Meet Percy, FFD

Meet the newest member of our extended family -- Percy.  I call him Percy, FFD, which stands for Face Free Dog.

This is the best I could do to capture what little face this dog has.

Our daughter got Percy, a shih tzu puppy, over the July 4 weekend, so he's now about 15 weeks old.  We got to meet him a couple of weeks ago.  What a funny, nutty puppy he is!  Poor Alfie didn't know what to make of him.  Percy wanted so much to be his friend, but Alfie quickly got fed up with having this little nipper following him around and trying to bite his tail.

Our daughter is a youth services librarian, and she plans for Percy to become a library dog.  He already goes to work with her every day.  Right now, he stays in his crate in the break room, and the librarians visit him during their lunches and breaks.  She will start him in puppy classes soon, though, and eventually have him certified as a therapy dog. Once that happens, he will be able to serve as a reading buddy for the kids.  Read to a Dog programs have become very popular at libraries and schools as a way to encourage reluctant readers with a non-judgmental audience.

The future library hound and his librarian owner.

Alfie Gets Cozy

Brrr!  It's been cold, and Alfie got chilly.  Okay, I just think Alfie got chilly because, after all, he didn't show any signs like shivering or his teeth chattering.  But with highs of 10 degrees Fahrenheit, I get cold, and, as my kids will tell you, if I am cold, I assume everyone is cold and will foist hats and coats on all and sundry.  So . . .

Well, okay, maybe I just wanted Alfie to have a sweater.  Especially after the husband told me it wouldn't work and that Alfie wouldn't wear it.  Alfie not only wears it, he wags his tail when I get the sweater out of the basket.

I pulled this gorgeous pure wool Pendleton sweater from the attic where it has languished since I stole it from my mother ten or more years ago.  My mother is a tiny woman; there is no way I was ever going to fit into that sweater.  So I cut the sleeves off (don't tell my mother), slipped it over Alfie's head and front legs, and he was ready to go.

Alfie might have had doubts right at first, but once we tried it outside, he got it! Warmth and style -- what could be better?

Alfie looking askance.  What the heck am I wearing?

Would You Like a Little Dog with that Yarn?

Check out my assistant who is "helping" me complete the never-ending sampler blanket.

If I stare at you long enough, will you stop crocheting and play with me?

Alfie -- Crochet Dog Deluxe!

It Came as a Rat, but Left as a Rag

Alfie is a very destructive dog.  We are always on the lookout for toys that can withstand his concerted attempts to destroy.  Kongs are good, Megalast makes a bone that holds up well, and there's always Nylabone, but he never gets to have any stuffed or soft toys -- you know, the cute toys that are probably designed to suit the owner more than to please the dog.

Recently, however, we were in a doggie boutique.  Not a clothes for dogs boutique, thank goodness, but one that carried high-end toys and treats.  The young lady in the shop managed to convince us that Mighty Dog Toys could withstand Alfie.  Her boxer, whom she assured us is very destructive, can't tear them up.  The toys come in a range on the manufacturer's "Dura-Scale."  The highest they carried at the boutique rated a nine out of ten, "extremely strong - extremely durable."  So we hopefully plunked down $25 for an "extremely durable" stuffed gray rat.  There was no ranking for cuteness, which I admit would be subjective, but this would not have been a nine of ten on that scale.  Still, it was stuffed.

Day One of the Rat

Alfie loved it!  He wasn't too willing to share at first, but then decided it was okay if we threw the rat for him to retrieve. He carried it around constantly the first evening, and even placed it carefully by his bed when he went to sleep.

still Day One of the Rat

Day Two of the Rat, stuffing on the floor

So the rat made it through the first night.  By the next day, however, the rat's tail was gone and its poor little ears looked chewed.  Okay, we expected the tail and ears wouldn't last, but it was basically still in one piece.  A foot went next.  Alfie worked hard to pull the stuffing out of the little leg and was quite pleased with his efforts. That opened the floodgates.

Alfie had broken the Mighty Dog Toy code.  He'd show them mighty dog!  On the third day, I watched Alfie gleefully pull stuffing out of the rat's belly and toss it aside to pull out another batch. Soon there wasn't much stuffing left anywhere in the rat, but our trashcan held a good bit.

While three days doesn't seem like much for a toy that tells you on its hang tag to "RETHINK DURABILITY," it's a record for a stuffed dog toy at our house, so I guess the Mighty Dog Toy hype had some basis in fact.  Still, we won't be buying any more $25 stuffed playthings.  Because while the rat may have been "extremely durable," Alfie is extremely determined, and he never met a stuffed toy he couldn't beat.

Death of the Rat, a mere shell of its former self

What's It All About, Alfie?

Today, Alison at The Polohouse is featuring pets on her Favorites on the First series.  Who doesn’t like to talk about their pets?  Our Alfie has popped his head into one or two blog posts before, but I thought today I would tell his story. (The post title is a lyric from Alfie by Burt Bacharach.)

Alfie is our second golden retriever.  Our first was Ezra, who grew up with our kids and was part of our family for about twelve years.  When we lost Ezra, we were heartbroken.  Me most of all, I think, because I work from home, and Ez and I had spent most days together.  About a year after Ezra died, though, we began to feel ready for another dog.  The house felt empty during the week with the oldest child away at college and the youngest at school.  The husband missed having someone run to greet him when he came home (because after twenty years of marriage, you know it wasn’t going to be me).  I began stopping by the local dog rescue occasionally, but the husband really wanted a puppy.  We tried to track down Ezra’s breeder who was from Iowa, but I couldn’t find him.  So finally one evening we drove forty miles north to Woodstock, Illinois where there were some golden puppies for sale. 

There were only two male puppies, which was what we wanted, and the breeder let them run around the kitchen.  The husband sat down on the floor.  One puppy was shy and quiet; the other was rambunctious and crawled all over him.  You can guess which one he chose.  Two years later, that crazy puppy is beginning to calm down and has turned into a good buddy for the family.

Don’t get me wrong, though.  Alfie is no saint.  He is very “talkative.”  Which means he whines about everything.  If he wants to go upstairs, but is carrying too many toys in his mouth, he whines.  When he wants to play, he whines.  When he can’t reach a toy, you guessed it.  And he is unbelievably destructive with his toys.  Those cute stuffed dog toys?  Forget it.  Five minutes.  We have gotten toys marketed as tough, but he can tear them up too.  Often in as little as fifteen minutes.  He works at it.  He will lie down and peel the felt off a tennis ball like it’s a lemon.  Kongs and Megalast seem to be the only brands he can’t destroy in short order.

Still, he’s good company and, like most dogs, always in a good mood and happy to do anything his people want to do.  And when he looks up at us with his sad, dark-rimmed eyes, we’re pretty much wrapped around his little paw.

I'm linking to The Polohouse Favorites on the First.

Photos from the Attic

As you know, I've been thinking about favorite pets lately.  Well, when I was poking around in our attic this morning, I stumbled across a box of old photo albums.  One album is just pet photos.  I found this old Polaroid picture of Herman and Tina taken when Herman was nine months old.  I had stuck up the Beware of Dog sign as a joke.

I also found this photo, which shows the doghouse my father built.  Pretty palatial, huh?  Tina actually had her own doghouse, a smaller red one with a gray roof, but she preferred to share this one with Herman.  You can barely see her sitting at Herman's feet.

My Old Friend

After my father retired from the army, we lived in the country outside Nashville.  We had a big yard, a big garden, and I had a big dog, a Saint Bernard named Herman.  For my birthday one year, my gift was a 3x5 index card on which my dad had written, “This card is good for one puppy dog.”  We always had dogs, and had one then, a taffy blonde cocker spaniel named Tina.  But I had been wanting a dog of my own.  I was torn between an Old English Sheepdog and a Saint Bernard.  We went to look at a litter of Saint Bernards.  My decision was made.  The breeder pointed out Herman’s markings and other good points, but I picked him because he seemed sweet.  He was the one who came over quietly and was friendly but not pushy.

Herman and me in 1983

My dad built Herman a dog house that was the best one I’ve ever seen.  It was wood, painted white, with a black-shingled, pitched roof.  It had a covered front porch for lounging and a rear window for cross ventilation.  Herman and Tina shared the house and a large fenced area, partially wooded, at the back of our yard.  Tina was the boss of the pair.  She snapped at Herman if he tried to eat from her bowl, and he always backed down.  He was a big softie.  Once my dad found him carrying a tiny kitten around in his mouth.  When he put it down, it was covered with dog slobber, but perfectly fine.  Herman was  very gentle and loving.  When I was in high school, I would race back and forth across our front yard with Herman in hot pursuit.  I would pretend to fall down and lie flat on the grass, face cradled in my arms.  Herman would immediately stop and “worry” over me.  He would sniff and gently prod me until I got up to race again.  I’ve had other dogs who ran right over me when I did the pretend-hurt act.  Maybe they were just smarter and could see through the charade, but I prefer to think Herm was caring, not dumb.  

I was quite a tomboy in those days, too, and loved to climb trees.  There was a perfect climbing tree right beside Herman’s doghouse.  Its first main branch was a long, strong, straight one maybe eight feet off the ground.  I would walk out on that branch as far as I could while holding on to the next branches up.  Herman hated that.  He would stand under the branch and bark and “fuss.”  I think he knew people didn’t really belong in trees.  Or maybe he wanted to join me.  When I climbed higher, into a tree crotch that was perfect for sitting, he would give up and lie down to wait.

He was a funny dog.  One of his favorite games was to try to bite the stream of water from the hose when we filled up his water bucket.   This was especially fun in the summertime.  He also liked to carry around a punctured football.  He wasn’t nearly as gentle with a football as he was with a kitten!

Herman lived his whole life there at my parents’ place.  I was away in graduate school when my dad called to tell me that Herman was failing.  He couldn’t stand up.  I had to make the decision.  The veterinarian was a good friend to my parents and their menagerie.  She came to the house and put Herman to sleep there in his yard.  My dad buried him in the shade of my climbing tree.

Dirty Dog Prairie Fun

Can you tell he's been running?

It was an atypically warm October day here today – in the high 70s – so we went for a prairie walk.  Alfie loves nothing better than to run free in the prairie (although he actually stays mostly on the mown path).  There was no one else on the path, only one other car, and it was parked on the far side of the park, so Alfie was allowed off leash to be a “real dog,” a running, sniffing, exploring nature dog.  When we are able to let Alf loose at the prairie, he runs ahead and doubles back numerous times in the time it takes us to walk 50 yards.  All this with plenty of stops to sniff, to let other dogs know he’s passed by (if you know what I mean), and to poke his head into the tall prairie grass because, well, you just don’t know what intriguing things might be in there.

We have a usual circuit we walk that takes us around a good chunk of the 240 acres of the preserve.  Alfie knows the way, and never gets too far ahead.  A little more than halfway around our circuit, we cross a raised walkway over the wetland and walk up a slope to follow the path around a large pond.  Alfie often noses down to the pond but comes back up when we call.  Not today.  Maybe he was thirsty, or maybe he was really feeling the call of the wild, but he ran out into the shallow muck of the pond for a little drink. 

And, wow! Alfie says, there are FROGS in this pond!  Frogs that hop away and splash and are really fun to jump at and chase!  Cool!  And the mud!  What a bonus!  And then you can come out halfway down the pond and run through the tall, dry grass where seeds can stick in your wet fur!  People?  Why haven’t I done this fun stuff before???

When we got home, we sprayed him down with the hose and left him outside to drip dry for a while, then brought him in for a bath.  I wish I’d gotten a photo of him in the tub; he looked so pathetic, like he couldn’t believe a human would do such a thing to a noble nature dog as cover him with scented puppy shampoo!  The indignity!  After a good toweling off, he rolled around on the rugs in order to cover them with damp dog hair and then fell asleep on his bed, clean and tired, where he’s remained most of the day.  Ah! To lead a dog’s life!

What a Zoo!

These will make your tail wag!

Look at these cute dog prints I found at Michael’s.  I put them in inexpensive clip frames, and voila! bathroom art.  They are by Ken Bailey, an artist from Washington.  You can see more of his art at www.kenbailey.com. 

A golden retriever always adds class

What is it with me and animal art?  I love it!  It all started with a print of chickens.  The original was painted by an acquaintance of my mother’s, a lady named Elsa Lockert, who ran a gallery and frame shop in Ashland City, Tennessee some thirty years ago.

We have a lot of windows and not a lot of walls, so we put artwork up above.

Close-up of the originals

Over the years, the kitchen barnyard increased by two more chicken prints, bought at art shows, and a chicken painting my daughter bought from a street artist in London’s Hyde Park.   All this fowl artwork is set off by chicken wire wallpaper, which I love for its whimsical graphic punch. 

I have two more fabulous chickens, painted by a friend, in my dining room. One of these is painted on the seat of a chair.   

The dining room also houses two bucolic sheep prints, both of which were done by an Iowa artist, Connie Bieber.  Looking at her peaceful sheep makes me want to be a shepherd!  Aren't these beautiful?

Both sheep prints have been cropped here to straighten
 them up.  I had to angle the  frames to reduce glare from the glass.

The collection of advertising signs in our family room also adds to the critter count with a Crow’s rooster, a Pilch DeKalb chicken, a Finck's pig, and a Red Goose Shoes goose.

Then there are the jointed wooden animals.  Two chickens (natch!), two frogs, a cat, and a zebra.

On the landing window sill

This pretty much rounds out the menagerie for now.  But I’m always on the lookout!