome! And sooo modest, too!]

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

A couple of things my departed daddy predicted finally came true during the National.

#1. "Son, you could try the patience of a Saint".

#2. " If you don't straighten out, you'll end up pushing a wagon".

I plan to expound on #2 in the next day or so. Prepare your delete key

fingers!

;-]

On prediction #1-- I need to fill you in regarding [another] one of my little

"quirks". Becky and I from time to time--bounce! You know, like Tigger, in

Winnie-The-Pooh? Tiggers bounce, because they're happy? So it's strange, I admit

that. But--we bounce. Now, you ask yourself, *why* would this anger anyone? It's a

happy thing, right? A man and his dog, facing one another, jumping up and down in

the air. Try it! It feels good! But--there *is* a dark side.

The scenario--the Richardson/Redlus/Rufflove encampment at the National. Two RVs

parked 25 feet apart, with seven [7] or eight [8] dogs all tied to different

points. Picture a manic-depressive spider on amphetamines. Leashes everywhere.

Splash & Willow tied to the truck. Mo, Mad Max, Bear, Hoss, Buddy, all tied off to

something on long leads. Nothing unusual about that. Everybody was pretty mellow.

Nancy lounging with her dogs. Michael sitting watching the whole thing. Bob in his

lawn chair, next to Bear & Hoss. St. Helen sitting on the steps of their

Motorhome. Happy times! Becky & I went out in front of the camp about 50 feet or

so. She looked at me. I looked at her. We knew! Time to *Bounce*! So--I jump!

Boing! She jumps! Boing! Up and down! Happy, happy! Then--we heard the commotion.

We ceased our happy dance. Looked at the camp. Oops! Seems as how the rest of the

dogs hadn't had much *bouncing* experience. They went nuts. Hundreds of pounds of

dogs, all tangled together lunging at their leads. Bob's chair upside-down. Nancy

standing to the side, hands on her hips. St. Helen on the other side, hands on

hips, glaring at us. "Sorry"; I said. "We like to bounce". Aside from the

occasional glaring looks as the the leads were untangled was the suggestion from

Helen to "please do that somewhere else!" Ok. I can take a hint! Off we went;

Becky and I to happily continue our daily bounce where we were wanted! Thankfully,

all was forgiven. I think.

Becky [Hey, if you're happy and you know it, move your feet and really show it-if

you're happy and you know it--then you bounce!!]

Earnie [Personally, I think they're cracked.]

Peggy Sue [I *know* they're nuts! I'm on Helen's side!]

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

As an aside, I simply must tell you how I met yet another Golden person from this

list. Michael and I accepted a gracious invitation to drive out to the Field

Trials with Rick Reid and Yanna Jorni. Beautiful site! This was my first

experience with Field Trials. Not too many spectators out there, either. We picked

a nice spot on a grassy bank overlooking an area where they were doing "triples".

Peaceful, except for the fact they were shooting ducks a few yards away. We

watched a while and Rick turned to me and said "what do you think of this,

Scotty"? That's when it happened. From behind us came a voice. "Are you *that*

Scotty?" Oops! I turned around to see a young lady in a baseball cap dressed in

Khakis. Sunglasses. Now, you need to bear in mind that on two occasions, people

who were on this list [they're gone, thank doG!] had offered to drive out or fly

from the East Coast just to take a poke at me. Guess I made 'em mad. You know,

sent them a Public "Cyber-Wedgie". Both of these individuals needed the knots

removed from their boxers, anyhow. But, I was a little worried that I was caught--and this person was dressed a bit like a Southern Sheriff! Not to mention

Field Folks have shotguns. Not to worry! It turned out I had made my first

acquaintance with none other than T.C Roffey! We managed to meet a couple of more

times during the weekend, the most memorable being sitting next to her at the

Barbecue; her laptop at the ready, giving blow-by-blow descriptions of the

goings-on to the list. T.C. is a riot! I hope we meet again!

Becky [I had to stay in the dumb Trailer while you ate Ribs. Humph. I was supposed

to be the *star*!]

Peggy Sue [Serves ya right, uppity bitch!]

Earnie [I hafta be nice or she'll kick my butt.]

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 noticed my old post was sent to the list regarding the finer points of

"expressing" ones Golden anal glands. For the record, I have fine-tuned the

procedure a bit. Changed the *bottom* line. [pun] Follow closely, that you may learn.

First, start a hot fire in your fireplace or stove. I don't care that the outdoor

temperature is in the high 90s, just do it. This is a safety precaution. OSHA

regulation.

OK, next, you might want to find some rubber gloves, rubber boots, [Scuba gear is

good] or something expendable. Plastic eye-goggles and a respirator come in

handy sometimes.

Now, first, you need to locate these pesky little anal sacs. There are two ends to

your dog. The front end, or intake. This is the end with the teeth. The back end

is where the tail is located. The anal sacs are on the *tail* end of the dog. So,

carefully lift the dog's tail. Under the tail, you should see something resembling

a Pig-Eye. If it winks at you, you drank too much Gin preparing for this

procedure. Wait a day. Pig-Eye, BTW, was the nickname we gave our High School

Principal. I don't think he ever got it. Anyhow, take note of the position of this

vent. I might make a note here informing you it's best not to perform this

"expression" if your dog is having a particularly flatulent day. FWIW this may be

the only time you appreciate having a bad head cold. Can't smell anything.

OK--you now know that the anal glands are located under the tail, in the area of

the exhaust system. Facing the rear of the dog, the anal glands are at roughly

2:00 and 10:00 just inside the vent. It doesn't matter if it's AM or PM. Now, if

you have an old watch [analog, it must have hands--digital won't work!] you may

want to duct tape it directly below the vent to assist you in finding 2:00 and

10:00. Be sure the 12:00 is on the top, and the 6:00 is on the bottom. No, no the

bottom of the *watch*! If you don't know which way is up, I cannot help you. Be

sure you use an expendable timepiece. Leave your Rolex in the dresser drawer.

OK--the tacky part. Don your rubber glove and your protective clothing. Be sure

Ken Starr is nowhere around. Lift the tail. There are two methods you can use.

One is the "milking" method [farm kids know this one] which can be performed

*externally*. This is my preferred method. Gently place your forefinger and thumb

around the tail from above, push inward at each side of the vent, and gently

massage in an outward direction. If your dog is not on the roof by now you're

doing fine. Oh, yeah. **DO NOT** stand behind the dog during this maneuver! If

your dog is like Earnie, his glands squirt over six feet sometimes. Hoo-boy, is

this messy! If you have a nosy neighbor, or you've just had a fight with your

wife, this is a great means of getting even. Or divorced. Just tell 'em to stand

back there--lean a little closer--and Pssshhht! That lovely smelling fluid right

down their front! Too much fun!

OK that's method #1-- which doesn't work on all dogs. The sure way is to use your

rubber glove, lube up that 'ol forefinger just like a prostate exam, guys! Hey,

best to be sure your dog is in a corner facing the wall here. Otherwise you might

not find Phydeaux for few days. Anyhow, reach in and feel for the gland. Feels

like a peanut if it's full. If it's not you won't find it sometimes. Found it,

right? OK--massage outward; gently--if it's impacted this can get really dicey.

Once it breaks loose--you'll know! Oh, yeah, you'll know. The fire? If you make a

mistake you're going to need it to burn your clothes! Gee, I hope this helps you!

If not, the Vet charges about $15.00 to take care of the problem. I think he earns

it--!

Earnie [Aaaaack!! Here comes "Professor Expresser" again--;-[ ]

Becky [At least he does it from the outside now. I almost learned never to

turn my

back on that dude.]

Peggy Sue [I have good working glands! Get away, dad--BACK!!!!]

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

Finally! At last! It's *raining*! No, it's *pouring*! We've had over 40 days with

no rain. Driest August since 1885. Set all sorts of new records. Caused those of

you traveling to Seattle for the first time to think we NW Folks exaggerate about

all the rain out here. Not so.

I got up late--the fuzzbutts were all fed, rested, ready. All three butts facing

me, they're looking out the patio door at the wind & rain. Then they look

suggestively at me. Can we go out, hey dad? They **love** rain! Shoot, who could

resist 'em? Certainly not me! I donned my Gore-Tex; dug out my rain hat, and off

the four of us go! As we walk along in this deluge, the strains of an old Bob

Dylan tune run through my mind--"and it's hard; and it's hard; and it's HARD! It's

a Haaarrddd rain's a-gonna falllll!" Great Golden weather! Down to our favorite

field, tennis racquet and back-pack full of balls at the ready. But wait! A bonus!

The end of the field is flooded! Leashes off, away they go! Peggy Sue dives into

the floodwaters, doing her best miniature Moby Dick imitation! Earnie--he's Cap'n

Ahab, gotta git that whale, May-tee! Around this huge puddle he runs, playing tag

with the Pigger. Becky, in the meantime is assisting a flock of waterfowl with

their travels South. Thoughtful of her to jumpstart them. I drop the back-pack and

remove the racquet. They all come-a-runnin'--no need to call 'em! They *love*

tennis racquets! Now, **nothing** energizes a Golden like being water-cooled! This

is the first day for months I could not make them quit fetching those soggy tennis

balls. My arm quit before they did. As I write this, I'm thinking--Hot Tub! For,

me, not the dogs! The dogs? Becky is napping, Peggy Sue is Napping--and "my

son"--the Earnster--is busy bugging Michael and I with wet tennis balls. Life is

good. May your day be as enjoyable as ours.

Becky [Ducks! Geese! Even a Heron! OHMYGAWD! Gotta chase 'em! Wheeee! Mud,

too! SO fine!]

Peggy Sue [Avast, may-tee, I'm the Great White Whale! Betcha can't catch

meeee!]

Earnie [I'll git ya, blubber-butt! Fast as fast can beeee-that's meee!

Yahoo!]

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