Baby Dallas and me
Dallas’s breeder took this photo in late January, 2007, when I picked up this two-month-old ball of fluff to carry him to his forever home.
Throwback Thursday
Category Archives: Dogs
I’m a Lucky Dog
Dallas here.
Mama’s busy with something she calls a “deep edit” of her novel-in-progress, so I’m commandeering her blog again.
You don’t mind too much, do you?
Hooray for Mama!
Dallas here.
Excitement is in the air. I don’t know what’s going on, but mama is running around the house like a person on fire.
Isn’t it Time for Vacation Yet?
Dallas here.
I’m mad at my Mama.
For months she’s been promising me a l-o-n-g ride in the car.
‘We’ll put you in your crate,’ she said. ‘And go on vacation. All the way to Mississippi. You remember.’
Yes, I do. But nothing has happened.
Dog Ownership: 8 Factors to Consider
While I’d be among the first to claim the pluses of dog ownership outweigh the minuses, there are some inconveniences.
Make that, nuisances.
If you’re considering adding a fur-kid to your household, you might want to factor in the following:
An Alternative to the “Cone of Shame”
This morning on our walk, Darling Doggie Dallas and I passed a puppy wearing the “Cone of Shame.”
For those unfamiliar with this device, it’s basically a lampshade attached to the animal’s collar to prevent it from licking wounds. In this case, it was being worn in the aftermath of neutering surgery.
“How’s he doing with that?” I asked the dog’s owner.
“Not too bad,” he said. “He doesn’t seem to mind it too much, really.”
That wasn’t the case with my Sheltie.
A Sunday Treat
Dallas here.
Sunday was the Best. Day. Ever.
Mama went to the freezer and busted out one of the Big Bones she gets from the lady who bred me.
I couldn’t believe it!
It’s been a while since I had a Big Bone, but I haven’t forgotten how yummy one is.
Or what to do with it!
Om nom nom!
I know you people probably think it looks gross. But it was the best!
Show this picture to your doggie pals and see if they don’t agree:
What a lovely surprise!
I tell you, there’s nothing better than lying in the cool grass beneath a big old shade tree on a sunny day, chomping on a Big Bone!
Do you see my bone getting smaller?
Mama says a Big Bone is the best toothbrush a doggin can get. She knows these things.
Don’t look at my feeties — yes, they’re a mess!
The only thing wrong with a Big Bone, in Mama’s opinion, is what it leaves on my furs. Take a look:
Looks like I got into a street brawl!
I’m a sight to behold, aren’t I? And if that’s not bad enough, you ought to smell me!
But Mama dunked my feeties into some warm water in the sink, washed me down good, dried me off, applied some baby powder to mask the “scent,” and gave me a good brushing. It wasn’t a full bath, but it did the trick.
Now I’m all beautiful once more!
Let’s do that again soon, Mama!
Don’t put the cart before the horse
A few days ago, I noticed Darling Doggie Dallas was hobbling a bit after he awoke from a nap.
Wondering what was wrong, I ran my hands over his paws and legs (all of them, just to be safe).
Nothing amiss.
I called his vet, who suggested keeping him quiet and watching him. If he’s still wonky tomorrow, I was told, call back.
The next day, he seemed better. I couldn’t bring myself to walk him, but neither did I believe he needed a doctor.
Two days later, he was still wobbly. This, despite the fact he was eating and pottying normally, playing, and in good spirits. So I called the vet back.
He’ll be seven in November, she said. Sometimes they start feeling their age about then, just like people.
What?? Why, that’s barely 42 in human years!
Is it time to put him on glucosamine and condroitin, I kidded.
Sounds like a great idea, they said.
Dallas in profile
So it starts.
When we bring a puppy into our homes (and hearts), we know that, because of their shorter life spans, we’ll likely outlive them. In the mad scramble to housebreak, socialize, and train them, we don’t think about that.
We’re far too enamored with their cute little noses. And soft fur coats. And warm brown eyes.
And how they love us unconditionally. Like when we’ve had a hard day and feel no one else understands.
But aging doesn’t rear its ugly head suddenly; we’ve got time to acclimate to it. To look for “old age” signs — a bit more white to the muzzle, an ability to sleep as only old dogs can.
Still, it frightens me.
Triple-D is my soul dog. Sure, I’ve invested a lot of time and money into his care, but more than that, I’ve given him my heart.
The mere suggestion that he’s not always going to be a part of my life brings tears to my eyes.
After all, I’ve been through a beloved dog’s death before.
The gut-wrenching pain, the crying jags, the empty feeling deep in your soul.
And I don’t want to go through that again.
Not on the heels of Domer’s leaving home.
So I’ll put on my Pollyanna hat and focus on the bright side. A Sheltie’s average lifespan is 12-13 years, but they can live 15 years or longer. The Sheltie I owned before Dallas lived to 19 years!
I refuse to think Triple-D is on his last leg. This is just a blip on the radar.
Don’t you agree??
I’m B-a-a-a-c-k!!
Dallas
Dallas here.
Mama hasn’t touched her blog in nearly two weeks, so I’m pitch-hitting for her.
Even though I’m kinda mad with her.
You see, she left me at the kennel while she and Grandma went to The Kid’s big hoop-de-doo. You know him as Domer, but to me, he’s The Kid.
And we’ve been together a long time — six years, in fact.
When Mama first brought me home, The Kid was a little guy. Fifteen, I think. And he was scared of doggins.
Because we have toofies. And can stand on our back legs to jump on people.
But Mama quickly taught me not to bite — not even in play — and not to jump.
Truth be told, I didn’t particularly like jumping anyway. I’m a herding dog, not a circus monkey!
Anyway, The Kid and I grew up together. I taught him to like dogs; he let me lick his sweat after he’d come home from golf and tennis. I taught him to throw a ball; he taught me to bring it back. He taught me to play Chase and Hide and Seek; I taught him unconditional love.
So it was only right for Mama to take me to see The Kid graduate.
I’d have been good. Honest.
I could’ve stayed in the motel. I wouldn’t “go” on the rug or bite the housekeeping staff or howl long and loud.
I wouldn’t have been any trouble at all.
But they stuck me in the kennel. I’ve been there before, though never for this long. And they say dogs can’t tell time — huh!
The kennel’s nice, all things considered. There’s other dogs and cats around, they feed me the same stuff Mama does, and they even take me for walks.
But I wanted to be with my family.
Mama’s back now. So’s Grandma and The Kid.
They surely don’t expect me to believe it took this long for him to graduate. I don’t know for certain, but I think another trip was squeezed in there somewhere.
To a place called “abroad.”
I don’t know what that was about, but I’ll tell Mama to blog it for you, okay?
It’s an Irish Thing!
Dallas here.
Mama’s up to her ears working on a short story this afternoon, so I’m commandeering her blog again. You other doggins out there should give it a try! Why should our moms have all the fun??
Anyway, I think mama told you we had a LOT of rain here. More than six inches this month already!
Needless to say, with all that water — and the resulting flooding — the lawn guy hasn’t been able to get here to mow my back yard.
Mama says I’m knee-deep in grass when I go out to investigate and do my “business.”
This morning, I noticed my grass was shorter. That yard man came on Saturday, and nobody bothered to tell me.
How do they expect me to be a watch-dog if they don’t let me know when strangers are coming to prowl around my house?!?
So Mama turned me out, I checked things over for her, saw it was all good, and came right back in for my cookie.
When she started laughing and pointed her camera in my direction, I gave her this look:
What’s so funny, Mama??
Guess you don’t see it either. How ’bout a closeup?
I’ve got green feeties!!
I can assure you, Mama was NOT trying to dye me like her friend Katybeth dyes Rascal! Though Rascal seems to enjoy it (probably a girl-thing, huh?!)
Now me, Mama, and the Domer all have green “shoes.” Just one big happy Irish family.
Too bad St. Paddy’s Day has already passed!
Musings by an ND Domer's Mom 