One Less Fish in the Sea

Regular readers will remember that I've been giving Sam fish oil to help with his skin and coat issues. Apparently Sam has taken this to heart and wants to be proactive about the whole thing.

I was working on a Gators quilt, and Sam was whining in the kitchen. So I let him into the sewing room with me, closing the doors to make sure he couldn't abscond with anything. I had the radio on, and that with the sound of the sewing machine drowned out the noise of him chewing Mom's Dory plushie from Finding Nemo. Eight quilt blocks later and this is what I find:

I found the fish, but where's the oil?

Sorry, Sam, that's not how fish oil works. Good try, though.

(This is actually the second time Sam has gone after Dory; the first time he ate her fins off, which meant I had to get Mom a replacement Dory in Orlando. Luckily the replacement Dory is still unharmed, while the original Dory has gone from maimed but functional to DNR.)

Also, notice the stuffing still sticking out of his mouth. Caught red-jowled. And the oh-so-casual crossed back legs, like all he's been doing is innocently reading a magazine. I know your tricks, dogger. Trust me, until you're seven or eight years old, you are never going to be innocent. And even then, it'll be a 50/50 chance.

The Death of Dragon

All of my hopes from Tuesday were for naught. Dragon lasted a grand total of two days. Who knows how long he could have lived, had his life not been cut short? Let me back up.

Friday is garbage pick-up day in our neighborhood. That means Thursday night is garbage night. Dad goes nuts on garbage nights. He has a compulsive need to throw out every shred of garbage in the house. To the point where if you are eating dinner off a paper plate, or are eating a granola bar, or are finishing a crossword, he will stand there and loom over you until you finish "making garbage" so he can collect it. He's been known to eat entire bakery cakes on garbage nights just so he can throw away the plastic containers they come in. Believe me when I say Dad takes garbage collection to a whole new level.

(Side note: Dad is 58 today! Happy birthday Dad, even though you don't read this blog, and thank goodness you don't, because you still think Sam stays in the kitchen instead of chilling with me in my room.)

Now, I have class on Thursday nights, and I don't get home until 9:30pm or so. (And yes, Dad will stand over me while I eat my take-out dinner on Thursday nights so he can throw away the bag.) This means I'm not home to rescue the non-trash items from Dad's overly-ambitious collection. A couple weeks back I actually left a note on the fabric I was using to make Sam's coats that said NOT TRASH out of fear he'd throw the whole pile away. Now I see I should have done the same for Dragon.

Dad threw Dragon away on Thursday night. Dragon was by no means trashable yet. He still had fifteen good squeakers (Sam had only eaten one so far) and his head was still mostly intact. But to Dad poor Dragon was trash, and without me to save him, Dragon was thrown out. A moment of silence, please.

I discovered Dragon was missing on Friday. By then the trash had been picked up and it was too late to save him. I called Dad immediately and told him he owed Sam a new toy, and fast. Dad agreed without admitting he was wrong to throw away Dragon. "It was trash," he insisted. I told him about the fifteen good squeakers left. "That's why it was trash," he said.

So, then! I've uncovered a plot. Dad doesn't approve of the sort of toys I get Sam, you see. He thinks Sam should have only "tough" toys that are suitable for tug-o-war. I think Sam should have those toys, but he should have a soft one, too. And I think Sam should pick out his toy so he's guaranteed to actually play with it. (I can't tell you how many times we brought home toys for our old Lab, Thor, and he'd be completely uninterested.)

My theory is that Dad threw away Dragon so he could replace him with toys that met with his approval. A coup of the worst kind. He waits until I'm away at class, then throws out my selections so he can replace them with his own candidates. I smell conspiracy!

Anyway, I went with Dad and Sam Saturday to get a replacement toy. Dad wasn't too interested in what Sam wanted to choose, and instead picked out a Tuffy brand toy that looked good for tug-o-war. There were also an alligator, a shark, and a pig by the same brand, and I wanted Sam to choose among them. I laid out the toys side by side (except the alligator; no dog of mine's gonna chew on a Gator) and let Sam choose. He appeared to like the pig--even so far as to rip its price tag off--but Dad vetoed Sam's decision. "You can't play tug-o-war with a pig," he said. "We're getting the yellow one."

So Sam came home with a yellow wrench-looking toy instead of the pig. He seems to like it all right; he's begun ripping the edges off, at least.

Sam's new toy, Wrench

The fun thing about the Wrench (which is its name, now) is that you can slip Sam's paws through the holes like handcuffs, and watch as he hobbles around trying to chew it off. And no, it isn't cruel, he's not hurting. His tail's wagging the whole time. And he manages to free himself in less than thirty seconds, usually.

Sam in "handcuffs"

Dad also got Sam a plastic beer bottle squeaky toy, which was on clearance and which he thought Sam would like based on Sam's obsession with recycled bottles. I'll admit, it was funny seeing Sam running around with a beer bottle in his mouth. But the beer toy lasted under five minutes before Sam transformed it from a plastic drink to a plastic weapon.

Doggy beer toy


Slow down there, Sam. You're underage.


Barfight!

It didn't come as a surprise (to me at least; Dad was a bit put out) that he ripped apart the plastic so quickly. After all, I've watched him systematically pulverize a pair of sandals. (Remember those pool shoes from earlier? Sam has completely disintegrated them by now. There is literally nothing left of them.) But at least Wrench seems to be living up to its Tuffy brand name; Sam hasn't managed to breach it yet. So, at the risking of jinxing Wrench, too, here's hoping it'll last longer than Dragon did.

More Tomorrow

It's been a silly week. I've had assignments due in all my classes, and right now I'm working on finishing up a reading assignment and an essay due tomorrow. I have pictures to upload for you, and topics to write about (the premature demise of Dragon being one), but no time to write!

Sam is sad that Dragon died too soon... more tomorrow!

Tomorrow after I get home from class you will be my first priority! After lunch. Home from class, eat lunch, then you. Still sorta first.

See you tomorrow!

Bye Bye Bear; Hello Dragon!

The bear toy Sam brought home way back on July 24th has finally died. At 7 weeks, it had the longest life span of any of Sam's soft toys (the plastic ones have a slightly higher life expectancy). Sam had torn off the bear's ears, tail, nose, and eyes, somehow turned him inside out, and removed all five squeakers from their little mesh bags by the time we decided to send Bear to the big toy box in the sky. There is one upside to Bear's demise, though--Sam gets a Petsmart trip to pick out a new one!

Sam is still not allowed to pick out plush toys because he goes through them way too fast and eats the stuffing. He likes the feel of soft toys, though, which relegates his choices to either fleece toys, or toys like Bear that are all pelt and no filling. So what does Sammy pick out this time? Introducing... Dragon!

Sam with Dragon

Dragon is like Bear: a big skin. Unlike Bear, though, who had only a paltry five squeakers, Dragon has (drumroll please)............ SIXTEEN squeakers.

"This my Dragon!"

Yes. Sam picked out the toy with the highest squeak density in the entire store. Dragon's body is entirely made of squeakers; eight pairs of squeaker "scales" with felt dorsal spikes running down the middle. I let Sam carry his new toy up to the register and give it to the cashier himself, and everyone we passed in the store thought that was the cutest thing. "Did he pick out his own toy? Awww!" Of course he picked out his own toy! I'd like to see you walk Sam down a toy aisle and not have him emerge with some stolen plaything in tow. I basically just approve Sam's choice; he does the rest without any urging from me.

Hopefully Dragon will live as long as Bear did. He's a good two and a half feet long, so maybe his size will help him survive. We'll see!

Fall Fashion Preview

I got tired of Sam not fitting into any dog clothes or costumes, so I decided to make him some myself. I made my own pattern out of newspaper custom-fit to Sam's measurements. It's pretty simple, but I haven't really sewn in five years (when I made cloud-fleece boxers in Home Ec). Now that I've got a bit more practice, I will be sewing Sam more interesting things in the future. (Like his Halloween costume, for instance, which I won't be making until the middle of October, in case he grows substantially in the interim.)

For the pattern's maiden voyage, I made Sam a Jaguars coat so he can root for his home team on Sundays (they're currently losing abysmally to San Diego):

Go Jaguars! Try not to lose so much!


Ready for game day!

I used sew-on velcro for the closures, and I learned from this go-round that you need two strips at the neck instead of one, because otherwise the edges flop over. But that black Jags fabric with a black lining was very forgiving to my mistakes, thank goodness.

Second up is a Halloween-ish fabric: orange, black, and gray skulls and crossbones. I fixed the neck closure on this one so it fits better.

Halloween pirate?

Much better fitting neckline than the Jags one

Third is a patchwork dog-themed fabric with a matching striped lining. By this time I had the process down pretty well, so it came together much more easily than my first attempt.

Pretty in patchwork!


Sam is mesmerized by a treat I'm holding

After making the coats, I had a lot of scraps I didn't want to toss, especially the bib-shaped cut-outs from the neck openings. So, I sewed them together and added a channel at the top for Sam's collar to slip through. That way he could wear them as kerchiefs even though they weren't wide enough to tie around his neck.

Dog-pattern kerchief (Sam was sleepy by the time
the kerchiefs were finished)


Halloween-ish kerchief

You'll notice there are only two kerchiefs here: that's because the first attempt was the Jaguar one, in which the top channel ended up being way too small for his collar to fit into. Again, the Jags fabric was my guinea pig, and the following two kerchiefs came out much better. (And yes, they do look a bit like bibs, but honestly, the way Sam eats and drinks, a bib would be just as useful.)

So there you have it! Sam's a stylin' dude. Plus I got in sewing practice for when I make his Halloween costume, so remember to vote in the poll to the left to choose which outfit you'd like to see!

Relaxin'

I'd say it's been a pretty chill weekend for Sam so far...


But not for me! I've been busy working on a project for Sam... pictures tomorrow!

Pool Jump Mashup

As promised: a mashup of Sam's jumps! I figured it'd be best to edit the jumps all into one video instead of posting six or seven individual ones. If you want to see the individual ones, though, or want to see some other older videos of Sam that have not made it onto the blog (and one video of my snake Bernard showing off his crib), you can check out all my videos here.

Also, for reference, our pool is 40ft long by 20ft wide. Sam's getting between 6-10 feet per jump. The record holders all jump 20+ feet, so we've got a way to go. But Sam's getting better all the time!

Oh, and a couple more housekeeping things: as of Sam's vet visit Monday he weighed 86 pounds, so for those of you who are going to be guessing his one-year weight in a few months, keep that in mind. Secondly, I'm putting a new poll up in place of the old one: what should Sam be for Halloween? Choices are limited to the patterns in the packet Mom found in the bottom of her sewing box, since his costume will be homemade. (Storebought clothes rarely fit him: he's running between a 3X and a 4X depending on the brand.)

Okay! Vote in the poll, and on to the jumps!

Run for Your Lives!

All things considered, Sam's a pretty fearless dog. He's afraid of baby gates, and he's afraid of the dustbuster, but he's cool with upright vacuums, leafblowers, and pressure washers. He doesn't seem to notice fireworks or most thunder. He's afraid of the vet, but to be fair, she's made him bleed on several occasions. And he was afraid of the ice cream truck that one time, but he's since overcome that particular fear.

He is absolutely terrified of the wall-unit vacuum, however.

Our house is rigged up with vacuum outlets, and you just plug a big giant knobbly hose in and boom, instant vacuum. There's a big canister mounted to the back of the garage that makes noise once the suction is activated. This noise haunts Sam's dreams.

I'd kicked Sam outside and was vigorously vacuuming the house this afternoon when Dad came home. As soon as he'd pulled into the drive, Sam had jumped into his car and refused to get back out. He was terrified of the noise the garage canister was making. Dad had to lift him bodily out of the car.

The horror, the horror!

Sam then hunkered down in the front corner of the garage next to the outside door, as far away from the canister and the door inside (on the other side of which the rest of the vacuum lurked) as possible. Even when I'd finished vacuuming he stayed there, cowering.

Is it safe?

What I don't understand is why he didn't just get out of the garage. The door was wide open. We have an acre and a half. He could have gone to the pool, chilled down by the gate, hung around Dad's shop, or napped under the grapefruit tree. All out of hearing range of the vacuum. But no, apparently to leave the garage while the evil canister is awake is sudden death, so you have to stay inside the garage despite your terror. 15 years of owning the breed and I still don't understand Labrador logic.

At any rate, Sam eventually recovered his usual aplomb and was back to making mischief. He got a walk and a pig ear out of it, so all things considered he came out on top.

Oh, and tomorrow I'll have a mashup of Sam pool-jumping videos for you, so look forward to that!

Looks Like We're Gonna Have to Jump...!

Sam has come a long way from his first tentative steps in the lake at Dogwood Park to the flying leaps into the pool he takes today. He went from jumping from the pool steps to jumping from the side (onto my head, it may be noted), and now he's progressed to getting a running headstart to his leaps rather than just jumping in from a standstill at the edge.

This has made the pool a deadly place.

No longer are you safe out in the middle. No longer can you float on a raft knowing Sam can't reach you. Now you have to be constantly on alert for the flying 85-pound chocolate lab that could burst in out of nowhere and land on top of you before you can even register the eerie sound of his tags clinking. (That sound has become like the Jaws theme to me--hear it, and you know your doom is imminent.)

Jumping from the pool step

Now you see why I sneak out the back door to get into the pool while Sam's in the garage. It's sheer suicide otherwise. Unless you wear him out with a solid 45 minutes of pool fetch, he will be in your business and on top of your head. He hasn't learned how to dive all the way yet, so you're semi-safe on the bottom. But he just circles you like a shark, knowing you'll have to come up for air sooner or later. And when you do, you are toast.

Humans are NOT landing strips, Sammy.

All of this is good training for dockdiving, though. I've wanted to do dockdiving for a long time, but Thor was too old by the time I learned about it. Sam looks like a promising contender. Now I just have to find a dock!

Jump!


Look how far he landed!

False Alarms

Sam has had a jumpy day.

He's been growling and barking at phantoms all morning--the smallest things like the house creaking or the icemaker rumbling will set him on high alert. I took him with me for a ride this afternoon to get lunch and he got his hackles raised over a palmetto I was next to at a stoplight. Later, Sam was in the garage and I was in the kitchen and sneezed, which apparently signaled an imminent invasion and set Sam to barking and baying like a beagle under attack.

I let him inside to reassure him, only to have him start growling at the front door after I woke him up with a hiccup. He's been scaring me more than anything, since all will be silent to my ears and all of a sudden he's up and barking. I've hardly gotten any of my reading done because whatever real or imagined thing is startling him is causing him to startle me.

I wonder if his jumpiness has anything to do with his medicines. Starting Tuesday he went down from one predinsone a day to one every other day, so yesterday was his first day in the past two weeks without prednisone. And this morning his back was itchy again, and he was starting to get the beginnings of the dandruff back. He got the prednisone today, but I wonder if perhaps an influx of histamines has made him a bit more excitable than usual. It's not good news--it means the medicines are just treating the symptoms, and he's still having an allergic reaction underneath.

I swear, if this dog is allergic to grass or the sun or something else ridiculous... that'd be just like him, too. Causing as much trouble as he possibly can.

I've got him in my room with me now to settle him, and he's fallen fast asleep on my bed. It's a double bed, and when he lies across it, he's as long as it is wide. He's thoroughly zonked out now, snoring away like a foghorn. But I do prefer the snoring to the random barking--at least the snoring is predictable!

Going.... going....

Gone.

Leafblower Battle Royale

Hope everyone had a good Labor Day weekend! I was sick for half of it, but I did get to visit the zoo with some friends and of course take Sam on car rides, give him a bath, recover stolen items from him, and administer his many medicines to clear up his skin allergy. I've gotten tired of shoving the pills down his throat so instead I've been wrapping them up in half-melted cheese, which is a messy if efficient way of getting him to take the 4-7 pills he's got to take each day. The good news is the pills are working: he's not itchy anymore, the medicated baths are really helping with the dandruff, and the fish oil is making his coat soft and silky.

Today's video is a standing tradition between Dad and Sam. Every time Dad mows the yard, he and Sam have a leafblower battle afterward as Dad tries to clear off the driveway and porch. (Although I noticed he did NOT blow the grass clippings off my freshly-washed car, which now looks worse than it did before the wash.) I got to film Sam vs leafblower Sunday afternoon; you may want to turn the volume down a bit on the video, since it's mostly just the drone of the leafblower.

I Told You He Was a Thief

Sam may have burst his new exercise ball, but that's no reason not to have fun with the air pump it came with. Or rather, I was having fun last night baffling Sam with the air pump, and then toward the end, he was having fun absconding with the nozzle from the end of the hose.

(Oh, and you'll have to excuse my horrible pajamas. They're hand-me-down flannel boxers and they're way too big, but everything else is in the wash.)