Oh, my. How to admit this without bruising the male ego. Reducing the size of Earnies

macho image. Guess I'll just tell it straight.

It was a cold and rainy day. [That doesn't matter, I just always wanted to begin a story

with that line--]

Our home is situated on a Greenway, our back yard borders a Wildlife Refuge. My bride,

Michael, loves birds. We have several bird feeders. Thus, we attract lots of birds.

Birds are not noted for their intelligence. Hence, the term "Birdbrain". Pretty to look

at, not too intelligent. Like most of the Supermodels. Cindy, Kate, etc.--- I digress.

Bad habit. Because our back yard borders this Greenway, and the house sits up on a

bluff, the original builders saw fit to install two floor-to-ceiling picture windows in

the living room so as to enjoy the view. A lot of glass. Now, admittedly, if you stand

outside and look in at the windows, you'll see a reflection of the trees and the

Greenway. So, sometimes the birds mistake these windows for another forest, and commit

hara-kiri against the glass. Never mind we've hung ribbons, full profiles of Hawks,

Owls, etc. in front of the glass to repel the birds. Sometimes they just hit the

windows. Yeah, birdbrains. Sometimes they die. Sometimes they don't. The injured birds

are put into our "Emergency Bird Box"--a box all nicely lined with cloth to allow the

birds recovery time before flying off to do something stupid again. The other day a

flock of Kinglets passed through. These are tiny migratory birds, probably half the size

of your average canary. Kinglets are even dumber than your average bird. In one three

hour period, three of them smacked their little heads against the glass windows. One

died. One flew off doing circles. And one sat on the deck, below the window looking

wounded and pitiful. Little did I know this bird was looking to even the score. I put

the poor little feller in the Emergency Box. It was cold out, he looked like he wasn't

going to make it. So, I put the little guy in the palm of my hand, covered one hand with

the other, and brought the bird inside the house to warm up. Hopefully pull him out of

his shock. Of course, all three dogs, Becky, Peggy Sue, and Earnie were extremely

interested in the proceedings. I let them sniff the little guys head. Becky wanted the

bird. Peggy Sue wanted the bird. Earnie was afraid of the bird. Big, macho, 75 lb.

rompin' stompin' candy ass of a dog. I coaxed Earnie over, told him it was OK--go ahead

and sniff the bird, it won't hurt you! That's when it happened. I guess the size of

Earnies honker from a birds eye-view was a lot like you or I looking into a darkened

train tunnel. The Kinglet made a miraculous recovery, squirting out of my hands right

into Earnies face. Earnie split the scene, headed for the basement where the killer bird

couldn't attack him further. Pandemonium! A bird flitting about the family room, two

dogs chasing, one dog hiding, and several humans trying to catch the bird. So, what does

this bird do? It sits squarely on top of my wife's *new* $400.00 curtain--and shat an

**amazing** load for a bird that size. At least we know it was eating well. That was

bad. What was worse-- this bird loaded up on what must have been Blueberries. It left

several big stains, which have proven to be non-removable to this point. A lasting

reminder of why you don't bring wild birds into the house. Or any bird that's dined on

blueberries. Hard to potty train a bird. Except for the stains, everything ended well.

We shooed the bird outside where it flew off--- I swear making a laughing sound. After

an hour or so, my big brave boy came out of the basement, slinking around checking the

place for more evil birds. So much for Macho Bird Dogs.

Becky [I'da munched that sucker! Teach it to poop on mom's curtains!]

Peggy Sue [Not me! I'd hold it gently, savoring the flavor of it, praying it would pick

that moment to poop--in my mouth!]

Earnie [It had a Yellow head, and a BIG pecker, and it FLEW RIGHT AFTER ME!]

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

WARNING! This could be construed by some as "fluff". Be forewarned there is a

possibility the following may upset the alarmists among us. I sincerely hope so. Also,

there are a couple of words used you may not find in Websters. If you don't understand

them, write me privately. I'll be happy to explain. That said, here we go!  

My long suffering bride came home from a Rummage Sale the other day with one of those

Rubber Tug Toys. Paid 4 bits for it. Hell of a deal. This is one of the good ones, heavy

duty, latex rubber, with a triangle on one end to fit the dogs mouth, and a round ring

on the other to fit your hand. Years ago, we had one of these for our Doberman. We

loved it. She'd bring it to me several times a day, and at it we'd go. Sometimes she

won. Sometimes I won. Until I joined this list four years ago I had no idea of the

mortal danger I was in. Tug, with a Doberman, no less. Might as well pour Ketchup on

yourself and swim with sharks.

We've all read of the dangers of playing "tug" with our Goldens. Makes them mean. Makes

them think they're alpha over you. Riggghhhht. So, because of the fact thatI *always*

believe all and any advice so freely given in this forum [sometimes TOO freely--] of

course I have never allowed my Goldens to play tug in our house. <VBG> I'dhate to try

to sleep with one eye open, never knowing exactly when it was they were going to attack

me, rip out my liver, and share it at the foot of my bed.

Until now. Being over 50 and somewhat senile, I had forgotten the words of wisdom

learned from this list regarding the use of pull toys. I messed up. I allowed the dogs

to play tug-of-war with me. Guess what! It's fun! My big empty-headed boy Earnie just

LOVES that tug! He grabs one end of it, shoves the other end at me, and awaywe go! He

lurches, he lunges, he shakes his massive head! Spittle flies out of his jaws! His

eyeballs bug out of his head! The sound effects are incredible! Ever seen "Cujo"? Heck,

Earnie can out-growl that sucker! After a few minutes of this, Becky, our Alpha-Bitch,

can no longer stand the fact that Earnie is having fun. She gets involved, and tries to

*stop* the fun. Typical Alpha-Bitch. Canine or human, just can't stand itwhen the boys

are having a good time. Now the growling and posturing *really* gets good! Becky jumping

and snarling at Earnie, Earnie making sounds rivaling any really angry Grizzly Bear. We

twirl in circles! I grab the pull and run with it! I'm tackled from behind by Earnie!

Becky jumps on Earnie! Around and around we go! I'm laughing! The dogs are snarling!!

Until--"ENOUGH"!!!! Roars my bride. "You're gonna break something"! Shucks. Guys just

having a good time. Oh, well. Wait an hour or so, we'll do it again! So---just what are

the signs I should look for to figure out when my dogs will kill me and eat me? I

forgot. I've always worried about Peggy Sue. She's a poop eating dog. My wife always

said I was a turd. Who am I to disagree?

Becky [Earnie, you little turd. NOBODY but the alpha-bitch is allowed to have that much

fun! Gimme that tug toy!]

Earnie [RRROOOOWWWWWRRRR! GROWWWLLLLLL! SNARRRRLLLLL!!! I'LLL RIP OUT YOUR GIZZARD!!]

Peggy Sue [I'm outa here. Maybe it's safe in the basement.]

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

After several months of meetings, examinations, evaluations, etc. Peggy Sue is now

**Officially** an "Animal Assisted Therapy Dog"! Peggy Sue will be doing Nursing Home

visits, possibly Hospice visits, etc. For those of you who have dogs working in these

programs, my hat is off to you if you went through what we did to get Peggy Sue

certified. Dedication is a must. We're pretty excited! Up until now, it's been pretty

much Becky and Earnie getting the Obedience work, the Agility work, etc. Peggy Sue's

body won't stand up to the rigors of Agility. But, she's a total sweetheart and now

she's getting some recognition for being that way! In Oregon, a Therapy Dog has the same

rights as a Service Dog. Peggy Sue is now welcome in restaurants, shopping malls,

airports, etc. In the state of Washington, the rules are a bit different. We have some learning to

do.

Becky should make the grade in a month or two, we're working on her "arrogance" toward

other dogs. Earnie too, is taking classes, and hopefully will make a good candidate when

we get some more of the "puppy" out of him! In the meantime, big healthy boy that Earnie

is--he's become a blood donor. Hopefully by donating blood, Earnie can help save the

lives of pets in need.

This has been a very good day! In addition to the above, my personal blood work came

back clean. I have now been in remission for two years. A very good sign! Guess maybe

this is an early Xmas gift! We sure feel that way!

Becky [Humph. Aced out by the Pigger! I'll be back!]

Earnie [Tell me one more time--just WHAT are they going to do to me with

that needle??]

Peggy Sue [I think I'll run down to the local Deli with mom & dad and have some fried

chicken. Too bad you guys can't come. You aren't certified! Hahahahah!]

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, the wonders of living with these three marvelous critters! Always something. Always

a surprise. Many of you should be able to identify with some of these scenarios. The 3

AM under-the-bed barfing. Feels like an earthquake. Except it's worse. Your dog has

managed to wedge itself under the 8 inches between the bed and the carpet, and

projectile vomit the wad of grass they ate that afternoon somewhere near the center of

your king sized bed. Maybe they think they're being considerate, the yellow spot on the

rug won't show if you have a long bedspread.

The dreaded "stringers". These usually occur at "final potty". They also include grass

eaten earlier that day. Heavy rain or extreme cold seems to bring these on. You know---

all three dogs go out to do their "business". Two come in. The other one, nowhere in

sight. You're not dressed in your ski clothes. You have on a bathrobe. Not even a

Gore-Tex bathrobe. Dog owners should all have Gore-Tex bathrobes. So, eventually, after

calling to no avail, you go look for the dog in a driving rainstorm. Arrghh. There she

is, in the "squat" position attempting to rid herself of the grass eaten earlier in the

day-- to no avail. You watch, you wait, you hope. No way. You go into the house and get

the rubber glove and baby wipes [if you're smart!] you keep for these occasions. You

perform the dastardly deed of extricating this excrement and cleaning up your dog before

allowing it back in the house. If your dogs are like mine, they're generally ungrateful,

too. Bad enough you're thoroughly nauseated, your dog is looking at you like you're some

kind of pervert. Bummer.

Soiled feathers. I really dislike this one. You just bathed the dog. The dog goes out

and poops all over those pretty butt-feathers. Dog comes into house, heads for loveseat.

You need to be quick. More baby wipes. More dirty looks. My dogs really hate it when I

use the scented ones. When they sniff each other's butts, the perfume bothers them. Do

they make cat-poop scented baby wipes?

Those are a few--I could go on. It's coming on Poopsicle time. Somebody yesterday was

having anal sac problems. Sorry, I was busy. Maybe next time.

This morning I had occasion to think of yet another wonderful facet of sleeping in the

same room with your dogs. While vacuuming the bedroom [yes, you female nazi-types,

SOME men do help with the housework!!] I took all the dog beds outside, shook 'em

and left them on the deck while I finished cleaning up. That's when I noticed it.

Hmmm. Funny how your mind works. A small brown pellet, hard when I rolled it with my bare

toe. Smaller than a marble. My first thought was a chocolate covered raisin No, too

slick. An M&M? Nope. I pick it up--might be something important. I rolled it in my fingers.

I placed it under my nose. Oh, my God. A dingleberry! I came **this close** to tasting

it. I have a strong stomach. But--I admit to being a bit queasy after that little incident. Perhaps I

would have found out what the dogs find so attractive about these tiny nibbles? If

you're surprised that a Dingleberry could be hidden in our dogs feathers, don't be.

Peggy Sue could hide a Volkswagen in hers. What really hurt me, being the sensitive

type-- when I told my marvelous bride that we'd been sleeping in the same room with a

t**d, she said "So what"? "I've been sleeping with one for 35 years." Fortunately, she

was grinning.

Earnie [I didn't do it. Weren't me. Blame Peggy Sue!]

Becky [I don't think it was me, either. But I do have real fluffy feathers.]

Peggy Sue [Don't malign me! I'm the Fecal Gourmet! Had it been mine--I'da cleaned it up!

[burp]--]

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 took four years of Latin in High School. I hated it. It was deemed necessary, because

I was thinking of going into the Medical field. I didn't enter the Medical field. Most

of the my time is spent out in left field. Ask my wife. So, here I am, 40 years

later--thoroughly enjoying the fact I can remember **just enough** of my Latin to get an

idea of what Jim Busheys quotes mean. I also enjoy word puzzles, Limericks, and watching

Game shows on TV. I have even entertained myself by playing "You Don't Know Jack" on my

computer. All of these things require a certain amount of cerebral activity. Admittedly,

not too much--or I would most definitely be incapable of them. But, many of you knew

that, right? [Insert big wink here] Usually, I enjoy thinking. So, I'm sitting here

thinking. I'm thinking-- "why" does the use of a Latin quote bother anybody? Shoot,

correct me if I'm wrong--but isn't that Latin on my dollar bills? Never heard a

complaint about that, have you? I believe the original complaint was that it's "rude"

to use a language the majority of people don't understand. OK. I do appreciate this

lesson in manners. I had *no idea* how rude we were when we spoke English in France.

Most of those good folks were French. Dang me, we even spoke English when we were in

Mexico. How unsophisticated. No wonder most of the other countries hate Americans. We

speak a language they don't understand. Sorry. I feel bad. So, I just had a conversation

with my Goldens. BTW--they don't speak English either. Or Latin, for that matter. Bloody

rude critters. They do speak "Roo-Roo" though--which most of us understand. They advised

me that this mood, like flatulence, will pass-- it's the Holiday Season, and only 28% of

Americans enjoy the Holidays. However, 100% of Goldens enjoy the Holidays, particularly

the eating part. They suggest we just get in a Golden mood, eat a lot of chocolate,

which the Medical Profession has recently deemed healthy for humans, [Thank you, Dr.!!]

and don't let bitchy people bring us down. Now-- I must make a terrible admission.

Please don't hate me. 35 years ago while browsing a tourist shop on the Oregon Coast, I

found a hand-carved sign made out of California Redwood. Owning anything made out of

California Redwood is politically incorrect. I didn't know that 35 years ago. Sorry.

However--the sign said--"Non Illegitimi Carborundem". That, of course is rude. Probably

crude, obnoxious, and churlish, while we're at it. Don't wish to be rude, [obnoxious &

churlish --I can do those--] so I'll interpret --loosely, this means "don't let the

bastards grind you down". That sign hung on our refrigerator door, in plain sight, for

35 years. Guess I'd best get rid of it. <sigh> Wouldn't want to offend anyone. Besides,

in this day and age I'm having difficulty figuring out who the bastards are. The bitches

are easier to sort out. Hey Becky! Hey Peggy Sue! Whadda ya think?

Becky [I am proud of being the Alpha Bitch! How do you say that in Latin?]

Peggy Sue [What's the Latin for "Turf Taco"?]

Earnie [Thank doG I was born male---!]

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

So, you wonder if you can do Agility with a rescue dog? The name of this post should be:

"Someone please rescue me from my rescue dog! She's killing me with her Agility

skills--!" I urge anyone considering doing Agility--if you don't have the right dog for

it--check out a rescue dog! Becky was a bit over a year old when we "rescued" her. She'd

spent most of that year in a garage, or inside a fence with no socialization whatsoever.

Physically, she was a wreck. Not now!!! Becky is a "field dog"--one of those red, agile,

high energy critters. Nicknamed "Air Becky". Those of you who've met her know why. Oh,

how I wish Agility would have been around when she was younger. Why? Because *I* would

have been younger, too! We have reached the point in Agility where her "learning curve"

has surpassed mine. What this means, in plain English, is that I as a "handler"

[hahaha!] am holding her back from her full potential. She's faster, far more agile,

smarter, better looking, and much easier to get along with than I am. My wife confirms

this. So far, we've stuck to Agility classes, the only "competition" we've entered is

"fun matches". I'm just not working at her level yet. Perhaps I never will! The only

obstacle she's not "clean" on is the weave poles. If we ever get to the 100% point on

those--well, maybe it's time to *really* embarrass myself and enter her in some local

matches. I don't mind giving folks a good laugh.

Allow me to point out a few advantages of using a rescue dog for Agility. You can pick

the *right* dog. The dog will be old enough to allow you to see it's potential! There

are *lots* of "Beckys" out there--never make it in conformation, they're back-yard bred

dogs. But, many of them are like Becky. Agile. Driven. So willing to please. Smart.

Loving. Extremely trainable. Grateful for the chance! If the dog you choose is a couple

of years old, you'll know about the hips. I would not hesitate to begin Agility with a

Golden--even as old as Becky, who is 8-- if the dog is in good shape. The dog is

probably the *least* of your worries. What kind of shape are *you* in? Believe

this--you'll soon know if you get at all serious about Agility. Your dog will likely

come equipped with a *Big Motor*!! Probably around 400 H.P.--a big V-8 with high

performance camshaft. You, on the other hand, will feel more like a 4 H.P. Briggs &

Stratton Lawn Mower Engine. With a bad spark plug. I wish I had known about Agility in

the days [long past!] when I was capable of running a 15K race, then jumping on my

bicycle for a 100 miler. Even then, the dog we shared our lives with at the time, a

Doberman, could whip my butt easily when it came to speed or stamina. You are *no match*

for a well conditioned dog. Do not doubt this. It could get you a stroke or heart

attack. I no longer make Macho attempts at not breathing hard, etc. in our Agility

classes. Alas, all the other Student handlers are--*WOMEN*--! This, of course, makes it

very difficult for the *male* in me to allow myself to do what I feel like at the end of

a particularly strenuous hour of Agility. Puke. When I raced bicycles, puking at the

finish line was considered good form. Foot races, too, it was OK to hurl on your Nikes

at the finish line. Bad form was barfing at the 80 mile mark of a 100 mile Bicycle race.

Really bad form was passing out. However, it was allowed. In Agility, this is not

allowed. You will be in a crowd. People will laugh. Of course, depending on what you had

for breakfast, your dog will likely enjoy it. Snack time. So, yeah, don't worry about

your dogs capabilities. Go to your Dr. Do a treadmill. Check that ticker. It's sooooo

embarrassing to die in front of a crowd. Particularly true if you're working the course

with a dog who is not only female, but considered older than you in human years--as

Becky is. Besides, you *know* how dogs like to roll in dead stuff. I'm sure there's a

rule against passing away on the Agility course. Probably cost you penalty points.

So---GO ADOPT THAT RESCUE DOG! Get started! Just eat light meals before

classes. Or carry a barf bag. It works for us!

Becky [C'mon dad! Keep up! Geez, you're slow--!]

Earnie [I'm even faster than Becky. It's fun to watch the old farts face

turn red--!]

Peggy Sue [Something dead to roll in? Who said that? Where?]

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

Had a few questions regarding our memorable walks with the dogs. Been a lot of them.

Hard to pick one or two. One grueling walk that comes to mind [wife's definition: Death

March] with the Goldens was the time we parked the trailer in the middle of an Old

Growth Forest in the Willamette Pass in Oregon, and proceeded to climb 5 minor Mountains

in 6 days. My hiking buddy and I had wanted to try this for years. I think it was

1993--Peggy Sue and Becky were a tad younger. So was I. After three days of hiking,

about 30 human miles in rough terrain, and only doG knows how many canine miles--Michael

and Peggy Sue decided to stay in the trailer the next couple of days and let the three

Amigos [wife's definition-idiots]--Hank, Scotty, and Becky go have their fun. Becky

completed the whole endeavor with us. We figured we hiked 65 miles in 6 days, with about

14,000 ft. of elevation gained--and lost, too. Mostly just steep terrain, a few

scrambles up rocky cliff faces, nothing Becky didn't handle with a little help. We

skinny-dipped in some pristine Mountain Lakes, waded up creeks when the terrain became

too rough to hike. Had to undress and swim in a few places, floating our clothes and

packs ahead of us. Becky had no clothes, and no gear. Therefore, she had a distinct

advantage over we mere humans. We estimate Becky tripled our mileage. Run, run, run!

Becky could not have hiked another day at the end of day 6, as her pads had begun to

split and bleed. But, admittedly, I doubt either my buddy Hank or I had another 5 miles

in us, either! Good fun! For those of you who have seen the dogs photos on Helen's Web

page, the picture of Peggy Sue and Becky with bear bells and scarves was taken on day

3--and they were hammered. So, Imagine what the rest of us looked like at the end of day

6--?? Geez, was that fun, or what--?

Peggy Sue [The trailer was very comfortable, thank you.]

Becky [Anything you can do--I can do better--I can hike anywhere faster than you!!

But--my feet hurt!]

Earnie [I wasn't born yet, but I bet I coulda showed those sissy girls a thing or

three!]

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

No Golden in this post. But, there could be. If you want, just substitute the word

Golden for Doberman. This is a true story. One with a Canine hero. Plus, a happy ending!

We've hunted Mushrooms for the better part of 25 years. Mushroom huntingtakes you off

the beaten trails, many times into areas where there are no roads or trails. You get

pretty good with a compass. Or else. Dead-reckoning becomes second nature. During our

Dobermans 13 wonderful years with us, we spent hundreds of great days in remote areas

during the fall and spring 'shroom seasons. I have a great deal of respect for the

ability of dogs to find their way around the woods. Perhaps some dogs are better than

others, I'd like to hear other's Tales. Naomi, our Doberman, had an uncanny ability to

know where we were at all times in the woods. At times Michael and I would wander apart

in our search for Fungi--sometimes 1/2 mile or so. Naomi would run between us, no matter

how quiet we were, she always knew our locations.

One one trip up to the foothills of Mt. Hood on a rainy, cold fall day, we spent much of

our time in a very brushy, difficult area to traverse. No trails, perhaps 15 miles in on

a dirt road. We each take a compass bearing upon leaving the truck, compare them, and

when it comes time to walk out we generally know about where we are. It was beginning to

get dark, so we headed to the truck. Started out on the road, then remembered a

particularly prime area a mile or so down the road on the way out, only a few hundred

yards off the road. Got out of the truck, headed into the woods. Found a 'shroom here,

one there, wandered about looking down--pretty soon, you lose your sense of direction.

It's getting pretty dark now. I ask Michael-- "did you take a compass bearing?" She

checked her pocket--"Shoot, I left my compass in the truck!" says she. Guess what. I

did, too. Total stupid attack. OK--don't panic. First rule in the woods. Think. We can't

be more than 1/4 mile from the truck. Only problem is, which direction? If we go the

wrong way--we're really screwed. Nothing at all but miles of forest. So--I tell Michael

to stand on top of a big stump where she can see me, I'll start walking each direction

in hopes of finding the road, or a sign of it. Didn't work. Tried all 4 directions.

Still lost. All this time Naomi is looking at me like I've lost my mind. Perhaps she

sensed the beginning of panic? Then it came to me--I looked at Naomi and said "How about

we go home and have some dinner?" Immediately, she turns around and goes exactly what I

considered to be the wrong way. She went about 100 yards, and waited for us. We followed

her. She went another 100 yards and stopped. We followed. The next time she stopped, we

could see the truck! What a relief! Naomi knew exactly where the truck was, she wasn't

lost--we were! Naomi got extra dog treats that night! She saved us from spending a

really wet, cold night in the woods. After that, on many other forest expeditions--all I

had to say was "Naomi, let's go have some dinner!" She would always take us unerringly

to the truck. Amazing sense of direction. So--if you're ever lost, out there with your

dog--try "dinner" and see what happens---!!

Becky [I'm a wild woman in the woods! I can chase a deer for miles and find my way back

to dad!]

Peggy Sue [Yeah, but boy does your deer chasing ever piss him off! I just sit & wait.

I'm a good dog!]

Earnie [I'm a velcro trail dog. I don't wanna get lost out there. There's bears, and

stuff. Scary.]

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

New Years Day! The sun is out! It's a great day! No hangovers here. Have a spot of

breakfast. Head into the Living Room. That's when it starts. Becky grabs the giant rope

tug. Whacks Earnie in the face with it. He grabs the end, pulls her off her feet. Much

posturing, growling, snapping of teeth. Around and around they roll, wrestling and

pulling that Tug. That's when I made another of my bigger mistakes in judgement. Damn!

That looks like fun! I think--! Pigpile! Or, I mean--Dogpile! I launch my skinny frame

into the chaos! The dogs are digging it. I roll, I growl, around and around we go. I

bite Earnie on the nose. I have Earnie mostly pinned. Becky is chewing on his ears. He

blindly bites at Becky. Misses Becky. Grabs me right by the crotch. I'm not sure how

much pressure he used, but when I tried to holler "OW"! the only sound that escaped me

was the sound one generally associates with air emitted at high pressure from a balloon.

Ever inhale helium? That's the way my voice was. Uh-oh! Injury! Time out! Earnie lets

go. He grabs the tug and runs. Becky heads for the basement. I roll about in agony.

Then, Earnie gets the F.R.A.P. s--runs amok with that tug in his mouth. I head down the

stairs. I know his FRAP route. I lurk at the end of the basement hallway, in my best

Football Defensive Lineman position. Becky picks up on what I'm doing. She crouches next

to me. We wait. Sounds like thunder up stairs. He's headed across the living room. He's

coming down the stairs, throttle wide open. He turns the corner and heads toward us,

down the darkened hallway. He's really shaggin' butt, too. Uh-oh! He spots us! Nowhere

to go! I still can't believe how fast he got into reverse gear! He stopped so fast his

butt hit his chin! Did a flip turn, back the way he came! We pursue the little varmint!

He goes clockwise around the dining room, we head the other way! Collision course in the

living room! Another Pigpile! Wheee!! This time I protect certain portions of my anatomy

a bit better. No wonder those Jocks wear protective cups---!! Happy New Year!

Peggy Sue [No way I'm getting involved. I'm hiding under the table! Mom! Make them

stop!]

Becky [Little upstart! Gimme that tug! I'll show ya who's boss around here!]

Earnie [Fast as fast can beee--you'll never catch me! Why is dad making that high,

wheezing sound?]

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

Had to travel to NW Portland yesterday, Dental appointments. NW Portland is the Yuppie

Capitol of the great NW. All sorts of boutiques, sidewalk cafes, Starbucks a bunch, etc.

The latest thing is one of those "Dog Bakeries". You know, one of those places you go to

be seen and pay 10 times too much for some icky holistic dog biscuits? When, of course,

in reality your dog would prefer raiding the cat box to a whole-wheat treat. This, I

just had to see. All three fuzz-butts had done a ride-a-long and were snoozing

peacefully in the Voyager. While Michael was having her teeth cleaned, I leashed up

Earnie and headed for the "Dog Bakery". Looking in through the window we observed a

clutch of Yuppie females, with several cutesy bite-sized dogs, the dogs dressed in funny

little yuppie coats and scarves. The dogs owners, all young Fe-yuppies, were mostly

dressed to the nines and sporting "big hair". Egad. After controlling my overwhelming

urge to go into hysterics, I suggested to Earnie that we might not fit in very well in

there. But, Earnie being the wise boy he is, as well as smelling the goodies, said we'd

be OK. Dogs know things. I hitched up my Levis, checked my fly, unzipped my leather

jacket half-way so I looked cool [James Dean], patted down what hair I have left-- and

we strolled into the Bakery. Earnie was checking out the biscuit bins while I tried to

avoid eye-contact with this batch from Baywatch. Nuts. I sensed movement.

Chick alert!

Earnie had attracted the entire big hair bunch, about 7 of 'em. They all came over,

dropped to their knees, and proceeded to fondle & hug my "chick magnet". "Ohhhhh what a

pretty boy"! They cooed. Earnie was diggin' it, of course. In the meantime; three of the

dust-mop dogs in uniform managed to thoroughly tangle leads, causing one sweet young

thing to sit on the floor in this really short skirt and extricate herself from the

leads. I admit to enjoying this particular interlude. Oink. Anyway, Earnie got fondled

in addition to getting some Peanut Butter Biscuits made with goat cheese for only

[gasp!] $5.00 a lb. I got a pretty good laugh. One of the Fe-yuppies, sans dog, actually

insisted on walking two blocks out of her way to be seen with Earnie. I was really

hoping Michael was still in that Dentists chair. She knows how to use my handguns.

Back to the Van with Earnie! Out with the Peggy Sue! Back to the Bakery! Shoot. The

Big-Hair crowd had left. One old gal in there [around my age] with a young Jack Russell

Terrier. As we sauntered back into the Bakery, this JRT immediately charged full-on at

Peggy Sue. Peggy Sue has all the aggressiveness of an Easter Egg. As the JRT charged,

she dutifully sat next to me. The JRT slides into her face, runs around behind her, and

proceeds to hump heartily away. I politely told the owner of this Jack Russell Terrorist

that Peggy Sue was a patient girl--but she had her limits. In reality, what I wanted to

say was "you have 3 seconds to control your dog, after which I will personally see to it

that your precious JRT becomes part of the next batch of Puppy Pepperoni coming out of

that oven in the back room!" Right on cue, Peggy Sue did a 180 with teeth flashing and

full sound effects. Very convincing. Good dog, Peggy Sue! This finally got the attention

of this rather rude woman with her terribly rude dog who now is convinced Peggy Sue is

actually Cujo in disguise. Ever try to explain to a matronly woman tightly grasping her

JRT to her ample bodice *why* Peggy Sue reacted poorly to being publicly abused? Ah yes,

go out and talk to a telephone pole, you'll get more satisfaction. So, Earnie got

fondled, hugged, and fed biscuits. Peggy Sue got whole wheat biscuits and humped. One

day donuts--next day, holes.

I'm going to do a quick seminar on canine rudeness. If you're easily offended, well,

your choice as to whether to read on or not. See if your dog has any of the following

traits.

1. Does your dog try to run or lunge at other dogs, either on or off lead?

2. Does your dog get right into other dogs faces, not respecting the other

dogs space?

3. Does your dog *ever* attempt to mount other strange dogs, neutered or

not?

4. Does your dog growl, bark, or make other offensive/defensive gestures at strange

dogs?

If you answered "yes" to any of the above--you have a "rude" dog in need of some "Miss

Manners" training. I never cease to be amazed at the things others allow their dogs to

do when meeting other strange dogs. If you, as a human are in a Bar--and abig dude with

beer breath charges straight at you and slides to within inches of yournose--do you

stop to consider that this person may want to just say "hi"? Nope. You get defensive.

Maybe kick 'em in the hooters. If you're standing at the local bus stop reading your

paper and somebody behind you begins humping your leg--do you just shrug it off thinking

the person is just friendly? I doubt it. Check it out. Walk down the street, run into

somebody's face at random--then circle behind them and hump away! Unthinkable, right? If

not, you need help--! So--why does anyone in their wildest dreams think it's any

different for a dog?

Last Sunday Earnie was playing off lead with several other dogs when a woman came on the

scene with an intact Pomeranian. This dog resembled a blimp with legs, an attitude, and

a dick. It was so fat I'm amazed it could move. It was also untrained, and *did not*

belong off lead. But, she let the nasty little sucker go. It immediately ran over to

Earnie and tried to mount him. Looked like a malignant hairy lump on Earnies butt.

Earnie got eye contact with me like to say "do I have to put up with this"? So, I waited

until the little dog had a good grip and then tossed the tennis ball over Earnies head.

Pretty funny! Earnie jumped up so fast the Pom was tossed right on it's fat little butt.

The Pom gave chase. Hilarious! Like a Tortoise chasing a Hare. Earnie loped along about

3 feet in front of the dog and ran it into the ground. I tried to explain to this Poms

owner that had Earnie been aggressive, she probably would have had a dead dog. She

didn't get it. Though it was cute. "He just wanted to say hi!" She says--riggghhhhtt!

Down the trail she went, dog off lead, running at every dog it saw. Arrgghhh! Is there

*no hope* of educating people that dogs need manners, too? Is it too much to ask of

someone to take the 15 seconds necessary to sit their dog far enough away from your dog

to properly introduce them? OK--off the soapbox for today. Gonna go out and work on my

boy's manners.

Earnie [Dad, that Redhead had nice perfume! I can still smell it!]

Peggy Sue [I liked the bakery part, but I could live without the humping.]

Becky [Dad wouldn't take me in there--we visited the Sidewalk Cafe at Starbucks! But I

got biscuits!]

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