Ball Buster

Pappy and I went out dog curling last night, and he was looking left when I threw right. The net result is that the last time I saw the little rubber bouncy ball it was building momentum as it rolled down an ice coated slope into the darkness. The ensuing search revealed no ball. I might have had better luck if I could have persuaded Pappy that I wasn't just hiding the ball, so that he might apply his bloodhounding skills to the task.

He had been using that ball for months, so when I went into the bag of new balls I thought we had a lifetime supply. He broke the new ball in two within ten minutes. I figured that one had a bad seam, so I got out a second ball. That one he demolished by the end of the evening. I figured it was just a case that that he was too focused on chewing the new ball rather than chasing it until broken in. All the tennis balls at the dog park were going to be buried in ice, so I brought along one of his last two balls. I bet the suspense is killing you. Yes, he tore it in two, and then wanted to play catch one half at a time.

So now I am down to one new ball, and I am afraid to give it to our little ball mauler. I'm going to have to head out to the curling pitch and see if I can't hunt up the missing ball, else Pappy is going to have to change vocations.

New Sport

Our little sleetstorm of a couple of days ago coupled with bitter cold has created a frozen crust as hard as a cinder block across our neighborhood. Last night I finally managed to chisel one of the cars out of the solidified slush. Pappy's working on eating his way through it all.

The other night as I was headed out to walk Pappy, I pocketed a rubber ball thinking we might play a little fetch in the snow. The big field near our house was surfaced with a perfect sheet of ice. I tossed the ball once to see if Pappy had problems with the footing...and he loved it. Chasing the ball, he'd whack it with his nose and it would roll along for hundreds of feet with him skittering along behind. Finally the ball would end up in a row of shrubs, and he'd race back with it to start again. Presto, dog curling! If we set Pappy loose with a ball on the shrubless expanse of a glacier, we might never see him again.

Fun with Google Translate

We had a sloppy little sleetstorm yesterday, so what better opportunity to mess with Google Translate?

In English:
See this splendid photo of Pappy playing in the snow? He is running around like a lunatic. Pappy acts as crazy as a squirrel in a bag full of nuts when he frolics in the cold.

Now let's translate to German:
Dieses herrliche Foto von Pappy sehen, im Schnee zu spielen? Er läuft herum wie ein verrücktes. Pappy dient als verrückt wie ein Eichhörnchen in einem Beutel voll der Nüsse, wenn er in die Kälte scherzt.

Back to English:
This wonderful photo of Pappy see to play in the snow? It runs around like a crazy. Pappy serves as moved like a squirrel in a bag fully the Nüsse, if he jokes into cold weather.

On to Korean:
Pappy의 이 경이롭 사진은 눈에서 놀 것을 보는가? 그것은 미친 것 같이 주변에 달린다. Pappy는 Nüsse를 부대에 있는 다람쥐 같이 완전히 이동하는으로 그가 추운 기후로 농담하는 경우에, 봉사한다.

And back to English again:
Pappy these wonderments [lop] does the photograph see the glow thing from the eye? It going mad runs together in circumference. Pappy Nüsse the squirrel which to the unit is together completely moves jokes in case, serves with the cold weather he.

Happy Valentine's Day

If you enjoy paint programs, one of the easier ones I have worked with is Artrage 2. It's impressive in emulating oil painting appearance and techniques.

There's a free version for the curious. The full version adds some additional tools and a layers feature, all for $20. There is a new version in the works that may include watercolor tools. Of course, it's a slippery slope. Once you start painting, you have to go out and get a tablet so you aren't stuck painting with a mouse.

It's Fate

Yesterday, on Pappy's and my morning walk, I lost one of my gloves that I got for Christmas. Fortunately I found it on our evening walk right where Pappy had stopped to do his business, a little damp but no worse for wear. Unfortunately I lost it again on this morning's walk, and Pappy didn't stop to do his business this time. And a storm is blowing in promising a half inch of ice everywhere to foil recovery efforts. And the coffee overflowed the filter holder because I didn't put the pot in the coffee maker correctly. And I've got a dentist's appointment this morning. And the commute home is sure to be a nightmare because of the weather.

To the question-- "how's it going?" -- I'm fond of replying "fan-tastic, never had a bad day" in honor of an old mentor. The way I'm feeling, this day may make me a liar. Is it really Tuesday the 13th? It's feeling more like a Friday for all the wrong reasons.

Lack of Possession Is Still One-Tenth of the Law

For a somewhat dominant and hyper dog, Pappy is pretty oblivious to possessiveness. I'm not just saying that he's not possessive, though he's not. If another dog drinks from his bowl, no big deal. If another dog snags his ball, he's long-suffering. He'll pathetically follow him or her around until the ball is finally dropped. As for food, another dog doesn't have much chance to test him since Pappy is a speed eater. But a human can take his bowl or his favorite treat from his mouth, and he's copacetic about it.

But when I say he's oblivious to possessiveness, I'm saying that he is clueless that other dogs might want to keep their stuff. Pappy's sweet dog-cousin Ruby has the misfortune of being a comparatively slow, slow eater. When each of them is given a pig's ear, Pappy snarfs his down and then is relentlessly lurking by Ruby as she is just getting started. Ruby then has to stress about guarding her treat from the looming spectre of Pappy, fending him off with an occasional growl. Last night we went by my brother's house for dinner. While Ruby was getting fed, my niece and I had to form a protective Pappy-proof barrier so that she could chow down in peace. Pappy kept testing the line, but we held.

Other Hobbies

Before Pappy took over as my principal hobby, I used to do a bit of painting. Picture painting that is. It was nothing that would lead me to quit my day job (despite the encouragement of acquaintances who seem persuaded that people line up outside the doors of artists' studios to throw wads of cash at them), but it gave me some sense of accomplishment at the end of the weekend.

But when we got Pappy, he was instantly afraid of going down the stairs to the basement where I keep my easel. When I am down there he just stares forlornly from the top of the steps, and I was afraid of what he would get into if he ever stopped being afraid. So, after nearly a year's retirement from painting, yesterday I brought him down while I did a little scribbling. I set up a bed with a blanket, carried him down the steps, and set to work. He spent most of his time trying to figure out what was going on by standing under the easel where all the paint drips. Potentially messy, but promising.

Valentine's Bonus

This one is for all of you folks who are utterly stumped for Valentine's Day ideas for your loved ones, and don't find it strange to hand out pictures of other peoples' dogs. Just print out this photo, and add this text to the back:

On the day that you were born
The angels got together and decided
To create a dream come true
So they sprinkled moondust in your hair of [insert hair color here]
And starlight in your eyes of [insert eye color here]

You are now free to barf.

The Great Obelisk

I wouldn't call Pappy your classical obedient walker. Occasionally he is like a pinball following his nose and impulses every whichway, but not like some self-strangulating beagles of my past. But there is one point in our morning walk where he just manhauls me to this little strip of grass where he sometimes stops to poop, leading up to a phone pole where he always stops to pee.

The interesting thing is that we had a nice little snowfall this week, and for the first time I saw the pawprints of every dog in the neighborhood following the same processional path down that strip of grass to that phone pole. I get the whole "let's sniff each other's pee" compulsion among dogs, but this is something more. There's some bizarre ritual significance to this pole.

Gotta go, Pappy's licking all the road salt off my shoes in anticipation of his walk.

The Dogswear Section

So, some of you will surely remember the saga of Pappy's coat-- my trepidation about clothing for dogs, and my insistence that it was only to protect him from further injury following his getting stitched up. I've relaxed a bit since those bygone days, and find myself using his coat more often because it makes Pappy seem less antsy on walks in the recent bitterly cold weather. Plus it has some very practical reflective strips for the night time.

After work last week, I drove Pappy to the neighborhood pet store prior to dropping off the car for my wife and walking Pappy home. Pappy was in his dapper little red jacket purchased at the store three months earlier, and the salesguy said: "Isn't it a little late to be headed to the dog park?" I gave him a "hunh?" look, and he said: "I remember when you bought that jacket and said you wouldn't normally put clothes on a dog, but you had to protect his stitches at the dog park. I may not remember names, but I never forget a story. Are those stitches healed yet?" Exposed as a fraud, I mumbled something about how well the coat has held up, bought my bag of dog food, and slunk out of the store.

One thing's for sure, I'm not shopping for Pappy's President's Day outfit at that store. For a theme I've been thinkin' Lincoln-- an Honest Abe stovepipe would suit Pappy, and he's already got the beard.

Vocabulary Lesson

Okay class, how many of you out there have to spell out the word W-A-L-K to keep your dog from going nuts? Not me! I've known plenty of dogs who go ballistic, but I can safely ask Pappy whether he wants to go on a walk without a sign of recognition. It's not until I'm actually putting on my coat and heading for the door that I get the focus of my little meathead.

I hear amazing stories of the vocabulary of dogs, but half the time I'm barely sure Pappy knows his name. The word 'treat' doesn't elicit much of a response, but surprisingly 'Good Boy' always grabs him. I immediately have his undivided attention. If I'm slow to deliver a treat, he starts experimenting-- he'll try staring at me expectantly, he'll perform a dignified sit, then he'll poke his cold nose at my fingers.

And here you thought that selective hearing was only an aptitude of husbands.

Cashing in on Pappy's Blog

My blog is worth $22,581.60.
How much is your blog worth?

So I went out to this site, entered our URL, and found out that Pappy's blog is worth $22,581.60 on the open market. This valuation is scientific, based upon a model used in the sale of Weblogs Inc to AOL. So, that's our basic market value. Now, if I factor in the proceeds from the T-shirt sales to get an idea of the revenue stream. Let's see, seven shirts at $0 profit per shirt. Wait, since I ordered three of the shirts that's more like a loss-- oh well, all internet startups operate in the red.

Okay, so let's figure out my investment-- the number of hours spent writing posts (let's say 220 hours), filming and editing movies (ummm, probably 500 hours), graphics and general fiddling around (200 hours), and hours spent gazing at Pappy for inspiration (oooh, that's gotta be about 2000 hours)-- for a total of 2,920 hours. So the site has increased in value by about $7.73 for each hour invested.

So let's say I cash out now. Invested at 5% per year, the proceeds from the sale of my blog would net me a daily income of about $3.09. How much does a Starbucks coffee cost anyway? Maybe I could get a venti soy latte, or at least learn what it means.

Greetings From New York

We've popped up for a visit to NYC this weekend, staying with my brother-in-law in Chelsea. After a late arrival we raced by cab to make a dinner reservation in Soho, listening to the story on the news radio of a family who was burglarized and had their Yorkie stolen-- "They took our money and jewelry, but we didn't care about that stuff. Just give us back our dog."

We did a lot of wandering today, and saw a few dogs including a cute Rat Terrier in the Fluevog shoe store and a Lab in Bloomingdales. But from what little I have read, no-nonsense New Yorker attitudes don't lend themselves to peace in the dog parks. Manhattan Chien just put up a snarky post about the misanthropes at the city dog runs, making it sound like owners are inches from murdering each other. Thank goodness for the relative good will of our little suburban Maryland dog park-- there's no place like home.

Tongue Treatment

I'm fairly manly and stoic for a geek, so I don't have much truck with emollients and lotions. But since the cold snap of the past couple of weeks, my skin has been getting a little chapped and itchy. Yesterday morning I decided to apply a little Kiehl's Creme de Corps lotion-- a scentless preparation for manly men.

Pappy raced into the room, and, in a fervor, he set to the task of licking off every scintilla of lotion within tongue's reach. It must be like butter to his kibble-weary palette, because he could not be restrained. When I mentioned his obsession to my wife, she acted like she knew all about it and it was no big deal. Hmmmm.

Meanwhile, we are racing off to New York to visit my brother-in-law this weekend, leaving Pappy in the care of his favorite German housesitter. She's a student at a nearby college, and just learned English a year or two ago. Her "Pappy" sounds a bit more like "Peppy", but that's a good name too.

Sweet Mystery of Life... Hey, Where Did It Go?

On occasion, I've been known to ponder the imponderable of Pappy's mongrel ancestry-- the enigma of what breeds of dog he truly is. It's a pleasant way to while away the hours.

Then, on this morning's news, I saw a bit about MMI Genomics of neighboring Beltsville, Maryland. They are coming out with a "Canine Heritage" DNA test to determine the genetic background of your mutt. Now DNA testing to verify a registered AKC dog's parentage has been around for a while. But the challenge of determining whether this dog came from that dog is comparitively simple. These guys are saying that they are putting together a shrink-wrapped kit that will unravel the milkshake that is your mutt, and tell you how many scoops of which kind of dog ice cream went into him. Scientists are such killjoys.

Hippy Hippy Shake

What exactly is the deal with Pappy's full body shake? He does it when he's wet, he does it when he's dry, he does it when he wakes up, pretty much whenever the mood strikes him. It's a sinuous movement, starting at the tip of the nose, working it's way back to the end of the tail, followed by a quick prance to walk it off.

I might have thought he was getting the hair out of his eyes, except I've seen plenty of short haired dogs doing it. I had a friend with a dog who was convinced the sole purpose of her dog's shake was to jingle her tags until my friend got out of bed. There are some opinions on the internet about shaking off bugs. Fascinating.

Growing Up

As Pappy fast approaches two years, he's showing great curiosity about the toilet. This is very promising. He's quite precocious, so we're hopeful that he'll pick up potty training soon.

Pappy's Predecessor

At Christmas 2001 my cousin gave us a flower arrangement as a present. With a fish in it. A live fish. We ate dinner out that evening, and I remember I had to bring the vase into the coat room because I thought he'd freeze in the car.

So began the story of Knucklehead the Betta, our first pet as a married couple. He went on to survive for more than four years in nothing more than a vase of water, which is a testament to the power of neglect. In truth my wife cared for him like our firstborn, but I'd occasionally forget to feed him if she went away for the weekend. The striking thing about a fish is that it has many of the drawbacks of a "real" pet ("what are we going to do with him when we're away?"), and almost none of the perks ("Knucklehead, come here, come here. Oh, you're a fish.") But he had a beauty and a quiet dignity that often made me wonder if he was still alive. As each Christmas passed, I routinely threatened to give him back to my cousin.

In January of last year, while my wife was in New York, Knucklehead started swimming upside-down. She was quite attached to him and I hoped he would survive until her return. He didn't make it and I gave him the flush. A little more than a month later we adopted Pappy to fill the void, and the rest is history.

Alternative Care

I am currently listening to the audio book "A Good Dog" by Jon Katz, where he describes his experience with alternative treatment as a way to help his troubled Border Collie. In this section of the book he describes not only sessions with an acupuncturist and herbal healer, but also an animal communicator and a shaman.

I live in Takoma Park, which probably has more wiccans and spirit walkers per capita than any US city outside of California. And maybe New Mexico. Searching the internet, I did manage to find a small animal masseuse in town, but didn't see any animal communicators or soul retrievers. The former communicate with animals through telepathy, not just grasping ideas and images, but actual language in your pet's thoughts-- there's a more complete description here. A soul retriever goes out and reassembles the free floating parts of a pet or human soul that have escaped through trauma. One can find more information here. There are a surprising number of practitioners out there, or perhaps it isn't so surprising.

In the book Katz acts all hard-bitten and skeptical about these methods, but it's clear he's totally sucked in before he even gets to the first appointment. Personally, I am going to have to stick with veterinarians for Pappy, and, even then, as infrequently as possible.

Pappy with Snow

Though it's reduced to slush by now, this Sunday we had a nice little snowfall topped off with a nice crust of ice from freezing rain. Since we got Pappy last February we haven't had any snow, but we know he's seen it before. The very adoption photo (at left) that lured us to our bumptious "Fritz" was taken in the snow.

He seemed pretty fascinated with the snow this weekend. Cracking through the ice crust while he was running around, he sounded impressively like a one-dog stampede. His fetching was a little off. The ball would just stick in the snow instead of bouncing, leading him through a number of 360 degree skids. And while on walks, I was just giving him pieces of snow and ice off of the cars as training treats-- he seemed more intrigued by them than anything else I had to offer.

Schnairdoodle, Definitely a Schnairdoodle

At Petfinders.com they call this Pappy lookalike named Alex a Schnoodle (Schnauzer-Poodle). He's got Pappy's coat and expression, but Pappy's got more Airedale-y leg coloring and build. I'm thinking that Pappy is definitely a Schnairdoodle.

I wonder if the shelter is just making up that Schnoodle heritage, or if they have real information. Alex is up for adoption out in Columbia, Maryland for any of you coveting a pup-- he looks like a winner to me.

P.S. If you have a few minutes, you should stop by Freddie's blog and check out this video he found. Mindblowing.

The Sacred Bunny

Like many of his pooch peers, Pappy is a stuffed toy destroyer. His principal focus on receiving a new toy is to play with it briefly, followed by a process of getting everything on the inside to the outside-- starting with the squeaker before moving on to the fluffy stuff.

This is true for most toys except this bunny. It seems to have profound religious significance in his cosmology. He plays with it almost tenderly, and never enters the normal "let's-start-tearing-it-apart-and-pulling-out-the-stuffing" portion of his program. He used to have a stuffed leopard-skin bone that occupied this divine position for months, but he started pulling out it's innards a little while ago. He must have had a crisis of faith and changed denominations.

Brought to You in Pappyvision

Since we got Pappy, I've been interested in all the readings I have seen describing dog vision. My own sense of smell is so dulled I can't even conceive what Pappy is getting from all those phone poles, and though my hearing isn't as good I can't imagine that his is qualitatively different. But vision is a whole different ball of wax.

When I was little everyone used to say that dogs saw in black and white. More recent research indicates that their color vision is different than ours. Rather than being trichromatic, theirs is only dichromatic-- they see yellow-blue, but are red-green color blind. The picture above provides some idea of how all those brightly colored toys appear in Spectacular Dichromascope. In Temple Grandin's "Animals in Translation", she talks about a problem at a farm where their pigs would mysteriously startle, and the cause was a hanging yellow raincoat fluttering in a breeze. Yellow really stands out like a searchlight in a dog's otherwise muted world.

Dog Meat Trade

I take a certain amount of pride that Momopeche, a blogging buddy, adopted her dog after being lured into the wonderful world of Pappy. In her blog, she is currently championing a petition to end the particularly cruel dog meat trade in the Philippines-- something I think most of us could get behind.

I have to say, in light of recent history, I am a little leery of ham-handed westerners blundering in and enforcing their values where they don't really understand the local culture. But the background indicates that there is internal support from the Filipino community and legal system for taking action on this.

As I write this, Pappy is laying at my feet licking the carpet. I wonder what I spilled there.

Pappy's Sworn Enemies

On many an evening's walk in the neighborhood, Pappy will go berserk at the sight of these deer lawn ornaments. I can hardly blame him... Bambi freaks me out too.

Ball Champeen

This weekend when Jack showed up at the dog park one day, Pappy had already moved in to the ball-obsessed portion of his visit. Normally on arrival, the two of them are squealing through the fence at each other like a pair of hysterical best-friends-forever schoolgirls. This time Pappy didn't even see Jack as he dropped his ball at potential ball throwers' feet. Jack kept trying to ambush him, but didn't seem to be getting a rise.

I've been looking at other dogs chasing balls, and Pappy is really in a class apart. When I bounce a ball for Jack, his reflexes are so untuned to the task of catching it that it's like he's moving through Jello. Everybody at the park gets a kick out of watching Pappy's intensity when you pick up the ball and he starts flinching in anticipation. It's kind of frightening the way Pappy can catch a ball on the fly, over his shoulder, exactly the way Terrell Owens doesn't.

All My Worldly Possessions

This weekend is going to be extra long, because I'm taking an another day beyond the Martin Luther King holiday. I'm never quite sure whether people outside the US are familiar with MLK, but he was a civil rights leader slain when I was a kid in the 1960s.

On my extra day off my wife and I are headed to the financial planner to find out how our investments are still recovering from the bursting of the internet bubble, and how it is okay because our house appreciated. We should set up a follow up appointment with a lawyer to rewrite our wills leaving everything to Pappy. Not that I trust Pappy's Michael Jackson-like money management skills. He would probably build himself a mansion out of peanut butter carpeted with live squirrels. But, hey, what's money for if you can't enjoy it?

Good Listening

At the risk of repeating myself, I wrote a while back about listening to audio books while walking Pappy. I also talked about how some brick-and-mortar libraries in the US contract with a company called Netlibrary.com to provide downloadable audio books for free, which, in turn, can be downloaded to MP3 players branded as "PlaysforSure".

This morning I was going through the Netlibrary site looking for some new audio books. Netlibrary does not have everything by a long shot, but it seems to have a strange mix of popular current books and more obscure or classic works. I recently enjoyed "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" by Jonathan Safran Foer, and am just finishing "The Kite Runner" by Khaled Hosseini. This morning I decided to check on some dog-themed books and came across Jon Katz's "A Good Dog", about his psycho Border Collie, Orson, who is mentioned in "Katz on Dogs".

It's interesting that what makes a good book for reading doesn't necessarily make for a good audio book. If you are walking around while listening, it's important that the story be fairly linear and methodically paced. Distractions and traffic noise make you miss bits and pieces, so if a story is jumping all over the place or not explaining who is speaking it is easy to get frustrated. Unlike a book it's inconvenient to back up and reread a section, especially when you're handling a dog. A lot also depends on the readers, some of whom are great, some are stiffs, and some are shameless hams. And the author is not always the best narrator-- listening to William Golding reading "Lord of the Flies" is best suited to naptime.

Today, the vast majority of my reading is audio books. The time before bed that I used to spend reading with my eyeballs is now consumed by... this blog.

Iditarod Dreams

Well, it's Sunday morning, and Pappy and I will be headed out for a run before our trip to the dog park. It's probably bad for leash training, but I let Pappy haul me along for the first half mile. And then again anytime he spots another dog or a squirrel-- hopefully directly ahead and not to the side. It makes the miles just melt away, like running downhill.

He'd be a heck of a sled dog given a chance. He's strong for being a skinny puke. And I think his endurance would be good if he were motivated. His paws are big for his weight, which should help him stay on top of the snow crust. Maybe we should go into training, in case the temperature ever drops below freezing again. I could break out the Razor scooter and test my mushing skills.

The Demise of M.U.T.T.

In reviewing our demographic group of dog bloggers, I find that there is a surfeit of competing revolutionary movements. Not only do we have the much revered HULA, but we also have the ongoing Blue Bull movement at Ayatollah Mugsy's blog. There is a glut on the market for revolution, and there just aren't enough buyers out there. It's in recognition of this, that the M.U.T.T. movement is going to move underground. Our mission was pure, but I'm afraid I've scratched my itch for soapbox oratory.

Now, I must reveal my true plot in launching M.U.T.T. In simplest terms, I had some phenomenal ideas for designs for neo-socialist dog t-shirts, and I was developing a lame rationale for them to exist. I like them, and Pappy likes them, and that's all that really matters. I'd still kind of like to do a shirt with the stoic canine proletarian waving the M.U.T.T. flag in front of the dawn of the new order, but that might be a little over the top.

By the way, I got my sample t-shirt from Printfection, and I was very impressed with the result. They were able to print the logo large and well centered on the shirt. I haven't washed it yet, but the colors seemed good and saturated. I'm certainly not embarassed at the prospect of them being sold. There have been two orders since I put up the store, but I suspect it was my brother and his wife.

If Dogs Could Say What They Are Thinking...

"What are you doing with that plastic bag? No, don't pick that... Drop it! DROP IT!

"Aaaaaw, you are a disgusting, disgusting human. "

Tough Assignment

We have a selection of Kongs at the Pappy household, and we generally load two each work day-- one to distract him during our morning departure, and another for the dog walker to give him. When we get home from work, the first thing Pappy does after greeting us is to run over and roll a Kong around on the floor. This is his signal that he wasn't able to get a treat out and wants some help. For us, it's kind of like helping a kid out with a particularly difficult math problem.

Yesterday evening when we got home, Pappy ran past the Kong giving it just a quick glance. He had finished his homework on his own without any help.

Faces of the Dog Park

This weekend, neighbor dog Molly's owner called to say they were moving back in after a couple of months of construction. Pappy and Molly have been out of touch for the better part of that time. So Saturday morning, I bundled Pappy and Molly into the car for a trip to the dog park.

I had to keep the defroster on high to keep the windows from fogging due to Molly's freight train panting; those Lab genes are a menace. When we got to the park, I shoved my camera into a bunch of dogs faces for the collage above, revealing the true purpose of macro mode. We were at the park for a while when two dogs showed up with whom Pappy had previously shared some growls. Bizarrely, Pappy immediately moved inbetween my legs-- he's never done that before. This was endearing in a pathetic way, until Jack came up and challenged him to a wrestling match between my knees.

Avast There, Ye Landlubbers

No, this isn't a photo of us fulfilling our New Year's resolution to get Pappy to the ocean-- it's just a simulation. We did a test run on his sea-worthiness by visiting his dog cousin Polly by the Chesapeake Bay during the freakishly warm weather. The results look promising... a nautical theme suits him, he just needs a little sailor outfit.

M.U.T.T. Manifesto, Part 1

There is a spectre haunting dog parks, the spectre of M.U.T.T.

A while back I was ranting about faceless conspiracies to deny mixed-breed dogs their due, framing the mission of Pappy's organization, Mongrels and Underdogs Together for Tolerance. Many of the good comrades of this site are purebreds of the milky-purest bloodlines, but their mere presence here indicates they feel a greater bond to dogness than attachment to any breedist heirarchies. And yet mutts continue to have issues of self-esteem, lacking a sense of common identity.

Take the Labradoodle. Five years ago even their owners would have called them mutts. Straight hair, curly hair, long hair, short hair, tall, short, fat, thin-- they're generally friendly, but I've never seen two Labradoodles that looked recognizably alike. Just do an image search to get my point. Pack a few pounds on Pappy, die him one color, and I could pass him off as a Labradoodle without anyone being the wiser.

Yet rather than glorying in their diversity-- celebrating that each could be identified separately in a crowd-- forces seek to isolate Labradoodles as a designer breed, while others in turn squabble to deny them that identity. My advice to them and everydog is to gather under the banner of M.U.T.T. and tear down breedism. It's a shame Pappy's is always napping, else we could have ourselves a revolution.

Pappyology 101

As we arrived home from work yesterday evening, we decided to conduct a little experiment. Normally Pappy storms downstairs from the bedroom as we are fumbling around with the door, and greets us as we enter with the Pappy dance. Last night I sneaked up and opened the door as quickly and silently as possible. Then I ran up the stairs as fast as I could.

The results of the experiment were inconclusive. I managed to intercept him as he rounded the corner and headed down the steps. His eyes didn't actually pop out of his head, but he was a little freaked and drowsy. He had to run down to the bottom of the steps to greet my wife and rev up his tail, at which point he came back up to bury his snout in my suit (awwwwww!).

By the way, Pappy's ceegar illustrated in yesterday's post is now being referred to as "the crack pipe". It was an untouched rawhide roll over which Pappy had been engaged in a three-day marathon bout of crying and insane antics. Late last night I managed to coax him to start eating it, whereupon it was instantly gone. Heaven help us, or at least send an interpreter.

Scrooge McPappy, Entrepreneur

As you read this, you might be asking yourself "why is Pappy smoking a huge celebratory stogie?" Well, I'll tell you-- it's because we are launching his web store. Right here in Takoma Park. And that starts with "W", and ends with "E", which rhymes with "T", and that stands for t-shirt.

I'd have to call our store a beta effort at present, with a grand total of one item for sale. I've ordered a sample so that I felt a little more comfortable about product quality; Printfection has $2 promotional samples if you'd like to look into printing your own design. I had considered donating proceeds to a dog shelter, but the shirts seem so expensive that I can't see marking them up over what Printfection charges. I'd feel better about sending my own check to the shelter.

When I get my sample, I'll let you know how they look. Other designs are in the works. (Don't forget to check the back of this design.)

Thinking Small Picture

On days like yesterday, Pappy doesn't ponder big picture items like the enduring legacy of ex-Presidents or global warming. He was pretty happy to have us at home for an unplanned holiday during President Ford's funeral. The highlight was a nice long walk in the unseasonably warm weather. Of course I always have that crumbling Antarctic icepack from Inconvenient Truth running on a tape loop through my head.

This Must Be How Sisyphus Felt

I've been tagged. This always brings to mind the term "attraction-repulsion" from freshman Art History. The example Ms. Goodgal (seriously) used was Meret Oppenheimer's Furry Cup, where the attraction was that luxurious fur, and the repulsion was, well, hairy coffee.

With tagging the attraction is the sense of kinship and popularity, and the repulsion is how it plays on tribal memories of chain letters promising death and dismemberment if broken. 'Nuff whining...

My good buddy Gus has tagged me with the task of writing five New Year's Resolutions. With Pappy in mind, here are my resolutions:

1. For Pappy: chase some balls. Check!
2. For me: I promise to use the word "depredations" in a post.
3. For me: I know this is getting repetitive, but I have to figure out some way to get grass to grow in the back yard and survive Pappy's depredations (check!). It's too shady for zoysia grass, so maybe astroturf.
4. For me: take Pappy on a road trip, maybe to the ocean. To my knowledge he's never been outside a 60 mile radius of Washington, DC, and that's kind of sad.
5. For Pappy and me: I need to take my lead from Ferndoggle and get on the training bandwagon with Pappy. Her Lola has similar leash aggression issues with other dogs. While I'm getting irritated, Ferndoggle's doing something about it.

Now I am to tag five new people. In the spirit of New Year, it's time to remember old debts and get some payback. So I am going to tag people who have tagged me in the past, in hopes they'll do the same and move these tags back to the source-- beautiful symmetry. My tagees are Disgruntled Owl, Pippin, 3DogCache, and Scrappy. My fifth is a discretional tagging of Cara, since I didn't actually complete her tag (but I'd done the Xmas tag twice already).

Dogs Unclear on the Concept

Last night, during our New Year's celebration, we were sitting in the kitchen eating some appetizers. Pappy doesn't get much people food, so we decided to let him try a little spiced shrimp. He immediately dropped it on the floor and tried to roll in it.

Happy New Year everybody!

Today Only

In case your dog has already destroyed all his Christmas toys... I read at the Blog Pound, Chick-fil-a is giving out free cow plush toys here.

Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Pappy

So, after our visit to Dallas we went directly to pick up Pappy. We made the mistake of taking SuperShuttle down from Baltimore-Washington Airport to our friends' house in Alexandria, Virginia, undergoing a two and a half hour meander through parking lots and back alleys of DC under the lunatic guidance of a possessed GPS.

We arrived before anyone was home. Pappy barked at us through the window in the front door until he worked out who we were, whereupon he commenced weeping, wailing, and pawing his way through the glass. Though misleading, my previous post about the composition of our friends' family was accurate. The pre-college teenage son came up shortly after we arrived. Whenever I see him I like to remind him that, when he was two years-old, I babysat him and wiped his butt. It's important for kids to know their history... where they came from.

He gave us a quick report card on Pappy's performance. Pappy was a good boy and a lot of fun. Pre-college son said he spent, like, an hour wrestling on the floor with Pappy. (Huh? Pappy doesn't wrestle. He shoves balls in your lap.) Pappy was afraid of the bare wooden steps (Okay, I can see this one. He always looks like a bag of broomsticks going down stairs, and slippery steps would probably freak him out.) And he would stand up on the landing and bark. (Huh? Pappy doesn't bark unless Timmy has fallen in the well. Did they check the well?)

All of this left me thinking that this wasn't my dog. But he looks like my dog. Suspicious. I'm going to have to keep an eye on him.

Shameless Pandering for Votes

So, we are entering the last couple of days of voting on November's Cool Dog Site of the Month at Dogmark.net-- and I must remind you that Pappy's in the running for his November 22nd site of the day appearance. If you haven't voted yet, get on over there and vote your conscience. But, before you do so, I'd just like to say that you are such a pretty dog. Such a smart dog. Good dog.

Holiday Surprise

For several weeks it has been looking like the "Do They Know It's Christmas?" video might surpass the "Teletubbies Meet Pappy" video as the most viewed Pappy movie of all time, clocking slightly less than 6,000 viewings on Youtube in a month. Then, overnight, suddenly Youtube was showing that the music video has 9,250 viewings. At first I was thrilled and wondered how this might have happened. Then I started noticing all these messages in Youtube about various "temporarily disabled" features and "site maintenance"-- and the number seems to be oddly stuck at 9,250.

Color me suspicious.

The Great Hunt

Since my arrival in Dallas, my assistant Fred has been helping me with a special project. When you sort the Dogs with Blogs site listing by state, you find an inordinate number of listings for Texas. Without troubling to figure out whether any of them live in Dallas, Fred and I took to the paths and alleys to see if we could spot any blogging dogs. In addition we were looking for traces of paparazzi and guard dogs in hopes of finding the Ayatollah Mugsy's compound. The picture at left is Fred peering through the bushes, investigating a promising mansion.

So far no luck, at least as far as we could tell. I'm not exactly sure what characteristics distinguish dogs with blogs from the general population. If you're a blogging dog and happen to recognize Fred and me wandering past, come up and give us the secret handshake.

Dateline Dallas

I've written of Pappy's Uncle Fred in Dallas before. Sure, he looks like a stuffed animal, but he's as tough as nails. Today you should have seen him going after the guys with leaf blowers on the other side of the sliding glass door. And he doesn't have a yappy poodle bark, he's got the solid woof of a mutt.

It's been over a year since we visited Fred, and in that time we've lived with Pappy for almost ten months. It's weird, because when I finally saw Fred again, it was like he'd been miniaturized. He's so much smaller than Pappy, and I wouldn't have guessed that. And before our visit, if you'd asked me to guess at his age, I would have said seven or eight years-- but thinking more carefully, we realized he has to be around 13 years old. His poofy fur and trim physique help to conceal his vintage, but his eyes have gotten a bit rheumy and the skin is getting slack on his belly. Fred's getting old.

But thankfully he is still game for a good walk, and we plan to do plenty of wandering around the mean streets of Dallas in search of Cowboys fans to antagonize. Hey, if the Redskins are going to stink this year, the only joy left is reveling when their football rivals lose.

The Breakup

Well, it's done. We've given Pappy to a lovely family. They have a preteen son to continually throw balls to the Papster, a teenage daughter who will welcome him on the bed, and a pre-college son to ignore him. I'm sure his life with them will be a happy one.

But Pappy's blog will continue. We are now living with a new pair of dogs I like to call Pappy II and Pappy III, for purposes of continuity. Their official names are Fred (on the left) and Buddy. Fred is thirteen years old and hogs the bed, but we have to honor his wisdom. Buddy is a still athletic eight-years, and constantly thunders up and down the stairs.

Psych! We'll be back with Pappy next week. We're just in Dallas visiting my Mother-In-Law for Christmas.

Holiday Pic

Bookmark this photo, because it may be the last time Pappy is seen in a headdress. Old Navy was handing out the antlers when I was doing my last minute shopping at 7:00 AM this morn before heading to the dog park. The shot itself was a Christmas miracle, since Pappy sat still with a ball dangled in front of his nose for several snaps. Finally he snapped, and lunged at it.

Happy holidays. Pappy and I will be back in a few.

We can all be in if there is no outside...

Poor Pappy the mutt. Too often, he clings to his semblance of a breed-identity as a "terrier". But even then, would this win him a place in an AKC competition? No. Can he join a breed-specific web ring without fear of being ostracized? No again. Though he has more traits in common with than different from his purebred counterparts, his generic dog-ness excludes him. It's time to stop pretending.

I'm thinking of organizing a movement of mutts. And this movement would be inclusive of all dogs and breeds, since they are not the ones that choose to impose these artificial divisions. It is The Establishment! Yes, after fading out after the mid-seventies, they have resurfaced to sow discord and undermine dogs' 17,000 year franchise as humanity's first and best friend.

Ask yourself this: do poodles ask to have pom-poms carved into their luxurious manes? No! (Of course if they do like their pom-poms, I'm not judging them.) Would the Great Dane lay down with the Chihuahua? In a second, if he could work out the logistics. Dogs tend towards homogeneity in the state of nature, and it is only The Establishment imposing these divisions of breed.

The movement needs to have a catchy name and acronym. Hmmm, Mongrels and Underdogs Together for Tolerance? Discussions are ongoing. I may need to take a little time off from blogging to give this matter and our mission some serious consideration. Plus we're headed out of town for the holidays.

More later! 'Til then, fight the power.

My New Favorite Search Engine

I remember way back in the nineties when I moved from Metacrawler to Google as my favorite search engine-- I was a pretty early adopter. But, in a recent bout of navel gazing, I typed just "Pappy" into Yahoo, and Pappy's Dog Blog came up as the number one hit ahead of Pappyland, Pappy Boyington, and many other worthy Pappies. Google is so ten-minutes-ago that we don't even appear on the first page.

To be frank, I find it unfathomable that Pappy even appears on Yahoo's list. It leaves me wondering if they are somehow tracking my activities, then playing on my vanity by bubbling up favorite sites for my every search. Woo-ooo-oo, the internet sure is a creepy place full of scary people who know everything about you.

Supposing Your Nostrils Were on Your Knuckles...

Pappy is pretty good with his paws, but they are only really useful for pinning things to the ground. For grabbing and fine manipulation, his mouth is his only hand. The disadvantages of this arrangement are pretty evident if you have ever seen your dog's tongue coated in filth. Another problem reveals itself when I hear Pappy trying to breathe, snorting and snuffling, while trying to extricate rubber balls jammed into tight spaces.

Every once in a while I try to imagine having my tongue on my palm, my nostrils on my knuckles, and my eyeballs on my wrist. Washing dishes becomes much more than a chore if you're trying to hold your breath the whole time. Rubber gloves would be a real problem. And you could forget me picking up after Pappy takes a dump... not going to happen.

Will It Go Round in Circles?

I was retagged on the Christmas tagging circuit by crazed flyball junkie Pippin-- I love those wacky ears. This go round I thought I'd take a slightly different tack on the "three things I want, three things I don't" theme, and list what I want from Pappy this Christmas:

1. My grass and shrubs back, freakin' herbivore.
2. Him pooping directly into the bags.
3. Do you think he could operate an espresso machine? It would certainly speed up the morning routine.

And these are three things I don't want from the Papster:

1. Pawprints emblazoned on my suits and dress shirts in the morning.
2. Muddy balls dropped in my lap.
3. Him disappearing into the guest room, then getting "ominously silent" around my wife's few remaining stuffed animals.

Rather than tagging another five people with the Christmas Tag, I'm looking for volunteers. Any takers? Instructions are in the previous post.

Call of the Wild

Working in downtown Washington, DC, I often take a walk (Pappyless) down near the monuments at lunchtime. Yesterday I ran into a full-grown fox not 200 feet from the Lincoln Memorial.

I was only about 15 feet from him to start with, and I had one of those "wait a second" moments because the context was so odd. He was in a quiet spot next to some sidewalk construction, but I can't imagine how he got where he was without drawing a crowd. He ignored me, so I felt reasonably comfortable following him at a little distance as he meandered towards the Vietnam Memorial. He was very doglike, and I couldn't help but draw some comparisons to Pappy.

The fox was completely oblivious to people, and moved to a much busier area without any apparent notice. I guess he must be habituated to humans since he doesn't exactly live in the wilderness. The fox never glanced at anyone, even when kids started yelling about him. Pappy spends his life around people, but he is constantly vigilant for people and animals. On a walk, his head is on a swivel if there is anyone around or following behind us...always waiting on my command to kill or lick.

The fox was totally focused on squirrels, which, in turn, were pretty oblivious to him. He was carefully stalking them across the lawn, and then giving a little light chase at the end. In the same situation, Pappy would be storming across the lawn until every squirrel in the vicinity had retreated far up in the limbs-- but then he doesn't have to conserve much energy. I've never seen a trace of a stalking instinct, though he's quite a tracker. All the same, I doubt the fox would have much respect for Pappy's technique.

Opening Up Shop

I've been thinking recently about putting together some t-shirt designs and opening a little online store. My motive wouldn't be to make money (because I'm pretty sure my only customers would be my wife and myself), but it would be wild to come across a total stranger wearing Pappy merchandise.

There are a number of different web services that allow you to set up an online store without any upfront costs-- they take a certain amount on each sale and you charge your profit over and above that. I see a number of bloggers who make use of Cafe Press for this service, but I've seen a few mixed reviews on the turnaround time, cost, and quality of some of the merchandise. I have absolutely no experience, so I'm ignorant on all counts.

Are any of these companies good? In the spirit of all things on the web, a little research exposes a wealth of contradictary guidance. What sense I can make of it seems to indicate that a lot depends on matching the printing process to the appropriate materials. The direct printing technique used for these print-on-demand companies isn't the same as screen printing used for large t-shirt productions, and sometimes appears washed out on thick cotton sweatshirts, for example. There are a couple of helpful posts with detailed discussions ongoing here and here at the now-deceased The Brooke blog.

Rumble in the Parking Lot

Tensions have been high in the parking lot at the dog park. Evil looks are exchanged, tempers flare. This is between the humans, not the dogs.

The parking lot is at the end of a long driveway, and is shared between the dog park and an outdoor skating rink. Whenever there is a hockey game, suddenly the lot is packed and there is no overflow parking... and some doofus in an oversized SUV has parked across two spaces. Bunches of hockey dads high on adrenaline and testosterone are milling about looking for pencil-necked dog park regulars to thump-- well, not really, but it could happen.

Last weekend, the park maintenance guys left a huge pile of bark mulch in the parking lot, compounding the shortage of spaces. I thought there was going to be a war. At least there was a bunch of grumbling amongst us nerds in the dog enclosure. After all, it's our lot.

Future Shock

I came across a site as today's Dogmark.net Cool Site of the Day (don't forget to vote for Pappy as November's cool site). At first glance the product at Sniflabs.com seems pretty amazing. If you watch their flash animation, it's fantastic.

This little gizmo on the dog's collar senses the dogs physical activity, senses which other dogs with gizmos are in proximity giving you a social network, flashes lights under different situations, wirelessly transfers all this information to your computer, and logs it on their site. Then you read around a little and realize they aren't selling them, they are asking you to "reserve" one. In other words they haven't actually built much of anything yet.

So, projecting out, with all these great features the gizmo will be the size of a cigar box and have a battery life measured in minutes. Let's say you buy the fifth one off of the production line... it should be about seven years before you actually encounter another dog wearing one to test out the social features. And it doesn't actually have a GPS, just motion sensors (like those Wii remote controls that people are throwing through their TV sets) and proximity sensors. Mmmm, I pass.

Hmmm... Interesting

I've been giving some thought to Pappy lately. His chest is so deep, and his forelegs are long and overdeveloped. And his brow is kind of beetled. And that fur... I haven't seen many dogs with that fur.

But it's best not to overthink his heritage. We'd hate not to be allowed back in the dog park.

Tag, I'm It-- The Sequel

I've been tagged by my tiny terrier brother Scrappy to respond to the following challenge--

The Rules: The player of this game starts with "3 things he/she would love to get for Christmas" and also has to list "3 things he/ she definitely does not want to get for Christmas". Then he/she tags 5 friends and list their names. The ones who get tagged need to write on their blogs about their Christmas wishes, as well as state this rule clearly, then tag 5 more victims. And the one who tags need to leave a comment that says "you've been Christmas tagged!" in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

As always, my only purpose is to channel Pappy's thoughts and wants, so I will speak for him. These are three things Pappy would love for Christmas:

1. A bouncy ball.
2. Someone to throw the bouncy ball.
3. A big chain to keep the bouncy ball thrower from going away... ever.

These are three things Pappy definitely does not want for Christmas:

1. A gift certificate to the veterinarian.
2. Body soap, shampoo, or any form of bath paraphernalia.
3. A hotspot. (Well, he kind of enjoys working on the hotspot itself, but he really hates that disinfectant spray.)

Now I'm back to the hard part of deciding the next stuckees. Five is a lot. How about the following:

3DogCache

Bella

My Dogs Have Fleas Blog

Freddie

and Texas

Pappy's Decision Tree

As Pappy and I go for a walk, he'll be trawling along at a good clip sniffing the ground. Suddenly, he'll scoop something up and swallow it down as if by sleight of hand... mouth... whatever. The whole sequence happens so quickly I never have any idea what went in his mouth.

How could he possibly find and eat something so fast? In analyzing this question, I plotted out a flow chart of Pappy's thought process for searching and gobbling. My theory is that he expedites the eating process by eliminating several superfluous steps, such as considering whether he is hungry or if the item is edible. He just swallows and lets his stomach decide.

A Festivus for the Rest of Us

It's that time of year again! Festivus is fast approaching on December 23-- the last non-commercial holiday for the wildly disfunctional family. In the celebration, the "Airing of Grievances", where the family expresses their disappointment in each other, is followed by the final "Feats of Strength". Traditionally this entails pinning the head of the household to the ground, but may involve any cathartic release of pent-up energy.

I would have to say this Airdale has the whole feats of strength part down pat. Crazy.

A Christmas Treat

In honor of the season, Pappy and I have been busily photochopping away. Greg from dogswithblogs.com.au asked for a Christmas tree ornament in memory of Daisie, a sweet little blogging pup who passed on.

And now, in order to fill out that dull nativity scene on your dining room sideboard, we have Paper-Doll Pappy. He comes complete with shepherd and lamb outfits, depending on your mood. Add a creche and a few supporting characters, and you should be good to go. Just glue a printout to some cardboard, and mind your fingers as you're cutting him out.

Now if I can just get the Pappy dreidl done...

What I Found in Our Construction Debris...

It's amazing the things I find in our back yard when looking through the heap of construction debris from renovating our porch room:

The old tile from our porch bathroom.

The covers from the electrical outlets.

Nails (eeek).

Gnawed fast food wrappers.

Water bottle chew toy.

And, of course, Pappy.

Crazy Weekend at the Dog Park

This weekend at the dog park was a tough one for all involved. Saturday the temperature was down to 22 degrees... yes, that's Fahrenheit, not Celsius. All you Canadians and northerners can stop laughing now, because for us that's pretty cold when you're just standing around. Molly and Honey's owner was wearing not one but two pairs of gloves.

Then, today all of the dogs were bonkers for some reason. As we were getting ready to enter, Pappy just went off at these two strange dogs through the fence. He was getting bad enough that I was prepping to leave. I've seen a few owners walk their dogs around the perimeter of the fence to settle down all the dogs before entering, so I tried that after a little cool-off walk. I tried him again, but Pappy and those two dogs were just bound to have trouble. Their owner said they were headed out, so we just switched places and Pappy seemed fine. Truman and owner returned from a walk around the park, and it turns out Truman was having trouble with the same dogs earlier. Then Cisco showed up, decked a Border Collie, and left almost immediately. Then this big German Shepherd showed up and ran yelping in terror all around the enclosure-- I didn't see anything happen to her that caused that. We had a full moon last week, but who knows what was going on. Not a banner day at the dog park.

Puzzling Traffic

I was looking at a report of referrals to my site, and I've gotten like 30 different hits today from search engines where people are looking for "immovable object", "irresistable force", and some variant of "wrestling"-- I did a post a while back containing these phrases. Other search phrases that have brought people to my site in the past include "duck footed dog" and "dog ate a maxi-pad". I see stuff like this, and it makes me wonder what the heck is going on out there that I don't know about.

Tag, I'm It

In the comments for a recent post, I was tagged by Disgruntled Owl and again by 3DogCache to list six weird things about Pappy and/or me. Is this a trick question? This blog is essentially a celebration of everything weird about Pappy. We've got an embarrassment of riches to draw upon. Of course I am of no relevance-- just a poor scribe.

Maybe I should be trying to make this a challenge, and list six normal things about Pappy. Well, I'll stick with the instructions. Here are six weird things I haven't seen other dogs doing:

1. When chasing a ball, if it ricochets off a tree or other object he has to go back and investigate. He'll go look the tree up and down, even if it means backtracking across the yard. It could well be that he is the Isaac Newton of the dog set, working out the physics of ball trajectories.
2. When Pappy has his ball and you aren't playing with him, he'll immediately take it to the nearest low-hanging obstacle-- a bureau, a chain-link fence with a gap under it, a bookshelf, a sofa, the TV stand-- and start a high-stakes game of pawing and poking the ball. Within seconds he'll have knocked the ball under the obstacle, whereupon he begins scrabbling around underneath with his paws. Often he can get the ball out himself, but he'll continue poking it under until he can't. Finally he'll begin a little dance of looking at the ball, then looking back at us and whining...driving...me...nuts...until I totally cave in and get the ball for him.
3. When you're petting him, Pappy always tries to gnaw on your rings. My wife worries he'll eat the diamond from her engagement ring, and I don't look forward to the "outcome" of that eventuality.
4. For some reason he always gets playful when I am putting on my shoes-- grabbing at socks, getting under my legs, etc. It's not that he isn't playful at other times, but he's always riled up with the shoes. I think he gets high on foot odor.
5. When anticipating a walk I've seen dogs go nuts, or I've seen them enthusiastically sitting waiting for the leash. For some reason Pappy nervously paces in slow circles around me making it difficult to get the leash on. I have no explanation for this one, because he clearly likes walks and never goes off-leash.
6. Pappy's bed is at the bottom of our bed. I have a little eighteen inch gap between bed and bureau to squeeze through to get to my side of our bed. For some reason Pappy always flops off his bed and sprawls his head and front legs across my gap when he goes to sleep. I'll stomp back and forth over his head while getting ready for bed, and he never flinches. After I turn out the lights I shuffle, night-blind and worried about crushing his skull, to bed. Later, he curls up on his bed out of the way. Ha ha ha, funny game.

Now for the hard part-- who do I want to victimize next? I remember my first chain letters as a kid, and they gave me a bit of a complex. They either promised a horrible and painful death if I didn't continue the chain, or asked me to send a dollar I didn't have to the people who victimized me in the first place. When I got older I made a methodical practice of breaking any chain letters, but always with some hesitation.

Let's see who looks like they haven't been tagged recently (man, there was a huge outbreak of tagging back in August). OK, I'll tag the following:

The Dogs of Jackman Avenue

Finnegan

Marvin, the Hollow Hound

[The rules...Each player of this game starts with the "6 Weird Things about You"-- or your dogs. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their blog.]

Pappy's Mini-Me

When we got Pappy, he had already been *ahem* fixed. That means we won't be hearing the pitter-patter of tiny Pappito feet anytime soon. It's a sad thought we can't share the love by mass-producing him.

Unless... what is the current stance in the US on dog cloning? Yes, I understand that this would be an abomination with horrible moral implications, and I've read that the South Koreans went through thousands of clone implants to get one dog. But wouldn't it all be worth it to see Pappy's reaction? It's time we put modern science to good use.

Maybe I'll trade him in on a nifty little Italian number...

I have no right to complain, because Pappy waits very patiently while we wipe the mud off his paws when he comes in from the back yard. But every once in a while we blow it, leading to carpet catastrophes. Ahhh, but if you can get past her twitchy Felix-Unger-on-caffeine persona, this Italian Greyhound has a pretty nice trick.

Rearing a Psychokiller

Some say that a dog grows to resemble his owners. If this is true of Pappy and us, then my wife and I must be flat-out stark raving mental.

Case in point-- give him one of his big biscuits, and he will wander in circles around the house whining. We let him outside so he can bury it (anything to stop the whining), but that isn't what he wants. Then he brings it back in, drops it on the rug, and jumps around barking at it. Then he wants to play fetch with it while whining. As near as I can tell, this will go on forever until I break it in half-- whereupon he gobbles it right down. I've figured out he must have a complex about treats longer than four inches, because he does the same thing with dried chicken strips and pizzles but not smaller treats.

I blame all of this on my wife. She was given an Easy-Bake Oven as a child. She loved it, but she was terrified of using it lest she use up all of its little cake mixes. Her parents thought she wasn't interested in it, and finally gave it away. She still hasn't recovered. If they knew all this background, the shelter would never have given us a dog.

Back to Normal

I'm happy to report that, after greatly depleted attendance over the Thanksgiving holidays, this past weekend the dog park was back to normal. Jack (getting creamed on the left) and Jojo were paroled from the kennel for good behavior. Pappy continues to wear his body armor, which two different people described as looking like a diving flag. Truman was storming around, thankfully keeping away from the poo. And new star, Sammy the Bull Terrier puppy, was racing around like a wild thing. What do other people do on weekend mornings?

Chatty Doggies

I used to find this the most entertaining dog video on Youtube. Then I recalled the plot of Conquest of the Planet of the Apes-- talking ape leads revolt resulting in human slavery and world domination by apes. Sure, these talking dogs want their Mama now, but what are they going to want tomorrow? Disturbing.

Show Us The Sad Pappy

You don't have to look far to see the happy Pappy, as he chases his ball or chases votes on the campaign trail, but here is the sad Pappy. Today was his bath day, prior to the application of his monthly flea goo, and it's all we can do to get him upstairs to the bathroom as the tub fills. The steadying hand in the photo is the countermove to his "flashflood shake" maneuver. Check out his accusing glare-- pretty withering.

"What Does He Do All Day?" Part Two

This week a contractor started rebuilding our porch room. We went to the office, and when we came home the room was gutted-- my wife says it's like we've got a construction fairy. I'm not sure the workers would be too pleased if we got them t-shirts that said that.

The workers have to come through the house to get to the porch, and, of course, Pappy is running loose. I have to wonder what he is up to through all of this activity. I don't see any evidence of blood or detached limbs, so he's certainly not protecting the house. Heaven help us if he's playing ball with them.