My Race Is Run

Woohoo! We're there! 40 posts in 30 consecutive days. For those of you who weren't aware, I've been participating in National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) during November. I stopped mentioning this a while back lest I jinx myself. Too easy to imagine saying how well it was all going, then total blogger's block sets in.

Looking back over the posts, it was an eventful month, so now it's time for a long, boring, retrospective post. These are my thoughts:

• When I look back, I am amazed at how much happened this month. It seems like a long time since those first posts. Posting frequently is like walking rather than driving; I see a lot more, and time moves slowly.
• In browsing the sites, I saw a lot of participants bothered by the forced act of posting each day diluting the value of their insights. I often wondered whether I was getting tedious and repetitive. My wife reassured me that there were a few unmemorable posts, but the quality was good overall.
• As mentioned before, I came across some participants' sites that had been closed off from public access. One of these left a message that she had found herself doing too much self-editing because of the influx of new and unfamiliar visitors. I did get a lot more traffic, and I definitely take a lot fewer risks when I am less sure about my audience.
• I kind of hated posting immediately after Crusher's tribute. That deserved a few days of attention.
• Ironically, I found I was writing much longer postings when working on a tighter schedule. I'm a fan of brevity, and it takes time to whittle things down and still get your point across.
• I never felt that I was at a total loss for subject matter-- in fact I still have a couple of topics in the can. Of course, this just shows the depths of my lunatic obsession with my dog.
• Once I had started, I was confident I'd finish. I'm pretty compulsive (for example... the movies).

Thanks to everybody for your visits and support. I notice some NaBloPoMo participants are talking about taking a vacation from blogging after this slog. I don't plan on a break, but going forward I'd have to say that I am going to take it a bit slower.

Holy Moley!

I was pretty pleased earlier this month when Gladiators of the Dog Park attracted 100 hits in a day. Then came the Do They Know It's Christmas? video... Jumpin' Jehosophat! Thanks everybody.

The Checklist

We are now enforcing the checklist anytime Pappy comes in from our back-yard-turned-mud-pit:

1. Has it rained in the past two days?
2. Is it morning, and was there a heavy dew?
3. Was Pappy running around vigorously?
4. Was he tromping around the back beds?
5. Is he hiding a muddy ball under that moustache?

If the answer to any of these questions is yes, out comes the terrible towel for a thorough Pappy footrub and wipedown. This is intended to protect the light beige (ecru, really) berber carpeting that seemed like such a great choice before we had a dog. Sadly, the checklist failed us the other night. Our dinner guest found the wacky pawprints all over the living room carpet to be a charming view into our domestic life, but my wife was doing a slow burn.

The Coat

Pappy's coat-- well, really, it's more of a protective vest-- has been a glowing success. He's enthusiastic when putting it on, never fusses with it, and it has been holding up well despite rough use. Plus, with the collar turned down, he looks kind of like Scotty.

While we were watching TV last night, he trotted into the living room dragging the coat along in his mouth. I was unclear whether his intention was to wear it or shred it. It was kind of 'spensive, so I didn't wait to find out.

Christmas Comes Early

In recognition of the good fortune that celebrity has brought him, Pappy wanted to give something back. So we lined up this holiday music video including other superstars of the dog-blogging world. Commence rocking out.

More Thanksgiving

First there was Mock Thanksgiving, then we had Thanksgiving: The Dinner Out. Last night my brother and his wife hosted Thanksgiving 2: The End of the Gobbler. Somehow we decided that it wasn't enough to finish with last Thursday's Thanksgiving dinner, we needed one more gathering and immense meal to do the holiday right.

Pappy got to come. Polly had already gone home, but there's another family pup. My brother has Pappy's other dog-cousin Ruby. She's a mutt with a black coat, and the black-spotted tongue and shortened snout of a Chow. She's weighs a little less than Pappy, but she's a lot more compact. Many people mistake her for a pup, but she's around two and a half.

My brother adopted Ruby last December from Hedgesville Hounds, a pretty wonderful rescue organization which takes great care in matching up people with the right dogs. They do a lot of evaluation, and offer to take back any pet if things don't work out. It's a nice approach to recognize that not every dog goes with every family, and that it doesn't mean the people are uncaring or bad owners. Happily, Ruby has worked out well.

She and Pappy are a good pair. Ruby is very affectionate. She's short, so she has a tendency to delicately hop up on your leg and gouge you with her claws to get some lovin'. Her ears are normally flat against her skull and the fur on her head is soft, so she looks a bit like a seal baby. Her unique characteristic is that she has one lower fang sticking out at a funny angle, so she's more of a seal baby with an attitude.

Cousin Polly

Pappy's dog-cousin, Polly, is here for a visit over the Thanksgiving holidays along with my Aunt. She's a wee long-haired Dachshund around two years old. Pappy and Polly get along well, given that he doesn't seem to have quite decided whether she is really a dog. When wrestling, Pappy will come bounding up to her and plant a paw on her back, and then... that's it. Polly's got no follow-up move. She's a lap rug. Other than that, they lick each other and he carefully puts her head in his mouth.

For a long time Polly was flat-out terrified of me. The first time I met her was when I had unexpectedly stopped by my Aunt's house to pick up a key when my Aunt wasn't home, and that must have traumatized her. For the next months, she would shake and cower when I was anywhere near. Then we got Pappy, and we brought our bumptious dog around to meet Polly-- and she finally had something to be more afraid of than me. Actually, I think she kind of idolizes her dog-cousin. As for me, she now wags her tail fiercely and likes me to pet her, but she will never take her eyes off me for a second. She's been very good this visit, given that she's just spent two days in the house of the horrifying ogre.

Walking the Leaf Pile Obstacle Course

This time of year, with leaf piles every 20 feet along the road, Pappy's walks have to be extended considerably in order to offer adequate sniffing time. As an added bonus, he's taken to wading deep into these piles to take a dump. It's now a wonderful scavenger hunt through leaves to find the "warm needles in a haystack" to protect leaf-jumping kids from ending up "Truman Dirty".

Pappy has recently been showing a curious interest in storm drains, and I finally figured out he must think they are animal dens. I hope he doesn't try to take off down one. We wouldn't want to hear tales of giant albino terriers in the sewers of Takoma Park.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! And, for those of you outside the US, have a great day at the office!

These are the things I am thankful about with Pappy:

1. That he's naturally good despite our lousy training regimen. It makes me think I have control of animals through pure force of will-- call me Beastmaster.
2. That he's so fond of the manly art of ball retrieving. I grew up chucking rocks at stuff, and throwing things around seems like a good guy-bonding activity. It lets me know he's no sissy.
3. That he doesn't get into cabinets, trashcans, counter tops, or general mischief when we are at work. I know that crates are wonderful and natural and not the least bit like a prison cell, but I'm glad we don't have to use one.
4. That he's a bizarre combination of graceful beast and gangly bag-of-bones. When he stops to sniff something, his hip is pointing the wrong way while his elbow and shoulder look dislocated. Then he'll just pop up and prance away like a Lipizzaner Stallion.
5. That he groans when he's lying around and wants attention. Apart from being hilarious, it lets me know that Pappy is the right name for him.
6. That his hair is so perfect. No brushing, no shedding, and always ready for a photo op.
7. That we found him.
8. That he would rather be with us than anybody else.
   

Cool Dog Site of the Day

Just in time for Thanksgiving, Pappy's Dog Blog has been selected as Dogmark.net's Today's Cool Dog Site. Since 1996, Dogmark.net has awarded a site with this distinguished honor every day. Now, ten years later, they've reached down deep and found us.



Think about it-- 3,500 dog sites have been awarded in that tenure. I have to go back through their archives. If enough of them have closed up shop, we may be only the 1,356th coolest dog site on the web... 26 behind Tinkle Trousers.

Dog Efficiency

Pappy, being a nonstop ball-chaser, has to conserve energy to devote to his primary task. It is truly astounding the amount of time he can spend retrieving balls, and some of this is due to his labor-saving strategies. The first he uses at home, where I generally toss balls to him from our back yard patio. He'll race after the ball at top speed, returns as fast as he can, stops short, and lets the ball fly forward bouncing across the flagstones to me. Over the course of a session he probably saves himself from running a few hundred feet, and he's in better position to chase after the next ball. We often get into a really good rhythm that way-- toss, run, bounce, toss, run, bounce. His aim is pretty good, but occasionally his bounce misses. In these cases he runs down the ball, places it on the ground, and then shoots it at me using his nose as a billiard cue. Is this normal?

The second labor-saving strategy he uses at the dog park. I toss a ball, and he chases it down. Rather than bring it all the way back to me, he'll take his wet, mud-caked tennis ball to someone close by, drop it on a shoe, and then look pathetic and expectant. It's the rare dog park newbie who isn't conned into tossing the disgusting thing, and even some old-timers are taken in. There's got to be some way to turn this moon-eyed gaze into some cold, hard, holiday cash.

Business, Business, Business

Pappy's planned cottage industry making holiday potholders from stuffed toys is wildly popular but running into production shortages. Nobody wants to see more scenes like the Playstation 3 riots. We're considering subcontracting some of the work, and thankfully we aren't lacking in skilled labor. Freddie has been really busy, and Bogie's technique is a little raw, but he shows promise.

After Hours

We don't indulge Pappy; he does not get to sleep in our bed. Well, okay, he does have his own blanket. And his bed is heated, if we ever find the power supply. But this is just sensible... the winters are very cold around here.

Mock Thanksgiving

Last night we had a group over for Mock Thanksgiving. The idea is to get friends together who have other obligations for Thanksgiving dinner. Everybody brings their favorite dishes except, in our case, the turkey. Just like the actual holiday, I ate until I felt vaguely ill.

3dogcache came with two of her three dogs-- dog 3 stayed home after dog 1 tried to eat him, but that's all under control now and everybody's fine. The dogs, including Pappy, stayed in the back yard, where two red-headed preteens chucked balls to them in the dark. Dog 2 (Ellie) has this freaky trick where she launches herself five feet in the air, does a full body twist, and catches a tennis ball. I tested her with a squeaky ball, but only a tennis ball will do. The scary part is that she'll do this like eighty times in a row.

Of course, Pappy completely outdid her by chasing balls way past the time that Ellie was near collapse. During all of his exertions, Pappy's cummerbund finally slid down to the point where it ended up as a diaper, a wet one. So we had to get rid of it. Once he realized the bandage was gone, he immediately set to work on the stitches. So I have been trying to get an Ace bandage wrapped around a maxi-pad to stay on... without much luck. Four more days until the stitches come out, and it looks to be a long road.

The film strip on the left is Pappy at the dog park yesterday in his handsome coat. I was playing with one of the goofy settings on my camera-- you know, the ones that no one uses.

Happy Mock Thanksgiving everybody!

At The Dog Park

When we went to the dog park this morning, the mood was a little contemplative as everyone recalled Crusher. He was at the park last weekend, and died after being hit by a car Thursday. Later on Crusher's mom came by for a visit and to talk with everyone, and it was good to see her.

For all of us it's hard not to let thoughts drift to the unspoken truths; we can't protect our dogs from everything, and, no matter what, they aren't going to live as long as we want them to. We just have to depend on good luck, and that's not always going to hold. Several people had experiences similar to Crusher's mom's, and it's pretty devastating. I've never had to go through this, but I'm the type of person who can't keep from dwelling on the thought that someday I'll wake up and Pappy won't be there.

Meanwhile, as the owners were having these conversations, it was business as usual for the dogs. Jack was hauling Pappy around by the collar of his new coat (which held up very nicely), and Truman was smearing poo across his shoulder and back. The latter event allowed the rest of us to coin the phrase: "Yes, my dog is filthy, but at least he's not 'Truman dirty'."

Crusher

I just got word that one of our dog park regulars, Crusher the Pug, has died. He was about the funniest little ball-chaser around, and as agreeable a soul as you'll find. That looks like him and his mom in one of these photos on the dog park's home page, which I think are from way back when it opened.

We'll miss you buddy.

Dapper Pap

Since Pappy was stitched up Saturday, he's all but back to normal. The vet's dressing has stayed clean and intact so we've left it on. It looks sort of natty, like a cummerbund, as opposed to pathetic, like a row of gruesome stitches and a big shaved patch. Somehow the latter always makes me think of those plastic cones and sad looking dogs, and I'd rather have happy Pappy.

The materials of the dressing include this rubberized, space-age, self-adhesive yellow bandage. Very cool, I may just have to hang on to that stuff. A couple of times the bandage has slipped down a bit exposing Pappy's stitches, which he immediately sets to licking. At 5AM yesterday we started hearing slorp-slorp-slorp-slorp-slorp from the foot of the bed, and I had to get up and jigger the tight bandage forward to cover the stitches back up. Yes, I've heard the stories about the coagulant and antiseptic properties of dog saliva, but Pappy's already fully coaguled and anticepted. With his OCD, he's more likely to undo the stitches and start pulling out organs than "heal himself the way nature intended".

With the wound uncovered, I got a pretty good look at the outcome of his weekend misadventure. Impressive. Lotsa big stitches. It's a shame Halloween is past. With a few more bandages he could have been a puppy mummy, or unwrap him and he's Frankendog's Monster.

Pappy's Rules of Engagement

At one time when we first got Pappy, I had visions of preparing a list of local dog parks and going on a tour. At that time, Pappy was a year old and seemed game to play with any dog in any circumstances. As he approaches his second birthday, Pappy seems seems most comfortable meeting them at his dog park, Wheaton Regional Park.

Pappy loves to wrestle, and doesn't seem to be overly discriminating about the size of his opponent. But he won't wrestle just anybody, and I'm always trying to figure out his rules of engagement:

• He seems to favor dogs two years or younger-- maybe beating on each other is a young dog's game.
• He likes puppies of any size, and plays down to their level. It's interesting to see dogs negotiate the terms of play, the small dog playing bigger and the big dog playing smaller.
• He doesn't mind heavier dogs (he doesn't have much of a choice since he's a skinny puke), but not too big. The exception is if they are young and goofy.
• He doesn't mess with dogs that have big hair, even if they aren't much heavier. He doesn't get it that they just look big.
• He likes to box mano a mano, chest to chest. I think this is because he is lanky and has better leverage for this style of wrangling. When Bosco, a massive Pit, was whalloping Pappy around with his butt, it was clear to me that Pappy is at a disadvantage when all four feet are on the ground.
• Pappy's uses a lot of teeth at play. I'm always a little horrified to see dogs hauling on each other's loose skin, ears, and appendages, but none of them seem to mind. Of course horseplay don't pay, as Pappy learned last weekend.
• If another dog tries to horn in while he's wrestling someone else, Pappy will turn and run him off before getting back to business. Jack, the Rottie-Lab mix, never seems to mind multiple attackers, but with Pappy it is one dog at a time.
• Pappy doesn't like that nippy Border Collie. Too bossy.

Pappy Protection

Okay, I'm faced with a guy dilemma. After a spell of recuperation following last weekend's injury, Pappy is fired up. He obviously thinks he's ready to go, and I think he'll be well-healed and completely manic by this weekend. But I wince at the prospect of the dog park because I keep visualizing another dog's claw getting caught in the wound-- owww. Plus he's got a shaved patch on his side which is completely exposed to cold weather and the mouthing and pawing of play.

He needs protection. So here I am...a guy... contemplating buying clothing for my dog. Though we are talking protective clothing, it's still doggy clothing. People continue to tease Truman for showing up at the dog park the first time in a sweater, and I know he must hate that.

In trying to minimize the frills and stay functional, I researched body armor for dogs. Apparently it is available, but $1045 is a little out of my price range. They have these nifty little Neoprene vests with Kevlar for hunting dogs-- Kevlar and camouflage are a great combo. But, from my limited experience getting into diving suits, the only thing I can think of worse than trying to put Neoprene on a dog is trying to get it on a cat. Pappy would look pretty tough if I put him into a Jason Campbell football jersey, but I doubt the shoulder pads would fit.

On the walk home from the subway we stopped in the pet store and picked up a sturdy, weatherproof dog coat with a reflective stripe. Nobody better laugh, because it's really very practical. And Pappy looks very handsome in red. What does that make him, a summer?

The Dog Walker Conundrum

For a long time, one of the things that kept us from adopting a dog was our long days at the office. Then it dawned on us we could hire a dog walker. So we got Pappy, and each day a woman from the neighborhood comes by to break up his day with a walk. I also give him a short walk in the morning and a long walk in the evening.

The curious thing is that we hardly ever see the dog walker, and therein lies the riddle. This is a whole segment of Pappy's life we know almost nothing about. Which leash does she use? How does he walk with her? Does he pull? Does he sniff everything? Which way do they go?

I suppose I could ask her, but that takes all the mystery out of things. As it stands, I also have the puzzle of how he spends his days when we're away-- good fodder for lunchtime contemplation. Otherwise, you're left with situations like the secret life of this poor Pug being laid bare by a webcam.