Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Monday, January 30, 2012

Ice barf

I found a great frozen puddle yesterday at the park. It was thin enough that I was able to jump around on it and scratch at it to loosen up some delicious ice chunks that I chomped away on.

Seconds later, I assumed my barf stance.

Slow walk...set my jaw...snout kind of protruding forward...a look of intense concentration on my face and ears back.

Sure enough...out came what was left of breakfast.

It still looked quite tasty but I was prevented from eating it.

Barf completed, I continued on my merry way.

After dinner, we went out for a walk in the snow with Amanda and Reilly and it hit me again. Heard the human announce 'oh, crap...barf position' as I assumed the stance again.

Out came dinner.


Friday, January 27, 2012

Conehead drinks

Laser Accuracy #fail

All my life, I've been able to catch even the smallest piece of flying kibble or treats from mid-air with laser accuracy.

The human could toss them straight at me, to the left, to the right, and I'd get them into my amazing German shepherd jaws.

She'd do it with popcorn, too. That's how we've spent many a rocking Friday or Saturday night together, her on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, me sitting nearby waiting to catch kernels. Sometimes she would count; I think I made it to 24 kernels in a row once. I am seriously good.

Lately I suck though.

Last night, the human created optimal catching conditions for me. Lights on, me in a sit, focused, she aimed a piece of kibble perfectly.

I missed it.

I also haven't noticed some bunnies in the dark lately. Used to be, I would go crazy before the human ever saw them. Now, even if she points them out, I look around, but eventually decide there is nothing there and the human is an idiot.

Or maybe...my eyesight is starting to fade a bit?


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Monday, January 9, 2012

My Boyfriend Riley

Riley has died.

He died December 30th. His dad called to tell my human this weekend.

He was only 8.

I met Riley in 2007, just after the human and I moved to our house on the lake in Burlington. We were out for a walk on a cold day when I saw him walking toward us.

Oh, my, he was handsome.

My tail wagged. My butt wiggled. We approached each other, performed the ritual sniff, and I loved him at first sniff.

For three years, we were neighbours, sometimes going on planned walks, very often just running into each other on the street and walking from there.

In summer, we frolicked in the lake together while Riley ate rocks. He would carry his favourite rock home with him. This made his human happy.

Riley needed tennis balls in his food dish in order to eat his kibble. If Gary, his human, removed them, Riley would return them to the bowl before eating.

When we went to his house, he was like a kangaroo at the back fence, jumping up and down so that all we could see was his head bobbing up over the fence line, disappearing, then bobbing back up again.

My human used to toss kibble at us like we were trained seals or something, and we would take turns catching them in the air. Riley was really good at it.

He was so handsome. Big, strong, beautiful colouring. He had a great bark too, and he loved to chase a ball in 'Riley Park' across the street from our house. I used to sit in the grass and watch him run, jumping in the air to retrieve the ball.

When we moved, our humans kept in touch and we got to see each other for walks still. Not as often as before, but the humans made sure our relationship stayed intact.

My human and I are utterly devastated that he is gone. We loved him. We will miss him.

Riley, I will see you again one day.