My, how time flies!

Hi again dear readers,

I must apologize for my extended absence. Unintentional, I assure you. Second Dad (& Second Mom, too, now that I think of it) were both busy with school, and thus unable to transcribe for me. But they've got some down time now, so we should be able to get back in the saddle relatively quickly. I do have some good stories to pass along, such as my Halloween shenanigans, and the recent fun I've been having in the snow. (It's now winter, and that means snow!)

Anyways, just wanted to let you all know that I hadn't forgotten about you or this blog, and that I'll be back with more soon! So stay tuned for future updates. They say that patience is a virtue, after all.... although that was not something that was always followed at home. Orion, you know what I'm talking about!

Life's a Beach.... and then you Nap

Greetings, homo sapiens, and welcome to another shiny example of my giving nature. You know, it's times like these that I thank my lucky stars (bet you didn't know that I had lucky stars, did you?) for water. For without water, we could not have places to go swimming. Nor would we have snow, for that matter, and that would make me very sad. *whimper* I promised myself I wouldn't cry! *sniffle* Ah, yes, well, as we can all see from this next slide, we do have water.

"Look out behind you! There's a stick!"

"Where, where?! Here? I don't see anything..."

Oh, that was a fun day. You see, without humans, I probably wouldn't have the opportunity to do things like this. Well, no, I would, but I would be foraging for fish, or leaves, or rocks, or other denizens of the deep. (Can you tell I've secretly been watching Jeopardy? The vocabulary they use is amazing!)

But, as I was saying, without humans, there wouldn't be leashes, although without leashes there wouldn't be leash laws, so maybe I need to rethink this philosophy.... Anyways, what I'm really trying to get at is that without humans, not only would we be leashless, but we would be foodless too. And I don't know about you, but I loves me some food. Preferably lettuce, or broccoli. Carrots will do nicely too. Or ice. Yes, yes! Ice! ICE! ICE! Ice is nice, but peanut butter is better. Now, when you combine the two, apparently you get peanut butter ice cream. That right there, folks, is the bee's knees. I'm not quite sure what that means, but I think it's good.

Where was I going with all of this? .... Oh, right! No humans, no food. No food, no play time, because all the free time is spent looking for more food. And that makes Hagrid a dull dog. And we don't want that, now, do we?

So I thank you, Humans, for feeding me, and also for taking me on fun walks where I get to go swimming. Because without you, I would have to feed myself, and that would involve lots of walking, and then I wouldn't want to go on a walk, because I would equate walking with looking for food, and that would probably make me hungry, and when I'm hungry I get somewhat persistent, and persnickety, and then I get disappointed, and despondent. So thanks for the food, which allows me to enjoy my walks, and my swimming, which I do love so very much, which helps to tire me out, so I can take a well-deserved nap.


Till next time!

Not Fair!!

Now just hold on one cotton-picking minute! (I watch a fair amount of TV - I think I picked that one up from Bonanza or something.) I'm the one who wanted a cat, and what happens? Sir Fuzzbuster get's his own little Mini-Fuzz, and then I get left at home when Second Mom visits them. Something about me trying to eat Mini-Fuzz. I was not! I would never eat Mini-Fuzz, he's Orion's toy - I mean friend. Friend, yes, that's it. I just wanted to see what Mini-Fuzz tasted - I mean, smelled like, that's all. Instead, I get a stern talking to from The Tall One, admonishment from Second Mom, and reduced visitation rights. The nerve!

So now, on the rare occasions that I do get to see Super Fuzz, I do not get to play with - I mean visit, visit is what I meant, really - Mini-Fuzz, whom I have been told actually goes by the name of Squirt. Is that supposed to be a description of what would happen if I got to share some quality time with him? Is that a description of a physical process, such as my teeth gently nibbling away on his... oh, sorry. My apologies, really. I got a little carried away there. And now I'm drooling again. This could be a problem.

And speaking of problems, what happens when Super Fuzz goes for a walk? Does Squirt go along too, tail all up in the air like the snotty-nosed little kid I know he is? Most likely. I'll probably have to get Super-Fuzz alone to get the real story. In the meantime, I can content myself with dreams of a cat on a leash. Oh they're gonna eat that one up at the dog park, I can tell you that. No, I didn't mean it that way. Well, okay, maybe a little, but not totally. AHEM! Hmm, yes, indeed.

Oh, and, as if all that weren't bad enough, the other day when I did get to go visit, after I got reprimanded by both The Tall One and Second Mom, just when they weren't looking, Squirt sucker-punched me in the nose! I couldn't believe it! So what if I have 85lbs and several feet on him? I was being restrained! If you're gonna fight, fight fair I always say. Of course, all that did was steel my resolve for the next time we meet. Oh, don't worry little Squirt. Your time will come. Your time will come...

Until that time, dear readers, when I will relate to you my glorious victory over the impudent imposter that is Super Fuzz's feline friend, I leave you with this prescient thought:

Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose.
--Garrison Keillor

And one other, because I just can't help myself... Something tells me I'm going to get in trouble for this last one:

If cats could talk, they would lie to you.
--Rob Kopack

Summer Vacation

The Humans have left me. This time, I fear, for good.

It's been almost two weeks since I last saw them - they brought me over to visit Super Fuzz, but I was suspicious from the start. There was way too much food in the car, and they brought my bed as well. The only glimmer of hope is that they did not bring my crate. No crate usually means that they will return. I'm keeping my toes crossed that that is the case - Super Fuzz has already head-butted the sofa and lost once, and I don't know if I can take much more of it. I was laughing so hard I almost wet the floor. Luckily, they pulled the carpet up some time ago, so cleanup would be a cinch.

But anyways, regardless of my fears, I hope that they return. I miss them. I miss the quiet. It's so very hard to nap around here, even when Super Fuzz and I are on our own. I don't know what that boy eats, but he sure does have a lot of energy. Luckily, I get the sofa all to myself at night. Ha, seniority rules!

Swimming

I like to swim. No, I take that back. I LOVE to swim. When I was younger, they called me Fish Boy. That's how much I love to swim.


Here I am, acting as Chief Lifeguard at Hanging Horn Lake. It was quite the job, let me tell you. The Humans - that's Original Mom on the left - just did not understand the need for safety. They didn't stay close to shore, they were not consistently using the buddy system... the only saving grace is that they were in relatively shallow water, so I didn't have to watch them every second.

But as I've mentioned before, because I am unable to whistle, and the Humans would not provide me with an external whistle, I had to complete the well-known "Nose Check for Safety" constantly. Luckily, and through no small effort on my part, everyone made it out of the water safely. Next time I'm bringing a longer leash. Or perhaps stilts....

In days of yore...

In days of yore, the famous - and infamous - had nicknames, monikers if you will. Or so I've been told. Richard the Lion-hearted, Eric the Red, William the Bruce, William the Conqueror, Bob the Builder, etc. I myself have a nickname - well, nicknames, really - none of which I have chosen, but most of which fit me quite well, if I do say so. And I do.

Some of these nicknames play off of my name, while others refer to character traits (I am quite the character, after all) or physical traits that I exude. Which, by the way, sounds like something you wouldn't want to lick up... "Eww, he exuded! Gross!"

Here is what I am sure is an incomplete list of my akas (that's Also Known As-es), along with a brief description why. Enjoy!

Hagridpants - Apparently my hind legs resemble some sort of pants... either that or I pant a lot?
Mr. Pants - See above; the more formal version of Hagridpants, primarily used for strangers I don't know yet
Haggy - I have no idea, it just happened one day. I have very little control over these things.
Haggers - Ditto.
Goofball - On occassion, I can be a little goofy. But just a little.
Goofy one - A variation of goofball, I presume.
Fishboy - I love to swim!

And now to my lineage, which is apparently rather varied. I had no idea, honest. I have been told that I am part-:
Lion - Have you seen my mane? Quite lion-ish.
Bear - I'm guessing this was before I went on that diet... or perhaps it refers to my hibernation abilities.
Mouse - I think this refers to my face, more specifically my nose... should I be upset?
Bat - Not really sure about this one. Perhaps my ears? I'll have to get back to you.
Dragon - I believe it's all in the tail... although rumors of my breath being able to whither flowers and scare small children may have something to do with it.
Fish - See nickname above. I think I was a fish in a previous life, perhaps a tuna. Maybe a marlin? Some days I'm more fish-out-of-water, though...

I believe that there are others, both nicknames and lineage markers, but that's all I can come up with at the moment. I'll have my Humans go over the lists later and add to them as necessary. Happy napping!

Oh, almost forgot - quotage below!

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them. ~Phil Pastoret

It's all in the nose, buddy. All in the nose.

My Big Birthday Bash! (Well, not so much, really)

Today is my birthday! Or so I am told. Of course, being my birthday, today should have been all about me. But naturally, one of the Humans left me (I don't know where she went to, but she took a very large bag with her. Suffice it to say, I am worried.). The other one, the one who gets upset with me when I spend too much time wandering around the yard eating snow, and not going to the bathroom like he wants me to, is gone for many naps at a time. Luckily, I know how to hold my bladder, otherwise he would have some wet gifts when he got home. However, he was very nice today and took me on a long walk in the spring-ish sunshine this afternoon. I was planning on having a big party with all of my other dog friends, but then I realized that a) I hadn't invited anyone, b) there really wasn't anything special to eat or drink, and c) post-walk I was a little too tired to have a party, especially one where I would have to clean up afterwards. So no party. I did get a chew, however, plus a card from the non-present Human. So that was nice. Not nearly what I was expecting, mind you, but nice nonetheless.

If my plan had come together, it's entirely possible that the party would have been a blast, with plenty of friends in attendance and lots of excitement. Unfortunately, the last time that happened, my recovery the next day was not something to be proud of. Observe:


Yeah, that's me, at college. Woof, that was a rough night. Obviously, I survived, but I stayed away from canned food for a while after that one.

Belated birthday wishes (and presents, naturally) are always welcome. Talk to the Humans if you need to. Till next time!

Playing Outside

Today, like other days in my past, but not like every day, I got to go for a walk. It was our usual walk, with a fun amble down to the local wide-open snowy area, followed by plenty of snow-eating and running around. The biggest problem I have with all of this is the time needed for my Humans to get ready to go walking. They ask me if I'm ready, and of course I say yes, because what self-respecting Dog doesn't want to go for a walk? So they get me my collars, and choose a leash, and I'm all excited and ready to go, and then they have the nerve to sit down! Honestly! They take forever to put on more and more layers, big clunky paws and coats so big you'd think they would be panting. And sometimes, if it's really cold, they put on extra fluffy leg warmers. I, of course, being a Dog, was born ready to go, and so I spend this entire time whining and complaining, because they got me all excited and now I have to hurry up and wait. They really need to rethink the order of things here.

However, once they've turned themselves into walking marshmallows (ooohhhh, marshmallows... Don't ask me how I know, I just do. Hooo, so good!) and we finally get outside, then we - and by we I mean I - can get down to business. Sniffing, of course, and marking my territory, naturally, are tops on the list. But those are both closely followed, or more accurately bracketed by, eating snow, which I've already mentioned ad nauseum. I just want you to understand exactly how much I like snow. The answer is mucho, or tres, depending upon your location. (I know, I know, I surprised you with my knowledge of other languages. Never underestimate the power of a good education. Plus, I had good teachers.) Yes, I like Snow the way I like a good rawhide chew: squishy, crunchy, and edible, all at the same time, no waiting.

Well, now that I'm back from the walk, and I've got most of my thoughts down here, I think it's time for a post-walk nap. By the time I wake up, it'll be close to dinner time, and I'll get to go outside and eat some more snow, and then we can play, and then I can relax into my post-dinner siesta, and ... well, you get the point.

No quote today - they've gotta be just right, you know? Tally-ho!

A Healthy Dog is a Happy Dog

I'm aware that I've been remiss in my duties lately - looking at the calendar, I realize that I haven't put anything up here in three weeks! That is really just completely unacceptable. However, I regret to inform you that this is because I have been somewhat under the weather recently. Apparently, getting old has its disadvantages.

I haven't been feeling well for several days now, and my tummy is occasionally upset with me. I have lots of grumblings and rumblings down in my gut, and trust me, it's not flattering. Sometimes I burp, usually in somebody's face if I can, to see if they can diagnose what's going on inside me. Sometimes, the burps are very sneaky, and creep out the other end. I tend to ignore those - especially the smelly ones. My humans hide their noses when this happens, like they're ashamed. Not of me, of course. So when I don't feel well, I usually keep my distance from food. My humans try to get me interested, adding rice (which I usually like), chicken broth (which I really like!), and/or Parmesan cheese (which I got hooked on last winter - boy is that stuff tasty!). However, there are times when you just don't feel like eating. My humans tend to get very worried when this happens, and I try to tell them not to be so hard on themselves. At the same time, I try to explain what's going on, but they never seem to understand.

So the end result of all of this is that I'm headed to The Vet later today, to get checked out and hopefully cured of this stomach bug-virus-disease-thing that's got ahold of me. We'll just have to wait and see - keep your claws crossed for me!

Oh, and here is your quote for the day, with a fair amount of truth in it too, I might add:

"I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult." ~Rita Rudner

How'd that get there?

So when I first came to Minnesota, it was fall. September, I think. Maybe late August? It was a while ago, and it was still nice and warm, I remember that much. Anyways, on my various jaunts around town I began to notice that everyone was marking very high on all of the trees. Could it be that many of the dogs in the midwest were freakishly tall? Needless to say, I was slightly confused. Being a tall dog myself, it wasn't all that difficult to match what I was sniffing, but some of those spots were just uncomfortable, if not downright impossible to hit!
Fall gradually became winter, and I began to realize that there weren't marauding gangs of gangly-legged dogs wandering the streets, harassing passers-by and showing off their stilt-walking prowess. No no no, nothing nearly so elaborate. Instead I discovered that the wonderfulness that is Snow! (see my earlier post) piled up around the bases of the trees, thus adding several inches (or more!) to everyone. Mystery solved!
However, due to the ever-changing nature of Snow, I have found that it gradually loses some of it's fluffiness, and becomes more icy. (Unlike myself, who is always fluffy, and never becomes icy, unless you're mean to me. But I digress.) Which is fine, I like ice. It tastes good. Wets the whistle, and all that. By the way, I can't whistle.... Somebody needs to get on that, pronto!

So, as I said, mystery solved. There are no vicious gangs of freakishly tall dogs wandering around the Twin Cities, so you can sleep easy tonight. But keep an eye out - they might be reading this blog and get ideas. Oh, and one more thing - always pee on the upwind side of the pole. Otherwise it gets messy.

Well, that's all for now. Here is your quote, well said by some guy I've never met.
"In order to really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semihuman. The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog." - Edward Hoagland

Furniture I Have Owned

As a dog, I do not have easy access to money. While my humans do graciously buy me things such as food, toys, chewy things, and the like - as they should - what I am most grateful for is furniture. See, as a seeing-eye dog, or guide dog for the blind as we are sometimes called, we are trained from a very young age. We are trained in the basics - sit, stay, come, etc. - but we are also introduced to all of these strange sights, sounds and smells that your average dog (like a collie, for instance, with their pointy little noses and pinched brains) never gets to experience. In addition to all of this, we are trained specifically not to get up on furniture. Couches, beds, tables, chairs, love seats or Barcaloungers, it's all off limits. (I particularly like that last one: Barcalounger. It just has a certain ring to it, but I can't quite place it....) So, everything is off limits, except - Except! - for my last day of home schooling. On that one day, and that one day only, I was allowed up on the bed. And boooyyyy, was it worth the wait! So soft, so squishy, the right amount of support in the right places, no unnecessary hems or fringe or tassels or flug, just a nice, wide, super dog-size expanse of comforter. And, and, I didn't have to share. It was mine, all mine, just for me. Then I loaded up the car and went to Official Guide Dog School, and didn't see a comfy bed again for months. Elation, quickly followed by crushing disappointment. Story of my life.

Years passed. Things happened - I'll fill you in on the details sometime. Fastforward to 2004, when I'm invited to a new home in Washington. Tacoma, to be precise. It was nice - not L.A. nice, mind you, but it was still a great experience. There, in that cozy (occasionally loud) home near the Puget Sound, I got my very own couch. I was so happy!

(This is my first couch, in L.A., not Tacoma. I had to share this one with my original Alpha humans, so it wasn't quite as special as the Tacoma couch. That one was leather. And mine all mine!)

So that was good for a year. Then I decided that I liked a slightly drier climate, so I moved back to L.A. That was fun, but now I'm in Minneapolis. And you know what? Dare I say it, at many times it is soooo much better! There is this wonderful thing called snow (which I blogged about earlier... if you haven't read it yet, I suggest you go do that now. Don't worry, I'll wait.) and there are lakes and creeks to swim in, and places to go running (off leash, too!). Plus, as an additional bonus, I have three different pieces of furniture at my disposal. First, there's my bed. Yes, my bed. Observe:

Well, right bed, wrong zip code, but you get the point. It's mine, all mine! From there, I have moved on to bigger beds (pictures unavailable at this time - I'm so sneaky the puppyrazzi can't catch me with their fancy cameras). I have also invaded a large half of the couch, of which I am slowly usurping two-thirds of. Soon it will all be mine, bwahahahaha!

So that's my current inventory of places comfier than the floor. If you have any good suggestions of possible additions to my collection, do please let me know. I am always on the lookout for new items.

Well, that's all for now. I will leave you with a short quote, as I am feeling particularly Renaissance Dog-ish today:

"A dog is one of the remaining reasons why some people can be persuaded to go for a walk. ~O.A. Battista"

Silly, silly humans

Oh, you humans! Must we teach you everything? The other day, while being driven around like the noble Dog I am, I saw another dog who was, how can I put this, uh, well, um, fat. Not extra layer of winter coat fat, more like time to cut back on the pre-breakfast, post-breakfast, lunchtime, pre-dinner and post-dinner snacks fat. No self respecting dog wants to be fat. So if you, fellow canines, look anything like a Rollo, (Don't know what a Rollo is? You really must get out more! But only have one - otherwise we'll have a problem.) it's time to get out there and pant a little. Fetch the ball, carry a stick around, go run on the beach. I personally enjoy chasing things, preferably small, furry, fast-moving objects like squirrels, and cats. Not that I've ever chased a cat... well, there was that one time, but it was in my yard - on my porch, even! Just sitting there, grooming itself, not a care in the world. Until the door opened, and out I came, and it made a break for the fence like it had been scalded. I am proud to say that I cornered it at the fence and everything, and we were just getting ready to dance when those meddling humans intervened. I was gonna win, too.

Anyways, where was I? Oh, right. Exercise. So get out there, preferably with your human, and run around. Pretend you enjoy playing fetch (also known as getit!), unless you're a Labrador, in which case you probably do enjoy it. Also, watch what you eat. Just because it's in your bowl doesn't mean it needs to go in the mouth. This is not the wild plains of your ancestors, there will be another meal served later today, which you do not need to do. You could sleep all afternoon, and then magically, food will appear. It's great!

Another hint for you, oh whiners of table scraps: don't eat all five buckets of chicken wings that your humans left on the coffee table while they went to get their drinks. Think of all those chickens running around without wings -- it's not pleasant. Have a salad instead. And take the stairs, not the elevator. Insist on going one more block before you turn around to go back home - if you pull on the leash hard enough, they'll give in. Drive a stick-shift car in a parade, at the very end of the line, behind all the little kids on their bikes with the funny training wheels. They'll be all like, "Daddy, Daddy, look behind us! There's a dog driving that car!" And you'll be all like, "Vroom, vroom! I won't run you over, but the look on your face because you think I'm going to is priceless! Vroom, screech, vroom!" And they'll be all like, "Daddy, Daddy, the doggy is going to run us over! Can I pet it?" And the Daddy will say something like, "It's ok, princess. The nice doggy won't run us over. He's a good dog, yes he is. Yes he is!" And you'll be all like, "It's ok, little girl. I promise not to run you over, but your Daddy is on his own. Vrrooommm, vrooom vrooom! Sputter-cough-stall. Shoot." No, I haven't done this. But I've been told it's a great leg workout - for both you and the little kids trying not to get run over.

There are other odd quirks (as opposed to normal quirks?) of both dogs and humans that I need to comment on, but not today. For today, we'll stick with what we have so far. So, get up from your chair, do up your hair, and go get some air (and bring the human too!)! See what I did there, with the rhyming? You'd think I had help or something. Yes, yes, I'm saying go for a walk. Find a stick, carry it around in your mouth, hit your humans in the back of the knee with it when they're not looking, and pretend like you didn't notice they were there and just bumped into them. It's adorable, trust me. You just have to put on the right look, and they fall for it every time. Use your eyebrows, too. That always gets 'em.

Oh, and one last thing! Here is your quote for the day, rather apropos I thought, given my former profession:
"Any member introducing a dog into the Society's premises shall be liable to a fine of one pound. Any animal leading a blind person shall be deemed to be a cat." ~Oxford Union Society, London, Rule 46

I would take offense to that rule, except that I'm too busy laughing. Oh, jeez, now I'm drooling. Cleanup, living room aisle! Bring your socks!

Could you Get Fuzzy already?

Ok, Satchel, here's the deal. You're the dog, Bucky's the cat. There's a hierarchy here. You're bigger, yet somehow less intelligent. He's small, yet crafty. Wily, you might say. But, and I fear I'm being redundant, you're the dog. Get with the program already, will ya? Case in point:


See, in this instance you used timing to good effect, but it is, and you must agree, a rare occurrence. More often than not, you demonstrate a distinct lack of je ne sais quoi. See that? I'm German, yet I know French. A cat would probably call me elitist, but I like to think of myself as cultured. You learn all sorts of useful things at school. Like when to bark, when not to bark, what to do with your tail when you lay down, how to take over a foreign sofa... what some might call "proper etiquette."

Unfortunately, Satchel, you also demonstrate some of the more disdainful properties of us dogs. Observe, if you will, Exhibit B:

Here, you clearly show to the world what is going on behind those floppy ears of yours. You're not ashamed of it, either. Maybe that's the difference between floppy-eared dogs and pointy-eared dogs. While we may have these same thoughts, we know our limits. Also, we know that there are other poles to be sniffed, and therefore the smells at this individual pole pale in comparison to the smorgasbord of smells available to us further down the block. Imagine, if you will, a bone. Yes, you could chew it until there is nothing left, but isn't it more enjoyable to gnaw for a while, then nap, do some cleaning, walk around, sniff the houseplants, and then gnaw some more? I mean, you get to stretch out the timeline of both gnawliness and enjoyability, almost to infinity. Of course, it also depends on how efficient your chewing is, but in general the more breaks you take, the longer you get to enjoy the bone. Does that make sense, Satchel?

Here's Exhibit C, just in case I haven't made my point yet:

Taste? Taste? You haven't even smelled it yet! It could be rotten! It could be dirt! For all you know, it could have worms in it! Of course, it could also be something tasty, like rabbit. That is why I advise smell. Always, always, always, smell first. If enjoyable, carry on. If questionable, check to see that there aren't any humans around to discourage you. If rancid, leave it for the squirrels. They deserve it, filthy little rodents.

I guess, Satchel, as much as most of this has been an admonishment to you, in all reality I am slightly jealous. You get to play with a cat. A Cat! I've always wanted one - I've seen them in windows, I've heard them at the vet, I've even smelled them in my yard. (How the furry little rascal got there without me noticing is still a mystery, but as I noted above, they are wily. Most likely related to squirrels, but wily nonetheless.) So really, it's envy and jealousy. And a little bit of the unknown. I mean, what would I do with a cat? I don't know, because my humans never let me try. Personally, I think they would make great toys. Who wants to chase a ball when you can chase something that moves on its own?

Finally, Satchel, I present your saving grace, Exhibit D:

I guess, deep down inside, I just want to hold a cat. But, as you experienced, not all cats want to be held. Maybe it's just fear of the unknown that makes them hold back. I don't know. What I do know, though, is that....
I want one! I want one! I want one! I want one!

Can I have a kitty?




With thanks (and apologies) to Darby Conley.

Playing dress up

Ok, I'll be honest. I don't like playing dress up. Ever. Never have liked it, never will. No pair of sunglasses, no shirt, and certainly no hat has ever worked out. Oh sure, I'll humor my humans, at least for a little while, but once the camera's been put away, it's time to de-clothe.


Here's proof: This was, obviously, Cinco de Mayo. Several years ago now, when I was younger and more easily convinced to go along with such antics. However, I would guess that you can tell by my expression that I was not a willing partner. As you can tell by the extremely gleeful expression on the face of the co-conspirator to my left, some were more willing than others. Peer pressure at its worst, really. Thankfully, this hat did not survive the eastward trek some months later. No tears were wept for it; there were no lamentations on my part. Others, well....I'm not so sure.

The only borderline, barely acceptable clothing item that I have decided to allow are booties. Cold weather booties, for my feet, and only my feet. They do not go on my nose, they are not for my tail; they are for my paws. And only when the temperature is in the single digits, or lower. If it's 20F outside, leave me alone, I'll survive. Dog save you if it's 30F out and you come near me with those things, I will have words with you. And please, do not to laugh at me when I try to walk in them. For all you know, I'm working on my John Cleese Ministry of Silly Walks impersonation.

Oh, and to those little dogs who get all gusseyed up in sweaters and big poofy down jackets and the like, you know we're all laughing at you, right? If you don't say anything about it, you're considered a willing participant. If you don't want it, put up a fight. If it's to keep you warm, I suggest you be a really good boy (or girl, as the case may be) in this life, and maybe next time 'round you'll get to be something a little bit more respectable, like a Setter or something.

That's all for this time, kiddies. Time to go take a nap.

Snow. Snow? Snow!

Here in what I like to call the Great White North, N.Q.C. (Not Quite Canada), they have this wonderful stuff called snow. Having grown up in Los Angeles, California, this was a foreign substance to me when I first saw it. However, now that I spend at least four months of the year surrounded by it, I have become, well, addicted. There, I said it. It's out in the open now, I'm through the denial stage, and it's time to face facts.
Some say that I go too far, that snow takes over my life. They say things like, "Stop eating all the snow, there won't be any left." I've also heard them remark, "Look at him. It's like crack cocaine or something." That last quote was said behind my back, but I have great hearing. I have no idea what this "crack cocaine" stuff is, but if it's anything like snow...

The only problem I have with snow, and this is really a conundrum because it's also something that I love about it, is that snow is cold. Not just shivery, ice down your tail cold, but real, honest-to-goodness hold your paw up, tuck your nose under your tail cold. Cold that also, it turns out, feels great when you eat it. And sniff it. But mostly eat it. There are times when I've just plopped myself down in the snow and gone to town on a small drift.
As much as my humans seem to think that I like squeeky toys, or rope toys (great way to get out some aggression, tearing ropes apart, let me tell you!) or even ball toys (oh, the things I'll do for a tennis ball....) there is really nothing that compares to snow. Heck, I've even seen it made into a ball, and then it's thrown and I try to catch it. But they have this lame snow, puppy snow I call it, that doesn't know how to stay together. It doesn't follow directions. And you know what, it's really frustrating. Because you see this ball, and it leaves the hand in ball form, and then, as you calculate your angle of attack, jump angle, and launch velocity, the yapper* breaks up. And you get hit, more often than not, square in the face with a bunch of powder. And you're lucky if even 10% gets in your mouth. It just makes you want to lay down and eat snow for the rest of the day.
That's all I have for tonight. It's off to my sofa. Or maybe the bed...we'll have to see where my nose takes me. Till next woof!

*Sorry for the language, but yapper was the least offensive word I could come up with. Would you rather I have said poodle?

Hello, and Welcome

Hello! And welcome! My name is Hagrid - I'm a German Shepard. Not one of those fake American Shepards, but a real live German Shepard.

I've decided to start this blog in order to better communicate with my humans, who think that my whining and talking is mostly pointless. Little do they know that I'm trying to have a conversation with them.

A little bit about me: I'm 8 1/2 years old, male (obviously - with a name like Hagrid? I mean come on...) tall, and generally well-mannered. I was trained to be a Guide Dog for the blind, but I was never matched up with anyone. Mostly due to my height, or so I'm told. So I took early retirement, and now spend my days trying to relax. Which is not as easy as it sounds, trust me. I'm a dog, I know these things.

So those are the basics. I'll try to stay current with my posts, but you know how it is. Between trying to type with my paws, shedding all over the keyboard, and needing to stop in order to groom myself, life can get pretty busy. Plus, I'm only supposed to do this when my humans are gone, so I've got to pick my time wisely. But I'll be around.

Yours in sticks and bones,
Hagrid