Come on over in my direction….      So thankful for you, you’re my blessing…                                            Turn every situation into Heaven… You are my sunrise on the darkest day….                                                       Got me feeling like I’m okay….

Cause that’s what they taught us down in Puerto Rico…        Despacito

(Paraphrase: Luis Fonsi, Ramon Ayala, Erika Ender, Justin Bieber, Jason Boyd, Marty James Garton)

 

Oh, it’s groomin’ time again, you’re gonna take me….I can see by the fur growing o’er my eyes…I can tell by the way you look at me now Momma….That it won’t be long before it’s groomin’ time!

 

 

(Paraphrase Ray Charles).

Let’s talk about cats.  You know an Ultimate Earth Dog like me just hates to admit, maybe, I have learned by observing some of their feline traits but sadly… it is the truth…not the Kelly Conway’s Alternative Truth but the real truth, so help me God.  Just don’t put me on the witness stand, I’ll take the 5^th, (sound familiar Former National Security Adviser Michael Flynn?) Or Canadian style,  I’ll Deny, Deny, Deny like former Premier Ross Thatcher did. I may outright lie like the good law and order outstanding dog that I am.

When I arrived at my Forever Home, I had seen barn cats, heck, I had pestered barn cats but I had never had any need to foster a relationship.  After all I had my siblings wrapped around my paw paws and our poor overworked, underfed Baby Mama who doted on her puppies.  To her, we could do no wrong, while in reality, we seldom did right.

Lucky for me, the Cool Cats in my Forever Home knew dogs, understood dogs and not just abided them, but actually ♥’d dogs. Like Mother Hens, they all had lessons to teach me although I noticed they were not adverse to teasing and making fun of me when my head got too big to go through the doorway.  Since I take offense easily, I would stalk away and ignore them until they cajoled me back in to a better frame of mind.

The first thing I noticed about our Cool Cats was how every morning, when they came from their favourite sleeping space, is that they would daintily sniff kiss each others’ nose in greeting…like, ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’  It went without saying that this camaraderie could last mere minutes if one cat stuck his nose in the other cats’ food dish.  There were rules written in indelible ink (I would later include them in my Policies and Procedures for All Creation).  They all had their own dish, at their own feeding station.  If a cat stepped over the line, it was Game On, Beat the Tar Out of You Time.

However, once they stepped away from their own feeding station, anyone (even a puppy) could step in and lick the platter clean.  There were a lot of cats, a lot of platters but it worked for me!

Now that Zanny the Yorkie before me had some deep-rooted, I believe I can fly psychosis.  When I joined the family, the Cool Cats feared I might be the same so they were constantly guarding me, in front of open door, outside on a walk, even in the back yard when I was trying to sleep. At that time I was a lightweight (before I licked all the platters clean), so the Cool Cats would drape their long bodies over me, anchoring me in place so I couldn’t run away on their watch.   I mean, I was a puppy, I had no idea what I had done to deserve this treatment but I am older and wiser and still alive today…not like poor, precocious Never-Listen-Never-Learn Zanny.

In no time the Cool Cats, who would sleep close to each other but not entwined together as when they were kitties, let me use them as cushions or wrap arounds.  It was like my Baby Mama, who endured discomfort to make me feel beloved.  In no time I was under the Cool Cats’ spell and developed a responsibility to serve and protect them, now and forever…even if they sometimes do stupid things like jump on the kitchen counter and I just have to tattle on them.

I know, I know you are thinking I am the ‘if you can’t be with the one you love, love the one your with’ type but who cares… it works for me because I got the Cool Cats, especially my BFF Gen, my Wonder Boy who dotes on me, understands everything about me (and everything else) and a Momma who feeds, walks, and ♥’s me…and every day, I am learning, which helps me remain the Most Ultimate Earth Dog Ever…but next life…

I am coming back as a Cool Cat …an Indoor/Outdoor Cat, that hangs out at the creek in the cool of the day, then heads on inside when it too hot to breathe, in the dog days of summer or when the Arctic Vortex comes calling in the deep freeze of winter…bet on it…just bet on it!

Hold that thought…..I like being the Chief Cat Protector and Boss ….let me think on it….I’ll get back to you…pinkie promise!

It is like this.  Just like international blue chip companies world-wide, we, the Four Footed have regular Quarterly and Annual Meetings, to keep the Shareholders (the Two Footed who pay for our room and board and vet bills, of course) up to date.

No, we don’t head down south to some lofty ***** accommodation with ocean view suites, a spa, a concierge and butler service… Momma’s bed does just fine…well, accept for Bad Boy Andy who is allowed in the room and to vote, but must remain on the floor because well,  is a bad boy, that can turn on a dime, sunny one minute, trouble the next…accept with Momma to whom he is always a courtly Southern Gentleman…but to us, a Black and White Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Since I am Senorita Jakita of Jakitaville (actually, the Mayor and CEO but keep it a secret, okay), I convene the meeting…of complaints, mostly.  On the bed with me is Diva Calico Gen Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte and Ruby, the Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey with her two babies Tigger and Babby.

Clem KaDiddleHopper has no voting rights because….well, he is an alien.  He has no birthright, no citizenship in Jakitaville.  He might be considered… if he got his Green Card but no, he comes and goes, pledging no allegiance to the Four Footed or the Two Footed.  To be a Member In Good Standing, one must be: Happy campers on our side…Fearless campers who’d jump and die…Campers who mean just what they say…Bravest campers all the way. (Paraphrase The Green Beret)

Ruby, the Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey  asked and has been given permission to bring my Pink Fluffy Bunny. I put forward the motion, and after some discussion, Diva Calico Gen seconded it, then a vote was held wherein Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte and Bad Boy Andy said ‘Aye’  in agreement.

I mean, it was only a formality…because Pink Fluffy Bunny was already at  the present. Please note, for the record our formal names are used and appear in all notes taken accordingly.  As you know, I am a stickler for detail and proper policy and procedure.

Once again, as at meetings in the past, most of the complaints (surprise, surprise) were about Momma.  Sometimes (maybe a lot of the times, all the time), she does not get it.  If God gave her two hands, it was for the express purpose of patting and cuddling her pets.  It seems she gets so distracted with her iPhone in one hand and her tablet in the other that she has no hands left to give a good rub down, scratching and loving on demand. What a waste of God Given Extremities! 

Suddenly the discussion gets a little personal as I chastise Bad Boy Andy for jumping on Momma’s lap, absolutely sucking all the oxygen out of the room, when I am wedged beside her in the reclining chair in the living room.  Bad Boy Andy, never remorseful gives me that ‘deal with it’ look while Diva Calico Gem chimes in that I, Jakita, expect Momma’s attention on demand, if and whenever, twenty-four seven…..that her soft purr is drowned by my whining and whingeing unless Momma devotes my two hands to message and caress her…why I never…saw that coming…Gen and I are BFF…when it suits her, I guess.

Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte chimes in to say… talking about manners and lack thereof …Gen won’t even allow her to jump up on the couch on the living room to get close to Momma in the daytime, even though Charlie gives Gen full clearance to be on Momma’s bed any day, any time. Ruby the Wide Eyed Monkey and her family looked on. An intervention was called for or this meeting would, like in the boardroom at so many blue chip conglomerates, disintegrate in a sniping, finger-pointing fracas.   Maybe, says the All Wise Been There Done That Ruby, the Wide Eyed Monkey  offered maybe…just maybe,  it is not Momma but all of you who have some work to do on behaviour modification. 

Looks of recognition and consternation flashed across the faces of the Four Footed Board Members. Heads bowed in shame….silence deafened the room until Ruby quietly started to sing:  Not my brother, nor my sister but it’s me O Lord…standing in the need of prayer…

Time for a Mega Watergate Coverup…Uh, let’s not put that in the notes says Senorita Jakita of Jakitaville, I second the motion says Bad Boy Andy, all in favour say ‘Aye’….a resounding Aye is heard.

Senorita Jakita hammers the gavel…Meeting adjourned….and let that be a lesson to you.

It’s All About that Bass…No Treble …It’s All About that Bass…No Treble

Like…there are some words no one likes…not the Two Footed…not the Four Footed and most certainly, not the Ultimate Earth Dog.

Oh, I know lots of words…even if you string them together, you can’t fool me…like Go for a walk…you’re such a pretty puppy….leave that cat alone besides the Come, Stop, Stay, Dance…but the word I dread, that humiliates me, that sounds judgemental and harsh to my Pedigree Puppy Mill blue blood ears is F.A.T!

I am not F.A.T.  I admit, square-built with a double coat of super fluffy, kinky fur that may make me look well…stout…but I am not…so no carb reduced starve till you disappear diet for me, no thanks…got it?

It starts at the Vet…as usual.  Oh, they may be nice but they are a conniving syndicate.  I sometimes wonder if they work hand in hand with the breeders, setting impossibly low weights for the different breeds just so they can give owners a guilt trip to buy their expensive calorie reduced canine food to keep your dog at that ideal (says who) weight.  Ka Ching. Ka Ching. Oh, Joy!  More profit!

Apparently, according to the Breeders standards, a Havanese is only to weigh between 10 to 16.5 pounds.  What??? I barely eat and am, like a gorgeous 20 pounds of muscle, sinew, bones and fur (of course)…honestly.

Like Momma is an understanding soul.  She told me, ‘Don’t listen to that man.  Ever notice his paunch? Next time, he brings up the subject, I will suggest, if the Vet likes calorie reduced food so much, he should give it a whirl.  If it works for him…maybe, just maybe… we’ll feed it to you.’

I mean, we have to educate these people who believe F.A.T is the enemy.  In some cultures being F.A.T. is a sign of a good life and wealth that you work long and hard to achieve. I ♥ that culture! Can we move there, Momma?

Anyway, I am not F.A.T… I’m just big-boned… and I’m not going to take it anymore because:

You know I won’t be no stick silicone Barbie Doll…So if that’s what you’re into…then go head and move it on… (Meaghan Trainor).

Do you promise not to tell…Let me whisper in your ear… Momma is getting old (say it ain’t so)…or maybe just lazy (no, never that)…and even an Ultimate Earth Dog like me can not tell the difference….

I remember, I remember…seems like only yesterday…Momma would be like the Postman…take me for a walk in the rain, snow, sleet, hail, sunshine, moonshine…now…not so much. Come 40 degrees below or above Centigrade, I would be walked (cajoled, forced or pulled along, sometimes, I admit). It seems to me and maybe I am a bit hyper sensitive on this subject, conditions now have to be perfect for the leash to come out.  What gives Momma, what gives?

Oh, I know I am judgemental and sanctimonious but I sit on top of the couch in the Sunroom and I know what is going on in our neighborhood…that Super Freak Dog, La Belle Dame with her Super Attentive Momma gets walked, like every day and maybe twice on Sundays.

Momma told me that I have to understand that La Belle Dame is a big dog compared to me and an apartment dweller with no back yard to burn energy so she needs her regular jaunts through the neighborhood but I think…so… what?

It may sound paranoid but could it be possible La Belle Dame is prancing past my place every freaking day, just to annoy me…like nah, nah, nah nah nah?  I know her Super Attentive Momma just leashes her and then the Super Freak literally pulls her around, where ever she wants to go, making sudden, jerky stops, nearly upending her poor, kind-hearted-I-didn’t-see-it-coming Mistress. We are both seven years old now…

I have learned my manners…where are yours, La Belle Dame?

I know, I know what you say Momma…on muddy days, like today, when we have a twenty-minute walk, you then suffer through a thirty minute cleanup… soap up the belly, the paws, rinse, change muddy water, start all over, towel, then blow dry…I can not help that you are a Virgo  and apparently you can’t either. And I refuse to be a namby-pamby boot wearing doggie.

Let’s get with the program, Momma.  The worst of the Arctic Vortex is behind us for this year, (fluffy paw toes crossed), the snowdrops are pushing through, the birds are gathering, the tree buds are forming…we don’t want to miss out on the miracle of rebirth in our midst.

Take me out for my walk…take me out to the crowd…put on my leash and my booties (okay, okay)…I don’t care if I never come back… cause it’s… one, two, three, it would seem only fair that  we’ll join you there …….    (Paraphrase Take Me Out to the Ball Game).

So…. It is like this. Never trust a Momma who falls in ♥ too easily…She may break your spirit, your heart and your patience.  Now, usually Momma is a cool as a cucumber customer.  She will tell other neurotic pet owners that their dogs are gorgeous…but I know it is just Momma being nice because then she bends down, kisses the top of my head, then whispers NOT in my ear, and we are off, leaving the other owner and dog, in the proverbial dust. Amen. So be it.

Then there is La Belle Dame, the Cream, Silver, brindle husky.  There is something off about that dog.  I can feel it.  I mean like everyday she will plunk herself down on the sidewalk, in front of our house and stare unabashedly at our Indoor Outdoor Cats. Momma, who feels the same as me, that there is something she can not quite put her finger on wrong with both the dog and his sweet, shy owner, will try to put them at ease.

She will say, ‘What a beautiful dog you are, La Belle Dame.’  And being me, I smirk sanctimoniously and think, well if you like that blue-eyed canine look… personally… looks freaky to me.  Dogs should have brown eyes, like I do. To me she is just La Belle Dame who needs to go back to the factory for some fine tuning. Okay, okay, she is somewhat stunning…I am not a jealous type but I can’t see what Momma sees in her.

Please don’t get me wrong.  There is not one mean bone La Belle Dame’s body. Although three times my size, she does not growl, snap or lunge at me…but she always wants to play.  We are both six years old now …way past that chase, and catch game that even I thought was so delightful when I was a puppy. Still she is A-Babe-In-The-Woods about Cats.

Bad Boy Andy would not let her with a five hundred foot radius unless he initiated the attack…then bold as brass, he would take that well-developed right paw and whack poor La Belle Dame across her smiling benignly refined snout before she saw what was coming.  Been there…done that...until I earned my street cred…now, like the cheese, I am left alone.

Wiley Diva Calico Gen would hide behind the bushes, drawing La Belle Dame closer and closer, then, fast as a whip, climb the closest tree and smirk down at her.

Truly, I ♥ my cats but I learned to realize, you can’t best a cat, especially a street smart feral.

My advice to you La Belle Dame, stay away… Convince your Momma to bring home your own kitty to be your Best Friend Forever… Maybe two cats because you are a lot bigger than me and I have discovered a cat’s job (after hunting, playing, snoozing) is to groom themselves, then others, in no particular order … you just have to deal with it…

Oh, and Good Luck with that….

Now it took me a while, I suppose, but one day I actually figured out my purpose in life.  Don’t go all haughty on me.  Lot of  the Two Footed drift through the time their born to the time they die, without having a clue…and the poor Born Again Christians swear you only get up to bat once.. scary stuff…. At least with the practise of reincarnation, you get do overs till you finally get it right. But I digress, (as usual).

As a puppy, I was all over the map.  Everything was both my Responsibility and my Calling in Life… Fair Game and Fun Forever.  Drove poor, Virgo Momma, who only understood reason and logic, not see and react, quite mad…. at me mostly.  Looking at Momma’s scowl, I’d be left thinking…what have I done now? 

If there was a bird in the tree, bark at it.  It had no right to be in that tree…or even to be.  Squirrels, front yard, back yard, in trees, scampering in the graveyard….like a cyclone on steroids, I was off, woofing and snarling, even trying to climb tree trunks.

Bees and butterflies in the gardens were dispatched efficiently, even the  poor innocent ants and earth worms…if it lived…so could it die. Still my most traumatizing omission was to do a Bambi and bolt into the wind, ignoring commands to Stop, Stay or Come like they were meant for lower species who embraced Authority…not me… I was a Free Spirit, so it sucks to be you, Momma.

But give me a break. My Four Footed Mama Baby did not teach me what Two Footed Momma’s teach their offspring…maybe she would have … if…we had more than eight weeks to bond.  No, it was left to my Two Footed Momma and my Forever Home Four Footed Cats to set me on the path to redemption and I confess…it took years…like an all-consuming addiction, on again, off again and may the power be with you, Now and Forever.

So I am just wondering…there are dog trainers, assistants, coaches but is there like a three night a week drop in DA (Dog Anonymous) Meeting where you go to the front with your Master(ess) and confess your shortcomings…with the long-term goal set to get an addiction button that shows the world the length of time you have conquered your demons? The Two Footed are so Dog Crazy, the idea just might be viable. Maybe I am on to something…. think about it.

Still it wasn’t a DA (Dog Anonymous) Meeting I needed…No, I had to grow a conscience – to see the hurt in Momma and Wonder Boy’s eyes to realize, oh, oh, maybe I should not have done that.

Better I should pause, take a deep breath & ask, ‘What would Momma do?’