Dog Park Dust

I think dog park dust would be a good name for a band. Here is a photo of one of the semi-regulars, Brady, a Great Dane, modeling the latest dog park accessory, a fine coating of dog park dust.

Hugo Comes Back

This morning Hugo came in to sit on my lap while Ray was sleeping in Gregg's chair. He didn't stay long, I think he was testing the waters to see how the hound would react. It's the first time in MONTHS that that has happened. I've been really, really trying to get Ray to calm down around Hugo and I think maybe (fingers crossed) it's paying off.

Ray in Gregg's Chair

Hugo Getting a Bellyrub

My Lapdog

Jack-in-the-yard

Amber, Ray's foster mom, sent me more photos of Jack who is still in need of a home. So if anyone out there has a need for a personable, handsome, Jack Russell Terrier, please contact Amber at

liparifam@gmail.com

You Don't Bring Me Flowers

A lot of the time, when I've been out and about and have returned home, Ray will show that he is excited to see me by greeting me a the door with a rawhide in his mouth. He wants to play keepaway. I'm never sure if that's just his way to show me that he is happy or if it's his way to show me that I'm missing all the fun when I leave. If I stayed home I would get to play games. A kind of reminder, "See, if you were here, we could do this ALL the time."

Yesterday, when I returned home after meeting my BFF for a spot of impromptu shopping, Ray ran outside all excited and came to the back door with this in his mouth. It's a rawhide bone AND a rhododendron branch. I'm not sure if he thought he was bringing me flowers but I appreciated the thought, so I chased him around the yard for awhile. When a dog is right, he's right. I was missing out on some fun.

It's Official...

...Ray doesn't like fireworks. They were going off everywhere last night. Big displays on the corner of our street, the street behind us, all around. Gregg and I made sure we were home before things started heating up. I settled in on the couch with Ray laying on my feet.

The first big salvo of firecrackers brought Ray off the couch in a bound, yelling. I petted him and talked calmly and told him everything was all right. Back to the couch. For the next explosion, Ray raised his head and gave a menacing growl and a woof. Pet, talk calmly, everything is all right. After that, Ray didn't bother to raise his head, just lay there on my feet, growling whenever a boom disturbed him. Like an old man grumbling that the noise was keeping him awake. I continued my regimen of petting and talking calmly.

When I finally headed upstairs to bed (9:30 - I was tired from getting up at 4:00 three mornings in a row), Ray followed me. He jumped up on the bed and continued to growl a bit here and there. Gregg came up to get him after the fireworks had calmed down. When I went downstairs at 10:30 to get some water, Ray was sprawled out in his bed, as usual, sound asleep. Obviously worn out from keeping the house safe from democracy.

A Guard Dog is Born on the 4th

The 4th started with a bang, so to speak. At 4:45 a.m., Gregg and I were levitated out of our bed by Ray barking. I was so disoriented after being woken out of a deep sleep, that for a moment, I thought the bark came from outside. But it was so loud! But it sounded like it was coming from outside! Maybe the noise had traveled out a window downstairs and come in our window upstairs. Maybe Ray was throwing his voice like a voice thrower. Maybe I was just delirious from lack of sleep...

Gregg rolled out of bed and headed downstairs. I heard him say "Ray! Quiet!" but I could hear Ray growling and then another ear-splitting bark followed by more growls. I followed Gregg downstairs. He opened the sliding back door and Ray went out. AAAAAarrooOOOOOOO. I saw a flashing light out of the corner of my eye and saw a work truck with a cherry-picker kind of arm attached to it, idling in front of our house. "There's a truck in front of our house," I said to Gregg. He went to have a look. "It's the cable guy," said Gregg. AAAArroooooOOOOO. Ray went off again. "It's alright, Ray," I said. Ray growled one more time and went off to pee. "I'll wait for him," I said to Gregg, "Go back to bed." Gregg yawned and dragged himself back upstairs. I waited for the hound, listening to the cable guy working at the box in the front yard. There was a faint sound of some kind of electronic device, while the guy worked. What a job, I thought to myself.

I looked for my shoes, ready to take off outside at the first hint of another bark, but Ray, satisfied that we were alert to the danger of pre-dawn raids by cable technicians, had moved on to other things. He meandered around the yard sniffing, while I waited, yawing.

The Dirt on Dogs

I'm always amazed at how much dirt a dog drags into the house. Today I swept the kitchen floor in preparation to wash it. I went to the garage to get the dustpan and brush to sweep up the hill (small mountain) of dirt that I had collected. By the time I got back to the kitchen, Ray had come in from outside and was splayed out in the middle of the kitchen floor, panting. I was grateful that he had not, as is to be expected, laid in my pile of dirt. There was, however, a rather substantial trail of leaf debris and other yard oddments leading from the sliding glass door to where he was laying in the kitchen.

I swept up my dirt pile, dumped it in the trash, then used the brush to gently sweep bits of leaves and sticks off of my dog. Ray, disgusted at being disturbed, got up, walked into the living room, and collapsed with his usual put-upon groan. I grabbed my bucket and mop and quickly washed the kitchen floor. By the time the floor was dry, it needed to be swept again.