Audience of One

I let out a sigh as I allow Henry to climb between the front seats of the car to be next to me. He will stick his nose under my arm and flip it up in an effort to get me to pat him. He puts his two front paws on my seat so he can get a better view out the window. He continues to flip my arm and let out an occasional whine despite the attention I am paying to him. In short, he is a pain in the ass.

I got my little mutt 3 years ago knowing that he had some issues. His separation anxiety was the biggie. After owning him a little while I recognized that he would take off on me if he smelled anything good- despite a disorder which makes him stick to my side. How do you reconcile the fact that a dog has separation anxiety AND will run away given the opportunity?

I finally reached the conclusion that Henry is my karmic come-uppance. My dog is me. I like the security of knowing there is someone there to catch me if I fall.... and fill my water bowl. If I catch the scent of something delicious I want to follow my nose. I want to hang my head out the car window because it feels good, but I want to glance over to see that someone is still there. And when I am feeling insecure I want to be able to curl up on a lap and be petted till everything is right again.

I keep this in mind as Henry demands my attention while I am trying to drive my car. For whatever reason he needs its- and I give it to him because I love him. And I treasure the feeling of his warm, fuzzy belly as I remember those times he would gladly run away.

Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog

Either you love the sound of a hound dog or you don't. I wasn't told that Henry was part hound....but there it is. I was raised with a Beagle as the family dog. The sound is pure joy.....very loud and insistent pure joy.

Even as I watch other people cringe or scowl it makes me smile.

My Girl Orly

I dropped in to see my friend Annie- and her pooch Orly. Orly is a Briard who is 11 years old. She was one of my Golden Retriever's dearest walking buddies- as we would meet up most mornings for a brisk 1 mile walk. For a treat we might drive to an outer borough for a longer jaunt. As youngsters my Golden & Orly would race around biting each other and rolling on the ground. As they reached middle age this segued into companionable walking. They were just happy to be in each other's company - no interaction necessary.

Lady died at the young 7 years of age. Annie listened to me cry and Orly put her paw on my lap. She missed Lady too, but she was always happy to see me and soon welcomed my new pooch, Henry.

She was happy to see me this time too. She got her weak back legs underneath her and came as she heard my voice in the front yard. We spent an hour looking at the new sod, peas coming up and lolling on the grass with the dogs. I noticed that Orly's breathing was a bit raggedy and Annie squeaked out that she"just wasn't ready for this."

I remember saying the exact same thing as I negotiated the week that started at the vets and ended at a surgeons. Contemplating the death of a companion is difficult, doubly so when you have to make that final decision- when your companion can't speak for themselves. Watching Annie negotiate these same decisions brings tears to my eyes now. In some ways it was easier for me because Lady was clearly in the end zone and my decision was to pick which hour instead of which week. I can see that no one is ever ready for this decision whether a life is cut tragically short or it has been lived to a full and natural conclusion. That pain of loss is just as full.

My thoughts are with Annie, Orly and anyone else struggling with these decisions.

New Summer Do

The weather has been so warm here in New Hampshire that it seemed the right time to give Henry his new summer do. This is a procedure fraught with wrestling, stern voices and much skittering around in the front entry that I close off to keep him from escaping. I use to take him to a groomer but these tough economic times forced me to buy my own clippers and experience the struggle first hand. Here he is with the new clip. I like to keep it a little long around his face so he doesn't look too ridiculous. He has a very long, thin snout.

After the clip comes the bath. I have found it easier to just take him into the shower with me. He hates showers about as much as he hates hair cuts. There is no struggling, just cowering. After a quick dry I let him loose to shake off and run away from me. He usually tries to find a sunny spot- even though it was 70 degrees! This is his "I want a new owner" face.

Now for the blow out!

Killer Dog

I chose to park in a slightly different place that morning, thus changing my walk into work routine ever so slightly. Some construction has filled up the small side street where my business is located so I was a little distracted by the internal cursing in my head. "Why don't they ever think about the businesses they are disrupting? Would it kill them to not park all three major pieces of heavy equipment right in front of my entrance? If all 4 city workers choose to eat lunch on my stoop again complete with folding chairs and coolers spread out I am going to have to say something."

I barely noticed the small tug at the end of the leash tethering my precious little pooch Henry, but I did notice the shark like snap and cloud of feathers around him. Crunch, crunch. He was rolling the still peeping body of a sparrow around in his mouth trying to get a little traction to swallow the mouthful of bird. I don't know what I was thinking but I wrestled the bird from his mouth and left it on the sidewalk. Did I really think it would make it after such a mauling?

I know it is the way of the world... not so much eat or be eaten, but eat AND be eaten. There is many an animal in the woods who would make a quick snack of Henry or even me. But to be present at the dispatching is a little troubling. Was it cruel? No, it was swift and sure. It was also all instinct on his part. Food presented itself and he partook. I ,too, am a meat eater and understand that it means one less sentient creature in order to stoke my body. It is just one of those thoughts that rolls around and around in my head, not making sense.

And then I had chicken for dinner.

Minor Rule of Life

Henry in his warm weather sleeping position. In the colder months he curls up into a fur muffin.

I have a little rule for myself: never walk past my dog without reaching down to pat him. It is not quite as obsessive as running back to the house to check if I turned off the coffee pot or tapping on a door frame three times before entering, but a rule nevertheless. Sometimes I forget and have to turn around to complete the task.

Why? You might ask........ if I didn't do it I would feel it was an opportunity lost. That could be an opportunity lost to express my affection for my dog or just a more general opportunity to reach out (literally) and change a moment.

Or I suffer from a mild form of ocd.

Love My Dog

When my dog is happy his tail doesn't just wag. It goes in circles like a helicopter- like when he is hunting mice or sees me walk down the stairs every morning.


How can you not love that?

Love My Dog

I love that when my dog has fallen asleep before I remove his harness and collar he won't lift a paw to help me. it is like trying to take a sleeping child out of their clothes and put them into pajamas- dead weight.

I suppose this might pass for a maternal feeling- aye?

Toad Jerky

Pardon my hiatus.

I have been working on training my dog quite a bit recently. With the aid of a harness I have gotten him to stop pulling the leash while we walk. His other annoying habit is to go berserk whenever he sees another dog- in particular Yellow Labs.

I am not sure about his previous life but Yellow Labs must have played a big and sinister role in it because he twists, turns, snarls and barks when he sees them. And we see one almost every morning on our walk. It was a good opportunity to train him. It has taken almost a year but I can get him to sit and just whine a little when this dog goes by. It isn't perfect but it is a huge improvement.

My next goal is to get him to come when called. I figured this would take a treat so delicious that his head would snap if I pulled one out of my pocket. I bought some freeze dried 100% liver treats- but they only made him throw up. As you can see by the photo milk bones and Rodz Pawz Chicken Treats leave him cold. The thing he seems to really respond to is road kill.

I was relaying my training dilemma to my brother. I said that road kill seems to be Henry's favorite treat. He suggested I was missing a huge marketing opportunity by not developing a really stinky treat made from road kill or better yet, horse manure- Henry's two favorite food groups.

As we were walking the other morning Henry was able to snarf up an old dried up toad from the road before I could stop him and the perfect name for this training treat leaped into my head- Toad Jerky. Toad Jerky anyone?

Time For A Tune Up

Sometimes when my dog is walking it looks like his front tie-rods are shot. Do cars even have tie-rods anymore?

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Photo of one of my favorite little pain-in-the-asskins all set to receive a potentially dangerous smooch in his safety goggles.


I went to a big schmooze event last night to rub elbows with the business community. I do these things periodically to keep my face and name in the public sphere. While it can be fun & enjoyable, it is ultimately work.

After much mingling, noshing and then later, when we were seated at tables, small talk with the people seated on either side of me my mind turned to the home front. The strain of constant mingling is tiring. Oh.... to be with those who elicit more natural responses...... silliness, quietness, grumpiness.

The feeling was too strong to resist. I gathered my things and made my way to the car. My dog must be telepathic because he was sitting in my seat staring right at me as I rounded the corner. I pushed him aside so I could climb in and then spent 5 minutes reassuring him, cuddling, kissing (on his part and mine) and high pitched keening for the heart ache he had endured.

Then the long drive home to my sweetheart, who was, of course, already in bed. He is an early to bed/early to rise kind of guy.

I have been listening to a book on tape to help make my long commutes pass. This time it is David Sedaris' "When You Are Engulfed In Flames." In one story he described the transition in a relationship from gulping down every little detail of your beloved to no longer having anything to discover. Soon you are left breathing heavily through your cell phone because there is nothing to say yet it is comforting to know that someone you love is at the end of the line. I often feel this way about my boyfriend and dog. I don't need to be engaged. It is often enough to know that they are sleeping somewhere nearby.

So I rushed home from a room full of people because I missed a houseful of my favorite sentient beings..... breathing heavily.

Lap Dog

Walking through a field with Henry yesterday- he swings his head from side to side licking the dew off of the grass. He must be a lap dog.

I crack myself up.... I think I need to talk to more adults.

Hot Dog!

This is just a quick post as I am quickly heading to my reading/sleeping place after a long day of working out my wheelbarrow. It was 91 degrees on our back porch and 90 degrees on the front porch. Took Henry for a little pre-dinner spin around the yard. I have been watching this pile of snow in the field next to ours. This is what it looked like at 5:30 tonight. I bet it will be gone tomorrow.

Henry is in the photo to provide scale.

Shaved Puppy

Before and after puppy shots.

It is that time of year when I start thinking about getting Henry clipped. After a long winter's worth of hair growth he starts displaying mats under his ears and on his elbows. Everyone asks why I don't just brush him.... well, he screams like I am poking him with pins if I try. So mostly I just ignore his hair until it starts posing a health risk (matted fur, skin issues, hot spots).

I decided to try clipping him myself, which wasn't as terrible as I predicted for either Henry or me. He struggled but not mightily. I did a decent job with only a few stripes of too closely shaved fur.

After he is clipped everyone says how skinny he is- which he was before too, just less noticeably so. People also notice his spots and freckles. I love that his little body feels like velvet after he is clipped.

I love my little guy in all his guises.

Pretentious Enough For you?

I watched the Westminster Kennel Club Show. It holds the same, sick sway over me as ballroom dancing. What can I say?

I saw the PBGV (which I previously have intimated might be the key to my lovable mutt's background) entry and learned how to correctly say Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen. It has one more syllable than I thought.

Peh-TEET Bah-SAY Grif-ohn(say way high and in back of your palette) Von-DEE-on.

Kinda' makes you feel like a viscountess-hmmm?

My Dog Is Gifted

In the past I have mentioned that Henry is untrustworthy off leash which means he needs to be tethered at all times. I thought I was going to have to give up cross country skiing when I gave up on training him to stay with me- or at the very least to come when called. Of course, it is inconceivable that I would go outside without him and equally inconceivable that I would just take my chances that he would return home safely if he ran off (pretty much 100% guaranteed).

Then a friend suggested skijoring. This sport basically hooks a dog up to a skier with dogsled equipment, which the dog then uses to pull the skier. Mind you, the thought of my 32 pound terrier/hound/whatever mix pulling a full grown person is ridiculous, but it serves as a much safer way to attach my dog to me while I ski. My previous method of just tying a piece of rope from my waist to Henry's collar was painful and potentially dangerous.

Skijoring for Henry & me has met with mixed success. His DNA tells him to run back and forth in front of me to partake of the fabulous smells on both sides of the trail and to stop suddenly if something is particularly delectable. And, like most dogs he views my skis and poles with a bit of apprehension. If I start catching up to him, he will veer off to the side and let me pass, so that he is then following me. I have also had to learn to ski with a rope wrapped around and between my legs- the product of him zigzagging and me skiing over the line. It nevertheless provides both of us with good exercise, lots of laughs and fresh air in these long, winter months.

I am calling my dog a genius because despite his inability to learn certain commands, he has picked up the really necessary ones. He has also, intuitively, learned what is the appropriate behavior for a small dog being pursued by a full grown human on slick 6 foot boards with two pointy sticks. The most important command he has picked up is "run." I say this in a deep, loud and meaningful way because we are going down a hill at a pretty good clip and there is no time to dally. The tone is meant to convey that there will be "no sniffing" right now. He seems to get it. He also knows, intuitively, that if I do overtake him he better get the hell out of the way- and fast!

We have only had a few accidents- mostly to the detriment of me. Going down a steep hill he somehow got on the wrong side of a tree. We both came to an abrupt halt at the ends of the industrial strength bungee cord that attached us. It wasn't enough of a jolt to spring the quick release toggle, but enough to land me on the ground looking at a snow covered & apologetic terrier/hound/whatever mix. There have also been some embarrassing moments when nature's call didn't give me enough time to come to a complete stop. Poor Henry, en flagrante, trying to both shit and maintain his dignity while being forced to pogo along at the end of the bungee cord.

I commend my little pup for coming so far in his short life. From a street dog in Arkansas, to a not quite loved enough pup in Boston, to the wilds of NH where I am trying to turn him into a Husky. He has done it with verve and affection. I love my dog. He is gifted in many ways.

And Now For Something Completely Different

A dog owner I know refers to those intimate names you call your pet when nobody is listening as "bedroom names." I have a whole list of names that I call Henry, which would be embarrassing except I am so crazy-in-love with him that I don't care what people think.

Here they are:
Muffin
Fluffy Muffins
Mr Fluffy Muffins
Senor Fluffy Muffins
Fluffy Muffoon
Flurfily Murfles
Little Man
Big Guy
Baby Dog

I hope this admission has not lowered me in the eyes of any of my readers. Really- look at those eyes and the rakish insouciance of his ears- how could you resist?

The First Dog

You know what I think? I think the rest of the country should stay out of the first family's decision on what kind of dog to get.

That is way too personal a thing to get a committee involved in- especially a committee of over 200 million. The Obama family has to live with this decision long after they leave office. They should decide. It is a long term commitment and one that should be done out of love rather than obligation.

Whether they chose a mutt, a purebred, a golden doodle or a fish I will be watching to make sure they treat the animal with dignity. Beyond that- it is their choice. Period.

Henry and his elephant having a private moment.

And Brought To you By...

...Monsieur Henri's delectable muffins. Small but tasty- and nutritious!

He can curl up into the world's tiniest dog- like he has retractable legs or something. It makes me smile and it certainly makes me call him The Grande Muffoon.

Separated at Birth

I have always described my dog, Henry , as a terrier-beagle mix. He has a muscular terrier's body but the coloring and Baroooo of a beagle, but I think I have changed my mind.

A couple of people have suggested he is a PBGV- or Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen. (Big shout out to you, Mum.) I have disregarded this suggestion because he doesn't have the wiry coat of a PBGV.

It all of a sudden occurred to me that he doesn't have the wiry coat of a beagle either. I did a little reading and he seems to display the exact character traits of a PBGV- independent, untrustworthy off leash, big baroo voice like the hound dog that they are.

So what do you think? I have put in two pictures of PBGVs & two pictures of my noble terrier/poodle/whatever mix.

Whatever- I love that dog to death!