Thursday, October 29, 2009

I'm having my annual end of October sleepover with Cosmos!

My first hour here was a triumph. Managed to cause a whole lotta trouble and keep everyone on their toes.

Aunt Diane thought she had prepared the house for me.

I laugh.

Ha ha.

She clearly forgot about the almost empty tuna can, the yogurt container, the delicious Kleenex in the garbage...I could go on.

Grabbed them all, ran around the house. She chased me, retried the illegal objects, and while her focus was on retrieval, I was plotting my next move.

Eventually she won, handing me a dog toy to play with.


I'll see what I can do today...

Monday, October 26, 2009

Today the human referred to me as diabolical.

She also called me "Muffin".

I confess, I am confused.

If I'm not mistaken, a muffin is a small, cake like baked good humans enjoy. Cozy, yummy, sometimes even cute.

But diabolical?

I am not aware of any diabolical muffins.

Hence my confusion.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Guest Blog: My Human Writes

Storm is getting older, and our relationship is changing because of it. We’re closer, I think. It’s a calmer, more respectful, more appreciative relationship. My love for her is deeper, and I’m more aware of the little things I love about her.

The smell of her fur, the sound of her breath, her heartbeat.

I love how she greets me when I come home, sometimes with the exuberance of a puppy, sometimes with a gift (stuffed animals, slippers, shoes, socks, you name it), sometimes with the laid back happiness of a tired older girl, but always with joy.

I love that she likes to have a chew on her bacon nyla bone every night before going to sleep.

I love her dog kisses.

I love her insatiable curiosity about her world. It never changes. She wants to sniff, explore, taste everything she encounters.

I love how she cocks her head to the left and right and stares intensely when she’s trying to understand something people are saying, or when I say a word she knows and which excites her.

Like “dinner. And “Adam”. Or “Grandma”.

I love it when we are walking and I glance back at her (she’s almost always behind me now, slowly plodding along) and she’s gazing up at me, for whatever reason.

I love her soft ears.

I love the grey on her chin , and the long grey hairs showing up on her belly.

I love that she protects me, that her instinct to keep our “den” safe is typical of her amazing breed.

I love that, while she apparently wants to beat up almost every dog she meets, she always, always makes an exception for male German shepherds, instead acting like a complete and utterly submissive tramp around them.

I love that she is still like a puppy in some ways, chewing the crotches out of any pants or underwear I’m foolish enough to leave lying around, mangling full toilet paper rolls, breaking into her food cupboard and helping herself to dinner, clearly devising evil schemes in order to subvert the rules and get to food she covets - and, despite what any experts say, demonstrating full awareness that she has done something I will not approve of when busted.

I love how she seems to want to go to bed earlier and earlier now, crying until I turn the TV off and put jazz on the living room stereo, at which point she stands up, ready to head upstairs to bed.

I love it when she wanders around the house with her pink stuffed piggy in her mouth.

And when she carefully examines my wounds before gently licking them, ostensibly helping me to heal (but sometimes making it worse).

I love it when she stacks, that classic German shepherd stance, looking incredibly regal and strong.

I love that no one will break into my home or try to hurt me while she’s around.

I love that she lays down for a morning tummy rub every day, and that sometimes she wags her tail so hard her whole rear end wags.

I love watching her run and roll around in snow.

I love sitting on the rocks by the lake with her leaning against me, both of us gazing out at the water, listening and smelling the air.

I love the way she hunts in the grass for rodents, listening and then pouncing like a coyote.

I love that she has her father’s wide rear end.

I love that, despite her well deserved tough girl rep, her best friend (and unquestioned superior) is twelve year old mutt who dominates Storm without question.

I love coming home to her.

I love that, despite advancing age, her soul is that of a puppy.

I love that she has a boyfriend she clearly adores.

I love that she’s aloof with strangers, but over the top excited about the people she loves.

I love that she does drive by lickings on people who hate being licked, wiggling her butt in joy as she slinks off, apparently knowing full well what she has done.

I love that first moment when we wake up and greet each other every morning.

I love that she doesn’t suffer fools.

I love the way she makes it easy for me to love her, without fear, without hang ups, without any need to disguise or hide how happy she makes me.

I love that she loves me even when I’m hanging around the house in sweatpants and glasses looking like crap.

I love it when she stalks inanimate objects, like bags, or branches, and then acts like she knew it all along.

I love watching her joy when she settles her belly down into a mud puddle, or creek, or lake.
I love that she bites water.

I love it when she howls at sirens, looking at me intensely first, as if she’s saying “Dear god! Do we need to alert everyone!?!?!”

I love hearing the sound of the toilet seat drop as she shows me again and again that putting the seat down is no deterrent to a German shepherd determined to drink out of the toilet.

I love that she picked me when she was four weeks old.

I love that she’s a challenge.

I love her eyes.

And nose.

I just love her.

Monday, October 5, 2009

It occurred to me the other day while I was peeing on some fox poo that the protocols surrounding different types of poo can be confusing. It has taken me nine years to figure it out. Perhaps it would be helpful to other dogs if I summarize my learnings below.

Accordingly, the following poo protocol synopsis has been developed.

Storm's Poo Protocol Summary

Goose Poo

Rabbit Poo

Fox Poo
Dance around, then pee on

Horse poo

Cow manure

Pig poo

Coyote poo
Respect. Don't pee on it. Don't eat it. Sniff it, and give it a wide berth.

Bird poo

Dog poo
While I realize some dogs may disagree, I say give it a big PASS

Racoon Poo

Deer Poo
Roll in

I think that covers the poo I frequently encounter. If any of my dog readers are aware of a poo I have omitted, feel free to send the poo and its protocol to me and I would be pleased to add it to the list.

Friday, October 2, 2009

I had a full day yesterday, thanks to the police.

Wayne picked me up for my daily walk. We went to the park, had a nice leisurely stroll. He brought me home around noon - and couldn't drop me off, because our 'hood was cordoned off with police tape.

I have no idea what was happening, but it meant I got to go on a second walk. Wayne took me with him to pick up Jack and York, and we all went to Bronte together. It was a lot of fun. When Lesli got home, she was in a rush to get me outside. I realized it was because Riley was in the park. Another walk with Riley!