Heel, Tow...Heal, Toe

It was such a good weekend. We walked to the boat ramp both days. On Saturday evening, JK went to a birthday party for Zak’s little girl. She turned 1.  They had a great time. Buzz and I got dinner a little early and had to stay home. We didn’t care. We just napped. It had been a busy day. 

JK are still doing my training. They say it all ties together. The more I have to mind my manners and use my brain and obey, the more good energy I’ll generate, which gives me more freedom, which makes me more responsible, which takes more energy, which means I will be too tired to lick my toes, which….what?  Oh. Buzz says, “Just call it the circle of life and get on with the story!!” 

The circle of life to me is a ball. And I know that’s right, because listen to this.

J bought me a basketball on Friday. It’s black and brown, and says Spalding All Star on it. When she took out of the back of the car, I could hardly wait for her to pull off that cardboard wrapping. I leapt around and whined. “Is that mine! Is that mine??” Then she tossed it into the back yard, and I raced out the dog door and started herding it.  I couldn’t get my mouth around it to bite it, like I can the volleyball. That ball rolled like it was running from me. I pushed it around with my nose and for exactly ten minutes, it was the funnest toy I’ve ever had. Then I got my teeth into the side just a little bit, and the ball went flat, in ten seconds flat. And so did I. JK looked out the window and I was sitting dejectedly beside it. It had died.  When I nudged it, it just sat there.  Man. I was so bummed. J kicked it for me a couple times but it wasn’t the same.

On our walk the next morning, I was still full of energy even after we spent an hour at the boat ramp. I wasn’t wearing my Gentle Leader; the leash was just hooked to my collar.  K said to me, Heel, and I kept pulling. Max, heel.  He tugged me back beside him.  I just couldn’t stand it; I had to be out front.

Heel. Pull. Heel. Pull. Without my GL, it’s like I don’t have a leash on at all. I’ve always been this way, there is just too much to see and smell!

Finally K said, Tow. And I did! I towed him right along. K said, OK, I get it, we were just using the wrong command. J laughed.

Then K said to J, So anyway, I was thinking, if I got some of that expandable caulking foam, would it fill up the basketball so Maxwell couldn’t bite it or deflate it.

I don’t know, I’ve never thought of that. I’ve never heard of that.  Do you think it could work?

Can’t hurt to try.

Why don’t you pick some up on your way back from the Harley store. Oh, and some Chick Fil A. 

Naturally, Chick Fil A. Chick with extra pick and CS. (That is a chick fil a sandwich with extra pickles, and cole slaw. They abbreviate everything!)

Yum!

JK never share their Chick Fil A.  Buzz says it is pure human greed and gluttony. Then he stole my rawhide, right when I got it to the nice chewy slimy part. He does that. He lies there and lets me do all the hard work, then he steals it when I run off to see what that sound was.  JK think it’s funny. Buzz’s teeth are getting old, Maxie, J told me. He has a harder time chewing on things now. You’re nice to let him have your chewy, slimy one.  Here’s a new one for you.  Sigh. I have to start all over.

That afternoon, K came back on the Harley (we can hear him coming a mile off), with sandwiches and some canisters of something. JK ate their Chick Fil A (and didn’t share; Buzz muttered “What did I tell you.”)  Then K went out to the garage and started banging around.

Buzz pointed one ear straight up.  “Don’t look now, but there’s a mad lab in the garage,” he said. “And I’m not talking Old Yeller.”  Disrespectful! I was kind of shocked.  I reminded him that the sibs as little girls had sobbed into their lunch plates (a story Buzz had heard them telling) when they watched Old Yeller, but he still says old men can tell it like it is.

Mad lab! I wanted to see the mad lab.  J took me out there.  K was in his workshop, with my basketball on the counter. He had poked a small hole in it and was filling it with a tube of goo. 

Shouldn’t you be wearing safety goggles in case that Molotov basketball goes off?  J asked.

I am wearing safety goggles.

Oh, please. Those are reading glasses!

Close enough. 

How many canisters will that take?

I don’t know, I bought two.

J backed way up. I went with her.  I was very suspicious of the mad lab.  But J was too fascinated by what was happening to leave. I bet this is one thing I couldn’t google and find the answer for,  she said. ‘How many tubes of extra big caulking foam does it take to fill up a deflated basketball.’

K put in the two full canisters. Then a funny thing happened. The foam started squirting out all three holes: the regular air hole, the hole I made with my tooth, and the hole K made for filling it.  And that stuff is so sticky! It got on K’s clothes, his nice North Face t-shirt, and his watch.  K grabbed a big screw and wound it down into the main hole. 

The stuff kept coming out of the little holes, sometimes making little screechy noises that made me nervous, but J was worse.  Put it outside, she said to K. If that thing goes off, I don’t want you to be standing next to it. I doubt your safety goggles will save you.  

Later, when J was getting ready for the party, she thought it was too quiet so she went to see what was happening in the mad lab.  K was working on the Harley and I was watching him. The basketball was still foaming, sitting out on the pine straw by the driveway like a gigantic, deadly mutant mushroom.
J was relieved.  I wasn’t sure whether I’d come down and find you with a large screw embedded in your forehead.

The ball foamed all night and into the next day.  When it finally stopped, there were huge yellow, oozy chunks all over the ball (one looked just like a tiny brain.) It had leaked most of the foam out, and was almost as flat as when KJ started their mad lab experiment.  I tell you, the things I learn from my people.

But it doesn’t surprise me that much.  J has a mad lab of medical things when it comes to my feet. If she sees me biting at my feet, she gets out this spray, called hydrocortisone, and spritzes them.  I run, fast, when I see that bottle of spray, but J says, Maxie, come. COME. And for some reason, I always slink back and sit down and give her my best hangdog look, and let her spray them. If it makes her happy. She always pets me and says good boy, good dog.

The vet doesn’t know why I sometimes get these itchy feet.  JK doesn’t know. Neither do I!  It only happens in the spring.  In the winter, it goes away. J has googled “dog’s itchy feet” many times, and she has put socks on me, and creams, and sprays and even gauze, once, to help me feel better.  I leave the socks on for a little while, but then pull them off.  Last year J read about this “harness” that she could make with elastic and little kid athletic socks.  She put that on me.  It is impossible to have any dignity when you look like an old hairy Swiss man in lederhosen, with a string of elastic running down the full length of your back, goose-stepping with those socks on and sliding on the wood floor. J hasn’t tried that this year.  Buzz was sympathetic and told me his glowing green eye cone story, which he promises to share sometime with everyone.

But my feet aren’t as bad this year, anyway.  JK have pretty much decided to just spritz them now and then with the anti-itch spray and then let nature take its course. They feel that if I’m staying busy, not bored, and have used up all my energy, I probably won’t bite my feet either. I’ll be too tired.  I try not to chew on them but sometimes….I see J fighting to not scratch her poison ivy that she gets now and then.  I think it’s kind of the same thing.

J ordered me a new ball from an online dog store. I guess dogs can’t bite it or deflate it. She says herding it around, along with my obedience lessons, will make me so tired I don’t have the energy to lick my feet. 

See?  Heel, Tow... Heal, Toe. The circle of life.  It all comes back to a ball.

Squirrel's Out For The SUMmer

Monday was the first day of summer! To celebrate, K drove to someplace called ATL for a meeting. J, Buzz and I walked to the BR.  I think K would have enjoyed the boat ramp more than the ATL.    I didn’t agree that this was the best way for him to celebrate and made the point  by getting between him and the vile rolling bag.  But when he dresses like that, I know he’s not in a boat rampish mood.  He doesn’t even want me to press my nose onto his leg.  Weird. Anyway, I swam and chased the ball.  Buzz talked to Tickles, the old boat ramp dog (we were so happy to see him doing well). Tickles and Buzz have races to see who can walk the slowest and still move forward.

J picked up litter, and then in something she said was “karma,” she found a mean-looking, scha-weet little black Smith and Wesson knife in the grass.  It just goes to show you, Maxie, she said, holding it up and away from my nose when I raced over to see what she was looking at, watch out, that’s sharp. You never know what kind of excitement you’ll find when you least expect it. It smelled like fish.

The excitement died down quickly when it took J at least five minutes to figure out how to fold the blade back into the handle.  She’s not very knife-savvy but she said she had to figure it out because it wouldn’t exactly look great if she sashayed down the road carrying a wicked-looking black knife. You never know who might think she’s picking a fight. 

Buzz says his weapon is holstered right where it belongs, and he uses it to mark his territory about every ten steps. On our walk, he insisted on weaponing a dead black snake lying by the side of the road, then said proudly, “Don’t Tread On Me,” and disdainfully kicked some JRT dust onto the snake with his back feet.  Buzz was very satisfied with himself so I complimented him on his warrior skillz.

We walked the long way home, down Burton Road and into the front entrance of the subdivision. Lots of cars zoomed by, and I had to ignore them. J says it’s part of my schooling.  Buzz and I smelled hundreds of dogs’ weaponry on that part of the walk! It was awesome. I just wish I could meet them all. Compare weapons, that type of thing.

Later in the morning, while Buzz was napping, J took me to the recycling center with her!   I got to sit on a beach towel in the front seat of the Fin!  We loaded up two broken chairs, the holey negative-energy pillow, some aromatic bags of garbage, and a couple of empty boxes.  The recycling center is just a tiny drive down the road, but I can’t even tell you how exciting that place smells. Sometimes when the breeze is just right, Buzz and I get a faint whiff of it.  Only a dog could smell it, so the humans, with their pathetic albino noses, miss out unless they are practically standing in the dumpster. How to explain it! Metallic, rotten, beery, ripe, composted…smells to make us drool.  I wanted to leap out of the car and sniff everywhere. 

But J won’t let me.  She says there could be broken glass lying around, and besides, it’s all part of your schooling, Maxie. You have to learn how to behave in every situation. You have to stay. STAY.  She points her finger at me and makes me look her in the eyes. The Big She comes into view. I stay. But man, I hate it. I have to just sit there and watch as she lugs stuff to the various dumpsters. So unfair. I could carry something for her.

On the way back, a song came on the radio. School’s out for the SUMmer! School’s out forEVER!  J sang along. Alice Cooper, Maxie! School’s Out! 

I whirled around to look at her.  Squirrel’s out?! Where? Where?

Not the rodent.  Hmmm. We need a new word. Something less squirrelly-sounding. How about…Lessons.

J has been reading up on the Border Collie side of me, and has decided that I need lessons.

You don't have to jog endless miles with your dog (though you can if you'd like) - mental exercises are often the most exhausting activities for Border Collies

JK realized I can pay attention better than I used to when I watched the Belmont Stakes horse race a couple weeks ago. I gruffed at Animal Kingdom, he was my favorite, but he came in 5th to the winner, Ruler on Ice. I didn’t get what was so funny but JK laughed and laughed. Man, that was soo exciting. I really love horses. Oliver and Mae have horses. I’m a little jealous. I would love to race those horses!

So anyway, JK says it’s time to start some “pay attention” lessons.

Buzz told me about school.  He said a huge yellow car-truck, like a vacuum cleaner, comes and vacuums up all the kids in the morning, then spits them back out in the afternoon.  Buzz says his dream was always to get vacuumed onto it and go to school with the sibs when they went, in Montana. I know what he means. My little girl, before JK, used to do that. 

When we got back from the recycling center, I followed J around as she set up my  pop quiz.  She laid some things on the floor, and next to them, a little plate with some delicious treats.  Then she told me to SIT.  I sat.  Those treats were so enticing.  I made a move toward them, but the Big She said NO. Sit. 

Then J said Find your collar. 

I stared at her. Was she kidding? It was right in front of her. Whatever! I walked over and bumped it with my nose. The tags jingled and I licked them. I love licking those tags.  And guess what, for that, I got a treat! 

Then J said, where’s your ball.  Oh, Please. I jumped over to it, gave it a good push.  It rolled under the dining room table. I grabbed it and brought it back.  And yep, I got another treat. 

J said what about Mr. Bill? Oh, nooooooo! Mr. Bill.

Bump Mr. Bill with my nose. Piece of cake. Treat!

Sock, Maxie, find the sock.  This one was much harder.  I knew the word but I couldn’t figure out what she wanted.  I ran over and got the ball. No, sock. Sock.  Show me the sock. 

It didn’t make sense. J says sock to me when we are getting ready for our morning walk. It’s my job to stand by the dresser while she opens the drawer, then I take her socks downstairs for her. I nosed Mr. Bill and ran to the treats.  Nope, sock.

J pointed at the sock.  SOCK.  I touched it with my nose. Treat!  OH, I get it.  After that, I went through the treats really fast. I never missed, not even the sock.  I loved my lesson but it made me so tired, and the treats made me thirsty.  I took a long, satisfyingly-loud and sloppy drink out of my personal white porcelain water bowl with the O-shaped lid.  I love that bowl!  J petted me and said I did a great job. You have a long ways to go Maxie, she told me. We’re going to add the Squeaker next, then Purple. There’s a lot to learn, words, manners, tricks, exercise, ball catching…It’s just the start of school.

Squirrel!  Recess! Gotta go. And after that, a nap. I’m exhausted. Why is J so happy about that?

The Subtle Art of Fang’s Way

JK left early last Thursday morning. Before they drove away, I knew it was bad, bad news regarding our part in their busy-ness. No matter if I laid on J’s foot, or blocked K’s way in the upstairs hall, or nudged them toward their narcoloungers with my nose, they just patted me or said Excuse me Maxie and rolled those vile little bags out to the car and put them in the back, which is where Buzz and I would normally ride.  I hate the sound of those rolling wheels, so I growled at them and tried to herd them away from the car. There was no room for us. No leashes packed. No dishes or food by the bags.  I got so depressed.  Buzz just went and laid in his bed, which he said stunk to high heaven of Tide and Bounce.  J goes on a cleaning tangent and Buzz says he has to pay the price with a smelly bed.

So they left. And we were left here. Macy came over every day with her lady and the smaller humans, and they fed us and we had a really good time, but then they would leave and back we went to just moping around wishing JK would come back.  Macy and her family are such good neighbors!!!

Buzz says not all neighbors are good.  To keep our minds off the atmosphere during a storm Saturday night, he told me about these neighbors he had in Michigan, a couple he says he will call Barls and Charbara. 

“The young sibs (the other humans who used to live with JK) vowed that the gardens this Charbara woman tended were shaped like chalk outlines of dead bodies. The daisies?  Probably a stab victim.  The snapdragons? Arsenic eater, maybe rat poison.” Buzz didn’t know for sure.  “But it could have been much worse. There were no dog outlines that I know of, but I did see a spotted grassy section that looked kinda like a Dalmatian.”  I was horrified.

Buzz says Barls and Charbara called him EDDIE through clenched teeth, if they spoke to him at all, and they were very, very mean. “Keep EDDIE off our property!!! You Montana people must be stupid!”  Spittle flying.  JK would be very careful to observe the rules because they didn’t want Barls and Charbara to have a JRT-shaped radish patch. 

It was a really scary story.  Buzz says he wasn’t scared of them but that they had very negative vibes. I know a little about negative vibes but I’ve never met anyone like that. He says they deserved every mole, snake and mouse that scooted over to their lawn to avoid his lightning-fast jaws.

Someone told J to put a mirror on their garage so it would reflect the badness and nasty energy back at Barls and Charbara’s house.  Buzz said it was called Feng Shui. JK laughed at that and never did put up the mirror, and then wouldn’t you know it,  Barls and Charbara put up a huge wood fence, but only on the length of property line they shared with JK. It was very ugly and J said it looked like a gigantic middle finger extended their way. Whatever that means.  But it had its good points. JK and the sibs were happy not to see the bad energy and the dead body gardens anymore. 

“Wait, go back.” I said to Buzz.   “What’s that called again?”

“Feng Shui, you mean?” Buzz said. “It’s about balancing energy to maximize space for calm and peacefulness. Like for instance my bed, when I get the Tide and Bounce smells out, and get the camo comforter up against the northwest corner of my bed… exactly right for a pillow.”

He dug around and scratched at the camo comforter, balling it up into a big wad. “See? It’s Feng Shuied.  Someday you’ll maybe get it a little. Most dogs do. Not as much as JRT’s, but they do to some degree.” He got a braggy runny nose and sniffed a couple times. That always happens when he talks JRT. Then he curled up against his camo pillow and dozed off.  The thunder was quieting. Man, I missed JK.

And Buzz was wrong. I know all about Fang’s Way.  I was born knowing.  The other half of me, the non-JRT half, is Border collie.  Listen to this:  The Border collie is a medium-sized dog that is very athletic, highly intelligent and has plenty of energy. This breed is extremely driven, loyal and hard-working.

Energy!  That’s me.  Not to brag, but that is me.

For instance, if my toys are all around the house after I play with them, I will go find them and get them organized.  I sometimes carry two or three of them at once, then put them in little pile.  I have to use my fangs to carry them (and I always have plenty of good energy). See? Fang’s Way. 

I’m good at herding, too, which is another form of Fang’s Way.  It’s a BC thing; we are just trying to do the job we were given before birth, which is to keep the entire world in harmonious order. That’s why we have so much energy. It’s not a job for every type of dog.  I learned early on that nipping at JK wasn’t exactly going to work, but just about every day they give me some reason to push at their legs with my nose. It can get frustrating.  Maxwell, I don’t want to go toward the garage where your ball is, I need to go to my office. Or Maxie, you still have an hour before dinnertime, there is no reason to push me over to the food cabinet. It’s exhausting work but I’m up for it. Buzz depends on me too, to herd him, but he doesn’t appreciate it all the time.  He says he did just fine before I came along, without a nose shoved into his ribcage. Then he sniffs.

Sometimes on our walks, if I ask enough times, JK will let me hold Buzz’s leash.  Oh, man, I LOVE holding Buzz’s leash.

 

Then there’s a whole other side to Fang’s Way that we Border collie types know about, and some other dogs do, too. We have to let the bad energy out of things.  I wish JK understood this better.  Instead, J will say something like, Well, that’s $24.99 we’ll never get back. Doesn’t she realize -- all that bad energy was stuck in there, and needed to get let out?  Bad energy pretty much only happens now when JK are gone, but when I was younger, things like flipflops and socks contained it too, and I had to take care of them right away.  Here's a picture of Sib C and me with her flipflop all drained of its negative energy.

Four of my beds have held really bad energy because they were downstairs.  My bed needs to be placed near JK’s bedroom upstairs, so I can herd JK if they get up in the night.  JK finally figured it out, and now my bed, in their room, is full of good energy.  And any of the bad stuff just leaks out of that one little hole in the bed. Just a little one. 

Cushions and pillows can be another source of bad energy, but only if they have left their designated spots.  Say the wind blows a cushion off a chair. What good is that cushion now? It’s not doing its job.  So I take care of it for JK.  You would think they’d be more excited about my dedication to their well-being. 

My first attack on a negative energy cushion

Once two entire huge sofa cushions were just lying on the deck.  J had removed them because of mildew. Mildew!!  Talk about negative energy! It was so hard to drag those heavy, wet things off the deck, down the stairs, and onto the lawn.  Upholstery fabric is one of the toughest for Fang’s Way to chew into. But I did it.  I arranged all the negative energy into a circle around one cushion.  And J must have appreciated it because when she came back from running errands, she just laughed and said Well Maxie you answered my question about whether to throw those away.

While JK were gone this time, the wind blew a cushion off the back of a deck chair. Of course I pounced.  When Macy and her family came over to visit, I got to get my picture taken with it.  You can see the negative energy spread out all over the lawn. I’m pretty proud of that large hole.

Now that cushion can’t hurt JK or Buzz and me. J says the deck chairs will look off balance with that cushion missing, but Buzz says that if she just puts two gigantic, beefy knuckle bones with some crispy fat on them in the northwest corner, it will put the deck back into perfect harmony and peacefulness. I think she should try it.

You know what? Good thing I took care of that cushion, because my use of Fang’s Way brought JK back yesterday. Oh, I was soooo happy!!  I herded them and Buzz down to the dock last night and did some mighty leaps after the ball.

The whole world is back in order. It’s my job to keep it that way.  Sometimes it's exhausting. But I'm up for it, and I still have herding to do. There are babies scattered all over the house.

Buzzosaurus to the Max, by BUZZ

Hi Everyone. Buzz here.

Ummmm, Happy Flag Day.

Today J would like me to  pay homage to that enduring and beautiful symbol of strength, hard work, pride, sentimentality, loyalty, love and fearlessness:  the flag Jack Russell Terrier.  We Jacks descend from sturdy British stock, just like so many of those Revolutionary War heros.   I see that now the AKC calls my show ring counterparts, “Parson Russell Terriers.”  Well boo times two and a cardboard bone to them.  Parson?  And just how cool is it when you are at a truck stop, as I have been, and a big old tattooed trucker in a pair of overalls says to me, “Hi Parson.”  !  I think not.   Compare that to “Hi, Jack,” which has a pirate-like sound to it, much cooler. HIJACK.  Which is exactly what I have done to J’s idea of a Flag Day blog. Heh.

Speaking of pirates and hijacking. On February 13 2010, my life of leisure was hijacked by a black and white blur, a crazy mixed up mutt who JK felt needed to live with us.  I don’t recall being consulted in the matter. Just one day, there he was. 

The pup and me...March 2010

 My philosophy regarding anything I don’t care to deal with is to pretend it’s not there. For instance, JK will say, Time for our walk, Buzzy.  What? Did someone say something?  So that’s how I handled the pup. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t there.  It wasn’t MY deal.  JK were in for a training treat, and I was there to watch the show. 

A couple days after he moved in, the pup and I were outside.  I was dozing on the deck in the sun, and he was doing his usual random nosing around the yard.  I opened my eyes to see him standing there in the grass, a miniature black and white Holstein contemplatively chewing a disgusting coprophagic cud. (Mine, by the way. He never touched his own.) Oh, this was going to be good.  Just then J looked out the window.  What the…she ran out the door and down the deck steps. Maxwell! What is that? Gross! No! Drop!  He swallowed it and grinned at her.  Disgusting in the extreme. We all went back indoors, the pup not the least bit reprimanded; and J picked up her red laptop and typed into Google:  Dog Eating Poop.

Later J told K all about it.  I suspect it’s stress-related, she said, probably with all the changes.  I’ll just keep the yard cleaned up and try to keep him exercised so he’s tired enough. 

Yowza. Good luck with that.  

And I was right. He kept doing it. And then, when his nervous stomach finally relaxed at night when he fell asleep in the living room, JK discovered a whole new world of Death by SBD, noxious gases so pungent that they were sometimes driven from their narcoloungers, tears streaming down their faces,  to gasp in the fresh air on the front porch.  It was a bit awkward when guests came for dinner.  And yet in true JRT style, they soldiered on. 

About two months in, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I broke my vow of silence.  “Look,” I said to the pup one afternoon as he sniffed around the yard for what he vulgarly referred to as “doody call”, “What you’re doing is unbecoming to the breed.  Your JRT side is better than that. You’re embarrassing yourself.  Leave it be.” He stared at me with that cross-eyed look he has.  But something must have gotten through, probably my natural take-charge attitude, because he stopped that day and never did it again.  JK were thrilled that their training methods had worked.  I knew just a little extra exercise would help, J said to K. I’m proud of you, hon, he replied, and it’s probably too that he’s more at home now, less stressed.

Weren’t we all.  I took a nap. The SBDs have dwindled to almost nothing, but now and again, when the pup gets nervous, we still can pay a pretty price. 

Walks were another sweet treat. Imagine me, debonair,  having to be part of the clown parade that our walks became. For a while there, J carried a tennis racket, for Pete’s sake, to put in front of the pup’s face so he couldn’t get past her to pull, and jump at cars, and jerk the leash trying to get his collar off.  I thought I was a tough leash train, but as is typical of our breed, I learned “Heel” in just a couple days. I have to hand it to the pup. His Border collie side fought that leash from Day One.  Our walks became battles of the wills, and between those three, that is a LOT of will.  JK despaired that the pup would ever understand the basic good manners of the Walked Dog. As usual, I set the perfect example, well, maybe I would lag a bit, but who wouldn’t?  “I’m not with them.  Really, I’m not.”

Even my pep pup talks didn’t do much to resolve the situation.  “What is your deal, kid?” I asked him one evening.  “Just stroll. That’s all there is to it. Stroll. Breakfast. Nap.”  He said he just couldn’t. The smells were too strong and the cars were too fast and the barking dogs were too loud and the collar was too tight and the leash was too short and the -oh is that my squeaky toy under the couch I wondered where it went.  

Enter the Gentle Leader. JK were watching Animal Planet one evening and saw a show where three large German Shepherds were quieted instantly by wearing the GL.  I’m happy to report that it transformed our walks and even though the pup still balks at having it put on, he’s really good about it and JK give just the right amount of praise.  They started letting him off the leash after I discussed the benefits of Coming When Called with him.  Think back to a year ago, K said to J the other day.  I never thought it would ever get to the point that Maxwell could be off the leash. I have to admit, it was hard work, but it turned out great for all of us.

You’re welcome.

Now we’re working on his fears. OK, I admit I hate a thunderstorm as much as the next dog, but the pup tends to lose his mind. And that thing with the Harley.  What in the heck.  Yeah, it’s loud. But it’s a machine. The pup sees it as some huge adversary. 

“Look,” I told him the other night as we laid on the bathroom rug listening to thunder, “There are always going to be storms. Just come in here and lie on the circley rug and sleep til it’s over." 

"And as far as the Harley, it’s here to stay for quite some time. My advice is to add the word ‘squirrel’ to everything you’re afraid of. Thundersquirrelstorm.  Harley-Davidsquirrelson.  Popcornsquirrelpopper.  Firesquirrelworks.  You see?”  He swallowed hard and nodded.  

“And my other advice,” I continued, “is to tap into that JRT side where you see yourself as a gigantic dinosaur. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is bigger than your courage. That’s the JRT way. You’re the dinosaur, and the thunderstorm is a tiny little squirrel.  Maxosaurus vs thundersquirrelstorm, if you will. You’re still a little nervous, aren’t you…it’ll get better, but now, I really, really need to get out onto the porch. Get some fresh air.”  We went out together to find JK.

He’s still a whippersnapper of a pup.  But he’s MY whippersnapper. And things are looking up.

     

Mr Bill and the Glory Hog

An old friend came back into my life this week! I was doing nothing, just lying on the floor by K’s office door upstairs.  J, whose ESP was on the blink, had strode in earlier and said cheerily to K, Would you like a strawberry frozen fruit bar? Some frozen grapes? A sweet treat?   K swirled in his chair and telepathed his “ahhhh….speaker phone conference call” stare at her and J had a good laugh alone downstairs and tiptoed in later and took him a strawberry bar.  So anyway, J was cleaning her croffice (that is her craft room/office) and I was sound asleep when I heard a familiar voice, “Oh, NOOOOOooooooo!”

MR BILL!! I hadn’t seen him for weeks!  I leapt up and raced down the hall.  I sewed him up, Maxie, J said, and handed him to me. Maybe it would be better if you and Buzz play tug of war with something else.   I shook him.  Oh, NOOOOOooooooo went Mr. Bill.  I took him outside where all the neighbors could hear.

I absolutely love Mr. Bill. He’s one of my three favorite babies.  JK can imitate him perfectly, and sometimes we’ll have long conversations, all OH’s and NOOO’s and I feel like we’re really talking. Because with Mr. Bill, I can talk like they do.  It makes me more human.  None of my babies irritate Buzz as much as Mr. Bill. He tries to grab him from me, and that’s how we tore his foot up.  Buzz says dogs should use their God-given intuition and telepathic skills, not try to talk like humans through a strange little weirdo for pete’s sake. 

On our walk to the boat ramp yesterday, J told K about an article she read, something about whether dogs can telepathically understand which humans are more likely to give them food. Buzz says, oh right, like that needed a study and he wishes they would have tested on him. He says JK flunk big, big time when it comes to understanding or obeying the “give me food” look.  He says his human siblings are way nicer about it and when they come to visit, just watch what happens. 

Then J said she saw a joke, If you want to know who loves you more, lock your dog and your wife in the trunk of the car and check to see who’s happy to see you when you let them out.  They laughed and laughed and Buzz and I did not get the joke. Of course we would be happy to see K if he let us out of the trunk! Who wouldn’t be? And it would be even more fun if J got to be in there with us, because usually she has to sit up front.

Dogs are telepathic in a lot of ways, I hate to make fun of that study but they barely scratched the surface.  For instance, the other day I just KNEW Macy was going to be walking by the house with her lady and pretty soon – yep!! I whined at the door until J let me out and I could rocket across the lawn and bowl Macy over – then they came and visited for a while, oh I loved every second! I tried to get Macy to play ball with me but she was worried her necklace would break-- her lady lets her wear it when they’re not walking. So we hung out and I batted the ball around and chewed some bits off of it while the humans talked and talked.  They never, ever run out of words.

Watch the beads, watch the beads!!

Speaking of telepathy, on our walk yesterday Buzz said to me out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m going to roll.”  I was like, “What?” and Buzz said it again, “I’m going to ROLL. Watch me.”  I said, “Hey there’s that fancy cat,” and that was the end of it.  He didn’t roll, and the cat just stared at us with slitty, superior eyes.  I really, really wanted to meet it but the pack was on the hunt and I didn’t break from it.

Well it turns out J had our shampoo in the backpack and the first thing they did was walk to the old ramp and J took off her shoes and socks and waded in, tugging Buzz with her.  She gave him a good scrubbing, and he just stood there like a rock and tolerated it, but I could tell he was plotting something.  My turn. I hunched down in the water while J rinsed me off so she could get all the shampoo out.  I don’t tell Buzz this, because he says it’s an affront to self respecting stinko dogs everywhere, but I like baths. I have so much fur and all that scrubbing feels so good.  After we finished, J sat down on a rock to dry her feet.  K threw the ball for me.

Buzz meandered off and acted like he was checking out the dog scents.  Then he quickly went to a patch of dry dirt and rolled! He rolled until the dirt was ground hard into the wet fur on his side and leg! JK and I stared at him. They just burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe it.

First of all, how did he know we were going to have baths that day?  Buzz says it’s elevated telepathy, probably more a purebred thing but that I’ll get better as I get older no matter what my bloodlines.  And second, how could he be so brazen about dirtying himself up again? Buzz says once in a while you have to do “in your face!” just to establish the boundaries of You’re Not The Boss Of Me.  I don’t know, I mean, I try establishing those rules with my ball now and then but when they say MaxWELL!! like that, I just feel like, They Are The Boss. Buzz says not necessarily, but let them think it. Telepathy exhausts me. I wonder if I’ll ever get it.

J picked Buzz up and plopped him right back in the water and rinsed him off again. He stayed clean this time. It didn’t matter. Clean wasn’t the point. Boundaries had been established. Buzz said he won.

J and I have been working with the Hog, to help me with my fears.  JK started calling it “Harley” which I guess is what they named it. J brings my favorite tiny little treats out to the garage, then sets them on or near the Hog Harley and if I want them, I have to come close and get them.  Every time I take one, she says Harley! Good dog Maxie!! And pets me.  Harley just sits there, never growls or roars at me. J doesn’t pet it, just me – and it leaves my treats alone.  It smells like leather and the metal like my dog tags.  At first I would creep up and grab the treat and jump back, but now I’m OK with even taking one off its tail.  I just can’t understand why J sounds so cheerful. It’s such hard work.

Well so yesterday after our walk and breakfast, JK got dressed in jeans and those ugly round hats. J’s is pink! Buzz and I got to sniff Hog  Harley, then J put us in the yard and K sat on Harley and it started roaring. I stood at the gate and barked as loud as I could while J got on. Harley growled down the driveway and the street with them, then disappeared.  Buzz stared out the gate with me and said, “That thing is a Glory Hog if I ever saw one.” Then he went to finish his little bit of peanut butter and take a nap.

Later in the afternoon, J told me about it. It’s just the best feeling, Maxie, she said. You’re going so fast. You have the breeze on your face and the warm sun on your skin. You’re aware of things you would never notice otherwise. Smells like smoke from a fire and hamburgers frying and pine sap. You feel the coolness coming from the woods when you ride into a patch of shade.  You see a broken pane of glass on an old shed, or ivy crawling up a telephone pole, or the words on an ancient sign, BOLICK’S GRO.  You hear the roar of the engine and it’s actually you! You feel completely alive because all your senses are engaged.  You’re all part of one perfect machine, out in the open. It’s freedom. The closest thing to flying.

I watched her face. My telepathy kicked in. And I got it. I know that happiness! I understand why they love that thing. The Glory Hog is their Mr. Bill.  Oh, YES!  The Harley turns them into dogs. 

The Dogma of Motherless Potheads

 K is gone again today (boo) so J is going to walk us to the boat ramp (yay).  When K is home and has to go to work, we do the shorter walk.  Yesterday on our way back from our walk, we helped K work by posing beside some bags at the construction site across the street! I laid my ears into Seinfeld Shower mode; I wasn't that excited about being there but K was happy to see these bags, for some reason. J says that it's because in a nutshell, these bags provide dog food. It was not nutshells - and NOT dog food, I can tell you that.

Last night we just kind of hung out. A good evening except when K fired up the HOG and went for a short ride. J threw the ball for me, which helped a lot but I still don't trust that thing!! I watched a little hockey with K.

JK are pretty pragmatic.  They like to keep it real.  For instance, they are the kind of dog owners who are not big on calling themselves “mommy” and “daddy” to Buzz and me.

Like say we have gone to a restaurant and we’re all sitting outdoors and Buzz and I are tied to the chair legs and flopped under the table. The server comes up and says something to us like “Ask Mommy and Daddy if you can have a piece of bacon.”  It amuses them to no end.

When the server leaves, J will say something to K like, So glad we have tied the children under the table where they can lap up our crumbs and K will say, did you make sure their collars are nice and snug around their necks? Wouldn’t want the kids licking the other customers’ thighs. Or at the vet. Have Mommy hold you while I take a look. J will tell K later, the kids got their flea medicine today and neither one has worms.

I know it’s different for other dogs because I hear their humans talking to them. Come on, Pitterpat! Come to Mommy! And JK have no problem with that, they just say, for them, it doesn’t work.  Because we are dogs.  Buzz says it has always been this way with JK and is partly what turned him into the paragon of JRTs that he is.  J says it’s called anthropomorphism –attributing human characteristics and thoughts and skills to animals - and that I should write about it now and then in the blog, maybe even compose a haiku. 

But it’s not just us with the Mommy and Daddy thing. Even though J loves them to death, she won’t even let Annabelle, Penny, Lexi, Izzy, and Godiva call her “DogMa” even though Buzz and K say dogma  (from Greek δόγμα "that which seems to one, opinion or belief ")  pretty much describes J to a T. 

And it almost never happens, but if K were to call J his “Mommy” or go further up the ladder of Words Not Appreciated, to the rarest rung of “Mother,” (as in let’s go for ice cream Mother), we just turn the air conditioner off. The glacial freeze from the look she gives him cools the house for the rest of the day. In fact, K has to put on a sweater.

That's a knockout rose, Maxie

I love being JK’s dog, though, and I know they love having me around. Everything they do is pretty much for my enjoyment.  Like when J plants flowers, she says things to me like that’s a knockout rose, Maxie or that’s going to be a bright reddish-pink azalea when it blooms. I’ll sniff it just to make her happy. Kind of boring though. 

But the pot…the pot!!!  I was pretty young when I discovered the joys of pot. My favorite is the Chinese Black, but Green is good too. Once J planted a knockout rose and tossed the flimsy “made in China” black plastic pot onto the lawn.  It rolled, and I pounced!  It made the most wonderful crinkling sound I have ever heard.  I shoved my head into it and breathed the heady scent of pure organic dirt.  I wore it like a full faced helmet and raced around in the dark. I tossed it in the air. I attacked with all my might. I scraped it along the driveway and wrestled it on the lawn.  I didn’t stop with that thing until it was so crumpled that there was no fight left in it.  Since then, I can’t get enough.  The last time J worked in her garden, she dug some holes for her flowers, then turned to get them out of their little pots.  What the heck? I heard her say.  I could have sworn I had four of these?  For some reason she isn’t that happy when I steal her pots with the flowers still in them.  I left the flowers lying nicely on the lawn, it’s not like they were hurt or anything.

But pots have their dangers.  One day last fall, a pot almost got the better of me. K looked out the kitchen window into the back yard and said Oh-oh, this isn’t going to end well. J got up to look.  They both started laughing very hard, and J ran, fast, for her camera.  J says pictures tell the story better than any words could.

This is what K saw out the window

J called me-- HERE MAXIE

Me in my pothead days

Humans will laugh at anything. Anything!

Finally I asked J to take it off. And she did.

I have other pots.  A huge white plastic one that I found behind the deck, and a tough little brown one that is fun enough, but doesn’t crinkle.  It’s good on the driveway, though.  Rolls and growls at me. So if the Chinese Black is too crumpled, I go with the American Brown. 

Me with American Brown, Chinese Black in foreground

Oh , one last thing. When I play with my pots, for some reason KJ calls me Ruprecht.Then they say, in a strange voice, DNOT MOTHER? I guess the pot brings out the weird in them, too. I've heard it can do that.
Anthropomorphism. I have to remember that. I don't think it will happen with us.

She's not dogmom, no...
Their dogma: we're animals
They love us that way!