Just to prove my words true...

In case you think I was exaggerating about how miserly my puppy momma is with treats, yesterday I earned the final faux bacon bit.  You know, the back bit from the bag of treats my beloved Aunt Leslie brought to me in February that I wrote about in March.  February ... as in that teeny, tiny bag of treats were doled out in miserly fashion over a period of SIX MONTHS!!

I am not even sure I want to post the treats I am earning now.  You see, there was a puppy visitor to the house.  A very tiny puppy who has very tiny treats.  Her treats are these pea-sized brown blobs.  Well, her puppy momma left them behind, so Myrtle declared that one of them will be my reward each time I do my major business in the out of doors.  PEA-SIZED!  I'm a gazillion times larger than that black and white ball of fluff that came for a visit.  Don't you think that my treats should be a gazillion times larger than hers?

Can you spell:  D  O  U  B  L  E    S  T  A  N  D  A  R  D?

Myrtle has no end of ways to reward herself.  She will use a Taco Bell gift card or have an extra Dr Pepper.  She will fill a bowl with enough scoops of Blue Bell to serve three people.  Or maybe she will buy a red velvet cake from the store.  Really, most of her rewards involve large portions of tastiness, whilst her supposedly beloved puppy dog has to make do on crumbs.


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

A lesson for Myrtle...

Myrtle could learn a lesson from my beloved Aunt Leslie: A proper understanding of the giving of treats.

You see, Myrtle does not really give me treats.  Recently, a Facebook friend of her recommended giving me biscuits. I wanted to knock Myrtle off the keyboard to let that woman know how deprived I am.  Dog biscuits?  I don't even know what those are.  My puppy momma, in two long years of raising me, has never bought me a single box.  Not one.

Myrtle would like for me to tell you that there is a reason for this, but her reasons are specious.  Myrtle says that the reason she does not buy and give me dog biscuits is because she lets me clean all the plates and will even give me a bit or two from her own meal.  She said I do not need biscuits.  She wrong.
All dogs need dog biscuits. Period.  All other reasoning regarding dog biscuits is false!

Myrtle does give me treats, after a fashion, but only really, really, really teeny tiny ones.  Here are ones that she bought most recently in a small jelly jar.  Believe it or not, they are the largest treats she has ever purchased for me.  I suppose I should be grateful.

However, the only way for me to actually get to consume these treats is if I do my major business out of doors.  That's it.  Nothing else.  So, once or twice a day, I can "earn" a mere morsel.  The brown squares and the orange circles, both soft, disappear with just a single bite.  The microscopic bones are crunchy, so they take another chew.    Really, I barely taste them because one or two chews and they are gone.

But is that really what treats are for? I mean, how is it a "treat" if I have to perform to "earn" one? After all, a treat is "an event or item that is out of the ordinary and gives great pleasure."

Trust me, doing major business out of doors is neither out of the ordinary or gives me great pleasure.  It is normal, ordinary, customary.  It should not be a requirement to receive a treat.

Now, my beloved Aunt Leslie knows this.  Nearly every single time she comes to visit, even if she has run an errand for my puppy momma, Aunt Leslie brings me treats. She either brings me a new baby or she brings me tasty treats.  And not only does she bring me tasty treats, she opens the container and gives me many of them right away.  One. Two.  Five.  Six.  Ten. Twelve.  There is no requirements for me to "earn" Aunt Leslie's treats.  She just heaps them upon me unconditionally.  SIGH.

These are the last treats that Aunt Leslie brought.  She bought them because she knows that Myrtle is very, very selfish about her bacon.  She never shares it with me.  DOUBLE SIGH.

So, Aunt Leslie bought me my very own bacon, puppy dog bacon if you will.  She bought it for me, brought it to me, opened the container, and proceeded to give me an entire handful of the tasty treats. Have I mentioned that I love my Aunt Leslie??

Myrtle?  Well, after Aunt Leslie left, my puppy momma put the bacon treats in the jar and closed the lid.  It has not been opened since.

Myrtle's reasoning is that I should finish up my other treats before starting in on these.  She also told me that they really should be broken into smaller pieces.  Pieces?  Who breaks bacon into pieces?

I love my puppy momma.  I honestly do.  I just wish she would learn the proper understanding on treats from my Aunt Leslie.  To put it in terms Myrtle might grasp:  Treats are Gospel, not Law.


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

What not to say...

This afternoon, Myrtle awoke to find that I had pressed my forehead against hers on the pillow, my curls tangled with her own locks.  I thought she would find it comforting, especially since my puppy momma (for no reason I can fathom) just loves my snoring.  However, the FIRST words out of her mouth were: "Your breath stinks!"

Without even giving me a kiss or thanking me for snuggling with her or showing the slightest bit of attention to me, Myrtle rolled over, reached for her computer, and logged on to Amazon.com, muttering about ordering toothpaste and a toothbrush for me.

SIGH.

You know, Myrtle has terrible nightmares, and I work real hard to give her lots and lots and lots of different kinds of comfort in bed.  I chew bones on her belly, I press my back against hers, I curl up at her feet, I hold onto her arm with my paws, I sleep with my face in the palm of her outstretched hand, and I serve as a pillow for her.  And, yet, after working that hard and even thinking up a brand new way to comfort her, my reward was an insult!
 
I do not feel much loved today.


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

Wordsworth is right...

In his poem "Michael," Wordsworth has a bit that reads:
 
There is a comfort in the strength of love;
’Twill make a thing endurable, which else

Would overset the brain, or break the heart: 

(450-452)

Love for my puppy momma Myrtle is all that got me through the recent trip we took.  That's me there, on the far bed, loving Myrtle with my whole being so as not to end up with an overset brain when she returned.

What you cannot see is this very-nice-but-still-terrifying woman who came to stay with me in the hotel room whilst my puppy momma went to her father's funeral.  The woman was kind and quiet.  In fact, when she came into the room, she immediately sat down on the floor, put out some treats, and turned her face away from me.  Like I said, nice woman.  But she was also a stranger.  And from all the time Myrtle spent in front of a mirror prior to the woman arriving, I knew my puppy momma was going to be leaving me.  These days, Myrtle is rarely in front of a mirror.

I don't remember my birth father or birth mother.  I don't remember my brothers and sister either, but Myrtle says I do.  She says I remember them each time I drape myself atop her.  Draping really is comfortable.  I am not sure why she thinks I learned that from my siblings, but I try not to argue much with Myrtle.  It upsets her so.

As you can see on the bed in the photo above and the one here, Myrtle brought lots of pillows and blankets from home so that we would both be comfortable in a strange bed.  The woman who came to stay with me was willing to play with me, but it was all I could do to wait for Myrtle's return.  I had my pillows and blankets and my babies, but I didn't have Myrtle.  I prefer her to all the rest.  I definitely prefer her to being alone, especially being alone with strangers, even if the stranger is a nice person who knew better than to stick her hand in my face and scare me more.  

Seriously, why do folk think I want them sticking their hands in my face when we meet?  Everyone does it.  Most do it even after my puppy momma explains that I do not like it.  I guess it is some sort of weird human ritual I will never be able to understand.  Frankly, it is one I think ought to be discarded.

To go to Myrtle's father's funeral, we ended up driving in the car for four days.  I had not been in the car in just over a year.  So, I found that part of the trip a tad discombobulating.  For a long while, Myrtle and I had a disagreement over where I would be sitting.  I am sure you can guess who proved the wiser head.  Sometimes I wonder just how much longer it is going to take to properly train my puppy momma.

Two of the four days were spent riding in the car with my beloved Aunt Bettina.  I've known her almost as long as I have known Myrtle, even though I do not get to see her all that often.  This is a photo of when we first met.  Isn't she beautiful?  Am I not just the most adorable little fellow on the planet?  

Pretty much, Aunt Bettina is perfect.  She loves me and lets me give her kisses and is a great snuggler.  Really, she only has two small flaws.  For one, she is a bit parsimonious about her food.  [Notice I did not use the word greedy.  Frugality is the kindest construction I can think of to explain why she would not want to share freely with me.]  As for the second flaw, Aunt Bettina had absolutely no desire to have me in her lap whilst she was driving us in the car.  Given that it was mighty cold outside, I am just plain flummoxed as to why it is that she would not want a lap warmer or a fluffy pillow rest for her hands.  I tried very hard to convince her of my value, but my Aunt Bettina can be rather firm in her opinions.  I, on the other hand, am the epitome of flexibility!

This was me loving Myrtle some more.  Perhaps, this was harder than loving her in the hotel room.  My, are gas stations terrifying places!  

Veritable hoards of terrifying people walk right past the car, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  For some reason, my puppy momma did not want me to pump gas with her or go inside to fetch tasty tidbits to keep her and Aunt Bettina sated whilst traveling down the road.  I had yet another opportunity to gird my loins and stifle my fear.

Sadly, gas stations are all about about people and not puppies.  At least, as far as I can tell.  After all, Myrtle did not bring any tasty tidbits for me when she came back to the car.  She also was disinclined to share her tasty tidbits.

I will say that what I disliked most about the trip were the terrifying folk who forced my puppy momma to hand over money in order to drive on their roads.  They were entirely too close to us for my comfort.  I tried really hard to defend and to protect Myrtle for them, but for some reason she did not care for my loving attention.  In fact, on the way home, Myrtle trussed me up like a chicken for the oven so that I could not get near those folk.  I cannot fathom how this could be so, but one big, burly man took exception to my loving defense of my puppy momma and switched sides of the road with a small woman.

Mostly, I will say that funeral trips are about hours traveling, hours being alone, and hours and hours of weeping.  Actually, Myrtle has been wailing as well as weeping.  Her whole body shakes with her tears and she sometimes has difficulty breathing.  Hours will go by, sometimes even days now, where she is my normal puppy momma, and then the crying starts up again.  When she cries, Myrtle also does a lot of squeezing me tight. 

I will say that I have found loving someone is hard, very hard, because it means a lot of worrying.  I worry about Myrtle so much that I need extra naps just to recover.  I worry about her when she is in the shower.  Sometimes she falls in there, but often I worry because I know she is crying in there.  We both pretend, when she gets out, that there is only water on her face.  I worried at the toll booths and at the gas station.  I worried with her driving so much.  And I most definitely worried about her when she was at the funeral.  I was nearly overset with worry then.

But, like Wordsworth wrote, love is a powerful thing.  It can help you do more than you thought could do, be more than you thought you were.  If you had told me that I would stay with a stranger in a strange room in a strange city for hours on end, I would have told you that you were just plain nuts.  But it happened.  I did.  And I survived.

Life with my puppy momma has changed.  She is more tired.  She is weaker. And she is more ... fragile.  She often clings to me as if she things I am going to disappear right before her eyes.  Of course, I supposed I should admit that were she not clinging to me so fiercely, I would be holding on to her.  Living in this world is hard.  There are Fearsome Beasts and GREEN grass and now road trips and funerals.

I have asked and asked and asked her to write, but always she would say that another time would be a better one.  I told her today that perhaps there will be no better times, since they never seem to come. I told her that perhaps we need to get better at living in the not-so-much-better times.  And I told her that I wanted to start writing down our days together again.

The more I think on it, I believe it was love that made my puppy momma able to keep that pit bull from killing me.  I believe it is love that got us back on the streets when she could still walk.  I know it was love that made me face my fear long enough for her to go to the funeral.  And I am certain it is love that made Myrtle give me my first taste of bacon today.

Without love, this would world would be too hard.  Our minds and bodies would be too broken to get through a single day, much less than the now two years I have lived with my puppy momma.  

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

Victory at last...

My new aunt Marie and uncle Paul came to stay in the basement space for a while.  That means the basement has been off limits to me for seven weeks.  I'm bereft.

However, having them here hasn't been all that bad.  You see, they are Amos fans!  And pretty much anything I do is adorable to them.  Wise folk.

Miracle workers, aunt Marie and uncle Paul got Myrtle to start eating at the table with them instead of in the GREEN chair.  Now, you might be thinking that is not such a good thing, since I could climb in Myrtle's lap in the chair, though not when she is at the table.  But think about this.  They got Myrtle to start eating at the table with them.  With!  That means three sets of dishes for me to lick, rather than a mere one!

Being a rather smart fellow, I quickly figured out that uncle Paul is the fastest eater, so I camp out at his side once they sit down.  Sure enough, once he's done, uncle Paul will set his plate or bowl or both down on the floor for me.  My puppy momma finishes next, so I take care of her dishes.  Aunt Marie always finishes last (this is because she does most of the cooking) and some times forgets to give me her dishes, but once reminded, she sets them on the floor for me.  Good times, eh?

Well, my adorableness has worn down their caution a bit.  They lost a bit of diligence in ensuring the door to the basement is always closed.  Now, don't misunderstand me.  I'm not that feeble.  I have managed to find my way to the promise land many times.  But each time someone was hot on my heels.  Not this time.

Myrtle, aunt Marie, and uncle Paul were busy play a game...a long game...for hours.  Something about phases.  Anyway, my aunt and uncle each went to the basement to tend to their needs throughout the game.  Being a patient fellow, I bid my time.  When the iron was hot, I struck.

VICTORY AT LAST!

Someone left the door open.  Of course, I was down there in a flash.  Sure enough, the basement really is the promise land.  Not just paper and all sorts of interesting stuff did I find to shred.  That didn't even catch my eye.  Like an arrow sprung from a bow, I shot straight to this fantastic section of bread left in the trash.  Oh, my!  This was no mere nibble, no bite given in pity.  This was practically an entire loaf!  Okay, maybe a third.  But still.  Wow!  To be fair, I must admit that I did not have the opportunity to devour all of it.  Pride goes before a fall.


I couldn't help myself.  I brought the bread back upstairs to show aunt Marie how much I appreciated the tasty treat she left right at the top of the trash can, for surely she did this for me. Surely!  However, Myrtle took exception to my display or my eating all that bread...or both.  Spotting disapproval painted all over her face, I raced up the stairs to our bedroom.  Myrtle is MUCH slower than I, so I figured I would have some time for my feast.  I was right.


Myrtle went back downstairs with a mere stub compared to the branch I carried up with me.  Most of that bread happily ended up in my tummy.  My puppy momma wasn't all that mad at me, though.  She was laughing when she picked me up to grab the bread out of my mouth, she was laughing as she walked back down the stairs, she was laughing when she showed aunt Marie and uncle Paul the little bit left, and she was laughing when she tossed it in the trash.  Too bad she didn't just let me finish it.


Still, I savor the victory.  I, Amos Adams, shall not be denied entrance to part of my own home!  Surely my perseverence was rewarded.  I wonder what I shall be given next time??


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

What lingers still...

Myrtle and I are having a bit of a difficult time.  As you can see, I am not my usual happy, carefree, adorable self.

Out of nowhere, this wild, fierce, and rather terrifying storm came up and knocked out the power to our home.  Since my puppy momma cannot be without air-conditioning, we went to stay in the basement of Aunt Leslie's house.  While Myrtle was very thankful for a place to stay, its effect on me was rather hard for her to face.

It was hard on me, too.

You see, Aunt Leslie lives next to this place filled with lots of trees and wild animals.  Fearsome Beasts of all sorts!  That would have been terribly hard to face all by itself, but her back yard doesn't have any fences.  Yep...that meant I had to wear the horrible, wretched, terrifying leash each and very time we went out.

Facing your greatest fear all day long, day after day, is exhausting...as you can see in my picture.  Exhausting, draining, debilitating....mentally, physically, emotionally.  I was a basket case by the time we left there.  And, even in the haven of our home, it took me many days to shed the weight of my fear.

Myrtle and I don't talk much about the pit bull attack.  At least we don't with our mouths.  But our bodies sure are still vocal about it.  We each tremble like a leaf at things most folk don't bat an eyelash at...or so it seems.  Other folk seem so brave, so fearless really, about doing things like walking outside, being around strangers, and wearing leashes.  Myrtle tells me that I am fine just the way that I am, but being scared is not very fun.  It wears on a fellow.

Next week it will have been a year since we started getting scared together.  Next week it will have been a year since we were both scarred.

Myrtle tells me that sometimes she feels like she is still standing on the corner playing tug-of-war against the pit bull with my body.  Sometimes, she still feels my body slipping from her fingers, slick with our blood mingled together.  She doesn't remember anything from the last time she stumbled to her feet, clutching me against her until the two of us were lying on the ground...the attack finally over.

Only...it really isn't.  As much as we both wish it to be over, it is not.  It is not in our bodies.  It is not in our minds.  It is not in our hearts.  We startle at little things.  We fear little things.   And we think walking about the neighborhood is just plain a bad idea.

I guess, though, in a strange way it is good that it happened to both of us.  I mean, I don't EVER want anything bad to happen to my puppy momma.  EVER.  But since it happened to both of us neither one of us is completely alone.  Even if no one else does, we understand each other.  We understand the fear.  We understand the trembling.  We understand the weakness.


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

Hard at work...

This is me, hard at work! 

Myrtle decided to finally paint the back stairwell and the hallway upstairs. Oh, my, if I had a quarter for each time she deliberated about stripping off the wallpaper first, I would be able to purchase all the bacon I could ever desire! [I wouldn't desire it so much if Myrtle would not be so selfish about sharing hers.] Over and over and over again, I heard the argument about the "horrid" seams on the walls and the possible "disaster" of pulling down the ceiling once she started. Something about the mess of old lathe and plaster. Finally, she decided to just paint. As she put it: to finish the blasted job I started over a year ago. 

You see, the hallway and back stairwell now match the foyer, main stairwell, and parlor. All of the walls that needed to be painted are painted. And the white walls that did not necessarily need to be painted but were driving my puppy momma slightly crazy now sport some color. 

This is me when my puppy momma started improving her walls, just after I came to live with her. Such a tiny little fellow, eh? Adorable, though, right? Back then, Myrtle's painting was so stressful for me. I could barely stand to be away from her and the ladder was so scary and I didn't understand what she was doing. Now that Myrtle has painted the basement living space, the basement bath area, the laundry area, the living room, the parlor, the master bath (including the antique tub), and all the places I mentioned above, I know full well what painting entails: Myrtle starts making a mess; hours later, Myrtle cleans up her mess. All the while she works, Myrtle doesn't want my help. 

This is the finished project (at least the hallway...the stairwell is kind of boring). I take full credit for it. Yep...you read that right: full. You see, painting is much, much, much harder for Myrtle now than it was when she started over a year ago. It causes her a lot of pain (which is why I think the walls were perfect the way they were before she started). Pain from her arthritis and pain from the now constant tendinitis in her elbows because of the muscle weakness in her forearms. So, I keep her company, the whole time. As you can see from the photo array above, I have learned to keep out of her way (I ended up with absolutely no Mellow Ivory in my curls--a first for me). And I am so darned adorable when I sleep that I kept distracting her from the pain as I shifted positions, looking even more adorable in the new one than I did in the one previous. So adorable, in fact, I bet you are having trouble reading this because your eyes are drawn back to the top and all my snoozing glory. 

That's the kind of fellow I am. I sacrifice willingly for my puppy momma. Instead of spending the ten hours it took for her to do the painting job comfortably in the GREEN chair, I spent all that time napping on the cold, hard, unforgiving floor. I did so, because even though I think Myrtle was slightly crazy for making herself hurt just for the sake of colored walls, I love her. I love my puppy momma. And she needed my help. 

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