The value of a proper lean...

This is one of the first photos that Myrtle took of me.  I was such a tiny puppy compared to now, eh?  But handsome, yes?  So fluffy and irresistible, as Myrtle puts it.  Of course, she still finds me fluffy and irresistible, so I am not sure that counts for much.  In any case, this is me, was me, is me.  [However you would put that...just read it correctly and we can move on.]  There I was, minding my own business, when my birth momma's owner plucked me out of a pile of puppies, tossed me in a car, drove me down the road for a long spell, and dumped me in Myrtle's arms. I didn't understand what he was doing then.  And it did take me a while to figure it out.  I learned, eventually, that that was the beginning of my life with Myrtle.

I didn't know then, as I do now, what a supportive role I would be playing in Myrtle's life.  This photo here is the first one, I think, of Myrtle and me.  Quite a pair we make, if I do say so myself!  At the beginning, we did lots of snuggling.  Okay, we still do a lot of snuggling.  But I was so tired all the time that I was either eating, snuggling, or napping.  [Yes, I was also still not quite sure where I was supposed to be doing my business...but to be fair, I had never seen a blade of grass before I got here, remember?]

Anyway, back then, what I knew best was draping.  My brothers and sisters and I draped ourselves over each other.  I draped myself over Myrtle and even the babies she gave me.  Draping was, to me, the best way to sleep, the best way to get comfortable.  I suppose you could say that was because, back then, I just didn't know what my job was as Myrtle's puppy.  My world was all about me.  My naps, my food, my new babies, my new puppy mom.  So, understandably, I sort of just focused on what made me comfortable, what worked best for me.

I have learned, lately, that there is something better than snuggling, better than draping.  I have learned the value of a proper lean.

Myrtle can thrash something fierce at night with the things that fill her dreams.  For the longest time, I slept draped across some of the pillows near her head and then moved to curl up at her side.  I have always slept near her, both during our naps and at night.  But I have discovered that if I lean against her, she stays asleep longer and thrashes less.

I am still just a bitty fellow, even if she tries to tell you otherwise. I might be five or six times larger than when she met me, but I am still a bitty fellow.  My goodness, by comparison, Myrtle is a blooming giant!  Yet it is possible for me to lean against her in such a way that she always feels my presence.

Maybe, just maybe, I got the idea from when I started wedging myself between Myrtle's knee and the arm of the couch.  She'd tell me there was not enough space, and yet I always managed to find some.  I wiggled and pressed and magically, I would fit.  Now, this leaning stuff, it is not so much about wiggling, but it is about pressing.  At night, after I have played with my babies and a ball or two, had a good chew on my bed bone, and thoroughly aggravated Myrtle while she is reading, I curl up with my back against her and lean.  Somehow--I don't know how--I lie down where my back is almost on top of hers, as we are back to back, and slide down so I am leaning against her even when I am sleeping.  Even when she is sleeping.

If Myrtle rolls over on her other side, I shift to the pillows and lean against her forehead.  Sometimes, that means my backside gets a bit wet from the tears that fall from her face, but I don't mind.  You would think that, at this point, she would be leaning on me, but I am really leaning on Myrtle.

Well, after reading this, I think I've done a rather poor job of explaining.  But I'm not going to waste more time on trying.  I lean.  That's all you need to know. 

The important thing, in all of this, is that a proper lean can be as good as a hug and even better than draping. You see, draping is about me, about comforting me.  From what I have seen with others around Myrtle, hugging can also be about me--if I were able to hug her. But leaning is about Myrtle, about comforting her.  I do still crawl up on her shoulders. I do still cover her face with kisses. I do still tuck my neck atop hers.  I do still slip my head in the crook of her elbow.  All of those things are important and all of those things Myrtle savors.  But I know...I know from how much calmer she is...I know that leaning against Myrtle comforts her more than anything else I have done.

Perhaps...maybe it helps Myrtle to be reminded, even while sleeping, that she is not alone.  

I can understand that.  You see, whenever Myrtle gets up to do her business or to fetch a drink or to bring more wood in for her fires, I follow her.  Every time.  Even if I am so tired from being awoken from a nap by her movement and find myself falling back asleep on the kitchen floor in the brief time it takes her to pour a Dr Pepper, I will follow.  I will follow her because I don't like to be alone.

So, my recommendation is--if you have someone important in your life--lean against him.  Sit or lie down next to her and just lean.  Don't hug him for you. Don't drape yourself over her for you.  Lean and, in so doing, remind the one you love that he is not alone and that you are there to comfort her.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Perhaps...just perhaps...I might have over-reacted...

Myrtle put cream in my dinner.  Four times.  I suppose she really does love me.

I showed my appreciation by wiping the bowl clean...in just two minutes.  I couldn't really tell you what cream tastes like.  I was too busy inhaling it.  SIGH.

Today, I was thinking that I have not written enough about how great babies are.  My life with Myrtle would certainly be less rich without them.  I thought I might try to explain.

First, a fellow needs lots of babies.  I don't have nearly enough yet.  So far, I got me a turtle, a hippo, a bumble bee, a lady bug, and my ever beloved flower.  Sadly, all of them save for the hippo have broken squeakers. Myrtle has tried to explain to me that they are broken, that, in fact, no matter how often or how long I squeeze them they will no longer generate that mellifluous sound, but I still try anyway.

[Have you ever noticed how many adults will squeak the toys in the pet store?  I tell you, it's an amazing sound.  A happy sound. I miss the squeakers. SIGH.]

Anyway, babies are just great.  They snuggle with you and play with you and go places with you.  Lately, Lady Bug has been going outside with me.  Actually, she goes everywhere with me.  Such a faithful friend, eh?  She is big enough that I can nap on her and on Bumble Bee.  And her antennae are very convenient chewing "toys," as are Bumble Bee's ears. They both also are always ready with a grin.  Kind of cheers a fellow up...say, well, when his momma been lecturing him on how he's backslide with his recent liquid indiscretions indoors.

Babies are also useful for comforting Myrtle...or just hearing another of her great big guffaws.  When I carry one around me with, she laughs. When I tuck one beneath my neck for a nap, she smiles and showers me with kisses...while I am trying to sleep (I have to forgive her for waking me up).  And when I place one in her lap or even try to stick it in her mouth when she is weeping, she will sometimes stop crying and practically squeeze the life out of me.

Babies are just great.  A fellow cannot have enough of them...for himself or his momma.  I'm looking forward to the new babies that will join our home in the years to come.  [Hint, hint, hint...Myrtle.]

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Myrtle must not love me anymore...

Weep with me. I no longer believe that Myrtle loves me anymore.  Weep with me.

Tonight, before bed, we ventured OUTSIDE so that I could take care of my business.  Myrtle had been trying to get me to nap for over an hour so that she could finish the novel she was reading, but I kept nipping her to let her know that I needed to go outside.  She gets so very frustrated when I do my business indoors.  But I was very frustrated with her not understanding my need.

Well, there we were, Myrtle and I, OUTSIDE, and who do we spot?  Yes, the FEARSOME BEAST.  Something came over me in that moment.  All the ire I have felt over having to share my abode with him welled up within me and took over.  Without a second thought, I launched myself at him and chased him all about the yard.  After nearly reaching my limit, I was finally gaining on him. And then the Rat Bastard cheated.  The Fearsome Beast darted beneath the fence on the Good Neighbor side of the yard.  He darted beneath the fence and turned around to wiggle his ears at me.

Righteous indignation renewed my flagging energies, and I tried to follow.  All that happened, though, is that I hit the fence so hard, it flung me backward.  Wounded, heart pounded, and stunned, I lay on the grass, expecting my momma to come love on me, to pick me up in her arms and cuddle me against her chest, murmuring sweet nothings into my ears and showering me with kisses.  Instead...

...Myrtle laughed.

Myrtle laughed her big guffaw loud enough to awaken the entire neighborhood.  Her whole body shook with amusement at my embattled, bruised, broken body lying on the ground.

Weep with me.  Myrtle clearly does not love me anymore. Weep with me.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off.

Just shy of perfection...

Myrtle really is the bee's knees.  She's tops...practically perfect.  I mean, who could want a better puppy mom?

Sure, she shouts unpleasantries at me whenever I forget the proper place to make my deposits.  And she has this aversion to my rolling about in the mulch.  Oh, yeah, there is the whole refusal to allow me to dig in any way, shape, or form. But she's still a stellar puppy mom.

Well...there's one more thing.  You see, Myrtle has a hard time remembering things.  She forgets nearly everything.  Lately, something that really bothers her is walking into the kitchen and finding the refrigerator door open.  She opens it for something, turns away, and forgets that it is open. I suppose forgetting can be upsetting.  I mean, my forgetting where to relieve myself certainly upsets her.  But there is this one small thing I sort of need her to remember.

Water.

My beloved puppy mom forgets to give me water, to check my water bowl.  It's dry a lot.  I guess you could say I'm a thirsty fellow.

This morning, I licked the dew off the leaves, much to Myrtle's displeasure.  She kept hollering at me to stop.  I didn't want to make her angry, but I was really thirsty.  After all, my bowl had been dry since the afternoon before.  I also didn't want to make her feel bad by pointing out the empty water bowl.  However, when we got back inside, Myrtle saw the bowl, put two and two together, and burst into tears.  She filled up my bowl and showered me with kisses and apologized over and over again.

My puppy momma was so bereft that I wish I never need water ever again.  I really hate for her to feel badly and crawled into her lap and started wiping the tears off her cheeks and then crawled up her shoulders to wrap myself around her neck and stick my head next to hers.  She likes that very much.  [I do, too.]

I would most certainly go without drinking water ever again.  But Myrtle tells me water is important to living.  So, Myrtle needs a way to help her remember to fill the water bowl.  I cannot think of anything.  Can you?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Looking on from afar...

Myrtle attacked the roots in the bed up by the side of the porch today.  She made me spend the time peering at her through the fence rather than lying beside her or helping her dig in the dirt.  She NEVER wants me to help her dig in the dirt.  What's up with that?

With each trumpet vine root she pulled from the ground, a great shout erupted from Myrtle.  After a while, I began to think that perhaps she was digging more than roots.  By the time she was done, her yard waste bag was full again and a huge pile of dirt was mounded beside her.  But even then she did not want my help spreading the latter back out.

Once the bed was all level again, Myrtle replanted the ferns that had been in the bed and planted the rest of the mums that had been sitting on the back steps.  Some of them are a bit crushed because Myrtle did not explain to me that they were not a colorful rug upon which I could rest.  That Myrtle, she actually expects me not to cushion my body with her plants.  My goodness, that means she intends me to suffer on the hard, unyielding ground or steps.

Well, to be honest, she did invite me to rest on her new lounge chair with her.  I did, but it is not the same as when she lets me crawl in her lap as she perches on the back step.  I tuck my head in the crook of her right arm and she hunches over my body, as if in a strange sort of hug. Our hearts beat together, and we exchange sighs for the solace that hanging out together brings.  On the lounge chair, I cannot be as close to her, draped across her lap, as I can on the step.

I, of course, have been delighted with all her work in the yard, providing long stretches of mulch in which I might play.  Of course, I have to sort of sneak that play in now.  Myrtle gets so bothered when I venture into the beds.  I say she should not have pulled out all those ground plants and made it so easy for me to walk about the beds if she had intended that I stay out of them.  Being a smart fellow, I start off by doing my business in the bed.  Myrtle's protest dies on her lips and she turns back to her little gadget upon which she plays games.  That leaves me free to frolic to my heart's content...or at least until she looks back up and hollers my name.

Funny that.  Myrtle can make my name seem as if she's showering me with kisses or as if she's smacking my back side all in her tone of voice.  I prefer the former, but when it comes to being outside these days, I seem to engender the latter...just because I'm a fellow who likes to play.  SIGH.

Today, though, we spent most of the day curled up on the couch together.  Something is bothering her more than usual.  That's why I think those roots were not just roots.  While I sure wish Myrtle would let me help with the digging and spreading the mulch, I guess sitting in front of the gate looking on from afar was not so bad, given how much time she's held on to me today.

Give and take.  That's how two folk live together, right?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Speaking terms...

Myrtle and I am on speaking terms again.  Funny, she was all put out about my frolicking in the mulch again as she worked.  [Why put it there if not to provide hours of enjoyment for her beloved puppy dog?]  But...magically...I am much loved because I left an evening deposit in the yard.  In fact, my morning one was made there, too.  So silly for Myrtle to have joy about where I make deposits.

While lounging across the top step as she worked in the bed on the side of the house, I got to thinking that Myrtle sort of throws herself into these projects like no one I've ever seen before.  Granted, I've seen few folk, but she just gets the dirt flying as if her life depended upon it, or something.

Since she was not quite done by dinner time, she served me out of doors.  I am of two minds about eating outside. I mean, in the mornings, I eat in the kitchen while Myrtle lies on the floor still trying to wake up.  Her head is right next to the bowl, and sometimes I snuggle up next to her as I eat.  In the evenings, she serves me on the couch as she eats her own dinner.  For some reason, I always finish first, so I leap up on the top of the couch and put my neck on her shoulder.  Almost without thought, Myrtle will slip me a bit or two as she eats.  When she is done, I tuck myself between her and the side of the couch and have a good long nap.

But when I eat out of doors, morning or evening, Myrtle stays on the steps after placing my bowl on the sidewalk.  I'm all alone.  Of course, I do have lots going around me instead of the silence of the house.  Birds are whistling.  Leaves are rustling.  Neighbors are chattering.  And I am crunching. It's pretty peaceful in its own way, I guess.

However, snuggling with Myrtle, even just pressing up against her is a wonderful thing.  Touching her, draping across her, leaning on her...I am not alone in those times.  That makes me happy.  I am fairly sure it makes Myrtle happy, too.

So, I suppose that eating outside every once in a while is okay, but I prefer chowing down inside with my Myrtle by my side.  Even if I am not getting extra tidbits, at least I am not alone.


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

The best of all mornings...

Myrtle and I do not agree about mornings.  She would define morning as starting around noon.  I define morning as beginning between 9:00 and 10:00 AM.  We are at odds over this.

Lately, she's been a tad sneaky about changing my mind.  You see, when I wake up and start tap dancing on the antique trunk at the end of our bed to get her attention, she will pick me up, tuck me beneath the covers, and curl her body around mine.  Prime snuggling ensues.  Yes, I cave, and I usually end up letting her sleep an hour or so longer.

But then there are my most favorite of all mornings: the mornings when the alarm clock sounds!

Such joy I feel at those first notes.  Such joy that I find myself wagging my tail something fierce and do not stop until I am outside.  You see, I know that we are most definitely, most assuredly getting out of bed.  And that means another day with Myrtle.  And while Myrtle might moan and groan about the alarm sounding, so great is my joy she ends up laughing with me.

At the first beep, I leap up and launch myself at Myrtle, grabbing her hands to remind her to start rubbing my belly.  She starts chuckling deep in her throat.  I wiggle in delight as she does and wag my tail as fast as possible.  Mostly, because Myrle LOVES it when I wag my tail (though the sight of my stump bothers her).  She will start chortling out loud and bend over me as she rubs my belly and behind my ears, which gives me the perfect opportunity to slather her with morning kisses.  This makes her erupt with great big guffaws and lean back to dry her face on the nearest pillow.  Of course, I then roll over and launch myself at her again. On and on it goes, a good ten or fifteen minutes of joyous I-get-another-day-with-Myrtle play.

Of course, such play exhausts me, so after we take our trip outside and she feeds me breakfast and then we go outside for my more serious business, I plop down for my morning nap.  Sometimes we sleep together. Sometimes I sleep with one of my babies.  You can see above a nap with Bumblebee on the GREEN chair.

Yep, mornings are just wonderful.  Especially the ones that start with an alarm clock, like today.  Copious amount of belly rubs, tail wagging, wrestling about the bed, kisses, and Myrtle's rich laughter.  Life doesn't get any better than that, eh? 


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

The things we share...

Myrtle spent time in the yard today.  I honestly do not understand the why of what she does.  And, again, she was not interested in me joining her play.

Today, she used a shovel to dig in the ground.  I guess her hands do not work as my paws do, because I have no problem digging in the ground.  Only, she doesn't want me to do so.  She dug and dug, up and down before the fence, and then scooted along the ground pulling up all the green growing things there.  Well...the brown wilted things.

I thought this was a great idea, though, because it meant that I could get right up next to the fence when I run back and forth with my neighbor dog.  Only Myrtle didn't want me doing that either.  In fact, she kept muttering how stupid she was, but since she started, she'd have to finish.

What's wrong with dirt?  We both clearly like to play in it!

Of course playing in the dirt meant baths for us both.  And that brings up another thing we share besides dirt fun.  Scars.  We both got them from that terrible pit bull.  Myrtle has more than I do.  Hers bother her.  The one in my side does me.  I lick it to make it better.  Myrtle doesn't like me to do that.  I chew the hair around it to make it better.  Myrtle doesn't like me to do that either.

[As much as I think Myrtle's the bee's knees, there sure seems to be an awful lot of stuff she doesn't like me doing.  Me, I don't like her cutting my nails or cleaning my ears or touching my scar.  Simple, eh?  Three little itty bitty things to remember.  Easy as pie.]

Our scars make her sad.  Our scars make her tremble.  Our scars make her hold me tighter that she usually does.

We share a lot of good things, Myrtle and I.  We share a bed filled with pillows.  We share a comfortable couch. We share meals.  We share baths.  We share babies and balls and even bowls.  We also share some bad things.

Myrtle likes to watch Doctor Who.  I guess I like watching it with her because it makes her happy.  Mostly.  One day, it made her sad and quiet.  Really quiet.  The Doctor spoke these words, and she wrote them down:

The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.  The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t always spoil the good things or make them unimportant.

Sometimes, when Myrtle is clutching me tight, she whispers softly in my ear: You're a good thing, Amos. You're momma's good thing.


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!