Boys Weekend

I've been uneasy for the past day or two and I think I've deduced the cause of said uneasiness. It all began when I noticed that my mom was packing. Now we all know how that distresses me, I have serious issues related to abandonment. I can't even handle it when my mom goes to get the mail, upon her return I'm literally leaping with excitement! So thrilled that she has come back as she promised.  I wonder endlessly where my mom is going, why I can't join her and if she will ever come back.

It's also come to my attention that my uncle Dave will be watching me for the duration my mom is away.  I find that intriguing to say the least, seeing as he isn't what I would call a 'dog person.'  I really really like him a lot though, I adore following him around the house sometimes (i.e. when my mom is gone) and his tennis bag provides an endless supply for smelly tangy things to chew on.  Plus he's brought me on a few car rides (which makes my mom nervous because he takes me out in the extreme heat - don't worry though, he opens the windows).  Furthermore, he takes me on walks and feeds me human food.  So realistically, what is there not to like?  I can only imagine the fun we will engage in.  I haven't had a boys weekend in a really long time so I hope he has things planned, maybe play some card games and watch action flicks while drinking beer my Uncle Joe brews in his garage. Below for your viewing pleasure is a video of some of the fun he and I will be getting into while my lame constantly worrying mother is out of town.

 In other news, I think I may have unintentionally joined a gang.  Mom brought me over to my Aunt Phoebe's parents house where I found FOUR other dogs of all shapes and sizes.  It proved to be a very tense situation as one of the gang members (and arguably the gang leader) is Mick, my arch nemesis.  Things were going ok at first.  Milo and one of the boxers Ellie and I were playing - I think I was asserting my dominance in a very efficient manner.  I don't go about in the traditional sense, thats just not what a gentlemen does.  Instead I hoarded toys, more of my typical M.O.  Anyhow, as I perceive it I was climbing the ranks extremely quickly, just knocking them down a peg one by one. Until Mick walked in.  At first we played and I have to say, what really was going on was a passive aggressive power struggle masked in a game of tug of war.  Then, at some point Mick launched himself at me and before I knew it I was engaged in the second fight of my life! (See "Walk the Walk, Talk the Talk" for prior fighting incident).  Before we could really latch our fierce underbites into one another both of our respective moms bellowed our names and grabbed us, hoisting us both into the air.  It was humiliating.  And just like that my time in the gang was over, it was the coolest hour of my life. 

The Gang. 

Finally, I've noticed my mom has been a bit down lately and I realized why.  She's been slyly submitting my photos to various animal blogs and websites that request a picture of a 'super adorable puppy.'  Needless to say my photos have not been selected.  Now my ego isn't affected in the slightest, I know how fantastic I am and in reality, those websites/blogs are a joke so I wouldn't want my photo on them anyway - bad PR.  Mom however takes it very personally.

Life of The Famous and Fabulous (Me)

Not many of us have the opportunity to be famous and truthfully, I didn't even realize I was famous until just this past monday. I'm sure you're thinking to yourself, "was he recognized on the street?" "Did someone ask for his paw print?" Or perhaps a photo with him? Did someone name their first born child after him? The answers to all of these queries is no and the reality of what occurred is far more fabulous. I have a stalker. Her name is Lizzy and shes moonlighting as my moms friend, clearly as a means to get closer to me. Let me be more specific. The other night my mom went out to dinner with two friends from her college days. She met them at the Cheesecake Factory (side note: there's no menu that stresses my mom out more than the Cheesecake Factory. She'd like to point out that there is no congruence or obvious theme in the menu, instead of specializing they choose to make everything under the sun and refer to them all as 'Specialties.' She finds that frustrating.) Anyhow, mom went to dinner and hours later returned with Lizzy. Lizzy walked in and immediately gushed about how thrilled she was to meet me and how she was surprised - she partially expected to find me hard at work at my desk, with my reading glasses slipping down my nose and my face buried in my work. A very likely possibility, however she would have had to come earlier in the day to find me engaged in such activity. She walked in during my leisure time. So after gushing over how fabulous I am she sat with my mom and they chatted. I read right through it though, she had her eyes on me the whole time so naturally I played the part. I chewed aggressively on my bone and threw my own toys and subsequently retrieved them. The saddest part of it all? My mom actually thought Lizzy was there to see her! I just can't get over it, that poor woman.

My fabulous life.

Now I know what you're thinking, be careful Diggy! Women like Lizzy can lose it and go over the edge. Before you know it she'll be stealing pieces of your fur and making a tiny tiny pair of mittens out of it. And I say to that, I accept what consequences come my way - its part of fame.

A Follow Up on My Guest..And Some Unrelated Material

 


Well readers, I feel I must apologize for my guest blogger.  I was under the pretense that her post would be intellectually stimulating, a comment on international affairs, a prediction for the 2012 election, her thoughts on the current economic state of our country, and the question on everyones mind - will Nadal regain his #1 position after his loss at Wimbledon? I in no way could anticipate that instead she would share the love sick poetry of a young, infatuated, silly silly girl.

The fourth of July really was something. The ride down took 3 hours, 3 luxurious hours spent laying on an enormous dog bed that took up the entire back seat.  Every once and a while I'd crawl into the front seat to sit on my mom's cousins lap so she could stroke my head.  I'd also occasionally rest my head on the space between the front seats so that I could stare at my mom better.  The trip was a whirlwind.  I've never been somewhere where the rules applied to the outdoors essentially apply to the indoors as well.  There were sticks EVERYWHERE, and I. adore. sticks.  Sticks to tug on, sticks to chew on, sticks to eat, sticks to steal from Fiona (of course stealing implies it was difficult and of course it wasn't - given that she fell in love with me instantly).  I was allowed on all furniture, sprinting at full speed was tolerated and I even peed to mark my territory and didn't get in trouble! (Though mom squawked at me and again uttered under her breath how humiliated she was - please, if I had a nickel). The fun didn't stop there, Fiona and I played tug of war for easily 8 hours over a 48 hour period. Even though she outweighs me by at least 30 pounds, I prevailed nearly every time.  I also ate the eyes off of her favorite Bear which I'm very remorseful about.

Every day we were there I got to go on really really long walks, always with my mom and Fiona and/or  Rum Gum, and their respective mothers.  We trotted through the fields and the woods and at some point I contracted poison ivy which I promptly transferred to my mother's sensitive skin by sitting on her shorts-clad legs. She was not pleased, but also unsurprised.

While Fiona is a victim of her own girlish ways, I must say her birthday party was just too much fun and I was overjoyed to be there celebrating with her.  I love creeks, the wilderness and outdoorsy things that smell bad. AND I finally got to have frosty paws which were delicious but sadly unsettling to my stomach if you know what I mean.  Though that didn't stop me from eating mine and finishing Rum-Gums.

Anyhow, the fourth of July was fantastic and I truly truly enjoyed myself.  While I have been working on my dexterity, my handwriting isn't quite where I would like it or else I'd send the clan a thank-you card.  This post will have to do.  And to my dear Fiona, I love you too - even if we are related.

Exhausted after the birthday party. 

Mom giving me swimming advice 

FINALLY.

In other news, I've been spending some time at my Aunt Phoebe's house with her dog Milo.  I also love their house because just about anything and everything I find can be consumed or converted into a toy.  I could easily get lost for hours in the various bedrooms full of delicious nick-nacks, laundry carelessly strewn about the floor, and tissues spilling out of the trash can.  My favorite room isn't a room so much as a cabinet which contains Milo's food, dog toys, dog bones, dog leashes and bags.  The other night while mom and her friends had dinner and drank wine over a game of Apples to Apples I ventured into this cabinet and set up shop.  About 15 minutes later I heard mom yelling for me, but I didn't come.  I heard Aunt Phoebe yell for me, but I didn't come.  I heard my mom yell that she was leaving and still, I didn't come.  She searched the whole house and I heard her frantically ask the girls whether one had opened the front or back door, they hadn't.  It was about that moment that Aunt Phoebe opened the cabinet to find my face in Milo's dog food bag with a leash tangled around my leg.  You can imagine my mom's reaction.

Fiona’s Lament (Or, Ode to a Hot Diggety Dog)

By Fiona Shapiro-Harrington, Guest Blogger 


My cousin Rummy lay napping away, though the dog days had clearly arrived.
The humans stared stupidly into that window where people are much smaller sized.

I offered a stick to my wire-haired cuz; she remained aloof and imperious.
I prowled the house for bugs to pursue, but even they seemed too serious.

So with a loud sigh I dropped on the mat, set eyes on the fields and the fog.
In moments, though, came a blast from above; it was raining cats and dogs.

(Well, dogs.)

Thunder clapped, torrents whooshed, but through it all I could hear
A crunch of gravel, the growl of an engine, something drawing near.

Was I saved by this wind change?
Would this dog have her day?
Hope swelled like a tide in my hackles.

Woof-woof-woof-woof!
Woof-woof-woof-woof!
Would I soon break free of my shackles?

The car, now in front, was not one I knew, but still my tail moved like a dart.
And when the door opened, the tempest outside strode straight into my heart.

Love struck, I was, from the moment he strutted, the moment he peed on my floor.
(Later, I’d try to impress the same way, but when I weewee humans get sore.)

“Fiona,” my mother warned, “steer clear of Diggy. I’m afraid he is your first cousin.”
But no advice, no sensible words, would change the state I was in.

I shared all my sticks—a collection I cherish—my bear I let him dismember.
We tugged on socks, our jaws almost touching; I could stay that way till September.

My hedgie was his hedgie, my Frisbee, my kong; my kibble became his kibble.
We swatted at stinkbugs and tossed around rawhides (till Rummy and I had a quibble).

And just when I thought it couldn’t get better, for my birthday we were driven
To my favorite river, to my favorite rocks, where Frosty Paws we were given.

And then he was gone, as quickly as he came, off with the human named Emery.
And here I am, alone with my thoughts, my fears, my doubts, my memories.

Does he cherish, too, our 4th of July? Does he pine over me, as I him?
Or am I too young, or maybe too tall? Does he prefer a girl who can swim?

I’ll wait, and I’ll hope, love wide as an ocean.
‘Til then, oh, Diggy, we’ll always have Goshen.