Category: Hot Dog

So I don’t get it. What gives?  Momma and I got home from a walk and there was a car in the driveway, but no occupants. Well, you know that means I must sit on the back of the couch and stare because there is a threat, I am positive, but where is it, what is it, exactly? It is not easy being Head of Family Security when anyone, anytime is allowed to drop by without warning or clearance.

Keeping my eye on the unoccupied car, I scan the neighbourhood for clues. It was a hot Sunday afternoon and I was not sure what the neighbors were up to, but nothing was stirring, not even a droning bee, a scampering mouse or a fluttering butterfly. All of a sudden, I heard heavy footsteps.  One sure thing, as clumsy as Momma is, she steps lightly and so does Wonder Boy.  It is like they go through life doing a ballroom dance, gliding from room to room.  Not me.  Momma calls me (besides a host of other names) Miss Wiggle-It-Jiggle-It.  I am sure there is a compliment in there somewhere and I am earnestly looking for it. I refuse to be offended.

No, heavy steps may mean an alien force to be sought out and if an ‘unfriendly’, barked off the premises. My woof is so deafening that I do not even have to nip to get the attention of the undesirables. Could it be one of those extraterrestrials Momma was talking about? Oh, no, it is just Lover Boy without his Baby Little-Me.  I love his Little-Me but the feeling is not mutual. Apparently my friendly overtures frighten poor Little-Me.  I have to be like Larry David and Curb My Enthusiasm.

Once Lover Boy leaves I look across the road and marvel.  I could have sworn that house was white but now it is yellow.  How does something like that happen without a vote of the entire neighbourhood?  Momma says it is because there are new owners.  I know.  I miss the old owners, who only had a cat so I was their foster puppy.  They loved me unreservedly.

These new folks have their own dog so I am not much interest to them.  And they have cats with their own stories.  The day they moved in, one of the cats, (let’s call him I-Get-Around) confused, frightened and disoriented, took off.  Just like the Sophie Alert, they put up posters, looked at their old home, as well as scoured the new neighbourhood.  They got in contact with the local Animal Shelter.  It felt ominous to have a move start on such a bad note.  Days turned into weeks, a month and the constant drip, drip, drip  of the realization that their well-loved cat may never return.

Cats though, that is why I admire them – they have that nine lives thing going on, you know.  About forty-five days after he had disappeared, the Animal Shelter called.  The cat come back because he couldn’t stay away. Yes, everyone loves a happy ending….except, well, it is a nice I-Get-Around-Cat, but one day after his Great Expedition, he crossed the street to befriend Andy and Gen and I am sure I saw an Initiation Ceremony where he was accepted in to the Kitty Club Med.

 

You know my job in life.  If I can not drive away the adversaries, I have to accept and protect them.  It is a sweet, friendly, non confrontational, sleek grey and white cat, wearing a collar with a little bell.  Andy doesn’t mind him because  well, nothing much fazes Andy. Now that RIP Beau-Re-Guard found his blue cloud, Andy has dual roles of Defence and the Brainiac. Andy could have handled it all along but he understood it was a Badge of Honour for Big Beau to flex his muscles. Gen, as sweet as she is, has the feral streak in her as far as being paranoid about new acquaintances. However, she seems to instinctively trust this I-Get-Around-Cat and  his Little Miss. So….I like them, too.

You know what?  ‘Itsa not so bad’.  Who cares what colour the house is? Their dog is half the size of me. I am happy to extend my protection to I-Get-Around-Cat and  his Little Miss….okay, okay, that little dog too. He looks like he needs help. There is so much fur covering his eyes, he probably can not even see where he is going.

I know, I know the rules (that do not apply to me, of course)……If you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all. I will keep you posted how having new neighbors work out!

 

 

Today was the day.  It happens, like,  four times a year….but it seems like 20!  In an earlier post I shared that I can count so you have to believe me I got the number down.  Don’t ask me, ask Momma, she trained me.  All I know Momma holds up 2 fingers, says ‘Two, Jakita’, I raise my left front paw, put it down, then raise my right front paw.  If she says ‘Four Jakita’, I raise my left front paw twice, then my right front paw twice.  You are absolutely correct.  I am amazing but… I have gone off topic (again).

What happens four times a year at Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving and Canada Day, is Grooming.

You have to look good at the family parties.  It is highly competitive and so depressing if you look scruffy in comparison to the other family pets. A girl has her pride, you know, especially a high achieving, sensitive Senorita Jakita. And, Canada Day on July 1, means the Bikini Cut, AKA,(also known as)  the coolest of the cool summer cut. It is very short, yet I look leaner and (maybe meaner), I believe, since my double coat of thick wavy, fluffy fur makes me appear chunkier and lazier than I am, really.

Now I have gone through my share of groomers.  First a neighbour suggested her groomer, who absolutely went on about how I was the best behaved puppy she had ever groomed, so I liked her.  But she had strange ways, saying she would be away and could not make an appointment, then do the neighbor’s two dogs the very day she was out-of-town.  A rather out-of-the-box way to attract business, ya think?

Since Momma had no one she knew she took me to a pet spa and even though they claimed they knew how to groom a Havanese, I ended up looking like a Poodle, which is just fine for a poodle, but rather confusing for me!  Well, Momma had her standards, even before I wrote the book on Policies and Procedures for All Creation.  She would not be taking me back there in a hurry.

Then a family member said her friend had a grooming shop so after emails (account was not activated) and phone calls (could not leave message) that weren’t answered, Momma went back to her family member who was able to get through.  A miracle for sure.  The groomer phoned very apologetic and an appointment was made.  She was very good at grooming but always hard to reach.  Although she was very kind, there were always barking dogs that both unnerved and annoyed me.

One day when Momma and I were out for a walk, a neighbour, who also has a little dog named Buddy, suggested her Groomer, Annie, a fellow Newfie.  Now if you are a Canadian, you already know.  I can’t say if it is the air they breath, or the fact that they are an island, a land on to themselves, setting their own social rules, but they are the most hospitable, fun-loving, yet compassionate Canadians, coast to coast….the Come From Away Musical smashing success on Broadway sums it up succinctly.

I love Annie but I am not so keen on the grooming. I mean I am no frou–frou, I am a herding dog (well, at least sheep and chicken in Cuba).  I have a strain of the Bichon French blood but stilll…not me… I don’t want to suffer to be beautiful.

Still, Annie is a good soul.  She answers her phone calls.  She sets up appointments and keeps them.  I can tell she values me as a Customer (or Momma, who pays). How bizarre!  You would think she was running a business.  She is an example to the industry.  Most importantly her empathy for puppies shines through, so I endure because I love the end results.  Though I may look like a sheep that has been sheared, good news is that all the tangles and knots are gone.  My tail is a plume once more, cascading over my back.  I feel so light, so free, like a puppy, again.

 

Come to think of it, maybe the French are on to something.….  Even little doglets must suffer to be beautiful. So… find an Annie! She makes the pain worth the gain.

PS:  Annie tells Momma I am the best dog she grooms. No wonder I ♥ my Annie!

 

 

 

Now I know Momma and I like to do some what satirical, non-provable views on how we see the world through our ever-changing kaleidoscope of life.  Our readers seek amusement, not tears. However our hearts tell us it is time to speak up on a very troubling subject.

There is a misguided belief that all dog owners are good people and for the most part, they are, because otherwise how could an instinctive, loyal dog bond with them. However, that all dog owners are good, well, that would be a myth.  Momma says the majority of  ‘dog’ people are outstanding but some are idiots – her word.  You have to forgive Momma.  She is judgmental and critical.  She can not help that.  She is a Virgo, you know.

Still, even as an Aquarius, I have to agree with Momma.

I am going to share some shady behaviour we have seen that makes us despair for the dogs.

Take Little-Miss-Glued-to-the-Cell, sauntering down the sidewalk, dog on a loose leash, completely oblivious to others on the sidewalk, or the traffic whizzing by.  It is all, ‘OMG, did you see that skank? Totally LOL.’  Meanwhile, her doggie, as out of control as Little-Miss-Glued-to-the-Cell, meanders off the sidewalk, on the street as cars honk and brake, trying to avoid puppy-dearest. Do you think she even noticed? Well, she did give one guy who slowed down to yell at her, the finger.  Momma and I are thinking she is not receptive to self-improvement, from what we saw. She is probably the same person who will not pick up after her dog.  I say, confine Little-Miss-Glued-to-the-Cell and her dog to their back yard, till she learns, if she learns.

You all remember that sad story about the German Sheppard chained to the bench in the park in the deepest throes of a Canadian winter (Read Jakita’s Views on Dog Parks).  Who does that?  I still get misty eyed as I remember how forlorn that dog was. The good news was that so many had phoned the Animal Shelter to report it and one of those callers offered to take it.  Only in Canada! Pity.

Then there are those Not-In-My-House Owners that get a dog but will not let it in their home.  The poor dog is baking in the summer, freezing in the winter and I am guessing, developing no social skills.  The neighbors are all terrified that it will escape  its prison walls and wreak havoc on their precious children and pets. Don’t the owners know, regardless of size, dogs have a heart that beats like theirs, feelings of loneliness and hunger for companionship.  Like humans, dogs need love and empathy to become a well-rounded part of a society.  Take the dog in inside and well, I’d like to put Not-In-My-House Owners outside, but Momma says that is too radical.

Another kettle of fish is when It’s-All-About-Me Owners leave their dog, especially the little ones, in the back yard, some without shelter or shade, for long periods.  Some excitable, terrified little dogs can bark for hours, absolutely deafening and disturbing the neighbourhood.  The baby next door, who only just got to sleep, wakes up in a fright and continues to cry as long as that poor little lonesome, frightened puppy is outside barking.  Yeah, take the dog in, self-centered  It’s-All-About-Me Owner.  If you love your dog, protect it, as it protects you.

My all time worse dog owners are the ones we have met up with on occasion, in parks.  These  I-Train-Dogs-By-Training-You Owners have this sorry big brute of a dog on a slender leather belt.  The poor mutt is foaming at the mouth as it sees Momma and I approach.  The I-Train-Dogs-By-Training-You Owners yells to Momma, ‘My dog is not friendly.  You had better take another path.’  What? What did you say? You have an ‘unfriendly’ dog and Momma and I are expected to give you right-of-way?  No one should bring an untrained out-of-control dog to a come-one come-all public park where it may in desperation and ignorance attack the Two or Four Footed, who are on a stroll, seeking zen and inner peace, not an unprovoked canine attack.

 

What to do? Write about it. Scream about it. Shame those deadbeat owners. It is an easy fix. Practise the Golden Rule, ‘Do on to dogs as you would have them do unto you.’ 

PS: All the above are addressed in my Policy and Procedures for All Creation because if I don’t educate the owners, who else will?

Every once in a while, I go back in time and like a Greek Philosopher, ponder how I got to BE or NOT  TO BE and of course, WHY? Although I now am a sensible five old, it wasn’t always that way.  It is that Type A Earth Dog Personality that can get me in trouble though I will swear it’s the Devil, my diet (Blame Momma), my DNA or even, you guessed it, Momma, were (and still are) the culprits.

You have to blame someone and I just can’t see my role in some of the disastrous choices I have made.  It is just that there is so much to see and do in this world.  I never pass up an opportunity to have fun along the way, even though Momma says I swivel my hips when I walk (it is that prednisone weight problem), yet still look sanctimonious (only idiots look happy-go-lucky).  I have to make some heavy-duty choices along life’s path especially since I wrote and distributed Policies and Procedures for All Creation.  I mean, even the squirrels, rabbits and raccoon have been known to lend credence to my authority on Territorial Rights for the Four Footed.

I remember being a wee puppy, a matter of ounces, staring at a patch of grass  or a flower all day, sprouting before my eyes. In the flower bed you could see tiny ants, insects, worms, busy, busy, busy, like Momma they were.  I would try to catch them but they would be in the next county by the time my furry paw touched down.  And who among us does not want to catch a butterfly to play with?

 

They tantalize us with their brilliant colours and torment us as they land on a flower, bomb diving our noses as they swoop up, up and away, like a helium balloon.

Enough, I said.  I graduated to chasing the Four Footed like myself.  Who knows what my intentions were if I caught something? I mean, I don’t fish, I don’t hunt.  My skill is in herding (ask the cats), finding solutions to problems not even on the radar and being bossy – like… My Will Be Done.

My only hang up (I know, I know there are doggy psychologists these days) is fire works or storms – basically, noisy nature.  I can hold off on bathroom duty a long time before I venture in to any noise generated by an unseen object.  For example: A massive piece of machinery clanging and spewing out high decibel, that I can see with my own eyes – I get it – it is a truck or a train or a lawnmower – it will cease and desist…at some point.  But….fireworks for like, Queen Victoria’s birthday  or Mother Nature’s fury, puts me in a tizzy. I have no idea where the noise comes from, or when it will end. I just see or hear a fire-ball jet high in to the night sky or in the midst of a storm, I see lightning flashes like a flashlight beam on steroids, hear the loud thunder, feel its vibrations and  I tremble, for hours, long after the party is over or the clouds have past and the sky is blue again.

All things considered, makes sense. I would have to be foolhardy to not feel the threat of the unknown.  You know me – I have never claimed to be the bravest soldier – I just have the best war chest.

Still, being me, I had to find a solution and mine was to go to bed with Momma and cover my ears with my fluffy paws so I did not whimper all night.  But something changed one day. I might as well tell you because someone is bound to let the cat out of the bag.  I, well, kind of switched my allegiance from Momma to Wonder Boy. I can’t help it.  He makes me feel so protected. Now I sleep at the bottom of his bed.  Momma is totally cool with it. After all, she is the original ‘been there, seen that.’  She has the inside tract.…And she knows.  The very first night Wonder Boy is unavailable and I am scared, I’ll be back.  I always am.

 

 

By now you know, I am a Hot Dog with ‘The Gift‘. So one day Momma got out the photos and showed me pictures of Tammy and Teddy and their puppies.   Just by looking at the pictures, I know the stories, even before Momma lays them down.

What always strikes me first, is that  in many of the pictures both Teddy and especially Tammy have big grins on their faces, like the cat who swallowed the cream. Meanwhile, Momma tells me I look sanctimonious in most shots, like I feel superior to the Two Footed and definitely the Four Footed. I am and do!

 

I am of two minds when it comes to puppies.  I know, I know, what is not to love, still… are they cuter than me?  Would I look like yesterdays leftovers if I stood beside them?  Would they give me the respect a five-year old Havanese with questionable pedigree deserves?  Would I be expected to share my Toys, my Momma and my Wonder Boy?  If you are a Google  Analytic Graph freak like Momma or just insecure like me, there is a lot to ponder.

When I saw the photos of Miss Tammy’s and Sir Teddy’s puppies, my heart stopped.  They were like little fluffy munchkins from a light cream to white to bright white with black rimmed brown eyes, shoe polish black snouts and  ears trying desperately to stand up straight. Then they develop those beautiful full tails that fan over their backs as they get older.  I tell you, if I had been here when they were born, I would not have been able to resist them.  It just makes me wonder why (okay, maybe I question, when I should listen) Momma decided to buy a Havanese instead of an American Eskimo? Oh, yes, the Havanese have the added bonus of not  shedding. Phew! There are just some things in your DNA that are a blessing, although your own contribution to the cause was non-existent.

In any case, first came Angel Dog Teddy, then Tammy. Next there is Tammy with a baby carriage – not that fast.  About one year, lots of vet visits, Teddy’s contribution and nature took its course.  Tammy, although small, was very capable and had four puppies, in her whelping box, one day, when all the family was away at work and / or school.  No one knows if Teddy contributed much to the process, but let us say this.  When Daddy and Wonder Boy came home that night, Teddy was laying outside the whelping box head between his paws, looking majestically proud, his eye balls following the stumbling puppies as they found a comfortable spot and suckled their Mama.

Within a short while, four very distinct personalities developed and the puppies were named according to what they brought to the table.  There was  Lucky-Plucky, always happy and involved in whatever mischief he could find. A good day was when he could get his siblings to join him. Casper the Friendly Ghost was the runt of the litter.  He had all Teddy’s good looks, with Tammy’s petiteness. Casper went to the family of Momma’s Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-the Things-She-Knows. Though small, he was fierce and felt every bit as big as a Dalmatian or a German Shepherd and was quick to get the upper hand (but not bite it).The only female was Ba-Ba-White-Sheep, so named because she followed her Mama Tammy every where she went who followed Momma everywhere she went.  Tammy was always ready to jump in and help out with women’s work, while Teddy, laid in the corner, ignoring that work existed and staying as far as possible from any involvement. Finally came Woolly Bully, a Gentle Giant of a puppy who resembled a Ram without the horns.  At birth he was twice as big as Casper.  His light cream  fur was thick and luxuriant.  RIP Daddy was his chosen Master. It was heart wrenching  for Daddy when Woolly Bully left for his Forever Home.

Once they had all found their new family, a meeting was called in order (blame Momma and her need to analyse past data scientifically, to move forward).  Momma, RIP Daddy and Wonder Boy sat around the kitchen table, Angel Dog Teddy at Momma’s side, Tammy between Wonder Boy and RIP Daddy.  The family cats sat up straight, a couple of feet back, following the conversation carefully. 

Momma said no more puppies, look how tired and skinny Tammy was.  Daddy, said, ‘please’, then he looked in Tammy’s weary eyes.  She had been a good Mama to new-born puppies but when they found their sea legs, they exhausted her, like her male siblings had so many years ago. Teddy had stepped up and set them straight when and if it was the right day, the right time and if he felt like it.  Other times they just were not on his horizon.  He ignored them.  Also Momma could not sleep at night, worrying that the new families would not be able to give Tammy’s puppies the home they deserved.

Once the puppies were older and being fed kibble, come afternoon Tammy would go nap with Angel Dog Teddy on their large pillow.  The Family Cats would take over… grooming and cuddling up with the puppies in the dog cages.  They all would fall to sleep in  a state of bliss, where all mankind recognized the goodwill created in steadfast homes. If only, I could have, I would have, helped Tammy with those precious little balls of fluff. Could poor Tammy have suffered with those postpartum blues some Mom’s get? I’d better investigate if that is possible!

And so it was decided, so it was written, read my lips,  ‘no more puppies’. It was off to the vet for both  Angel Dog Teddy and Miss Tammy, to remove their baby making apparatus.  Now Tammy could look forward to a life of leisure.

 

 

 

So many asked Momma was Tammy upset when her last puppy left.  No, no, no.  To  paraphrase the Great Martin Luther King, Jr., Tammy seemed to be expressing, ‘Free at last, Free at last. Thank God Almighty, free at last!’

 

 

Oh, I am so lucky, no, maybe my Alpha Dog personality has something to do with it, but I am the chosen one to tell tales about dogs we had, long before I was a twinkle in my daddy’s eye.

Earlier I told you about Momma’s Angel Dog Sir Teddy but what I left out was, Sir Teddy had a wife, Little Ms. Tammy who was day and night different from Teddy. Not all dogs come from happy spaces, not all dogs get to ‘live the dream’ but in the end, well Little Ms. Tammy did.

It  was always a yearning of RIP Daddy to breed puppies.  Now that they knew that American Eskimos were such perfect dogs,  (better than me…I doubt that) they would buy a female and have a litter.  Momma agreed half heartedly, worried that once the pups came, it would be hard to part with them.  But Daddy prevailed and back they went to the same puppy mill Sir Teddy came from.  Big mistake.  Daddy told them why he wanted a female…and they had just the girlie for him.  Momma told me, once you looked in to Tammy’s eyes, you were lost and felt you just could not leave her in this life of misery.

Now Ms. Tammy, although the runt of the litter, from a distance certainly was 100% American Eskimo but  her teeth and jaw seemed ever so out of alignment.  Her tail did not feather over her back like Sir Teddy’s because it was somehow curled, like a Piggy’s.  Her fur was creamy rather than the brilliant white of a winter snow.  Yet her sweet nature made up for all of her outward deficiencies. She was six months old and had lived in a barn the first couple of months, then put in an outside run with no shade in the hot sun, and no roof for shelter, when it rained. Her five aggressive male brothers systematically chased and brow beat her, alone, in pairs or together, as a flash mob.  So Tammy tried to hide behind the water trough, the food dish, anywhere to avoid the general pop.  Being in Solitary would have been a dream come true for this frightened puppy.

So even though Tammy was cowed, she also was smart enough to not shy away when Daddy and Momma were taken to the pen.  She rushed over, stood on her hind legs, wagged her tail, licking their fingers through the wire fence.  All of the brothers watched solemnly. They knew in their hearts they would never see Tammy again but this was not a good life for her.  Any loud noise made her fearful, thunder and lightning left her with PTSD. In a way, the brothers were relieved to see any happy ending, even if it would not change their lot in life.

Yes, Momma says, it was in her eyes, pleading, please, please take me.  Somehow Tammy knew at six months old, that finding a Forever Family would take longer and longer.  Everyone wants a cute little puppy, not the full-grown dog. 

As if under a spell Momma and Daddy rescued her, for a life so far removed, Tammy could not even imagine it. But there is more to be told.  Stay tuned.