Tag: It’s a Dogs Life

Most pet owners are by-the-book-law-abiding citizens but there are those we must call out for the sake of their pets and well… just because Momma and I are born this way.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon.  My only complaint and I always can find something, was that this kind of not hot, not cool, just right temperature, brings all those owners out that walk their dog once a week, if the sun shines, if nothing more pressing is on the immediate horizon and goes without saying, if the creek doesn’t rise.

Momma says these poor dogs do not know how to even walk on a leash.  They are so excited that they are jumping and bucking like wild stallions, saddled for the first time ever.  The owners are oblivious, since like their children, their dogs can do no wrong.

In a fit of pure love (laced with buyers regret) some owners decide any park is an off the leash zone (NOT)  and their well-behaved (in the eyes of the beholder) should be free, like the wind, to run hither and fro, jumping in front of bikers and joggers, knocking down toddlers, terrifying the old folks, who are leaning on their walkers, with trepidation, waiting for their next broken bone to happen.

And the owner….well,,,, he / she is checking their messages on their iPhone, texting, starting long drawn out ‘he said, she said’ conversations, probably with another deadbeat dog owner who has unleashed their dog in another park.

What this means is that as an Ultimate Earth Dog, I have to be on high alert and have my 360 degree head swivel tilt in place to avoid crossing path with this poor creature who thinks the whole world wants to play with him and doesn’t mind being slobbered on.  Well, call me crotchety, but I like to choose who I play with and no slobbering, p-l-e-a-s-e.  You never can tell what kind of canine germs could be passed on and with my immune system being so rickety, there is no end to the diseases I could end up with.

After every walk Momma sanitizes me head to toe with baby wipes.  Knowing Momma,  next step would be quarantine if I had a relapse and I enjoy my walks, so please, you ignore me, I will gladly ignore you.

Then there are dogs who yank at their leashes, growling ferociously because they are scared to meet up with me, I suspect – all twenty pounds of might. On a good day, I might lick you to death…. like I am a real threat…. an out of control hand grenade. Their dog never acts like that at home, they claim…and we believe them….nod…wink.

Here’s a free tip.  Train your dog to realize a leash is a good thing. It is not a restraint to fight.

If you want the dog off leash, take it to the designated Off Leash Dog Park. A dog is a commitment. With patience, time, and training, we will give back even more than we receive. I hate to admit it but I was quite the tough case myself. I would be gone with the wind every time I saw the opportunity. Now, even given the opportunity, I don’t bolt, because well, someone has to look after my Clumsy Mumsy. It is never too late to start.  Hey, NOW works.

So lay a little training on me (us).  Honey, doggone it, I (we) depend upon it, so lay a little training on me (us).

I love the Two Footed…..well, mostly…but on our street, in our neighbor hood, I come alive…and, no thanks, Momma, I don’t want to leave.

I am very comfortable on Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want’s step.  It is the best vantage point in town to watch over  the neighbors.  My head swivels left to right, right to left, up and down, round and round. If Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want is inside and I take a notion to visit her on my own, I go back to the sliding glass door, whine and paw until I get her attention.  Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want has had dogs and she totally understands me. Guaranteed she will give me a blissful massage before she returns me home.

Next to Mama Give-Me-What-I-Want lives the Martha Stewart Family.  Every blade of their green, green grass is the same length.  There is never even a bloom on the flowers to be dead headed.  Perfection resides here.  I love running up their driveway, through the open garage door,  out a side door to their back yard oasis because….

They have a man-made pond and God made frogs of all sizes, cricketing, jumping, like molecules in constant motion. I sit there mesmerized, watching their antics.  Then it is off to find Mr. and Mrs. Martha Stewart who treat me like, well, an honoured guest.

Right next door to us is a couple just older than Wonder Boy, Little Miss and Master Millennium. I already was crazy about them, then they brought home a Baby Boy Millennium and I just love babies. 

I am just mad because I have not been able to get very close yet but the day is coming and I guarantee you, Baby Boy Millennium and I are going to be closer than white on rice.  Every time Master Millennium comes outside, I dash through the flower bed that divides our driveways, run to back of their property, just to confuse him, then charge back to Master Millennium’s  feet to get a head scratch.

However, if the Little Miss comes out as well, it is like I have blinders on.  I race straight to her because it is like part of my heart belongs to her.  Don’t ask me to explain.  Thank goodness Momma’s not the jealous type.

Oh, there are plenty more who love me, the Dog Treat Lady, (it would be rude to not accept a treat from her), the Scooter Man, who I like better than his little Black Dog and of course, the Generation Y family who have not one, but two dogs. (No thanks to two…I like being the ‘only’ dog)….

Some time I got to tell you about them because are way awesome (well, they like me…but fight other dogs….works for me).

They are my responsibility (because everything is…or so I think)…as well….because if we don’t help others, who will lend a hand when we need help….I am just saying…think about it!

I admit, I am not perfect.  I am wilful, hard-headed and sensitive…. a bit like my Momma. I don’t know exactly what my transgression was on this particular occasion. Well actually, I do.  Wonder Boy was talking to Momma and, since I am the centre of the universe, I started bugging Momma, pushing her hand to indicate, ‘Pay attention to me, NOW.’

Apparently, I had done it one too many times that day because, Momma said to me, rather sharply, ‘Lay down, Jakita.’ Somehow, Wonder Boy took exception to Momma trying to discipline me, since he said, well, that I only respond to his                                                                                                                          command.

I know, I know, dogs understand words, not sentences but you better believe, I understood, that my needy self shone a light on Momma’s weaknesses.  I meekly lay on the floor beside her, my head on my paws, hoping she would look at me and see through the love in my unwavering stare that I meant no harm.  So the moment passed, the night rolled out as usual, me sleeping blissfully beside Wonder Boy, dreaming of succulent doggie treats to devour and bones to demolish, but the next day, a new regime began.

It seems like all the hours of training Momma spent in order to make me perfect, had not quite paid full dividends.  Momma says there are a multitude of things I get right but then there is that Quite Contrary side of me (inherited no doubt from Momma) that makes me buck the system.  Apparently, I am a Work-In-Progress.

Momma started with the easy stuff, like sit, lay, stay, rollover, pray, count, beg, come, stop.  Blue Ribbon, all the way…..On to the stuff that unnerves me…a knock at the door, a doorbell rings.  It could be anyone at that door with malicious intent.  It is my job to both warn the family of potential danger and frighten the interloper in to beating a hasty retreat. No??? You know the person at the door so when you say, ‘Jakita, lay down. Stay’, I am not supposed to move a muscle, until further command. Really, like REALLY?  Just lay down?  Everyone knows a dog laying down can not bark.  I got to go through my Policies and Procedures for All Creation.  I am sure Momma is wrong.

Okay, I got it.  It is okay to bark, say one woof, if it is legitimate, like the cat is on the table or wants outside or to sound an alarm if no one is expected but someone is here, say poking around in our garage. But Momma and Wonder Boy are Control Central.  I am to take the lead from them. Gotcha!

That leaves the annoying attention seeking behaviour.  I solemnly do swear I will cease and desist to the best of my ability.  If sometimes I forget, remind me.  After all I don’t run away any more.  I am perfectly house broken.  I try, I really try.

I mean, when I was a puppy, it was easier to resist training but now, with every breath in my body, I want to please  Momma and Wonder Boy. Their approval means everything to me.  And you know the best part of the Retraining Program?  It is the treats for performance.  So bring it on, Momma! Especially those Kitty Cat Temptations. They seem to awaken the beast…I mean, the best in me.

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.