TA DA

Julie Hart, artiste extraordinaire, has finished Ray's painting. It's amazing.

Just Once More, PLEASE

"Can you walk Halle for me Friday?" asked Halle's grandma, Deborah. "Sure," I replied, "Happy to do it."

So Ray and I headed over to Halle's house around lunchtime. We entered. I looked around. No Halle (some watchdog she is). I called out, "Halle! Halle!" No sound.

Ray was excited to be there. I held on to his leash tightly to keep him from banging into things as we walked into the living room for a look-around. No Halle. Not in the kitchen, not in the room off the kitchen. We walked to the bottom of the stairs. "Halle!" I called.

Nothing.

"Halle," I called again, "Your boyfriend is here!"

There was thump as Halle hit the floor (sleeping on a bed?). I looked up the stairs to see her skitter to a stop at the top, then come stumbling down the stairs at a high rate of speed, her tail wagging furiously. Obviously the idea of a boy in the house while no one was home was vastly appealing.

When Halle reached the bottom of the stairs (I was watching to make sure she didn't fall down, she was coming so fast), I turned to see Ray (literally) nose-to-nose with one of Deborah's five cats. The cat wasn't afraid, just curious. Ray was sniffing interestedly, his ears deployed in ULTRA Dumbo mode. Finally, he'd gotten close enough to a cat to get a good smell. I watched on high alert. I knew what was coming next and I was ready for it.

Ray leapt back about a foot with stiff front legs, ready to let out his rebel yell. I grabbed his snout so he couldn't do it. The cat looked confused for a brief moment then wisely retreated to under a table. Ray was practically hysterical with excitement. I dragged him to the back door where Halle was waiting patiently to go out. I managed to get a collar on her and get Ray out the door.

Ray dragged me and Halle the whole way around the block, he was so anxious to get back to his newfound friend. This time, though, I didn't let him into the house. When we got back, I made Ray SIT, turned Halle loose inside, hung her leash on the hook next to the door and backed out. Halle was looking at us with a seriously disappointed look on her face. But it was nothing compared to Ray's disappointment at not being allowed to sniff the cat one more time.

The Return of Bad Ray

The blind dog was playing with an avocado in the front hall. (If I had a dime for every time I've seen that sentence ...). I'd just been to the store and had deposited two of them on the kitchen counter. One of them was now in the front hall with dog tooth marks in it.

Murphy has been gone for a week and Ray has reverted to his old bad habits. I've been painting most of the downstairs all week long and Ray has not been helping. I've tried to keep him well-exercised but it just doesn't seem to work without Murphy in the mix. Monday was OK. We went to the dogpark for an hour and a half and Ray ran the whole time. And it was sunny and warm so he could sleep stretched out in the sun in the backyard for the rest of the day.

But Tuesday it was rainy and cold. Ray slept until noon, then woke up and started to whine. And then he started to GET INTO THINGS. Even after a long walk, he was antsy. He ate a roll of painters tape (well, he chewed it enough so that I can't get a piece of tape off of it, just a piece of a piece of tape), chewed on the handle of his new dog brush, picked a dirty swiffer out of the trash and shredded it to bits, chewed the handle of a screwdriver. Just walked around picking random things up off tables to chew on them.

Wednesday I worked so Ray went to school (daycare). I was hoping being there a whole day would tire him enough so that he would be fairly good on Thursday. But my hope was misplaced.

Thursday was more of the same. I had to keep an eye cocked the whole day to keep him out of trouble. At one point I heard rummaging from above. Visions of tasseled loafers made me bolt for stairs but Ray had just gotten lost in my studio. He was stuck behind the sewing machine and couldn't find his way out.

Friday was the worst. Even with an hour at the dogpark playing with Bacci, Ray wasn't tired. I spent a whole lot of time listening to the whining and taking things away from him. The avocado was the culmination of a long day.

I need to find him a new Murphy. Stat.

An Old Friend Returns

Today when Ray and I went to the dogpark, we were late. Usually we get there around 9 a.m. and we know most of the dogs present, but today we didn't get there until about 10. There were only two people there with their dogs. One I recognized right away, a chocolate Lab named Rollo (after the candy) and his owner (who's name I don't know). Lately, Rollo is Ray's favorite playfellow when he goes to daycare. I guess it's because they know each other from the dogpark. Rollo's owner and I can't get them to play together when they are actually at the dogpark (Ray just wants to chase Rollo and yell at him as he chases a ball), but apparently, when Ray and Rollo are at daycare, it's a totally different story.

The other dog at the park was a Husky. He looked a bit familiar but I didn't think too much of it until Ray started to yell, then the Husky started to sing (Husky's don't bark, they just wrooo wrooo). The more Ray yelled, the louder the Husky sang.

I got closer to his owner.

"Is that Ray?" she asked.

"It is," I replied recognizing the Husky's owner's accent. "Is that Bacci?" We used to see Bacci at the park all the time. He was one of the few dogs that Ray liked to play with.

"Yes," replied Maria, "I thought that was Ray, but I wasn't sure until he started barking. We haven't seen him in a long time."

"Does Bacci howl like that all the time?" I asked.

"He howls," Maria said, "but not like that. He only does that when Ray is around." Maria had her cellphone out and was trying to get a video of Bacci's song. He was really going to town.

Ray and Bacci started to play. Ray rarely plays with any of the dogs at the park. He is too busy doing what he was bred to do, chasing and yelling. The dogs were having a great time. I stood by dumbfounded as Bacci, being true to his name ('Kiss' in Italian) tried to get a bit, uh, romantic with Ray. Ray, who NEVER puts up with that kind of thing from ANY other dog, stood calmly by while Bacci licked Ray's ear and snuggled him. Then they were off, racing around and wrestling. Seeing my opportunity and thinking of the huge hole left by Murphy's move, I asked Maria if she lived anywhere near me and if she would be interested in bringing Bacci over for playdates. We swapped phone numbers and promised each other to be in touch.

Oh my gosh! It's been so long! How've you been?

Ray Discovers the Promised Land

"Hey Ken!" I yelled, "Did you find the owner of that stray dog?" There had been an incredibly clueless stray happily weaving his way down the middle of the busy street through our neighborhood. I had been walking Ray and couldn't catch it, and many motorists had stopped but couldn't catch it either. I had been close to Ken's house and had started towards it to see if he had a treat to lure the dog, when a woman in a minivan stopped me to say that she thought the dog lived at the end of the closest cul-de-sac. She drove off just as Ken came out of his house with a leash. But by this time the dog was headed on down to the next street. I told Ken what was going on then took off in pursuit. By the time I reached the next street, the dog was nowhere to be seen.

Ray and I went home.

About 15 minutes later, I got a call from Ken. "Where did you say that dog lived?" he asked, "I caught it and put it in my back yard."

I told him what the woman had told me.

So the next day when Ray and I were walking around the block and we saw Ken working in his yard, we stopped to find out what had happened. "I took him to the house you told me and it wasn't their dog but they knew where he lived so I was able to take him home," explained Ken. "Do you want to let Ray in the back to play with Miko?" he asked.

Ken has an old Husky that is going blind. Ray loves Miko but Miko tends to be more than a little indifferent to Ray.

I looked in the backyard. There was a deck, but it only had a couple of steps down to the ground, an old swing-set (Ken's kids are grown and gone so it was OLD. It looked like one that we had had in our back yard when I was a kid), and a shed. It didn't look too treacherous for a blind dog.

"Sure," I said.

Ray and I entered the yard. I kept Ray on his leash while he sniffed interestedly around the deck. When he got to the edge, I said, "Step DOWN." Ray put out a tentative paw but couldn't reach the ground so his legs started to tremble a bit. "Step DOWN, Ray," I said again. Ray decided to try a different part of the deck to see if it was safer. Miko followed us and went down the two steps to the yard. "Step DOWN," I said again to Ray. Ray put out his paw a bit farther this time and touched the next step. Then down to the ground. I let him off his leash and watched him pick around the fenceline while Ken went to fetch us some homemade lemonade.

When Ray reached the fence at the far end of the yard all hell broke lose. Rambo, a jaunty little buff-colored dog with a curly tail, started hurling insults. He was immediately joined by a teeny tiny chihuahua mix, a big greyhound mix named Comet, and an old Pomeranian named Harley (I think I'm missing someone but can't quite remember). Ray took the insults for about a minute then started yelling back.

Ken came out with the lemonade, a look of mild astonishment on his face. "Which one is making that noise?" he asked, looking at his neighbor-dogs. (His neighbor is active in a local rescue society and Rambo and Harley are foster-dogs). "Why, that's RAY!" exclaimed Ken, his look of astonishment giving way to a look of deep amusement. "I hear him barking all the time and I've been blaming Ralph (Ken's neighbor) and this whole time it's been Ray!"

I laughed. Ralph came out of his house and picked up Harley who continued to snarl and bark. I picked up Ray's front feet so that he could get closer to Harley. Ray was trying to lick the small dog who was trying to bite Ray's nose. "I don't think he likes you Ray," I told my hound as I let his feet back down. Ralph put Harley down. Harley was trying to attack Ray through the fence. Ray was trying to get over to the other yard to play with all his new friends. Rambo was still going crazy. The teeny tiny chihuahua mix was adding his two cents. Comet, a friend of Ray's, had gone back into the house.

I pulled Ray away from the fence. Ralph carried Harley away. Rambo calmed down. The teeny tiny chihuahua mix continued to bark sporadically, then wandered away too.

Ken and I chatted for awhile while Ray headed back to the fence. All his new friends were gone. He dejectedly came back to the deck. I took my dog and we went home. But now every time we get near Ken's house, Ray's tail starts wagging and he puuuullllllllls at his leash to get to the promised land. All those dogs in one yard, just a block away. Like his own private dog park. If only he could get to them....

Poor Ray

Murphy (and Josh and Rachel) moved last weekend.

How long do you think it will be before Ray stops trying to drag me down the street to her house every time we go out for a walk?

Washday

One of the many things I like about Ray is that he is a demonstrative dog. Not a wag-his-tail-happy-to-see-me demonstrative but the kind of demonstrative that makes me feel fine about spending an entire day giving Ray a bath, washing dog bedding, mending the dog bed, washing the blankets in the dog bed, washing the pillows that Ray curled up on when he was still damp from his bath, washing the afghan that I had to cover him with because he was shivering, restuffing his bed cushion, and putting his bed back together. After all of that, the minute I had his nice clean bed put back together, Ray, who never sleeps in his bed until it is bedtime, went right over to it, dug around a little to fluff things up just the way he likes them, turned a few circles, and then went right to sleep.

It made me feel appreciated. What a good dog.

Ahhh, I love the smell of clean sheets