The next day, the bag of chips lay flat and empty.
Mason got another scolding and was put outside in the yard again. When it came time for doggie treats, Mason didn’t get one bite. The next night after dinner, we cleaned the kitchen and wiped the counter clean.
Early the next morning, my son went to the bakery for pastries and jelly-filled donuts to surprise my daughter-in-law before she got out of bed. He tapped on my door. “Breakfast, Mom.”
The strawberry-filled pastries were heavenly. The dogs hovered around the table, drooling, with their noses twitching.
Later that evening, we closed and taped the boxes of pastries and donuts, stuck them in a plastic sack, and pushed them to the back of the counter.
That night, I read my novel until midnight. When I closed the book, I heard a noise like someone drumming his fingernails on something. Then, a soft tap sounded on my bedroom door.
I slipped on my robe, shuffled across the room, and opened the door. My daughter-in-law stood there with her index finger across her lips and motioned for me to follow her. I quietly followed her down the hall in my slippers. When we stuck our heads through the kitchen doorway, we caught the snack thief eating pastries and gobbling down donuts.
Max, who could barely walk because of his weight problem, had jumped onto an upholstered chair and climbed from there onto the counter.
Tammy brought in Mason and gave him a special treat for all the scolding he had undergone in Max’s stead. Mason was happy to accept a treat as an apology.
Max had a good thing going for him for a while. If we hadn’t seen that overweight dog on the counter, we would never have believed it.
~Marie Elizabeth Bast
Reprinted by permission of www.offthemark.com
Yoga Spirit
Fun fact: Classes in “doga” — yoga with dogs — are growing in popularity nationwide.
I was holding her bowl of food over her head. She danced around me, her twenty-two-pound body wiggling in excitement. “Say a prayer,” I commanded Spirit. Obediently, she barked out a prayer.
My daughter and I adopted Spirit, an energetic six-year-old white-and-chestnut Jack Russell–Terrier mix, from the local shelter when she was just four weeks old. We later wished that we had brought home her sister and her mama, too, but at the time we still had our Australian Shepherd, Sydney, who taught Spirit how to be a wonderful addition to our family before she passed on four years ago.
Spirit’s morning medley of hard-boiled egg, fresh carrots, black-eyed peas, corn, green beans, and cucumbers is quite the nourishing meal, but I was not ready for breakfast myself yet. First, I wanted to do yoga on the fuchsia mat in the other room. Before placing the lid back on the cucumbers, I grabbed a couple of slices. I had not slept well the night before, and my tired eyes were puffy. The cucumber slices might help reduce the swelling.
Taking my hair clip out and my glasses off, I lay back on the mat in the corpse pose with a cucumber slice on each eye. The cooling sensation was instantly soothing. Stretching my backbone on the floor, shoulders pressed down, arms out, palms up, I straightened my legs, relaxed my toes, and concentrated on calming my breath and quieting my mind.
I heard nails clicking on the tile floor, as Spirit came in from the kitchen to do yoga with me. Every day when I am on my yoga mat, she joins me and does some of the same stretch poses that I do, sometimes even simultaneously. Though she doesn’t hold the poses as long as I do, she keeps me quite amused.
The living room is carpeted, and I heard Spirit’s paw steps transition from tile to carpet. Lying on the mat with eyes closed, I flowed into a state of yoga stretch and relaxation.
I could sense Spirit standing close, hovering — a typical move she performs when she initially finds me on my mat. In one breath, her nose was at my face, a little sniff, a tender sensation on my cheek, and in a swift action, the cucumber slice upon my eye was snatched.
Opening my eyes, I caught Spirit nonchalantly chomping away as if I had handed her the cucumber. She finished the delectable cucumber and looked at me, as if waiting for something. In a sitting position now, I couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out in laughter. Spirit continued to stand beside me, eyeing the other cucumber slice I held in my hand.
“Geez, Spirit!” I chuckled. “You might as well have the other one, too.” I lay back down on the mat, placed the cucumber slice upon my eye, and in a sudden burst, Spirit moved in for the prize. No sniffing this time, just a delicate snatch and a wagging tail.
Upon finishing the cucumber slice, Spirit stretched out on her stomach and into the cobra pose. I followed suit and, together, we continued our yoga practice.
~Elizabeth Anne Kennedy
The Not-So-Long Down
Fun fact: The “long down,” during which a dog must remain in a down position for an extended period of time, teaches self-control and helps establish the human as the leader.
I am seated at the round kitchen table with my mixed-breed puppy Sneeks lying near my feet. You might not know it to look at me, but I’m actually doing homework.
You see, shortly after Sneeks joined our household, we signed her up for obedience class. Well, I suppose you could say that both Sneeks and I have been enrolled in the class. Since I have a tendency to be a soft touch, the training is helpful in establishing who gets to be the alpha dog. At least, that’s the theory.
In reality, the training hasn’t been a scintillating success in this regard, through no fault of the instructor. Beneath Sneeks’s shorthaired black-and-white coat beats the heart of a rebel, a born leader. A cross between a Border Collie and some kind of Terrier, she has been endowed with a combination of smarts and stubbornness, and is insistent about getting her way about certain things. The fact that she is saucy and impertinent in the process makes it hard not to laugh at her antics.
Today’s homework, with Sneeks a reluctant participant, is an exercise known as the “long down.” The objective is to teach the dog to lie obediently at one’s feet. Equipment needed: collar and leash. Method: get the dog to lie on the floor, then place your foot on the leash to restrain her in place until you release her.
Sounds simple, right?
Each time I have tried this exercise before today, Sneeks has put up a fuss, struggling mightily for several minutes before sulkily complying. Today, though, she settles right down, and I allow myself a few seconds of smug self-congratulation before immersing myself in an earnest study of the newspaper.
Moments later, I hear a noise that sounds suspiciously like the clicking of dog nails on a vinyl floor. I dismiss this because I can still feel the leash under my foot.
The sound persists, so I lift my head and survey the kitchen.
Sneeks is standing in the far corner of the room, defiantly staring me down. Dangling from her collar are six inches of lime-green nylon fabric leash. I look down. The remainder of the leash is under the table, including a section still — somewhat uselessly — pinned under my foot. It’s clear what she was doing while I thought she was demonstrating a newfound flair for obedience.
With a sigh, I begin to acknowledge that Sneeks may never master the “long down.” On the bright side, I have an excuse for our next obedience class.
The dog really did eat my homework.
~Lisa Timpf
Pumpkin Pie
Fun fact: A dog’s pregnancy is relatively short, usually between fifty-eight and sixty-five days. Thus, many of puppies’ organs, including the brain, aren’t fully developed at birth.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I looked out the kitchen window and laughed. Nine Golden Retriever puppies chased their sixty-pound mother across our fenced-in back yard, trying to nurse as they ran. The five-week-old pups had been on dry dog food for a week but still enjoyed frequent milk breaks. As a first-time mother, Chelsea was still unsure how to handle her large brood.
I stepped out the back door, and the harried mama skidded to a stop beside me on the patio. “What’s the matter, girl? Are they pestering you to death?”
I scratched her behind the ears. “I bet their teeth are sharp, too, aren’t they?”
Chelsea knocked away a persistent pup with her back foot and looked at me with imploring eyes.
“Sorry. I can’t bring them in. Not with eight people coming for Thanksgiving dinner.” I turned to go back into the house, and Chelsea tried to nose her way through the door. “No, you can’t come in either. I’m too busy, and you don’t behave well inside.”
A few hours later, with the pies baked and the smell of succulent turkey filling the kitchen, I glanced out the window again. This time, Chelsea was running backwards, the pumpkin-colored pups in hot pursuit.
I looked at my watch. Two hours until dinner. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to bring Chelsea in and give her a little break. I opened the back door and whistled. She streaked into the house before her tormentors could catch up. After settling her onto the laundry-room floor, I went to straighten up the bathrooms. I returned to the kitchen in time to see the pitiful, overworked mother with her paws on the counter, licking up the last of our pumpkin pie.
“Chelsea!” I grabbed her collar and shoved her outside, all sympathy for her plight gone.
Back in the kitchen, I searched the pantry, hoping I had another can of pumpkin. Green beans and English peas lined the shelves, but no pumpkin. Now what? My family doesn’t think it’s Thanksgiving without pumpkin pie. I jumped in the car and sped to the closest convenience store, expecting to find pumpkin sold out. Luckily, there was one can left.
As I mixed ingredients, I fumed over having to bake another pie with so many other things left to do. I should have known better than to bring Chelsea in. Slipping the new pie beside the roasting turkey, however, I remembered past holidays and what it felt like to have kids hanging onto my leg while I cooked and cleaned. Maybe I could identify a little with my beleaguered dog. But wait until everyone found out they almost missed out on pumpkin pie because of her!
I had just taken the pie out of the oven when our dinner guests walked through the door.
“Poor Chelsea,” my mom, the inveterate dog lover, said. “Those babies are chasing her all over the yard. Couldn’t you let her come in for a little while?”
I shook my head. “Not on your life, Mom. She’s already had her Thanksgiving dinner.”
~Tracy Crump
Understanding the Dog
Fun fact: Your shoes pick up plenty of interesting scents while you’re out and about, and dogs love to chew on them and sniff them to learn where you’ve been.
Bo an Alaska Husky
Was a boy of two
And even though he had his toys
It was shoes he liked to chew
He’d chew upon the leather
Then tuck them neatly away
As if it never happened
Fearing what I’d have to say
So one day while shopping
A pair of sneakers I did buy
Thinking this should cure the problem
They were only five ninety-five
The next day before leaving
I placed them on the floor
Goodbye, my little Bo
As I locked the old front door
The sneakers I did see
Without a scratch upon them
Near my chewed heels by Gucci
I’ve had it, Bo, I said,
Placing the leash around his neck
A new home is where you belong
While racing for the vet
I told the vet what happened
How Bo needed a new home
The vet looked sympathetic
Letting out a little groan
Bo chews upon your shoes
For the scent, it keeps him warm
The brand-new shoes you left him
Were shoes you had not worn
It’s your scent that keeps him happy
It’s your scent that I speak of
It’s your scent that he will search for
For it’s you that Bo loves
But I will take this dog from you
And find him a happy home
Although he will need time, you see
For he’ll miss you when alone
I suddenly felt panicked
As I grabbed upon the leash
He’s my dog, dear doctor
And it’s him I wish to keep
After getting home that night
With Bo at my side
I put on those new sneakers
And ran with him in pride
The next day while leaving
I patted Bo’s head
Leaving out the now worn sneakers
Following what the doctor said
The sneakers they were torn
But tears ran from my eyes,
For the laces he had adorned
Wrapped around his tiny paw
And held up to his nose
Was a lace he had been sniffing
As though it were a rose
Bo now is eight years old
And still to this day
He drags around those sneakers
Whenever I’m away
~Sylvia Macchia
My Heroic Dog
Fun fact: An eleven-year-old Golden Retriever named Bear was the first search-and-rescue dog to arrive after the World Trade Center attack on September 11, 2001.
Dolly, the Wonder Dog
Fun fact: Dogs for Diabetics trains dogs to recognize chemical changes in humans’ blood sugar and alert them to the possible onset of hypoglycemia (low blood sugar).
On a quick jaunt to Yuma, Arizona, we ended up at a motel due to a strong storm. The young couple that found refuge in the room below ours had a young Shih Tzu, a toy Pomeranian, and six of the cutest puppies you ever saw. The young wife came out of her room holding a little ball of dark brown and black fluff with the biggest eyes you ever saw. As we looked into one another’s eyes, I knew I had to have her!
My husband reminded me sternly that we already had one dog, a spoiled Poodle named Ruby. But Ruby was definitely his dog… and there was something about this little girl that caused me to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was meant to be mine. My husband argued against owning her all afternoon, and I gave in. Finally, he asked me if I really wanted that little pup, and I said, “Oh, honey, I already have her named!”
The dilemma was that she was not quite three weeks old, and we lived some 250 miles away. I finally convinced the couple, who were getting ready for the husband’s deployment to Afghanistan, that I could bottle-feed her and wean her onto solids myself.
We settled on a price and Dolly came home with us.
Feeding her, weaning her, and housebreaking her were the easy parts of our early life with her. Dolly loved me so much that she loved everything of mine — my shoes, my purses, and even my clothes! I used to shudder every time we walked into our home after being gone for more than a couple of hours. . . . I never knew what she would find and love (and chew) beyond repair!
Dolly is tiny, weighing only about six pounds, but she is a real powerhouse and knows how to get her own way. I know I should feed her only high-quality dog food, but when she looks up at me with her huge brown eyes, I can’t help but sneak her a tasty morsel or two.
She, like Ruby, has complete run of the house, including sleeping in our bed with us at night. Our bed is extraordinarily high, forcing me to use a little stool to climb onto it, but Dolly jumps and claws her way up until she is lying below my cheek with her head on my pillow.
My husband and grown children liked Dolly all right, but they believed she was “good for nothing but love” — a phrase I disagreed with every time I heard it. I would tell them that someday she would do something so amazing that “You’ll all be glad I brought this little girl home”! That fantastic act finally happened during the deep of night some weeks ago….
We live in the country on a mountainside in northe
rn Arizona. As a result, we keep our “girlies” in the house, letting them out only on a leash, or into their fenced and covered dog run. Coyotes, hawks, eagles, javelinas, snakes, mountain lions… we’ve had them all near our home, and these two little dogs would be a good “snack” for any of them.
Our “doggie door” is in our bedroom on the first floor, and we keep it closed after dark. The girls let us know if we need to let them out in the middle of the night. On this night in particular, Dolly indicated (I thought) that she needed to go out. I got up and opened the doggie door, but she wouldn’t go out. So I went back to bed and fell asleep quickly.
I felt her running up and down my torso as I slept and chose to ignore her, thinking since she didn’t need to go out, she’d give up sooner or later and settle down to sleep.
Suddenly, she jumped right on my face with all fours! As I swung my arm to move her off my face, I noticed that the pillow next to me was sopping wet. Thinking she had urinated in our bed, something she had never done, I got up to check the damage.
It was then that I noticed my husband’s arm on that sopping wet pillow, cold, clammy, and drenched with sweat. I lifted his forearm, trying to wake him, but it dropped limply back onto the pillow as I let go.
In a panic, I jumped down off the bed and ran around to his side. I could smell his breath as I leaned over him. . . a sweet, almost sickening aroma. Having been a first-aid instructor for several years, my training kicked in immediately, and I recognized that my husband was in a diabetic coma. I tested his blood sugar, and it was dangerously low.
Having no juice in the house in which to add sugar nor any glucose tablets, I shoved candy into his mouth, stirring him into a somewhat conscious state, and then continued giving him sugar and monitoring his glucose level. It took nearly an hour for his level to come up to a number we could live with, and Dolly stayed right at his head as if she were also monitoring him.
When morning came and my husband was truly stable, we both realized that if Dolly hadn’t forced me to wake up, my husband might very well have died in those hours.