Trust is tricky...

Myrtle has been trying to teach me about trust.  It is a tricky, tricky lesson to learn.

Take tonight.  Every night, when it is not too cold to run the fountain on the front porch, Myrtle adds water to it so that the pump doesn't run dry.  The fountain is set in a shallow concrete birdbath bowl because the deeper fountain bowl was broken by a visitor many years before I came to live with Myrtle.

Some nights, Myrtle will stay out on the porch for longer than I wish to be separated from her in order to also water the plants on the porch.  I will stand, paws and nose pressed to the glass of the storm door, whining and whimpering and waiting for my Myrtle to return ... basically begging to let me join her.

Throughout this summer, Myrtle has been working on trust with me, allowing me to sit with her on the bench when she is spending time on the porch savoring the fountain and wind chimes and GREEN growing things.  She used to hold me in one of the rocking chairs.  But because she knows I like the bench best, Myrtle has been letting me sit there, without the awful harness and leash, looking about to my heart's content.

Because we are in disagreement over my protestations of interlopers big and small crossing before MY HOME, often some of our time on the porch is spent working out this disagreement.  By working out, I mean Myrtle hushes me and disciplines me and tries (rather unsuccessfully) to train me to protest less, if not at all.

Over the past few months, Myrtle has started letting me walk out the door, trot across the porch, and hop up on the bench all by myself, instead of carrying me out with her and setting me down.  Because I have gotten ever so good at doing this, Myrtle had finally given in to my deepest wish to always be together as much as we when she is home and started letting me sit on the bench whilst she does her watering.

Life was good.
Until I blew it.
Trust is tricky ... and easily lost.

To my defense, I will say that it is not my fault Myrtle's trust in my obedience to remain on the bench when she is walking about the porch was broken.  Nope.  It was all Myrtle's NEMESIS' fault!

You see, there is this black cat that hangs out on the front porch.  Of course, I feel compelled to protest his trespassing, but my protestations, no matter how loud or how long, bother him not.  Instead, he happily perches atop Myrtle's beloved fountain, drinking water and breaking the fronds of her beloved tiny fern growing on top of the fountain and tearing off her beloved tiny bits of moss she's been encouraging to grow on the fountain with his claws as he leaps back to the ground.  Yes, Myrtle protests his presence as well.

She yells at him.
She sprinkles Cayenne pepper all over the fountain.
She chases him away.
She bats him with a broom.
She squirts him in the face with the spray bottle.

Myrtle's NEMESIS remains.

Well, as you very well may have guessed at this point, tonight, while Myrtle was watering the plants and trusting me to remain on the bench, her NEMESIS came sauntering up the steps.  What's a fellow to do?  I LOVE Myrtle and it GRIEVES me when she mourns over broken fronds and bits of scattered moss.  So, I promptly leapt off the bench and chased Myrtle's NEMESIS away.

I have never heard Myrtle call my name in quite that way.

Before I knew it, Myrtle had bounded after me, scooped me up, and shoved me back through the front door.  In no uncertain terms, my puppy momma made clear to me that I had completely and utterly lost my bench sitting privileges.  She is not certain when I will be able to go back outside with her, but I will not be going outside under my own power when we do.

Trust is a tricky thing to learn and to practice.  There are so very many ways trust can be broken ... say, for example ... if you had been trusted to remain on the couch next to food and couldn't resist cleaning the plate before Myrtle was done with it even though you had been able to resist dozens of times before.  That kind of trust also has to be rebuilt.

Of course, you could note that each time I let my puppy momma sheer my curls, I am trusting her ... because curls are not the only thing she sometimes cuts with her scissors.  But when I tried to bring up that point tonight Myrtle wouldn't listen.

She's still trembling.

I don't think it is because of fronds and moss.  Her NEMESIS never made it that far.  In any case, I have my paws wrapped around her neck and my head tucked beneath her chin as she is typing for me.  I feel a few snores coming on, but I am trying to hold out to make sure she gets this write.  I mean right.


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

The Cowering Interloper...

The new FEARSOME BEAST is back.  Last night, I found him perched before the bench at the back corner of the yard.  I barked at him.  I charged him.  I threatened him within an inch of his life.  He did not move an inch.  Finally, I peed on him.

Yes.  Peed. On. The FEARSOME BEAST.

He didn't move!  Hah!  I discovered THE TRUTH.  That creature Myrtle calls a possum is not actually a FEARSOME BEAST.  No!  He is a COWERING INTERLOPER!  A chicken in a possum's body! Hah!

I think I will drink some extra water just in case he comes back again.  That will show him who's BOSS of the Great Outdoors.


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

How can a fellow get a break...

What is the world coming to?  Just when I could breathe a sigh of contentment about my life in the back yard—at least until Myrtle actually goes through with her mad scheme to create a rock river in the bed—I find my refuge invaded once again!

LOOK AT THIS FEARSOME BEAST!

I barked at him.
I jumped at him.
I charged him.
I tried to nip his ... tail.
I chided him.
I chastised him.
I berated him.
I insulted him.
I threatened him.
I bulled him.
I ridiculed him.
I leered at him.
I scoffed at him.

Nothing worked at all.  There he sat, like a statue, ignoring me ...acting like I did not even exist!  THE NERVE OF HIM!

Why?  Why must I suffer so??


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

Myrtle needs lessons...

Myrtle needs lessons in the proper care and feeding of puppy dogs.  You see, my beloved Aunt Marie and Uncle Paul came to visit me today.  Uncle Paul understands the needs of a growing puppy dog in a proper sort of fashion.  You see, not only does he let me clean his dishes, but Uncle Paul actually deliberately leaves bits and pieces of his meal for me to finish up.

Yes ... even bacon!

Have I mentioned just how much I love Uncle Paul?

At least my puppy momma understands the need for a proper pillow.  A puppy dog needs his sleep.  Lots of sleep.


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

It's all her fault...

It's all Myrtle's fault that I haven't been posting with any sort of regularity.  I keep telling her that I have this great big audience all rabid about hearing from me, but she doesn't really get just how popular I am out there in the great big world.  Okay, how great I might become if only I were given the chance.

What is my biggest news??  THE FEARSOME BEAST IS GONE!!!!!!!!!

Myrtle gets all weepy about it, so I have worked to contain my joy to moments when she's otherwise engaged.  Mostly, it is her fault, but I would never admit that to her.

Here is the FEARSOME BEAST when he first invaded my yard.  For over TWO years, he has hopped around the place as if he owned it.  No matter how many times I chased him out into the Great Beyond (as in beyond the fence), that cheeky fellow would sneak back when I was taking my ease indoors.

No place in the back yard was safe from his trespassing.  He even fouled the grass without a single thought for a puppy dog who is already stressed enough about venturing out onto said grass.  No thought of me AT ALL!  Instead, the FEARSOME BEAST would hop about the place as if he were the one supporting Myrtle, the one who keeps roof overhead, day in and day out.  The one snuggling with her, laying beside her when she's writhing in pain, the one who dries her tears, the one who kisses her awake when she faints.

I cannot find an earlier photo, but here is one taken last summer, when Myrtle applied her new (free) hedge trimmers to the grossly overgrown burning bushes.  They were near the windows up top, so you can see it was a bit of severe trimming.  In any case, what you can see are the remnants of the Snow on the Mountain ground cover.  The stuff gets about two feet heigh at its peak, and so makes an excellent hiding place for the FEARSOME BEAST.  Myrtle systematically ripped out the ground cover from the bed along the fence (you can see some bare ground) and the bed on the other side of the burning bushes that is in front of the back porch and wraps to the back steps.  But she PURPOSELY left the middle section so that the FEARSOME BEAST could have food and safe harbor!  Oh, the bitterness of betrayal.

Well, much to my utter JOY, this area is where Myrtle recently worked out some of her upsettedness.  Despite her increasingly failing health, she took shovel to hand and dug out all the ground cover that she had allowed to remain before the burning bushes.  By the time she was done, Myrtle filled up five yard waste bags, laid out 144 square feet of landscaping material, and dumped and spread twelve bags of hardwood shredded mulch.  My puppy momma was filthy, trembling, and had fainted three times, but her tears had stopped.  I, of course, was leaping about the entire time she worked ... in my mind if not in my body.  With each shovel full of chopped up plants, Myrtle was ensuring my total, complete, and (hopefully)  permanent victory over the FEARSOME BEAST, for neither of us has spotted him since.

At the end, she collected all the rocks in the others beds that were being crowded out by her thyme plants and plopped them down in the empty space.  I think they look just grand there, but Myrtle told me they were just a way to help her think about what she would like in all that empty space.  Being a kind fellow, I have watered each and every one of the rocks rather faithfully, as well as tended to the liquid needs of the burning bushes.  Oh, how I savor frolicking about the FEARSOME BEAST'S former refuge!

I have been robbed of my joy, though.  And it's all Myrtle's fault.   You see, my puppy momma announced that she has decided that she will be creating a rock river, wending from the back steps, around the pink floral bush, and on over to the empty space.  WE DON'T NEED A ROCK RIVER!

"Why," you ask, "am I objecting to a rock river?"  "Why has my joy been stolen by my puppy momma?"  Well, this is why:

ANOTHER FEARSOME BEAST!  In fact, Myrtle rather cruelly announced that it is her plan to invite many FEARSOME BEASTS in the form of rock turtles, frogs, and toads living in the rock river.

Again, WE DON'T NEED A ROCK RIVER!  AND WE CERTAINLY DON'T NEED TURTLES, FROGS, AND TOADS!!

Surely you agree?  Right??  Right!!!!

SIGH.  Myrtle cannot harvest the rocks from her friends yard until the current spate of what Myrtle calls stinking-hot-days ends.  Once it does, Myrtle plans to fill up buckets with the old rock cover in her friend's beds until the river is complete.  After that, THE INVASION BEGINS.

Sometimes ... sometimes I wonder if Myrtle really loves me.


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

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.