Category: Hot Dog

Soooooooooooooo, what the heck is this?  Like Friday afternoon, Wonder Boy and Momma each picked up over night bags, and said they would see me tomorrow.  Last I saw of them was the car heading down Centre Street.

Do you ever notice how time swells when you are alone? It metastases, as it stealthily sends fingers of fear to penetrate your heart and soul.  I felt betrayed by my Momma.  Last I heard we have a 24/7 CODE RED Contract.  We are to be within shouting distance of each other, at all times– at least that is what I signed up for.

The evening came, the street lamps came on and I felt so alone, with three cats ( I do not consider Clem – he is beyond my control) to get through this unchartered territory.

 

Not like Andy Cat or Gen Cat cared.     They sat there licking their paws, leisurely walking over to their food dishes, taking a mouth or two, sauntering back to their favorite perches and looked at me like, ‘What?’  They did not seem to understand the gravity of the situation.  Was this the last food we would ever get?  Would we be alone forever?

However, Charlie Cat was in a complete panic.  Maybe she read my face, maybe she understood the significance of over night bags.  She had lived on the Moraine, remember.  She never wanted to have to ever leave this house in order to find food to exist.  That being established, she parked her sturdy body in front of the cat food dishes and growled and hissed when Andy or Gen wandered over.  They ignored her, took a bite just to show her, they were not backing down.  Oh, oh, are we going to have another situation like in the book Animal Farm.  I do not need anything else to worry about!

So as I sat and stewed. Somehow, I missed the jingle of keys in the door.  Whoa, I know him, that is Super Kid. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t even bark or wag my tail to welcome Super Kid in to our Sanctuary.  Gen and Andy got up, went over for a pat and scratch.  Suddenly I got my sailor legs up and running.  I pushed Gen and Andy out-of-the-way. They retreated good-naturedly, as I enjoyed my first worry free minute in hours. Yeah, we would get food, water, nurturing, and maybe even a walk. Out of the corner of my eye I saw paranoid  Charlie Cat as she raced, down the stairs, to find a place to hide and wait out the take over of her territory by friendly fire. I did not blame her.  I may have done the same if I would actually ‘do’ staircases.  I know, I know, I could fill up an appointment book of a doggie shrink very succinctly. But there is more, there is always more…so till to-morrow to-morrow….

 

 

So really,  tell me, you ask,  what kind of trouble does Momma give you? First off, she can not sit in one place more than five minutes. Then she’s off, letting the cats in or out, getting a drink of water, running to the computer, busy at house work, shoveling snow in the winter, weeding in the summer and  rearranging the basement or the garage. Momma, please, just sit down in one place, I beg.  I need my rest.  I am a dog with a medical history, don’t you know. Sometimes I just feel dizzy, following around behind you.

When I have a really bad day, I just pray, ‘Momma, just  slow down’….which brings the next question. Do puppy prayers get heard in heaven? I pray, I do – maybe because Momma is the ‘praying type’ – but maybe because I truly want to bring happiness, protection and justice to Two and Four Footed creatures.  I am not proud, I will take what ever help I can get, to achieve that end. Also, I like the whole idea of the Golden Rule, the older and wiser I get – the doing on to others as you would have them do onto you.

If anyone needs to pay his or her penance for impatience, attitude and occasionally not listening, maybe it is (was, we hope), me and don’t say I said it, but Momma too.  You can be sure I want to run free with Teddy and Zanny in Pet Heaven (Teddy  will have to keep any eye on Zanny until I get there so she does not run off). I just imagine catapulting into  the arms of RIP Daddy, where I understand that the finest architects design amazing structures that are  inlaid with shimmering gemstones, creating a sea of rainbows.  The grass, like a thick carpet,  is always Kelly green, bold pillars are sculpted from pure quartz and  crystal. It is rumored that the Pearly Gates are made of the finest  gold and silver, its’ metallic brilliance off set  with different creamy colours and  sizes  of pearls, some of which, it is said (I kid you not) are the size of beach balls.

Who wouldn’t want to make an investment now, for a future like that?

But I am getting off track – what else does Momma do that ‘takes the joy out of your living’, you ask.  Well, she gets that rickety ladder out of the shed room, (Okay , I know what the heck is a Shed Room?) brings it to the kitchen, opens it up, climbs right to the top rung, as it wobbles precariously back and forth.  She stretches more, more, until her fingertips are just barely touching the light bulb she has to replace.  I am at the bottom, just whimpering,

‘Get down from there, Momma, you are going to fall, this is way too dangerous, you are going to fall and break your neck or back or something equally as importance to my well-being.  What can a little doggie do, when you are lying, in a heap at the bottom of the ladder? I can’t call        9-1-1.  Why can’t you do this when Wonder Boy is home?’  ‘Oh, okay.’ I say in a huff, ‘If you insist on climbing up there, I am leaving the kitchen.  That way, at least, if you fall, it won’t be on my sorry bones.’  Ya think she listens to me – no, Momma is one of those ‘learn the hard way’ types and a very lucky one at that, so far.

And there is more and I vow to tell it all.

 

After much negotiation, I got permission to tell the story of Xanadu (aka Zanny). Such a tragic tale, Momma could not talk about it without weeping, yet willingly bared her soul to me so I could pass on ‘her-story’. So exquisitely Yorkshire, born black, which morphed in to dark steel-blue like a horse blanket, thrown across her back,  and further accentuated by tan markings, on her chest, paws and  face.

We can not go backwards in time but       If only:  Daddy had shut you in a bedroom since he had to remove               the Front Door to get the Window Pane replaced.  If only:  Momma had noticed you had taken off. If only:  You had sauntered around the neighbor hood (I know, I know, Zanny did not DO saunter) and returned  to wait on the step to get left back in, like the cats do. If only:  You had listened to Wonder Boy when he commanded you STOP.

No, by this stage, you were in a full-blown panic attack and rushed in to the swift moving morning rush hour traffic. Like an out of control meteorite, you streaked under the back wheels of a car that could not react fast enough to save you.  The young driver was heartsick that her car had taken the life of a puppy but we can not blame her.  Life is all in the timing and laws of averages and you had used all your Chances to Evade the Grim Reaper, over the six years of your tumultuous life.

As for me, I am not suicidal.  I always stop and wait for the disadvantaged Two Footers to catch up. Of course, neither was Zanny. She was an adorably gorgeous yet high-strung Yorkie without an ability to bring reasoning to the equation.  But I promise you, I just have one more ‘gone with the wind’ story to tell you later. It just happened a few days ago but then you’ll realize, it brought Momma and I to an understanding, so it is all good, trust me!

Momma says because I am an Aquarius, I understand, at the end of the day that rules and regulations, policies and procedures are put in place for a reason, so it serves me well to obey them. (Zanny was a Scorpio but must have had some Pisces with her head in the clouds or Leo who love to party, possibly). I always have a goal (the food off your plate, the pillow on the couch to rest my head on, or a cat to groom or chase or tattle on). I painstakingly watch for the first opportunity to put the plan in motion. It is not just that open door Momma has to worry about.

Another Zanny tale was that she slept in Daddy’s bed, burying herself under a mound of blankets, staggering out to the kitchen each morning, looking bleary eyed and hung over, as if she indulged too much the night before.  However, by the time Daddy returned with his coffee and donut, she was ready and waiting to share it with him. She could eat anything and still be the size of nothing, Momma tells me.   Oh, I wish I had her rate of metabolism.

Zanny’s spontaneous zest for life was always getting her in trouble – like the time she was chasing the kitty cats and ended up falling down the staircase to the basement, blinding herself in the right eye. Even before I heard that story, I took one look down and vowed it was too suicidal for me to ever go down that staircase. To this day, I have never been to our basement. But poor Zanny never had a plan, though she always had an action.  No doubt that blind eye that hindered her from jumping on the couch, also contributed to the fact she did not see the car that claimed her life.

PS:  Zanny, I am taking good care of your little stuffed Tigger.  Like you, I carry him in my mouth from room to room, to sit on the doggie cushion or couch with me.  Like you, sometimes I have to give him a good shaking to smarten him up but mostly he behaves, probably better than you and me.  Momma tells me you used to sometimes take helpless little Tigger outside and she’d have to go out in the dark, with a flashlight to find poor Tigger, all alone and weeping.

Just in case you get reincarnated and come back down to earth, think about your past life.  It is never too early to self evaluate and find  corrective actions for the next time.  Even considering a better way, for a better day, gives you good karma, I understand.

PPS:  Zanny, you were a true north strong and free spirit.  Sometimes  I swear I still feel you hanging around, reminding us, no one knows what the morrow brings forth.

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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So...none of us are perfect but, I must admit, one annoying habit I had as a puppy, was to be gone like the wind, like a Jack Rabbit, anytime I saw an opportunity and an open door. I remember a go-round with the Pizza Delivery Guy, Momma, Daddy, our niece and great-nephew as they all tried to corral me, while I played ‘catch me if you can’.  I mean, I even stopped, waited up for them, because between you and me, those Two Footed are helplessly slow. When they just about had me in their reach, I took off in a frenzy, with no GPS tracking record of where I was   headed and no consideration for the outcome. It was just a game of chase that I had played endlessly, back in the barn. No use in betting against me, I always win.

In the end, I would tire, plant myself down on the ground, panting loudly, my tongue  hanging out of my mouth, my eyes bright with the latest victory.  Only then would I let Momma pick me up and take me home. I licked her fingers to let her know how much I appreciated the lift because I was exhausted, my heart about to burst from all the excitement.

To tell you the truth, I could not tell you how many times, with how many people I played this game but Momma was always involved in the rescue attempt, although Wonder Boy probably was the winner of capturing me . I do not seem to be able to outfox Wonder Boy. He must be even more clever than me, is that possible? Daddy was involved in the hunts often, as well, but he loved me so much that he was putty in my hands.  In his eyes, I did no wrong but he hated me running away because that was how the puppy love of his life, Zanny met her Waterloo

But more about that sorry story later, back to me, because it is all about me….What else did I do to poor Momma besides run away, snarl and growl, occasionally nip, not stop or come on command, chew everything (now I only chew kleenex I find lying around – I noticed they always get tossed in the garbage anyway so it is not like I am destroying something that has added-on-value).

I love company, be it friends or family and  demand attention every time someone comes in the door, like my very life depended on their stamp of approval. I will even suffer the humiliation and itch of a party dress to get their attention.

It has got to be that I go through life looking for every Two Footed to build my ego because of that Barn-of-Horrors I lived in, during my first six weeks of life. Not only was the barn stone cold physically and mentally, it was a super unsettling atmosphere for healthy development of a puppy’s  emotional quotient.  In any case, once everyone has greeted me, I always go back to shadowing Momma because she needs me. Trust me,  I never know what she is up to.

Truth be told, it is not like Momma is a saint.  She listens about the same amount as me and if I heard correctly, that started the minute she was born.  Her mother nicknamed her Quite Contrary, which my Daddy would remind her about often.  But Daddy, who was her constant companion for so many years, went out one day and did not return, yes, another story that makes me cry.

You see Wonder Boy is busy, at university three days a week, at work three-day a week, and in between, he has a Social Life – he is a Leo, you know. Most of the time I am by Momma’s side, so I feel totally responsible for her well-being.

Sometimes I think, Momma is like an out of control Politician on speed or his alcoholic wife and dysfunctional kids. She does not make life easy for me. So that is why a year ago, I kicked protection up a notch or two, of the protectee (Momma) as per Secret Service lingo.  Unfortunately, I have no team to back me up,  and no gun (we are talking the True North Strong and Free).

It is just me and a plan – always a plan.

What ever is with Momma?  Does she forget? I am a doggie and when I see an open door, it is an invitation to adventure (especially when I was still a little wet behind the puppy ears). The Great Unknown is a dog’s addiction. Give me half a chance and I am off and running. Some would say that only an untrained dog thinks like that but they would be wrong.  Don’t trust us. We are not all born like Sir Teddy, Momma’s American Eskimo Angel Dog.

It happened again recently and Momma, was like … shocked – I had not done this since forever.  She had gone shopping for the Sunday Specials, at the local drug store. I saw a kitchen door ajaro and lucky for me, the sun porch door was just swinging in the wind because the night latch had not been anchored in place properly.

Momma was kind of dopey that day, she had not much sleep because Itty- Bitty spent the night and Momma was multi-tasking, as usual. She was concentrating on remembering the bargains without considering the consequences.

Oh no,  I’d be like little white, fluffy Sophie, the sad little terrier whose picture was on every telephone pole in Brampton, announcing, ‘I am lost.  Please call my Mommy’s number below if you find me’.  Momma stopped at each pole and warned me to never do that to her and I promised but it was a sunny morning, and our cats were parading up and down the sidewalk, teasing and tantalizing me, so I am sorry, okay, but I joined them.  I never had any intention of running away – I just wanted to see if any of our neighbors were up so I could get patted and scratched and praised but alas, it was too early, they were all in bed, (except Momma), don’t you know.

So I went to the first neighbour, then the next after that … I had a plan, I was coming home, the minute I heard Momma slam the car door – that is what the cats do. They chase squirrels, they harass birds and catch mice. The minute Momma arrives  back home, they cut a fast path to our open door, acting all goodie two shoes and sidle up for some Momma loving.   So that was my plan, honest. I wasn’t pulling a Sophie.

It started innocently enough for me, just sniffing the perimeters of our front yard,  but it seems I got preoccupied with something, maybe a squirrel, or no, I was out looking for Sophie (that is a compelling story, although light on truth) and I failed to hear Momma return.  Then I heard Momma pleading, calling my name softly so Wonder Boy did not hear because he would have chided Momma for her carelessness. How many times had he told her, slow down and do it right the first time (she had done a quick search in the house and was pretty sure I was like the X-Files, out there, somewhere). Still, I lingered, another minute. Who wanted to go indoors when outdoors was so marvelous?

At last my puppy conscience kicked in. Poor Momma did not deserve this, so I left the back yard of my favourite neighbour, ran up the sidewalk, communicating with my eyes, ‘I’m here’.  Momma was so relieved, she got down on her knees and I ran to her arms for a cuddle – I really don’t like being out alone, I have no one to protect me and trust me on this, Momma needs 24/7 surveillance to keep her out of trouble.

PS: Momma and I are still curious, did Sophie find her way home – we did not want to call the number and upset Sophie’s Momma – but when you erect these signs, you should be compelled to let the public know the outcome. Post something that says  ‘HELP! Still Looking, Or Home At Last, Thank God Almighty, Sophie is Home At Last’.  I shall call it a ‘Sophie Alert’ and include it as a Regulation in my Policy and Procedures for All Creation.

Regulation Common Sense:  If you post signs for a missing pet, you are obligated to let the Public know the results so we can give up or continue the search.  Don’t toy with our emotions. I can not abide thinking poor fluffy, cuddly, little Sophie being homeless. We have seen those wrenching stories on the television, hungry, bedraggled dogs living on the streets that never ever find their home again.

We can’t sleep at night, please, let us know.

 

So by now you know the truth – I am not some Angel puppy, even if I look like one, in some pictures. No, I am  the kind of doggie who can turn in to a little devil with a pitch fork and a long tail –  (I noticed BB the Bad Beastie Cat was like that too). I was not at all like my black and white brother, Fidel, (the very colour  Momma was looking for) and an absolute Angel Boy from the time he was born or at least from the time his wobbly little legs could support him,

February is a cruel month to be born in a puppy mill in the True North Strong and Free.  You have to find a way to stay warm and  a flat-out run keeps the blood flowing. My two other siblings joined in the hi-jinx I organized, chasing the barn kitties, getting a good swat from Mama Cat as we passed by her, then pouncing on unsuspecting chickens, who would flap their wings and squawk in indignation. Yet Fidel would hang back and scamper to the shelter of our Baby Mama, who always seemed cold, hungry, and lethargic. Now that I know more, I suspect Baby Mama suffered from postpartum depression. I was just what poor Mama did not need.  I may have been considered myself smarter than Fidel but he beat me hands down on having common sense.

I remember the day the barn door opened, early one morning, and a couple of the dreaded  Two Footed creatures, stomped in, communicating in a sing-song conversation.  They marched over to our lair, where  we were all still sleeping in a tight ball around Mama. My brother, two sisters and I were yanked from our Mama and put in a hard plastic carrying case.  I can still hear Mama’s whimpers that turned to a louder and louder warble, as a cacophony of barn animals joined in.  I looked at my Baby Mama, one last time, communicating, ‘Don’t worry, Mama.  We will be good.  You taught us right from wrong.  I will try to behave more like Fidel. ‘

The Two Footed Creature who took us to her home seemed okay. She was not Baby Mama but she freed us from our cages and let us run around and around her apartment.  Then we were set up in wire cages, the type you see out of,  so you can survey your surroundings.  She told us she was going to start teaching us English since this would be the language of our Forever Families.  So much for a puppy to absorb and learn and pass on to her siblings.

Still, sometimes being the leader sucks. When I was a pup I had a big head for a little dog. It helped me assimilate facts faster than a speeding bullet.  At one point it seemed my head was too big for my body. However,you will be happy to know, once I reached maturity my body grew in proportion to my head, thanks for asking.

By now, I am betting, you are asking, so how did you get to your Forever Family? Momma, you guessed it, being analytical and internet savvy, researched what breed would suit her family, based on what they wanted in a puppy. BINGO –  Havanese,  what the heck is a Havanese, they wondered?

Momma brought up images and tell me, what is not to love – we are exceptionally beautiful, small yet sturdy, coming in a plethora of colors, with fur that looks great in a Puppy Cut or long and flowing in our adult years, (if you hang out at dog shows).

Problem was,  Momma was smitten by my black and white brother Fidel. He absolutely had stolen a piece of her heart, with his good looks and better manners. Momma did not particularly want a female puppy like me, at least not one maybe smarter than she was.  Having Wonder Boy for a son, she had her fill of being challenged by a brain that worked faster than hers, don’t you know.

Fidel,  such a tragic story, I don’t want to talk about it because it still moves me to tears. Anyway it is  not my story to tell. Let us just say, I left with Momma  but I almost felt a resistance from her to love me completely – like she had been cajoled by family members to give me a home.  Do not get me wrong. She hugged me, petted me, trained me, walked me, played with me,  looked after me 24/7. Everybody’s got a story, man.

Yet it was in the way Momma   bristled so quickly when that little devil, with the long tail, the pointed ears and the pitchfork, surfaced in me. I mean, who knew I was supposed to chew the toys and bones provided, not shoes, Kleenex, paper, or furniture or whatever crossed my path.

I was well versed in  barn manners, as were all the farm animals, where survival of the fittest depended on having food to eat, shelter from the variable weather conditions and protection from our fellow stable mates, be they mooing cows, whinnying horses or any other Two or Four Footed friend or foe.  There was no one  in the barn who said, ‘Go,  Stop or No’ and a firm hand was needed to reign in the likes of me.

That leaves only me to blame, cause Momma tried……

So…let’s talk about those kitties….don’t let me get started on the kitties……….yet 4-5-6 even seven cats are easier to keep in line that one Momma – at least the one I got.  I mean I have her well-trained about when I want to go outside, when I need fresh water, to be fed, brushed, petted, or walked, but that can get  out of hand because first in the morning,  she prepares a combination of dry and wet food for Andy, Gen, Charlie, BB and sometimes Clem. I have to give them credit –  good little soldiers that they are, Momma sets down  a dish for each and they always go to their own dish, Andy on the staircase, Charlie on her bed, Gen on the mat, BB in the sun porch, Clem outside. Quite the spectacle it is. But that takes time and Momma gets slower and slower it seems to me so I do not even leave my bed until they are all fed and gone because I can be testy in the morning, sometimes at noon and often at night.

Ok, I am not  sure why the cats, Andy, Beau and Gen think they are invited on the walks Momma and I take.  (I know Andy is considered the Brainiac but it was Beau, the Muscle that actually started the tradition of joining the walk that turns into an impromptu parade). At some point Andy and Gen decided ‘cool’ and joined in along the way. They  think they are doing us a favor, sauntering along with Momma and I, but it is just more stress for me as I worry that they will get lost when they dive into the neighbor’s bushes, or be bitten by the neighbor’s massive pit bull or step out on to the road and be hit by a car.  I know they go out by themselves every day and come back just fine but hello!!! Does no one remember Mao?

Momma is oblivious, but I see, feel, hear those cats without even turning,  so I stop dead to let them catch up with us. Then  Momma looks around and here comes, sometimes one, sometimes two but more often three cats, racing up our left side, hiding behind bushes every time they hear a car,then  disappearing under the fence down to the creek and eerily reappearing, always two steps a head of us.  Of course Momma cheerfully welcomes them, and graciously stoops down to pet them. I feel like the Prodigal Son’s oldest brother because I go through life on the premise that it is ‘all about me’.

Momma has to worry too, because only, the Brainiac, Andy Cat has it figured out. He will look both ways before crossing the road, check the traffic like a Cross-walk Guard.  Not Diva Gen Cat or the Muscle Beau Cat.   They are more like me (only I am on a leash and controlled by Momma).  I have seen Gen rolling around on the middle of the street, begging Momma to scratch her belly. Beau goes out to prompt her to return to the safety of the sidewalk and then  will become frozen in the middle of the street because he hears a car coming two streets away. Should he go back or continue forward? It seems there is no panic  when he accompanies Momma and me alone, since he has no problem making and executing the right calls for himself. To tell the truth (but I am at liberty to deny it at any time), it is actually kind of  therapeutic as the three of us roll around the block, through the park and home.  However there are rules and one of them is Beau does not cross busy streets, like Centre.  No, if we are going to cross Centre Street to go for a walk in the Cemetery, he will patiently wait in the bushes on the corner of Nelson and Centre, then accompany us home.

That being said, it still is an irrefutable fact, that the walk loses its ability to make me feel calm when we have three cats tagging along. My heart races, my breathing grows shallow and I plunk down until I can catch my breath. Oh and just for good measure, the first cat that comes near me gets a little growl to let them know they ruined my walk.  They look at me, free as birds, tails held high, as they sail home before me, singing, ‘Na-na-na-na’ but the one who laughs last, laughs hardest….and I am the one in Momma’s bedroom every night.

In my dreams, all cats are in wire cages, and  dogs run free but Momma says,  ‘That’s a problem, you might get lost, like Sophie did.’  ‘The cats always find their way home, Momma,’ I remind her. ‘No dice, you are too cute, you’d be kidnapped or even worse, suffer Zanny’s fate’, explains Momma.  ‘Never, ever, ever’, I pout but she has her fingers stuck in her ears.  Why does she make decisions based on history? Go figure.