239 - AN ACCOMPLISHED THIEF

He started his life of crime as a young boy.
You can see the look of regret in his eyes.

My dog, Toby, is a thief.  The minute I let him in the house he takes off like a shot to see what he can find before I catch up with him.

That's the wrapped sport and napkin in his mouth!

One particular day, I went to KFC to get some chicken. Toby went with me, as usual, as I am trying to get his acclimated to riding in the car.  Like most dogs he loves to hang his head out the window (in this part of the country we call dogs that do that hedge or tree trimmers).  Anyway, the back windows were down so he could do his thing.

Toby was hanging out the back (driver's side) window, sniffing the delightful smell coming from KFCThe kid handed me the sack with the meal inside, however he forgot to give the napkin wrapped spork.  He said, "Oh, sorry, here's your spork," and with that he handed it out the window.  In a blink of an eye, Toby reached out and grabbed the darned thing right out of the kid's hand.  The kid cracked up and then yelled over his shoulder, "Hey guys, come see this dog.  He just stole this lady's spork!"  Everyone clustered around the window as they watched Toby prance around the back seat with his prize.  I declined a new spork and drove off laughing to myself.  Toby kept his prize until I got home and cornered him in the back seat.

The thing is, I always go around and do what Walmart calls (over the intercom) ZONE RECOVERY before I let Toby in.  Checking everywhere for things that can be grabbed forces me to be a neater housekeeper, but I must be lousy because he ALWAYS finds something.  My reading glasses are his number one target.  Next are pens and my hairbrush.

Spoons are also a favorite.

He first charges into the kitchen and quickly checks the floors, counters, and table.  Heaven help me if I left one of the chairs pulled out at the table because he will hop up onto the chair and grab something (anything) and then he takes off.  He thinks it is a game (eyes bright with tail and butt wagging), no matter how punitive I get, this is a game he continues to want to play.

Finally, he has started to respond to a YELLED (with a threatening voice) D R O P   I T !  He will hang his head and then slowly walk toward me, then drop the pilfered item.  However, sometimes, just before he gets to me, his head will pop up, his eyes will get THAT look of devilishness, his hind quarters will start to wag and off he goes for a loop or two around the front room, behind and up onto every chair.   He will then zip right past me and make a tour of the rest of the house.  I have taken to shutting the doors to every room that has a door.

                                   

                                   But he will glom onto anything he can grab.
                            Here he is with a duster.

"Awh, Mannnn, do I have to give this bottle back?"

The reason I do not have many pictures of Toby is because he is in constant motion.  My camera's shutter doesn't move fast enough to capture anything but a blur.

Here is a snatch and run that was taken when
I was sanding the floor of my bathroom.  Yes, that is
sandpaper he took off with.

Toby is super smart and has learned a lot of tricks.  When asked to bring his Moo-Cow he selects the correct one from the pile and brings it to me (he also does this with Duck, Blanket, Bone and Froggie).
He sits, lays down, gets up and speaks on command.  He shakes hands and bows when asked.  However, the commands "Stay" and "Leave It," are known to him and followed ONLY WHEN HE WANTS TO!

I teven taught him to shut doors.  Now, he shuts every door that is open.  I thought that was really cool.  However, that thought went right out of my mind one night, as I heard the LOCKED front door slam behind me when I went out to turn off the water.  I seriously think he knew what he was doing and was secretly celebrating with a winners lap around inside the house.  In addition to this, he has shut himself in the bathroom, twice.


kt 4/12

COMING ATTRACTIONS:

#240 - 

#238 - GOOD AIM, GIRL

Mom came home with a white Toy Poodle somewhere in the late 50s.  Her name was Coquette and she was both smart and spoiled.  She usually slept with me and her favorite position was draped over the top of my head like a horseshoe, of sorts.  This didn't bother me until one morning I woke up laying on my side  staring at her... ...well, you know!


Mom trained Coquette to do her "business" on a newspaper on the back porch.  This was quite efficient and the dog always used her paper.  Anyway,  one day we were returning from a trip to the mountains around L.A.   Coquette loved to ride in the back window of the car which is where she had perched herself on our trip back.  Suddenly, the car swerved and Dad started cracking up.  He had just checked his rear view mirror and saw poor Coquette trying to hit a small 3 x 5 piece of paper that happened to be laying there.  To our amazement she hit her mark and parked her "poo" dead center.  Of course we had to roll down our windows, pull over, and deposit the droppings on the side of the road (but not before we got to watch several cars pass us filled with people laughing their heads off).

I really liked the idea of paper training so, many years later when I got a dog for the kids I paper trained him (key word).  His name was Jasper (an adorable Beagle) and he took to paper training at an early age.  I was real pleased with myself as I never had to get up to put him outside.  He just did his business on newspapers on the service porch. However, months later I was in the kitchen and I looked up to see him hike his leg and pee on the wall.  To be honest about it he did pee on the paper, as it did run down the wall and onto the paper.  I couldn't believe that I was so stupid.  It took me a while to convenience him to abandon his back porch training and due his "business" outside.


kt 3/22/12

#234 - THE WAR OF THE ROSES

That's Jasper on the cat tree (no, that's not Kit).

When I lived in Southern California (60s-70s) I shared a duplex with my parents.  They were in the front and the kids and I were in the back.  This worked out really well, until our dog, Jasper (an adorable, but ornery Beagle) decided he liked roses. 


Mom had a large flower bed filled with beautiful roses in her part of the back yard.  She pruned and preened them almost every day.  She spent so much time with her lovely flowers that Jasper apparently thought it would be a good idea to help her.  He started digging in the beds around the base of the flowers.  And this, my friends, started the  "War of the Roses."


Mother complained to me, but I was away at work all day and didn't see how I could control Jasper's sudden interest in gardening.  I told her to just lock him on my side of the yard. But, the danged dog then developed a keen jumping style that propelled him over the short fence with little effort.


After talking with friends Mom came up with the idea of sprinkling cayenne pepper in the flower beds to make Jasper's gardening attempts less desirable (or so she thought).


One Saturday morning I heard this weird noise coming from the back yard.  There I found Jasper digging in the rose bed.  His beat red eyes were running profusely.  He was coughing and wheezing like an old worn out Model T.  As I stood there watching him excavate the loam he sneezed at least a dozen times.


I felt sorry for him, but it served him right for digging.  Finally, he gave up and went to the side of the yard to brood and rest up his respiratory system.  Now, it is important for you to know that Jasper was a VERY smart dog.  He was actually planning his next foray into the rose garden.


That next week I got a call from Mom while I was at work.  "He's really done it now!"  She exclaimed.  Confused, and thinking she was talking about my son, I replied, "What did Skipper (my son's child hood nick-name) do?"  "Not Skipper, "my  mother testily replied, "Jasper!"  She related to me how Jasper waited patiently by the back door until she stepped out.  Then he ran to one of the rose bushes, plucked a rose off and tossed it into the air.  When mother shrieked, Jasper knew he was on the right track and plucked some more.  Mother took chase and the war effort was doubled. 


Unfortunately for Jasper he was soon taken prisoner and chained to the back of the garage.  Her orders were that he was not allowed in the back yard unchained.  Well, what good is a dog if the kids and I could not play freely with it.  He was such a hyper-active animal that after a while I felt it was crewel to keep him chained up.  But, Jasper ended up winning after all as he was dispatched to heaven.  No..no...he wasn't put down!  I wouldn't do anything like that.  You see, I found him a home at a farm that raised beagles and since he was from a long line of prize winners the good ole boy was put out to stud!  Maybe this was his plan all along!!!!!!!


kt 4/12

COMING ATTRACTIONS:

#235 Deer Me
#236 True Love
#237 - GAS ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK
#238 - GOOD AIM, GIRL

#156-SO, WHO'S THE REAL ANIMAL HERE?

MAX

About fifteen years ago I had a cat named Mad Max.  He was a crazy black cat who was a riot.  I went to the pound to get a kitten for my dog, Chelsea, (a hyper toy poodle) who needed a playful companion.

When I looked around the cat enclosures at the pound there were several cats but none caught my fancy.  As I was walking out, two little black legs shot out of a bottom cage and snagged my jeans.  Most of the bottom cages were empty and I hadn't seen the little squirt.

I asked the caretaker if I could see the attention seeking cat and she opened the cage.  At that very moment this kitten sprinted out of the cage, jumped up onto her desk, swatted at a ball on top of the desk and sent the ball flying across the room.  He took off after the ball (which had caromed into another room) and disappeared.  All of this took only a matter of seconds.  With a big smile on my face I said to the lady, "If you can catch him, that's the one I want!"

CHELSEA

Well, hyper Chelsey and Mad Max were a match made in heaven.  The wrestled and tussled and played their way into my heart.  Several years later, I had to give Chelsey to my Aunt Zelda (who had just lost her dog of 15 years).  I had let Chelsey stay with her while I was on vacation and Aunt Zelda started to cry when I came to pick Chelsey up.  I just couldn't leave with my dog so Chelsey became Aunt Zelda's dog.

Max was lonely and ended up having to cope with a new dog, Luke, my German Shepherd.  But I have yet to get to the story I wanted to tell you about Mad Max.

SIMON

About 8 years ago I was keeping my son's Rhodesian Ridgeback, Simon, and trying to find him a home.  He was way too rough for the young children in my son's home so the dog had to go.

Max had made friends with Luke, but  Simon was another matter.  Simon wanted to EAT Max (you see, Ridgebacks were originally bread to hunt lions).

Simon had only been here for a few days when I heard a terrible ruckus out in the back yard.  I looked out to see that Simon had Max down on the ground and it looked as though he was killing him.  Max was screaming and putting up a valiant fight while Luke looked on, confused by Simon's attack.

I thundered through the house and out the back door.  I yelled Simon, NO!  But, Simon ignored me.  The only thing I could think of to do was to pull ALPHA on Simon.  I attacked him growling and snarling.  I bit him hard, he yelped and he let go of Max.  I snatched Max up immediately and Max was not out of his defense mode yet, as Max bit and clawed me on the arm.  Awhhhh $#:!.

First I wrapped Max up in a large towel and put him in a carrier, in the car.  Then I cleaned the bite and scratch wound as best I could and headed for the vet. (about 40 minutes away).  I had neglected to check to see if I had enough gas, and yes, you guessed it, I didn't.  Half way there I ran out of gas and had to call for roadside assistance.

After an hour by the side of the road,  several complaints by my father (who had accompanied me) and feline vocalizations (of the worst kind) we were on our way again.  When I arrived at the vets. I explained the situation (he broke into a big grin when I told him about biting Simon).  Incidentally the vet. did (jokingly) suggest that I might need to bring Simon by for shots, too.   I left max with the comedic vet. and headed for the hospital emergency room to have the bite taken care of.


Well, the emergency staff cleaned up the bite (which took two stitches), gave me a shot and shared the story throughout the hospital.

Max was OK, I was OK, and Simon was a little cowed when he saw me,  Luke was wondering if we were going to play that fun game again and Dad just shook his head.
kt 3/2011

#152-TOTALLY TUBULARY TUESDAY(Toby)

Uhhhh, Hi.  My name is Totally Tubular Toby; you can call me Toby.  I think I'm a people, but my mom keeps calling me "her baby".  Is a "her baby" people?  Her father calls me "that dog."  When I make mistakes she calls me other names (but I don't think I should tell you).  This world is so hard to understand.


Today I have a very scary and confusing story to tell you.

You'd look sad too if you went through what I just went through!

The other morning my mom had a very serious look on her face.  She held me and hugged me, but I just squirmed and chewed on her shirt sleeve because I didn't want any of her gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff that early in the morning.


Mornings are for romping, chasing the cat, getting into as much trouble as possible, and eating.  This is when I knew something was up.  Mom wasn't fixing my food.  PANIC ATTACK!  WHY ISN'T MOM FIXING FOOD?  I tried to tell her my fear as I cried, "WHERE IS MY FOOD?  MOM, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE FOOD!  I NEED FOOD, NOW!"  She ignored me (well, she tried anyway, I'm kinda hard to ignore when I hangin' onto her pant leg with my teeth).


Finally, she got my blanky out of that darned kennel, picked me up and headed for the "ride" (STILL NO FOOD!).  We got into the "ride" and went to the place of smells.  It is a place that stinks of a lot of different kinds of animals along with a yucky smell that I can't quite put my nose to (not that I'd want to. Well, maybe).  


I remember being there before and, as I recall, I was poked and prodded and then felt a sharp pain in my neck.  Mom just stood in the corner and kept saying, "You're ok, you're ok."  Well, if having something shoved up your you know what is ok then I'd hate to see what she thinks is NOT ok.


Back to the other day.  We rode in the "ride" until we got to the place of smells.
Mom handed me over to a complete stranger (along with my blanky) and walked away...are you reading this SHE WALKED AWAY!  A COMPLETE STRANGER!  I set up such a howl that it made her stop for a second, then she went on out the door.  I screamed and accidentally went potty on the lady.


My blanky and I were put into this kennel (without a treat, Mom always give me a treat when she puts me in one at home...THAT DOES IT!  NO FOOD!  NO TREAT!  I'M IN HELL!) and there I sat along with a few other unfortunates.  Each one of them was as confused as I was.  I tried to talk to them but they weren't interested.  This one "baby" looked really sad.  He said he thought he was in here because he pottied on his mom's best rug.  (OMG it that why I'm here?  It's all your fault Heathcliff!  You're the one who told me I could do it!  Growl!)

I didn't mean to...honest!

The lady came back in and took me to a room of even more awful smells and that is the last I remember until I woke up.   My head felt strange and so did my lower body.  They had a thing around my neck to keep me from checking out why I felt funny down there.  In fact it took me a while to figure out why I couldn't see if my feet and tail were still there (Could I survive with just a head?  Sure, as long as I could eat...eat?...suddenly I didn't care about food...weird, huh?).

Mom finally came to pick me up (PHEW!) and I pottied all over the lady again as she handed me off (on purpose, take that, lady!).   Mom wrapped me in my blanky and took me to the "ride."  That is when I got more of the  gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.   And, boy did I want it this time.  When we got back to my home Mom and I cuddled and slept the rest of the afternoon.  For some reason I suddenly liked the gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.

I still don't know what happened, but I think my bark is higher that it used to be and there is less to lick than before.  Heathcliff seemed to know where I was going.  Mom told HIM, but not me!  By the way, Heathcliff, thanks for the note.  I AM milking it for all it's worth.

Toby

kt 2011

#104-LUKE (A TWEAK TO REMEMBER)

Several years (early 90s) ago I adopted a year old German Shepherd named Duke from the local shelter.  I immediately renamed him Luke.  Originally I went to the pound to see if I could fine some big, mean, ugly, cats to keep the rats down in my son’s horse barn.  But, when I saw this sad and depressed dog I immediately clutched my heart.  I asked the lady, “What’s the story on this dog?”  She told me how his drug-dealing owner had hung himself in the local jail,  making this pure-bread animal an orphan.

With heightened anticipation I asked to take the dog for a walk.  When the he and I approached a bench I said, “Lets sit for a while.”  Before I could get the for a while part out of my mouth he plopped his behind down onto the ground and looked up at me.  My eyebrows jumped up a notch and my mind started to race (well it always races, and this time it raced off in a different direction).  We walked a little further and I told him to sit again, he did.

He also walked nicely by my side, laid down on cue, stayed on cue and came on cue.  I WAS ECSTATIC.  Cats completely forgotten I left the shelter with my new dog on a rope.  Rats be darned.  I had myself a brand new BFF!

Three weeks later he still hadn’t perked up so I took him to my vet.  The poor guy had heart-worms.  Several treatments and $$$$$ later, Luke was hale and hardy.  However, the process of nurturing him through the poisoning they had to do to cure him, caused Luke to become my shadow and protector.

At first he had anxiety separation problems so I took him everywhere I went (even to church).  One day, during Sunday school, I look over to see him standing in the isle by my pew.  When one of the churchgoers walked in Luke started to walk in too.  When the guy blocked his way Luke let out a low rumble in his throat, which caused the guy to step aside.  I took Luke back out to the car and rolled the windows up a little more. 

As the days and months went on I became aware of his protective nature and watched him closely.  However, as long as no one got rowdy or approached me in a surprising way, Luke was a lamb.

Well, that next year I sustained a spiral fracture of the right tibia. I was in a PLASTER cast from my foot to my thigh.  This in itself is a story but I want to tell you about how my dog Luke protected me during this time. 

There was an old man who lived down the street who occasionally brought me vegetables from his garden.  The only problem was that he wanted to be rewarded with a hug.  Which in itself is not a problem, IT WAS HIS HANDS!  

One day the old man came to my door.  I was still in a wheelchair and my shadow was by my side.  The old man expressed his sympathy, gave me some vegetables and reached past the threshold to collect his hug.  Luke was calmly standing on my left side and just as calmly took matter into his own hands (or should I say jaws).  In the quickest, slickest move I have ever seen, my dog had grabbed the crotch (and its contents) of this man’s pants.

Luke didn’t bite, he didn’t growl, he just did a little “tweak, tweak” and let the man go.  The old man froze and said, “Ahhhh, did you see that?”  I immediately replied, “Yes, are you OK?”  He rubbed the area, told me he was fine, and left.  Between giggles, I congratulated Luke for the delicate way he handled the situation.  I never saw that old man again!

I considered several other titles, but since this is a "G" rated blog I had to ignore the ideas.  HOWEVER, YOU COULD MAKE SUGGESTIONS IN YOUR COMMENTS!

kt2011  

#65-CRAZY DAISY

Up I go!

Where'd they go?

 In the mid 70s my kids and I adopted a dog from the pound.  She was a goofy little Rat Terrier we named Daisy Mae (Beverly Hillbillies influence).  Daisy was the PERFECT dog for kids.  She was a real clown, full of too much energy, and was always doing amazingly silly things.

     We had several apple trees in the back yard and, Daisy, in pursuit of squirrels (who teased her endlessly), would jump into the first crotch (ok, maybe not the correct term) and work her way up into the tree after them.  We would find her perched on a narrow branch, doing her balancing act, and  barking wildly at one of her nemeses.  She did fall out SEVERAL times but this did not deter her efforts.  The amazing thing is that she would often curl her front leg and paw around a branch to pull herself up. 

     Once, I observed Daisy trotting to the back of the yard only to spin around and run, like a maniac (nose stretched out, ears flying) straight toward the big oak tree.  About the time I thought she was going to crash and burn, she ran right up the side.  It was then that I realized that she was trying for the squirrel feeder over six feet off the ground.

     A day or so later I looked out the kitchen window and saw Daisy sitting on the feeder looking up into the humongous oak tree.  I guess she was trying to figure out how to get higher.  It wasn’t too long before she provided us with a big laugh.  The old feeder (with Daisy on board) broke and came crashing to the ground.  However, undaunted by her experience she still ran up the tree daily (but couldn’t seem to reach the lowest branch which was about 50 feet off the ground). 

Do you know what you're doin?

Guess whose winning?

     Daisy loved the kids.  We took her with us when we went to the lake.  The nut would try to catch the mailboxes as we flew by down the country road.  When my son swam under water, so did she!  

     When the kid did anything Daisy was right there.In fact everything my kids did was a cause for joyful celebration by Daisy.  An example of this is when I heard a funny noise in the front room.  There was a “sloughing” sound followed by two kids giggling then by hysterical laughter.  When I stepped into the room and asked what was going on my son demonstrated.  He placed a large hand around daisy’s muzzle, put his mouth to an opening left around his thumb, then blew.  The result was the flapping of Daisy’s lips close to the corners of her mouth (and of course the weird noise).  Daisy kept going back for more.

Shoot it!  Shoot it!

     Daisy, also, loved to retreive things.  We had a gun like toy that shot out Hot Wheels and Daisy would retrieve the cars and bring them right back.  She would stand there prancing, look at the gun, then look off across the room.  There was no mistaking her message.

Yummmmm!

     Her first Christmas with us she learned to open her present.  The next Christmas she did it automaticallY, once it was given to her.  Oddly enough, she never opened it ahead of time (unlike my kids), and never bothered any other presents under the tree.

     Once in a while she would sneak food from the table (particularly corn on the cob).  Also, we occasionally had to extricate her from a deep hole in the ground where she dug herself into trouble going after a mole (wish I had a picture of that).   And, if that wasn’t enough,  I got a call from my neighbor across the street telling me to rescue my dog.  I found Daisy hanging from our fence by her collar. 

     How did we ever get to lucky to find such a great dog? 

kt2010

#24-PUSSY CAT PERILS

I have a Cat named “Kit.”  No, not “Kit-Kat", but just KIT.  The name works for her.  I found her under my truck one day when I was visiting my son and his family.  This small tortoise shell kitten was apparently waiting there for me to find her and take her home.  We were a match from day one.

She is a smart cat and learned how to let herself in and out of my back door.  When she first comes in she yowels at me and tells me about her day outside.  Occasionally, she brings me trophies.  One time she brought in a half eaten bird.  Yes, I have talked to her about that. She put the darned thing in her food dish.  That was just plain gross!  But, at least she knew where it went.

Several times she brought live birds into the house.  I should be happy because she apparently listened to my lecture about not killing birds.  However, the release of a flying creatures in the house causes a big hullabaloo.  It is usually a race to see who can catch the bird first.  So far I am winning! (5 to 1)  She also released one small bunny rabbit which took US thirty minutes to catch.  I released him (the bunny) outside, and even though winded (both of us, actually) he streaked away.

Kit has been subjected to being on the edge of the fall-out from my many projects.  She has been spray painted, chased by a run away sander, struck by falling debris, startled by wayward ladders, and was forgotten on top of my roof (NOT MY FAULT, she followed me up there).  Yet she still comes home.  However, she now watches my projects from a vast distance (like I said, she is very smart cat).  She is like a best friend.

I have a best friend like that.  Her name is Carol.  Although I have never spray painted her or stranded her on my roof top, I know she will always be there for me, no matter what.

See blog # 13 for the sander episode. (She will also be featured in future blogs, I’m sure).
kt 2010


PS.
Since this was posted one more peril has been added to Kit's life, and it goes by the name of TOBY!

Look at THAT fool in the background.
He's tried to climb this tree three times.
This is ME ignoring HIM!

Guess what happened to the ladder I was standing on to take this picture.  Yep, one leg went into a mole hole and dumped me on the ground.  Kit looked on (and I think she was smiling) and Toby smothered me with doggy kisses.

kt  3/2011