Thursday, February 25, 2010

Walking Mr. Daisy!

I've got a new job these days!  I'm the Mr.'s  personal coach!  I get him up and out twice a day.  Well, usually twice a day unless it's raining.  I don't DO rain.   Can't stand it in my ears.  We suit up in our exercise gear and head out to pound some pavement.


We start out slow and work up to a nice brisk walk.  

Look, someone hasn't picked up their paper yet.
They obviously don't have a superb Scottie to bring it to them.

This is MY street.  I own it!  I mark it regularly.
Well, me AND Puffy.
He says it was his street first.
It's MINE!

We walk about 1.5 miles now.   In the beginning we did like a block and it was slow going.  But we're both getting better. I had to toughen up my feetsies as I'd been doing so much couch sitting taking care of the Mr.
     I picked up a few sandspurs along the way at first.  But we are both  getting more fit. 

We take apporpriate rest breaks.
Especially when we stop to chat with neighbors.

OK, that's enuff resting. 
Time to move out!

This way!
No more yakkin' it up with the neighbors.

Squirrel at 10 o'clock!
Lemme at him!

I can take him!

It's a good thing I had on my sports bra or else I would have taken the Mr. out when I bolted.
As it was, I did an arse over ears flip when I tried to jump the vermin!  Splat out flat on my back in the middle of the street!  It was sooooo embarassing.  

Now we are heading for home. 
We'll rest up and head back out later.

Walking Mr. Daisy!

Friday, February 19, 2010

For Hamish

O Flower of Scotland,

When will we see

Your like again,

That fought and died for,

Your wee bit Hill and Glen,

And stood against him,

Proud Edward's Army,

And sent him homeward,

Tae think again.

You will live on forever in our hearts and minds.....all our love,
Bonnie  and the support staff

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Puffy's Barkday! Happy 17 old man!


She's going to tell this story as I wasn't even a twinkle in my great great grandmothers eye yet.

It's hard to belive Puffy has made it to 17 years old.  I attribute it to bottled water and lots of exercise and love.     I thought I'd tell you the story of how Puffy came to live with us.

The youngest, referred here normally as the Idiot Marine, was in the 2nd grade at the time.  We had no idea he wanted a dog.   For his birthday or anytime.   His sister had a wonderful German Shepard at the time and he loved that dog, but he never said he wanted a dog.  One day we got a note from his teacher asking us to call her at home.  We imagined the worst of course...he's having trouble at school.   She wanted to relay what had happened in Chapel at school that morning.  The students could submit prayer requests to be shared during Chapel.  They normally have 2 or 3, like someones Grandmother was in the hospital or Dad was on a long trip, the kinds of things small children worry about.   He had taken the time to write out a request asking God to please let him have a dog for his birthday.   She thought we ought to know as this was so out of line with his character of not attracting attention to himself and that we needed to be prepared in case a dog wasn't in his future.  

We were petless at the time, and had not planned to add any animals to our home, of any kind, especially a dog.   Maybe a hamster if pushed.   The Mr. and I talked about it and decided if we got a dog, it had to be small so we could keep it in the house and one that played well with children as we had 2 boys left at home. We wouldn't purchse a pet from a pet store and would maybe ask around to see if anyone had any puppies they raised in their homes.  Puppies that have been hand raised are usually more stable.   And if nothing fell out of the sky,  we'd just not deal with a dog at his time.   We weren't actively looking either.  

Well, one of the Mr.'s friends knew someone that had 2 cocker-poo puppies for sale.  Hand raised in the home, not from a puppy mill.  We thought about and said that would work out as I had a cocker poo as a child and she was a wonderful playmate.  He went over to check out the 2 cocker-poos and they had another dog there,  a 3.5 months old Malti-Poo  that belonged to their adult daughter who was over visiting. This pup just fell all over the Mr. and the other 2 had  nothing to do with him.   He talked the lady into selling him this Malti-Poo puppy.   The daughter was ok with it,  said she'd rather have one of the cocker-poos as they were not as playful as the Malti-Poo who was wearing her out.  

He brought him over to me at work so I could see him. He was double fisted handful of cream colored fluf. You couldn't tell which end was which unless you could see his pink tongue.  We took him home and put him in the garage.  Then we picked up the kid from school and told him his birthday present was in the garage. When he first say the dog,  he goes:  'What's THAT? A CAT?  You got me a CAT?'

It took a while to convince him it was a dog.   I don't think he knew anyone that had a small dog, much less a fluffy one that was the size of a kitten.   Sometime later,  he told us about asking God for a dog for his birthday but thought God made a mistake, as he wanted a German Shepard!  He asked me if this dog would grown up to be a German Shepard.   My response was that sometimes God gives you what you need and can handle at the time, not what you think you want.  

He named the dog Wolverine.   He would fuss if anyone called him anything else, and we are big on nicknames around here.   I called him Poopsie for a while as that is what puppies tend to do.  Poopsie oopsie!  That morphed into Pooper,  then Puffer, then Puff and Puffy.   By the time he becames Puffers, he was a grown teenager and really didn't care what we called him.

Puffy was perfect for two rowdy boys.  He ran and played constantly,  fetch the ball,  pull the rope, jump over people, run along side outside and never ran away from the boys.   Eventually as the boys got older, they turned to other toys,  girls and cars.   He then became my dog.   He'd run the Mr. out of the bed if he could get away with it.   The 4th  child married and the 5th, the idiot Marine, went off to fight in Iraq. 

After the boys left home,  Puffy would go into their room and sniff about looking for them.  I put an unwashed t-shirt on the foot of the bed after the Idiot Marine left home and he'd get up there and sleep on it during the day when we were gone.   He still has a 6th sense and can tell when someone is close to home.  Like 5 miles away close.  

We know he won't be with us too much longer.   He's very frail, but still has spunk enough to start fights with Bonnie and doesn't back down when he does.  That alone will probably cause his demise.  But for today, he's still here.  Still eats like a chow hound, does his regular rounds and likes to get out for walkies even though he's arthritic.   Some people ask us why we don't have him put down as he does have some health issues.   Why would I do that as he seems to be enjoying his life?   He doesn't appear to be ill or in pain, except for the aged hitch in his giddy-up.   Yes, he's smelly.  Yes, he has some funky spells,  Yes, he's ornery as all get out but I suspect if I should live so long,  I would be the same. 

So for today Puffy,  enjoy your PUPCAKE, lick the icing,  eat what you want to all day and be merry! Heck, we may even give you a bowl of your favorite beer tonight.

Happy 17 years with us and we hope you have many more!

Love,  Bonnie and Puffers support staff

Sunday, February 07, 2010

Another Skeeree day!

Who knew a little snackie could cause sooooo much drama?
She gave me n Puffie a bone shaped snack, same kind we get every Sunday.  Today I was sooooo eager to get my treatie,  when I grabbed it, I got it in the middle and chomped down so hard the ends fell off and the middle went down my throat. 
I went into immediate dig it out my mouf mode.
Diggin so hard my mouf and feeties were covered in blood.

And if you aren't familiar with Scotties,  our leggies are short.  Little 4 inch stubbies.
So to dig in my extra long mouf,  I hafta curl my mouf under my chest to dig around in there.
I couldn't breathe!
I was in panic mode and she went into rescue mode.

She picked me up upside down and gave me a good shake and part of it fell out.  Then she shoved her big ole mitt down my throat and dug around in there for HOURS it seemed.
She got a bit of it out and then went back for some more.
Finally I was able to get a breath, but it still wasn't all  out.

She got the neighbor to drive us up to the emergency vet clinic which is about 35 minutes away.
I'm choking and gagging and she's prying around in my mouf tryng to see if there was anything caught in my mouf.   Of course, about 10 minutes from the vet, I start being able to breathe and settle down to wash the blood off my paws.    She made me go see the vet anyways, so there was another round of people poking me from both ends.

Now I ask you, in the name of all things Holy, why on earth do they need to take yer temperature when you are choking on a treatie?  First?  BEFORE they open yer yap and take a peek in the correct end?
Noooooo...lets grease up the temp stick and shovie it in the WRONG end.  I'm not SICK, I'm choking!!Maybe they think they needed to do a hind-lick maneuver?  Wanted to make sure that end was warm first?

Then the stoopid vet tech lady goes...."Oh what a cute Schnauzer"...hello, lady, see the TAIL and the naturally pointed ears?  The short stubbie leggies?  

And then again with the vet wonder where they go to school.....'Nice looking Westie', no...See the color of my fur? WHEATEN, not white.   Ears long and on top of my head almost touching?  And if that isn't proof enuf, check out the LONG mouf...yeah, go up the flashy jaws of death and try sticking yer fingers in'll wish I was a Westie.   Then, he had the nerve to try and tell HER that Scotties are BLACK.   Maybe at the online school where you bought yer diploma dude,  but not out here in the real world. 

For those of you that might need a visual reminder of the differences, here is a great link from Scottish Terrier and Dog News:

Anyways,  she tossed a bucket of money at them and we left.  Stoopid vet tried to tell Her I just had the treat stuck in my mouf.   Snort.   We both checked there.   

But the BADDEST news.....I had to get on the scale  (again...WHY?  If I was choking to death in the lobby would I still have to be weighed?)....and...I gained 5 lbs since the Mr. has been out of commission.  The obvious results of Her not taking me on my 3 miles hikes and the Mr. giving me shortbread.  I loooooooovvvvveeeee me some shortbread.   And the Mr. has been known to crumble up a couple in my kibbie.   I heard her mumble something about ONLY carrots and buying a treadmill.   

All this drama over a treatie gone bad.
All's well that ends well, I say.


Friday, February 05, 2010

Oh what a day!

You know it's not going right when you are yanked out of your boootee sleep at 06:30 and tossed unceremoniously into the back seat.    No coffee, no walky, no brekky, heck...I didn't even had time to comb my hairs!

Then, horrors of horrors,  I was dropped off at Miss Debbie's for a long spa day.  Heck, Miss Debbie wasn't even there yet!   Smart woman, sleeping in or dawdling over her coffee,  while little me was stuck in a high rise crate.      Then, when it was all over, and I was being rescued, this humongous storm hit!  Wind and rain coming down sideways in sheets.   The Mr. was trying to keep the golf umbrella over me and it turned wrong side out with a huge SNAP!   Oh my shattered nerves!  We had tornados and flood warnings. The metal roof on the boat dock was snapping and popping and She was afraid it was going to blow off.  She made me n Puffy stay in the front bedroom.   Then I was so over-wrought I tried to take Puffy's head off,  or I would have, but she caught me before I could launch my flashy jaws of death on his scrawny chicken bone neck.

I am not a happy little scottie. I've not had my bootee sleep,  they didn't have the right shade of polish for nails at the spa and that rotten Puffy got to stay home all day! He touched my toys, he had Krsipy Kreme donuts and the box was EMPTY when I got home.  Then he had the nerve to snicker about my pink bows.  I'm gonna put a bow on him and ship em off somewhere!!

Somebody better remember to turn off the alarm clock tonight, I am sleeping IN tomorrow and that stinkin Puff better not wake me up or he's gonna be sooorrreeee!


peesssss........there better not be any smarty pants remarks about swift warrior princesses not wearing pink bows.
Swift warrior princesses can wear anything they like!
Including PINK.
Especially PINK.
I'm just sayin'..............