Dogs to the Rescue!

This morning when I went to walk Adorabella and her newly rescued sister, Carly, I found that the front door was open and ajar!  Now, this hardly ever happens, but when it does, it's beyond unsettling.  We all know that I have a fertile imagination and an open door throws it into overdrive.  "Is an escaped mass murderer inside looting the place?  Is one or both of the owners hurt, or worse, dead?"  Of couse the obvious, someone left and didn't pull the door tight, is way at the bottom of my list of possible disaster scenarios.  And so, after the inevitable should I or shouldn't I, I went in.  Adorabella and Carly were excited to see me as always and all the valuables seemed to be intact.  So far, so good!  A thorough examination of the premises turned up nothing traumatic and after confirming with Adorabella's mom that everyone was OK, I went about my business.

Now, I should tell you that Carly is a fairly recent addition to Adorabella's family and she's a wonderful girl!  She and Adorabella have bonded like littermates; you couldn't ask for a better situation, except for one tiny little glitch.  Carly is having a difficult time mastering the whole housetraining concept, and this morning was no exception.  Sure enough, right in front of the TV was a hefty pile of you-know-what.  I cleaned it up and off we went for our walk, but as we were walking I started to think.  Hmmm, maybe the mess wasn't really an accident; maybe this dog is even smarter than we all think.  The more I thought, the more I became convinced that the morning's events went something like this. 

When the girls were all alone in the house, Adorabella noticed that the front door was open.  "Carly, look!  Daddy didn't close and lock the front door and Mommy's already gone!  What are we gonna do?!"  Carly, who was busily snacking on a brand new, hand embroidered silk throw pillow, looked up at her sister.  "Huh?  Let me see."  She walked over to the open door, thought for a few moments, then snapped her paw pads.  "I know exactly what to do! Adorabella, help me drag this wee wee pad over in front of the TV.  Now watch, first I'll pee on the pad.  (She pees.)  Now, I'll poop next to the pad."  (She poops.)  "Carly!  exclaimed Avery.  You know Mommy and Daddy get very mad when you do that in the house!"  "I know, but this time it's for their own good.  See how it's almost the same color as the hardwood floors.  If anyone comes in to steal the TV, they'll notice the soiled wee wee pad, but they won't notice the poop on the floor because it blends in.  To get to the TV they'll have to step in the poop which will leave a perfect footprint.  Then the police will be able to match the poopy footprint to the perp and the case will be solved!  Remember O.J. and his Bruno Maglis?"  "Carly, you're a genius!"  "Hey, I grew up on the mean streets of New York!  I'm a rescue, remember?  Don't you watch CSI when Mommy and Daddy have it on?"  "Sometimes, but I usually fall asleep", confessed Adorabella.  " So, what do we do now?"  "We wait", said Carly.

And so they waited.  Patiently.  It was a very clever plan.  It would have been brilliant even, if they had actually caught a perp.  Instead, they snagged the poor, unsuspecting dogwalker, innocently doing her job, cleaning up the messy wee wee pad!  Oh well, in every job you have to deal with a little s*&#.  But at least, in my case, I can say that I love every minute of it!

Dog Stars!

Recently, Rocky the chihuahua and I were taking our usual afternoon constitutional.  It was a frigid December day in the Garden State and we were appropriately dressed for the weather.  I was wearing my knee-length, purple, down coat which I refer to as my "Barney coat" (as in the dinosaur, not Fife.)  Rocky was sporting a little black nylon number that had a snappy red argyle pattern down the center and a black faux fur collar.  As his own fur is also black, he looked more than cute, he had star quality!  And then it hit me; Rocky, or the Rock Star, as we affectionately call him, looked like a rapper.  All he needed was a diamond chip in his front tooth and a fire hydrant-sized gold medallion around his neck, and this boy would be ready to sign a recording contract!   Whether or not he can carry a tune, I'm not sure, but I do know that the Rock Star would have no trouble scaring off any pesky paparazzi.  Grrr!!!

The thought of Rocky as a rapper amused me so much that I began to mentally create other dog/celebrity pairs.  Almost immediately, our little Adorabella came to mind.  Of course, with her flair for the dramataic and her over-the-top extroverted personality, she would make a perfect Lady Gaga. She'd be a natural!  And that meat dress...why our girl would be all over that one!  "Allison (her personal assistant), order me one in every flavor!",  she'd bark.  "Now!!"

Next I thought about two of my newest clients, Sheila and Jessie.  These girls are energetic little pomeranians who are usually dressed in the most stunning matching pale pink wool coats with fur collars and cubic zirconia buttons you've ever seen.  Michael Kors, eat your heart out!  Give them each a grande Starbucks non-fat latte, and a cigarette, and you've got yourself the perfect canine version of the Olsen twins.  "Ashley, Mary-Kate, stop that!  That's a toilet bowl, not a margarita pitcher!"

Lucky, the mini schnauzer, cracks me up with his smile!  Now, contrary to scientific opinion, dogs do smile, but this boy takes it to a whole new level.  When he's happy to see you, he breaks out into a big ol' toothy, floppy ear-to-floopy ear, Pepsodent grin.  Not exactly attractive, but heartwarming nonetheless.  Think Jon Heder in Napoleon Dynamite!  "You wanna play me?"

Last, but certainly not least, comes Elvis the Labradoodle.  While this boy looks nothing like the King, with a little hair gel he just might be able to pull off wearing a gold lame suit, or at least a white satin collar and leash combo with gold buckles.  Sadly, his howling is a bit off-key and his lack of thumbs prevents him from strumming a guitar; however, the last time I walked him we passed a basset and I could swear I heard him humming, "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog..."

Can it get any Weirder?

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.......

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!

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!