As a dog walker, I find myself in lots of different neighborhoods which gives me plenty of opportunities to see plenty of strange things. For example, I once saw a guy in downtown Rahway wearing an ankle bracelet not unlike the ones sported by Lindsay Lohan and Martha Stewart during some of their, shall we say, not-so-proud moments. Now, if you live in Watts or Newark you might see that everyday, but to this middle class gal from the heart of latte-drinking suburbia, it made me glad I was walking a Rottweiler at the time! Another time I saw a man doing yard work in his boxers; not just once, but several times. I'm pretty sure he was from another country, but you'd think that his family or maybe even a close neighbor would educate him as to what is, and is not, proper weed-whacking attire. But, by far, the weirdest thing I have ever seen is two dead pigeons. OK, so I can hear you saying, "Big deal. What's so weird about a couple of dead pigeons, Stace?" Well, for starters, they were both on the same property; one on the sidewalk and one by the driveway. Then, you have to think about where you find pigeons; usually in large, smog-filled urban cities, which this most definitely was not. Last, seeing one dead pigeon would've been noteworthy, but two? I happen to think that's downright spooky.
Now let's think about this for a minute. Doesn't the situation beg the obvious question, "What could kill two pigeons at the same time in the same place?" My first thought was an environmental toxin of some sort. After all, everyone and their brother has a lawn service these days and we all know that those little yellow flags do not denote that that particular lawn is rife with environmentally-friendly substances. Heck no! So maybe those two pigeons happened to be on vacation in the 'burbs and thought they'd nibble on some fresh greens while they were here. "What could be healthier than a nice fresh Cobb salad to go with all this clean, fresh air," they probably thought to themselves. So they chowed down, and then, as they tried to fly back to the big city, oops... "Not quite as organic as it looked!" Cough! Choke! Thud!
Another scenario I considered was that they were kamikaze pigeons who flew into car windows. Nah! Or maybe they were victims of other animals. Like what? The only other unleashed animals I've ever seen in that neighborhood are squirrels and chipmunks. I've never even seen a tabby cat prowling around. Could a gang of teeny, tiny, marauding rodents have caused the demise of these two wayward birds? Probably not. My next thought sent a shiver down my spine. Maybe they were shot! Really? Was someone in this picturesque, upscale neighborhood taking potshots at pigeons? I certainly wasn't about to do a post mortem on the bodies looking for bullet holes or bloodstains, but as Rocky (the cute, little chihuahua at the end of my leash) and I walked past the carcasses, I looked up to see if I could spot any snipers. Maybe it was some kid with a BB gun. After all, it was after 3pm and school was out. Who knew what kind of mischief these latch-key kids were up to. Then another thought crossed my mind; if they got tired of using pigeons for target practice, would they move onto, oh, I don't know, chihuahuas maybe??! Yikes!! Don't worry Rocky, I'll save you little buddy!
By this time you're probably thinking, "Gee Stace, you have way too much time to think while you're walking these dogs! Why don't you get yourself an ipod or something? Take your mind off pigeon snipers for a little while, huh? Or maybe a nice, safe desk job that doesn't involve dead pigeons or chihuahuas. Wouldn't that be a relief?" Nice try, but no thanks. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this mystery if it's the last thing I do. And then it hit me. This was most certainly a deliberate act; probably the handiwork of some strange cult. That's why the pigeons were on the same property at the same time. These people were in the process of surrounding their house with dead pigeons!! Now why would someone surround their house with dead pigeons? To ward off, what, neighborhood dogs pooping on their lawn? Hmmm....now that I think about it.......
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Hot Dogs!
Summertime in New Jersey is usually a hot and humid affair. This summer of 2010 is no exception, but for one spectacularly glorious week in late June, best described by my husband as "California weather." Being a dogwalker means you are outside in all kinds of weather, good or bad. I have always said that as long as you dress accordingly, it's all good, but sometimes the dogs beg to differ.
Two of my newest clients, Kramer and Adorabella, have vastly different opinions about walking in the heat. Kramer, a 6-month-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, is a real trooper, while Adorabella, a 5-month-old Puggle, who looks more Duggle (dachsund/beagle), loathes it. Kramer is a true adventurer who is undaunted by anything that comes from the heavens. If you're looking for a dog to accompany you on your climb up Mt. Everest, get 4 little doggie snowshoes and you can count this boy in! I have no doubt that come this winter, all I'll need to do is hook him to a sled, yell "mush" and we'll be off! Put him in the jungle with a pith helmet on his head and without batting an eye he'll turn into Albert Schweitzer barking, "Dr. Livingston, I presume." On a recent rainy afternoon, Wally (my westie) and I got Kramer ready for his first walk in the rain. I had some reservations about his reaction to the wet stuff, but Kramer was his usual intrepid self. He stopped for a nanosecond to take note of this new phenomenon, then pointed his paw skyward and announced, "Time's a-wastin'! There are squirrels to be chased! Vamanos!!" And off we went! (This boy is extraordinarily talented; he even speaks Spanish!!)
As much as Kramer is an up-for-anything kind of guy, Adorabella, on the other hand, can be quite the prima donna. Let me set the scene. It was during an early week in July and the temperature never dipped below 102 degrees Farenheit and on some days even went as high as 105 degrees. To say that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk is a colossal understatement. On this particularly steamy afternoon you could poach a moose in a kiddie pool, and little Adorabella was not amused! Now, I should tell you that this girl is full of personality and most definitely has a mind of her own. She hates walking in the rain (hmmm...I think I see a pattern evolving here; a definite aversion to any kind of moist weather. I'm thinking that snow will not be a favorite either!), is not always thrilled with walking on a leash, but loves to eat. Did I say loves to eat? Let me say that again, loooooves to eat!! This girl can polish off a bowl of kibble faster than Lindsay Lohan can say, "Let's party!" Recently, Adorabella learned how to sit and give her paw, but in her haste to get the treat she sits and shoots out her paw, simultaneously. She knows that "paw" comes after "sit", so she figures "why waste time?, just fork over the treat now!" In short, as soon as she hears "sit, she gives you a "Sieg Heil" while opening her mouth for the treat. Like I said, this girl loves to eat!
Anyway, back to our hot and humid July afternoon. Adorabella was her usual bubbly, affectionate self when Wally and I arrived at her house. We leashed her up and headed outside and that's when her mood quickly turned sour. She took a few steps, stopped cold, sniffed the air, and her expression said it all. "Are you kidding me?!", she whined. "What is wrong with you? I just spent the entire morning flat-ironing my fur from the tops of my ears to the tip of my tail and now I'm gonna frizz up like a friggin' poodle!" Safe to say, Adorabella was not happy. She walked a few feet further then huffed, "We-ell, if we're not going back inside, then you can just carry me!", and she refused to walk another step.
Now, this was not the first time this little princess had put on the brakes, and I have the rock solid right bicep to prove it. Oh, don't get me wrong, this chick loves to walk outside, but all the elements must be in perfect harmony. The temperature must not be over 82 degrees F with less than 70% humidity. For every degree above 82, she will walk 15 feet less, and as the humidity increases, well, it's kind of like the wind chill factor. You get the idea. When the weather meets all of her requirements, she will happily chase leaves and carry pine cones and sticks all the live-long day! Sometimes I walk Kramer and Adorabella together, along with Wally, and I had hoped that some of the boys' ruggedness would rub off on our little diva, but no such luck. And therein lies the lesson to be learned from this tale. There's no getting around the fact that men and women are inherently different. Doesn't matter if you're human, canine or orangutan, Mars and Venus will always see things differently, and that's a good thing. What's that old saying...Variety is the spice of life. Sure works for me!
Two of my newest clients, Kramer and Adorabella, have vastly different opinions about walking in the heat. Kramer, a 6-month-old Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, is a real trooper, while Adorabella, a 5-month-old Puggle, who looks more Duggle (dachsund/beagle), loathes it. Kramer is a true adventurer who is undaunted by anything that comes from the heavens. If you're looking for a dog to accompany you on your climb up Mt. Everest, get 4 little doggie snowshoes and you can count this boy in! I have no doubt that come this winter, all I'll need to do is hook him to a sled, yell "mush" and we'll be off! Put him in the jungle with a pith helmet on his head and without batting an eye he'll turn into Albert Schweitzer barking, "Dr. Livingston, I presume." On a recent rainy afternoon, Wally (my westie) and I got Kramer ready for his first walk in the rain. I had some reservations about his reaction to the wet stuff, but Kramer was his usual intrepid self. He stopped for a nanosecond to take note of this new phenomenon, then pointed his paw skyward and announced, "Time's a-wastin'! There are squirrels to be chased! Vamanos!!" And off we went! (This boy is extraordinarily talented; he even speaks Spanish!!)
As much as Kramer is an up-for-anything kind of guy, Adorabella, on the other hand, can be quite the prima donna. Let me set the scene. It was during an early week in July and the temperature never dipped below 102 degrees Farenheit and on some days even went as high as 105 degrees. To say that you could fry an egg on the sidewalk is a colossal understatement. On this particularly steamy afternoon you could poach a moose in a kiddie pool, and little Adorabella was not amused! Now, I should tell you that this girl is full of personality and most definitely has a mind of her own. She hates walking in the rain (hmmm...I think I see a pattern evolving here; a definite aversion to any kind of moist weather. I'm thinking that snow will not be a favorite either!), is not always thrilled with walking on a leash, but loves to eat. Did I say loves to eat? Let me say that again, loooooves to eat!! This girl can polish off a bowl of kibble faster than Lindsay Lohan can say, "Let's party!" Recently, Adorabella learned how to sit and give her paw, but in her haste to get the treat she sits and shoots out her paw, simultaneously. She knows that "paw" comes after "sit", so she figures "why waste time?, just fork over the treat now!" In short, as soon as she hears "sit, she gives you a "Sieg Heil" while opening her mouth for the treat. Like I said, this girl loves to eat!
Anyway, back to our hot and humid July afternoon. Adorabella was her usual bubbly, affectionate self when Wally and I arrived at her house. We leashed her up and headed outside and that's when her mood quickly turned sour. She took a few steps, stopped cold, sniffed the air, and her expression said it all. "Are you kidding me?!", she whined. "What is wrong with you? I just spent the entire morning flat-ironing my fur from the tops of my ears to the tip of my tail and now I'm gonna frizz up like a friggin' poodle!" Safe to say, Adorabella was not happy. She walked a few feet further then huffed, "We-ell, if we're not going back inside, then you can just carry me!", and she refused to walk another step.
Now, this was not the first time this little princess had put on the brakes, and I have the rock solid right bicep to prove it. Oh, don't get me wrong, this chick loves to walk outside, but all the elements must be in perfect harmony. The temperature must not be over 82 degrees F with less than 70% humidity. For every degree above 82, she will walk 15 feet less, and as the humidity increases, well, it's kind of like the wind chill factor. You get the idea. When the weather meets all of her requirements, she will happily chase leaves and carry pine cones and sticks all the live-long day! Sometimes I walk Kramer and Adorabella together, along with Wally, and I had hoped that some of the boys' ruggedness would rub off on our little diva, but no such luck. And therein lies the lesson to be learned from this tale. There's no getting around the fact that men and women are inherently different. Doesn't matter if you're human, canine or orangutan, Mars and Venus will always see things differently, and that's a good thing. What's that old saying...Variety is the spice of life. Sure works for me!
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Stepford Dogs
Let me tell you about two little dogs I like to call "The Stepford Dogs." Iggy and Squiggy are the cutest little Havanese pups you've ever seen. Fluffy, soft, adorable......with absolutely zero personality! My instructions were to let them out in the backyard for 20 minutes for a potty break and some playtime. Well, I thought, that sounds simple enough. So, out we went. They quickly took care of business, and then they did nothing! The yard was strewn with dog toys as far as the eye could see; balls of every size, color and texture, Frisbees, various latex squeaky animals, anything and everything ever made to amuse a canine. And these dogs wanted no part of any of it. I threw balls and retrieved them myself. I demonstrated catching a Frisbee in my teeth. In desperation, I even got down on all fours to chase a passing squirrel. These dogs were no more interested in playing than I am in watching anything broadcast on ESPN.
Oh, don't get me wrong, they watched me with great interest; the same way you'd watch a tennis match or a ping pong tournament. They sat next to each other and moved their heads from side to side as I leaped and frolicked around their backyard, throwing toys and fetching them myself. I imagined each one wearing a Mr. Peanut-style monocle (complete with tassel), conversing with each other with English accents (I know, I know! Havanese are Spanish, but hey, it's my blog and I can say whatever I want.) "I say," said Iggy, "she's really quite energetic, isn't she?" "Right you are, Squiggy. Look at the old girl go! Good show, I say, good show!" And then they would clap their little paws quietly and politely, like you do at a golf tournament. After 20 minutes of frenzied activity, on my part, I put them back in the house, tucked my tail between my legs, and left.
On my next visit I decided to leash them up and take them for a proper walk. This, I decided, couldn't miss. "What dog doesn't like to walk on a leash?", I thought. Wrong, Stacey, wrong! I don't believe these dogs had ever gone out of their front door since the first day they were brought in. They were terrified! With every step we took away from the house, they pulled with equal intensity trying to get back to the house. I thought that after a while they would see that the world beyond their backyard was indeed a wonderful place, full of new smells and other equally wondrous things. Instead, their anxiety quickly reached a fever pitch and, finally, I relented and retreated to the backyard where we replayed the activities of the previous day.
On the way home I mulled over this perplexing situation. Not only couldn't I imagine dogs who didn't enjoy playing, these dogs didn't even know how to play! Never one to throw in the towel, I knew there had to be a solution. And that was when I decided to enlist the services of Wally - Super Westie! Yes, Wally is my 2-year-old West Highland White Terrier who lives to play. Wally never met a ball he didn't want to chase or a Frisbee he didn't want to catch. Surely, Wally could teach these dogs the fine art of Fetch.
And so it was that Wally accompanied me on my next visit to Iggy and Squiggy. When we arrived, I put Wally in the backyard, then went into the house to retrieve the Stepford Dogs. Iggy and Squiggy went out the back door and immediately froze when they saw Wally. In the next instant they started barking at him, loudly, in unison. Wally, who had already been checking out the plethora of toys in the yard, and was anticipating a rollicking good time, looked confused. "What is wrong with these dogs?", he seemed to say. I decided to ignore Iggy and Squiggy's complaints and threw the Frisbee for Wally. Wally ran after it and brought it back. Iggy and Squiggy stopped their kvetching long enough to take in this surprising turn of events. Wally and I continued our game, and then it happened. I threw the ball, Wally ran after it, and Iggy and Squiggy ran after Wally. Success!! From that moment on this became our new routine. During the following 6 months that I "walked" Iggy and Squiggy, they never did learn to fetch the toys themselves, but they did learn to run after Wally as he fetched them. Even more important, they seemed to enjoy themselves in the process.
Hey, success isn't always what you'd hoped for; sometimes it's just what works!
Oh, don't get me wrong, they watched me with great interest; the same way you'd watch a tennis match or a ping pong tournament. They sat next to each other and moved their heads from side to side as I leaped and frolicked around their backyard, throwing toys and fetching them myself. I imagined each one wearing a Mr. Peanut-style monocle (complete with tassel), conversing with each other with English accents (I know, I know! Havanese are Spanish, but hey, it's my blog and I can say whatever I want.) "I say," said Iggy, "she's really quite energetic, isn't she?" "Right you are, Squiggy. Look at the old girl go! Good show, I say, good show!" And then they would clap their little paws quietly and politely, like you do at a golf tournament. After 20 minutes of frenzied activity, on my part, I put them back in the house, tucked my tail between my legs, and left.
On my next visit I decided to leash them up and take them for a proper walk. This, I decided, couldn't miss. "What dog doesn't like to walk on a leash?", I thought. Wrong, Stacey, wrong! I don't believe these dogs had ever gone out of their front door since the first day they were brought in. They were terrified! With every step we took away from the house, they pulled with equal intensity trying to get back to the house. I thought that after a while they would see that the world beyond their backyard was indeed a wonderful place, full of new smells and other equally wondrous things. Instead, their anxiety quickly reached a fever pitch and, finally, I relented and retreated to the backyard where we replayed the activities of the previous day.
On the way home I mulled over this perplexing situation. Not only couldn't I imagine dogs who didn't enjoy playing, these dogs didn't even know how to play! Never one to throw in the towel, I knew there had to be a solution. And that was when I decided to enlist the services of Wally - Super Westie! Yes, Wally is my 2-year-old West Highland White Terrier who lives to play. Wally never met a ball he didn't want to chase or a Frisbee he didn't want to catch. Surely, Wally could teach these dogs the fine art of Fetch.
And so it was that Wally accompanied me on my next visit to Iggy and Squiggy. When we arrived, I put Wally in the backyard, then went into the house to retrieve the Stepford Dogs. Iggy and Squiggy went out the back door and immediately froze when they saw Wally. In the next instant they started barking at him, loudly, in unison. Wally, who had already been checking out the plethora of toys in the yard, and was anticipating a rollicking good time, looked confused. "What is wrong with these dogs?", he seemed to say. I decided to ignore Iggy and Squiggy's complaints and threw the Frisbee for Wally. Wally ran after it and brought it back. Iggy and Squiggy stopped their kvetching long enough to take in this surprising turn of events. Wally and I continued our game, and then it happened. I threw the ball, Wally ran after it, and Iggy and Squiggy ran after Wally. Success!! From that moment on this became our new routine. During the following 6 months that I "walked" Iggy and Squiggy, they never did learn to fetch the toys themselves, but they did learn to run after Wally as he fetched them. Even more important, they seemed to enjoy themselves in the process.
Hey, success isn't always what you'd hoped for; sometimes it's just what works!
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