First Christmas

Sammer had his very first Christmas on Saturday. This time last year, he was still a pup in his mom's belly, preparing to be born, getting kicked in the head by eight other brothers and sisters. I'd say this Christmas was much improved for him.

Sam had been smelling his stocking all week and was a tad overeager when it was finally time to see what was inside it.

Stocking time!

Both boys got a toy and a rawhide pack in their stockings. Marcus' toy was a raccoon and Sam's was a skunk. The rawhides were from me and the toys were from Mom--if I had picked them I wouldn't have given Sam a black and white furry toy the same size as Marcus, because Sam already thinks Marcus is a toy half the time, and I'm sure this is only confusing him further.

 What's in there? Hurry up!

The one thing Sam did realize, though, was that his mouth is roughly four times as big as Marcus', and that meant he could keep his own toy and steal Marcus' raccoon at the same time. Sam wasted no time in acting on this discovery and was soon parading around the Christmas tree with both toys in his mouth while Marcus hovered at his heels, nipping futilely at the trailing tails.

Nyah nyah na boo boo!

Eventually we got the toys away from Sam by tempting him with his rawhide, and Marcus swooped in to grab his raccoon and spirit it away to his lair in the corner with the rest of his toy collection. (Marcus tends to guard his toys from Sam pretty vehemently, but Sam's so much bigger than him that he just takes them back without giving the snarling Marcus a second thought.)

Want.... rawhide... must.... have... NOW....

Gimme the rawhide already!

The boys settled down to chew their respective Christmas loot for the rest of the morning. The toys were de-squeaked in about two hours, and the only reason they lasted that long was because Sam was busy with his rawhide. Marcus' rawhides are gone now, and Sam's has been reduced in size by half and licked clean of all its beef flavor. All in all a good first Christmas for a pair of goofy doggers, don't you think?

One of Those Days

You know you're in for one of those days when you wake up and go to the kitchen to let the dogs out and find this waiting for you:

We didn't do it...

Hoppy Holidays

This morning I let the dogs out as usual, walked down to get the paper, then went about feeding and watering the two bottomless pits. (Well, Marcus is more of a bottomless divot; the only time Sam has ever turned down food has been when he's terrified of a baby gate.)

Halt, toad! Who goes there?

Today a new curiosity awaited the boys, however: a toad had taken up residence in their water dish. I pointed him out to Sam, who seemed thoroughly flummoxed by the intruder, while Marcus wasn't the least bit interested. Sam kept sniffing the toad as it swam feebly around the water dish; when that failed to produce any results, he started pawing at the ground around the dish. What his goal was with this, I have no idea, but it seemed to make him happy, and after a moment he was digging at the ground around the dish with glee while the toad watched balefully from the water.

Sam's digging for fossils

At this point, I scooped the toad out and tossed him into some nearby leaves, which thankfully stopped Sam's digging. He's already inexplicably begun a hole on the edge of the driveway, which he keeps digging up every time we fill it in, and one giant hole in the yard is quite enough. Sam sniffed after the toad in the leaves for awhile, then gave him up as a bad job and went to find a stick.

Sam Size

Sam got an early Christmas present last night. Dad got him a box of milkbones--but not just any box. A fourteen pound box.

And where did Dad find such a Sam-size box of milkbones? Where else... Sam's Club. Sams look out for each other, you know.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

School is officially over for me until January, so it's time to get back to blogging! I've been at work making the boys Christmas presents (Marcus' is done; Sam's is in the works), and I already embroidered some stockings to hang over the fireplace for them:

Happy Christmas!

Here's hoping Santa likes milkbones!

My Poor Foot Never Stood a Chance

Sam and Marcus really like the couch. By default, they also really like anyone and anything that's on the couch with them.

Sometimes this takes a violent turn.



It wasn't enough that I dropped the whole Christmas tree on my foot earlier this week, but now I've got two dogs fighting over who gets to chew on my foot first. I think steel-toed slippers are in order.

Couch Playhouse

With the temperature dropping, I've been utilizing the two best feet-warmers in the house--not socks, not blankets, but doggers. Sam takes up half the couch when he's on it, so he's usually good to lay on my legs and keep my lower body warm, while Marcus usually stretches out across my stomach or under my chin and keeps my upper body warm. And we all three get to share a nap on the couch. It's win-win-win!

Of course, these two don't just immediately settle down for a nap when you bring them out to the couch. No, first they have to play and wrestle and make use of the couch's playhouse properties. Sam will take the high ground, and Marcus will bark at him and sprint around the living room, then leap up and attack. Sam will drag him down, and they'll wrestle on the floor a bit, and play chase around the living room chairs, and then back to the couch. Today they discovered that they could both play tug with my sweatshirt sleeves while I was still in them, which was not fun for me. But eventually they tuckered out, and almost as though there were an unspoken signal, they both passed out at once.

We had a nice nap. They boys are outside now, and I'm trying to figure out how to stop my face and hair from smelling like Marcus-breath, which it currently does. And since Marcus has a bit of a respiratory infection, that is not a pretty smell. My feet smell like Sam, but since Sam got sprayed with sugar cookie grooming scent at puppy class last night, that just means my feet smell like cookies. Hooray!

Happy December!

It's the first day of December and the first chilly day of the season in Jacksonville. Sam went to the vet this afternoon to get his ears checked again (Sam's got major allergies that give him rashes/runny noses/itchy paws/goopy ears), and he's currently weighing in at a whopping 99.4 pounds. That means if he grows another half pound, he'll hit triple digits!

Speaking of which, I didn't get any responses for the weight guessing game, so I'll just guess on my own. I'm pretty sure this is one of those things where I think it's way more interesting than readers do. I'm guessing Sam will be somewhere around 103 pounds by January 9, and I think he'll end up in the 105-110 range once he stops growing. A respectable size for a rhino, I think.

Sam also went to week two of puppy school tonight, and did well as always. It's technically not puppy school anymore, since it's an advanced obedience class, but Sam's still a puppy so I'm calling it puppy school. At the beginning and end of class he got off-leash playtime with his classmate Cooper, a golden retriever, and Sam had a blast. You could definitely tell it was a relief for him to play with another dog that wouldn't break as easily as Marcus does if you step on him. Which Sam does. Often.

Speaking of Marcus, he spent a good ten minutes running up to where Sam was sitting with me on the couch, crouching down and barking, then taking off and sprinting around the living room, circling back to the couch, and repeating the entire process. Sam just cocked his head and stared at him as though thinking, "What on earth is this weird squirrel up to now?" Eventually Marcus got tired of trying to make Sam chase him and jumped up next to him on the couch--at which point Sam promptly sat on him, and Marcus was lost to the bowels of the couch until I could move Sam and pull up the cushion to save him.

No pictures today unfortunately--I know, posts with words instead of pictures are such a drag--but school will be over for me by this time next week and I promise to do some serious holiday blogging during winter break. After all, it'll be the boys' first Christmas! I made them stockings last week and they'll be hung over the fireplace this weekend for Santa to fill with rawhides and squeaky toys. Christmas is only 24 days away! Happy holidays!

Do the Coooool Whip!

The last of the Thanksgiving pie was polished off today, and with it the tub of Cool Whip that naturally goes with pie. The Mother, to my semi-amusement, semi-dismay, decided to let the dogs lick the empty Cool Whip container clean. I don't think it was healthy for them, but they did share remarkably well:

Brothers sharing

And of course, they both had Cool Whip faces afterward, which was pretty funny.

Sam's Cool Whip face lasted only a few seconds


Marcus' tongue couldn't reach all of his face
to lick, so his Cool Whip face lasted much longer

Sam did have a good first Thanksgiving, though. He got turkey skin and some gravy mixed into his kibble, which he scarfed down immediately. And then he got to finish Marcus' gravy-kibble, since Marcus didn't like it. What dog doesn't like gravy? The only food Sam has ever turned down has been sushi, and that's because he didn't understand the salmon. (He also doesn't understand apples, but he still tries.)

And no, I'm not feeding my dog horrible people food all the time. Sam's diet is 90% big boy kibble (aka large breed puppy chow), 5% milkbones, and 5% scraps. Usually the scraps are meat- or carb-based, but occasionally I'll let him try something random like a piece of apple or spinach. He actually liked the spinach, oddly enough. I know what foods are dangerous for him, and he doesn't get enough of them to affect him, anyway. This kid is bordering 100 pounds; I don't think one french fry's gonna kill him.

Sam vs Marcus

Ever since these two boys have begun playing, there have been some epic battles in the kitchen. Sam and Marcus are both very vocal players, so when they start wrestling, they make a huge racket.

They try to play tug of war, but that tends to be a little one-sided, since Sam can sling Marcus around like a rag doll.



So usually they just wrestle, with Marcus finding an easily-defensible position in a corner or in someone's lap, and Sam trying to fit Marcus' whole head in his mouth.



What knuckleheads.

One Year Weight Contest

Time for the weight-guessing contest to begin!

As of last week, Sam weighed 97 pounds. If you can correctly guess how much he will weigh on his first birthday, January 9, 2011, you'll win! I'm not quite sure what you'll win yet, but it will be Sam-themed and therefore awesome.

To submit your guess, click on the comment button underneath this post and write in your answer. It will be posted anonymously unless you're logged in to a google account, so include a name or nickname to get credit for your guess! All guesses are due by December 1, 2010.

Happy guessing!

Wrong End

Sam has always considered himself a lap dog, despite the fact that I only have twenty pounds on him anymore. He likes to sit with me on the couch, and by sit with me, I mean sit on me, and by sit on me, I mean lay completely backwards so his butt is literally on top of my face.

No, this is not the first time this has happened. And I fear it won't be the last.

Argh! Dog-butt-face!

Also, Sam is a perennial sock thief. Just so you know. Socks are his favorite loot to steal, even if you happen to still be wearing them.

You Talkin' to Me?

Sam weighed in at a hefty 97 pounds as of last Wednesday, which puts him at roughly ten times Marcus' size. (Marcus is 10.5 pounds.) Needless to say, the following happens several times a day:

Huh? What's this annoying thing that
keeps bothering me?

OWNED.

Marcus Gets Accustomed

Sam and Marcus are getting used to each other, slowly but surely. Marcus was crying up a storm last night in his crate, so we just took his bed out and stuck it in with Sam's... no more crying. They both slept soundly through the night. I snapped this picture this morning when I came to let them out:

Bed buddies

Since I'm currently at the library, I also got a chance to upload some videos from yesterday. The following are for your Marcus viewing pleasure; after today I promise the posts will return to a mostly Sam focus. Sam's my babby dogger after all; Marcus is Mom's.

Kid Brother

And the surprise is.... Marcus!

Marcus!

That's right, Sam's got a new kid brother. Marcus Aurelius is a 7-month-old Beagle-Maltese mix from the veterinary school at my alma mater, the University of Florida. His adoption has been in the works for about a month, and today he finally got to come home.

Marcus has lived in a lab all his life, so the hour-long car ride from Gainesville to Jacksonville, the yard and the great outdoors, the house, and Sam were all very strange and new for him. He's learning more and more about grass although he still hops from the driveway to the grass and back, as though there were an actual barrier he had to jump over.

Marcus next to Sam's squirrel toy: this is why Sam's confused

Sam likes Marcus, but is having trouble understanding him. He'll walk over top of Marcus and bat him around with his front paws like Marcus was a soccer ball, and he'll run after him and try to play. Of course, every time Sam comes near, Marcus crouches down and freezes in a submissive posture, fearful of being trampled to death (and given Sam's coordination, that is a very real fear). Then Marcus will bound after Sam, chasing sticks and tennis balls, but immediately freeze again once Sam spots him. I'm sure once they both navigate the size obstacle they'll be great friends.

We smell pizza!

And to clarify: Marcus is not my dog, but my mother's. I'm all for the big goofball doggers myself. Sam hasn't show any jealousy or territorial behavior thus far, which is good. And I made sure to take Sam on a walk on his own today, and to take him for a ride with me when I went to pick up dinner. He's still my dog through and through. Now he just has a new kid brother to bother!

A New Home for the Holidays

Even though it wasn't the change I was referring to yesterday, things certainly got shaken up this morning. Sam woke me up at 7 am barking at a stray dog who was roaming the street in front of our house. I got up, grabbed a couple milkbones, and spent the next twenty minutes sitting at the end of the driveway convincing the stray I wouldn't hurt him.

He trusted me pretty quickly, and I let Sam out to sniff him. They greeted each other, then followed me into the yard. I fed the stray boy a cup of kibble, which he wolfed down, and a few chicken treats from Sam's stash. He was skittish for an hour or two, so I put Sam inside when the new boy was getting overwhelmed and let him figure things out at his own pace. I showed him where the water dish was and he drank, and then I sat down in the yard with him and he immediately crawled into my lap. Definitely a sweetheart.

The stray kid

I took the stray to the vet and he checked out okay--no heartworms or intestinal parasites. He was covered in ticks, and he smelled like a zoo, but other than being a little thin he was in good health. He's around a year and a half old, and probably 40-50 pounds.

Playing with Sam

I called my parents to see if we could foster him, but with the surprise that's happening on Friday, that wasn't an option. So I took him to the Jacksonville ACPS, and it really wrenched my heartstrings to hand him over. He was afraid and trying to get back into my lap, and the workers there treated him as though he might attack at any moment. He's a chow mix, and he's got that big strong head, but not once in the five hours I had him did he show any sign of aggression, even when Sam was jumping all over him and knocking him down trying to play.

Give this boy a chance!

So if any of you readers live in the Jacksonville area and are looking for a new family member for the holidays, please give this boy a shot. You can reach ACPS at 904-255-7387. Thank you!

Change is Coming...

Another week has come and gone! Sam has hit the 10-month mark, and he's nearly hit the 100-pound mark. I'll know for sure tomorrow night, when Sam starts his second round of puppy school. Actually, it isn't puppy school, it's advanced obedience, since Sam did so well in his puppy class that he got to skip the intermediate obedience and go straight to advanced. But that's another post.

Over the weekend Sam had fun with me and some friends at the Arboretum. He's been there twice before, but this time he got to explore the trails with a new dogger friend, Gatsby the Havanese. Gatsby was a little wary of Sam at first (after all Sam is five times his weight), but they quickly became friends and started playing all along the trails at random moments. It was like they had a game going over who could pounce on the other and unexpectedly pull their owner's arm out of socket first. Gatsby began to follow Sam's example (despite my warnings that Sam is an awful influence) and jumped in the creeks after Sam, and rolled in the sand after Sam, and *ahem* relieved himself after Sam. Much to his owner's dismay, I might add, since Gatsby's pretty white fur got all muddy. At least Sam is brown so it blends in.

On the way home from the Arboretum I stopped at the Chick-fil-A drive thru and got Sam some chicken nuggets, which he ate with gusto in the back seat. He also scored a free dog treat at the drive-thru window as usual. Sam's gaining a following at a lot of my frequented fast food places. At the Subway I usually pick up lunch from on Saturdays (with Sam in tow), they always ask if I've got Sam with me and give me an extra piece of turkey or roast beef for him for free. He's just racking up the free food, I tell you.

Now, I don't have any pictures for you of this, since I didn't have my camera, so instead I'm posting a video of Sam from a month ago. I hid in the pantry and Sam tried to get me out. It's a good example of the way Sam changes his bark when he's playing into this high-pitched little baby whine, instead of his normal big deep bark.



Oh, and about the surprise I was hinting at a few weeks back... it makes its debut on Friday, so check back in a few days to see what big change is coming!

Sam vs Kitchen Table

Sam likes to throw his chew toys around and chase after them, presumably to make chew-time more exciting. He particularly likes to toss his toys under the kitchen table, where his massive bulk prevents him from reaching them. He then hunkers down on one side of the table, tail wagging, and whines, talks, growls, sighs, and barks at his toys in an effort to coax them out into the open. Usually he'll keep up this symphony of dogger-sounds until one of us kneels down and retrieves the toys for him.

And yes, they're usually back under the table in less than five minutes.

Sam was cracking us up the other night trying to get at his toys, so here is a video snippet of the tail-end of his quest:



And in case you were curious, this is the view from the other side of the table:

If I can just reach...

Now how to get my head back out without letting go...

Curiosity Painted the Dog

If you're outside and doing something out of the ordinary, Sam wants to know what's going on. He'll be up in your business from the moment you step outside until the moment you come back in, and even then he'll be scratching on the door. He's "helped" the Overhead Doors guys install a garage door on our shed, and he's "helped" the septic tank inspector dig up some pipes.

Today, my parents were re-painting the trim on some of our outside doors, and of course Sam had to help. He systematically brought them each one of his outside toys--including one of my shoes--and when they wouldn't play, he set about figuring out what they were doing that was so much more interesting than playing with him. As you may have guessed, inquisitive sniffing and fresh, wet paint don't mix so well. The end result:

What?


It's "dogger-chic"

I've got to see if I can get it out of his fur tonight, otherwise he's gonna be blue for awhile.

UPDATE: The blue paint came out with some Skin So Soft and quite a bit of elbow grease.

Do... not... want...


Quit fighting Sam!

That Last Step's a Doozy

It's never good news when your dad comes back inside at 9pm with your dog and the first thing he says is, "It wasn't my fault!"

Dad had taken Sam with him outside last night to take some sticks and leaves to the curb for yard pick-up this morning, and Sam was lingering by the pool as usual. Dad warned him twice to get away from the pool--a soaking wet dogger at 9 at night is a nuisance--and on the last warning, Sam showed his true goofball colors. He turned away, missed a step, his left paw stepping unexpectedly off the edge, and the upset in balance caused him to a do a face plant onto the concrete pool deck. Dad said the thunk! of Sam plowing into the concrete was loud enough to make him worry Sam had hurt himself, so he immediately brought my wayward child back inside to me for treatment.

Sam came skulking in, and I checked him to make sure he wasn't limping and hadn't hurt his joints. Then I checked his teeth and tongue from where he'd clonked his face, and finally his chin, where he'd scraped off a dime-sized area of skin that was bleeding. His paw, too, had two scrapes on it that were bleeding. I got out the antiseptic and cleaned him off until the bleeding stopped, then gave him a milkbone for his troubles.

Poor Sam. He's such a goofball. All I could think was he was like a five-year-old kid who ignores warnings to slow down and skins his knee and then comes crying back to mommy. No lasting harm, just some bruised pride.

This is Not the Dogger You're Looking For...

Hmm, what's this? I know Sam was in my bedroom a minute ago but where could he have gone?

Nothing out of the ordinary here...

Sam sometimes slips into my bedroom at night in an attempt to avoid sleeping in his own little den in the kitchen. I don't mind him staying the night in my room (except he tends to sleep either perpendicular on the bed so I can't extend my legs out, or else he sleeps in the exact middle and I'm stuck on an edge). Dad, however, is against it, and will usually find Sam in my room and escort him out. Since the pleading, puppy-dog-eyes look hasn't worked on Dad in the past, Sam seems to be trying out a new tactic: camouflage.

The only problem is Sam's a 95-pound rhinoceros. Not the easiest thing to hide, especially when he's chewing on a tennis ball in his hiding place and making snuffling, chomping noises. Needless to say, Sam had to go night-night in his own room instead of mine. But he gets an A for effort.

For size reference, my bed is a double.
And yes, he's just as wide.

Happy Howl-oween!

The devil costume won the vote, so I sewed it up for Sam on Friday. He wore it to the Riverside Arts Market yesterday (I attempted to dress like an angel to match but wasn't very convincing).

I'm not a convincing angel but Sam's a great devil


Sammy's always a hit at the market


Sam meets his first werewolf


Sam's costume--a little crooked after the market


What a goofy devil dog


And of course Sam managed to get his horns off his head and eat them


Rawr! Devil dog strikes again!

Happy Halloween everyone!

Incoming!

I was outside with Sam this afternoon, playing his favorite game of chase. Essentially, he picks up a stick or rock or toy, I pretend like I want it and run at him, then he scrambles past me like a looney toon. I pivot in place, and Sam runs back past me like a bull. It's a great game because I only have to move in about a ten-foot circle while Sam runs back and forth past me and gets all his energy out.

The problem with the chase game is that Sam is more rhinoceros than he is coordinated. So when I feint at him, sometimes he gets ahead of himself and trips and runs his face into the ground. Which, I'll admit, is pretty funny to watch, especially if he makes a disgruntled growl/cough while doing it. But then sometimes, instead of tripping, Sam just 86es the brakes and plows straight into you.

This is what he did this afternoon. He had a bit of stump he'd dug up from the dirt pile, and aimed his pass a little too close to me. He ran into my right leg and knocked it out from under me, and we both fell to the ground. His bony little forelegs had hit me square on the shin, which hurt, and I was concerned I'd hurt his legs, too. But no, while I'm rolling on the ground Sam circles back around and jumps on my back, knocks my head with the stump he's carrying, then tramples me as he makes his get away. Sorry thing.

Now I've got a goose egg the size of a grape on the front of my right shin, and Sam seems no worse for the wear. Granted, Sam is currently tipping the scales at 94 pounds, but I've still got some weight on him. So how did I lose in the collision? How is he perfectly fine while I narrowly avoided amputation?

I'm telling you, for Halloween next year Sam is going to be a rhinoceros. Or maybe a shark, because he's a biter and he loves the pool. Maybe a rhino-shark. Wouldn't that be frightening? A great white shark with fins and teeth and then this massive horn sprouting out of its nose?

Brrr. Gives me the heebie jeebies just thinking about Sam as a rhino-shark. Maybe I'll just make him a ladybug or something next year and hope he takes the hint.

The Parakeet Conspiracy

Mom has two parakeets, Pippin and Poppin. They sit by the window in the kitchen. Once Sam was tall enough to discover them, he began to sniff at their cage and generally worry them, although he's never jumped up at them or tried to eat them. Mostly he's just curious about them. The birds, however, take offense at having a large canine's slobbery head thrust against the bars of their cage every couple of days, and so they have finally exacted their revenge.

The birds have a mirror hanging in their cage, which is a favorite toy of theirs. In the early morning, when the sun comes in through that window, it reflects off the mirror. The birds have discovered that by pecking the mirror, they can make that reflected light dance on the wall, which in turns drives Sam nuts as he tries to get at it. That was how this morning was spent while I ate my cereal in sad resignation.

(Note: Click the pictures for a larger view if it's tough to make out.)

Must...get...light...


Mo-om! I'm doing important work here!


Sam goes nuts as the birds cackle to themselves in wicked glee...

I finally had to move the counter chairs over so Sam couldn't get at the light. I was worried he'd scratch up the wood like he's done on the door. I'm sure it'll be only a temporary setback for those plotting birds, though. They've got mischievous minds.

An Unspeakable Fate

Sam has a habit of stopping for potty breaks in the middle of playing or fetching toys. Sometimes he'll hold the toy in his mouth for the duration of his business, but more often he'll drop the toy, walk forward a couple steps, and then end up peeing on his toy. Most of his outdoor toys have been anointed this way.

Today marked a new first, though. I had just gotten home and had thrown a tennis ball for Sam, and he was taking his time bringing it back (he likes to chew it and shake it and generally be a goofball). Since he was being slow, I turned away for a moment to get some things out of my car, and when I looked back, Sam was squatting in the side yard, having his afternoon constitutional. Not unusual, but where was the tennis ball? Wait... no... could it... NO, SAM!!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Sam pooped on his tennis ball. I did NOT take a picture of this, since I felt it was too gross. Instead, I have offered another one of my artist's renditions, this one of the tennis ball moments before it met its demise:


Needless to say, that ball got thrown away. Poor tennis ball!

An Open Letter to Pedigree

Dear Pedigree,

Let me start off by saying I've been a loyal customer for fifteen years. Our old dogs, Bud and Thor, ate Pedigree dog food their entire lives. My current dog, Sam, can't eat your dry dog food because it upsets his tummy, but he does eat your wet dog food and he eats several Pedigree brand treats.

I'm writing about Pedigree Dentastix, your oral care product for dogs. These chews are supposed to clean your dog's teeth and help reduce tartar buildup and prevent gum disease. They're even shaped so they clean your dog's gums while he chews them. They come in large dog sizes, which I've been getting for Sam. So no problems, right? Not quite.


I'm assuming to get the oral care benefits, a dog would have to spend a few minutes chewing the treat. I've been timing Sam. He finishes one of your large Dentastix in an average time of 47 seconds. This is about the same time it takes him to eat two medium Milkbones, given separately. Somehow I don't feel this is an adequate amount of time to address Sam's dental needs.

I see that your efficacy trial was conducted on Beagles. I'm sure that accurately reflected the mini and small/medium sizes, but I don't think the results can be applied to larger dogs. Bigger dogs have stronger jaws, so they can chew through treats much more quickly. Perhaps the Dentastix for large dogs should be made a bit more sturdy as well as larger in size. If the Dentastix themselves were a bit more durable, they'd last a little longer and be able to perform their dental duties more effectively.

Just some thoughts. Keep up the great work, Pedigree.

Your friends,
Brandy and Sam

How to Tell If Your Dog Is a Massive Goofball

Step one: Establish massive status. Usually if visitors think you've got a wolf on the loose, you're on the right track.

My hand vs Sam's pawprint

Step two: Establish goofball status. One of the easiest ways is for your dog to dunk himself in the pool, then start rolling around on the grass, randomly growling at barking.

Flip!
Grrr....


A ha!


Huh?

Once you've completed both steps, congratulations! Your dog is a MASSIVE GOOFBALL.

Sticks Galore

In the ongoing septic tank saga, we've finally reached the dirt/sod stage. A quick recap: our sump pump broke, when it was fixed we discovered our dosing tank needed replacing, that got replaced, but because of new ordinances, our septic tank mound has to be built up before the inspector will approve the new tank. So now, as I said, we are in the dirt/sod stage.

Today we got four loads of dirt dumped in our yard. Now, Sam is a good watchdog--when he sees you. His normal post is my old blue camping chair in the garage, from which he can see the street and the main driveway. The dirt, however, was brought in via the second driveway, which Sam didn't see. How he missed the sounds of the dump truck backing up and depositing four separate loads of dirt, I have no idea.

Anyway, I came out with him and Dad into the yard a few minutes ago, and Sam was stunned by the magic transformation of the yard. At first he growled at the invading dirt, but quickly realized these lumpy hills were 1) dirt and 2) full of sticks. Both bonuses in Sam's world. He wasn't even phased when the big backhoe/front-end loader thingy came to spread the dirt. (Note: it's amazing how one big "toy" like that magically draws all the men of the neighborhood to it. There's like four or five guys in my yard right now spreading dirt, hoping for a turn to drive the backhoe.)

Thankfully I'm spared the task of helping to spread the dirt (although there'll be no getting out of laying the sod tomorrow) because I'm making dinner, so while I do that, I leave you all with a sort of photographic representation of Sam's train of thought over the past half hour. Click on the pictures for a larger view.

Intruder alert! Grrr!


Hey! This stuff has STICKS in!


Oooh look at this stick I found


And this stick!


This one's a good chewing stick


Oooh look I found another one!


Wow look at this big one!


Hey! That one was mine! Finders keepers!


I dunno what this is but I LIKE IT!


How are you 'posed to get in this thing?