A strange new word...

Myrtle taught me a new word today.  Or a game.  Or both.  I am not sure what I think of it, but she laughed and laughed and laughed.  I like hearing my puppy momma laugh.

One of the things that Myrtle taught me is the word "where."  Where means find, actually, as I understand it.  That dawned on me tonight when Myrtle taught me her ... game. Definitely, I think it is a game.  Like Fetch.

Sometimes my puppy momma likes to distract me by asking me, "Where's your baby?"  Or she will ask, "Where's your ball?"  That sets me off to find one of my many babies or balls and bring it back so that we can play together.  Both babies and balls alike, Myrtle will throw them across the room, let me play with them a bit after I bring them back, and then take them from me to toss away again.  She knows.  My puppy momma knows that I would never just leave a baby lying by itself across the room.

Of course, when it comes to babies, one is never enough, so I like to bring two or three.  You need at least two because it is ever so comforting to tuck a baby beneath your chest as you lie on the floor nuzzling your baby and making it squeak.

Anyway, today, Myrtle taught me "Where's Momma?"

Myrtle hid herself from me and then called out.  The first time, she asked, "Where's Momma?" and then followed it up with words I know:  "Come-Come-Come!"  After some searching, I found her hiding behind one of the doors to the parlor.  She started toward the living room, and so I raced ahead.  Only Myrtle tricked me.  She didn't follow.  Instead, once more, I heard, "Where's Momma?" then a long pause followed by "Come-Come-Come."

I also found Myrtle hiding on the servant's stairs, in the half bath, and on the landing to the basement stairs.  By the last, Myrtle only had to ask, "Where's Momma?" and I would come find her. Each time I did, Myrtle laughed and picked me up to let me rest my head upon her shoulder, relax my body against hers, and just soak up all her loving of my canine self.  I don't get to do that as much as I'd like these days, being held that is.  She teases me that I am getting heavier, but really we both know she is getting weaker.

I was the one laughing when Myrtle, having squeezed herself in between the wall and a burled maple chest to hide had a very hard time squeezing herself back out.  Since she was down low, I squeezed myself in there, too, and climbed into her lap and gave her lots of kisses.  She laughed even harder.  Saying something that means something to her but not to me:  "Silly Amos, Trix are for kids!"

I do have my suspicions, though, about this game.  I mean, Myrtle does very little moving, whilst I'm racing all about the house.  It is kind of like when Myrtle sits at the top of the stairs and tosses one of my squeaky balls down the stairs for me to fetch and bring back to her.  She just sits there and I do all this climbing and descending of stairs.

Myrtle says it's good for me.
Why is it that things that are good for you are often hard work??


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

Vocabulary Lessons...

So, well, Myrtle finally agreed to type for me again. I think it is because of the topic I proposed.  You see, having a puppy momma who is disabled with chronic neurological illness means that you learn different vocabulary words than most puppy dogs. I wanted to share a few:


Darn-it!:  This means that you need to leap off of your puppy momma's lap even though you just settled down because she forgot to get fresh ice packs for the wonky nerves on the back of her head when she was up getting something else.

Laundry:  This means that you need to race upstairs and stand at the top to make sure your puppy momma is following, run around in circles as she fetches the laundry basket, race downstairs and watch to make sure you are out of the way if she falls, run ahead through the kitchen to the basement steps and race down them, then take up your part of the laundry process, which is sitting atop each of the piles as your puppy momma divides her laundry to keep them from getting too high.

Come:  This means that you need to hastily take your puppy dog self to your puppy momma's side because she is missing you, now that you have overcome your anxiety and learned to remain behind if she leaves the room.

Come-Come-Come:  This means that even though you are curled up at your puppy momma's side or on her lap that she is need of greater comfort and wants you to climb up on her chest and tuck your neck against hers, preferably falling asleep and snoring if possible.

Don't!:  This means that, even though you spend most of your time curled up next to or on your puppy momma, she is in so much pain that you have to inch your puppy dog self away from her and comfort her with your presence but not touch her in any fashion.

Why-Are-You-Doing-This-To-Me?!:  This means that your puppy dog momma has reached the end of her patience with you watering every living thing in the back yard and you need to conduct your major business post haste or massive amounts of tears and raised voices and then heaping amounts of remorse and self-recrimination will follow ... things that will make you both very, very, very unhappy.

Time for Bed:  This means that you are going to be in the bedroom for long amounts of time so that it is important for you to utterly and completely empty your bladder.

Clean-Up!:  This means that your puppy momma has dropped or knocked or spilled a bit of food on the kitchen floor and needs you to come eat it so she doesn't have to bend over and pick it up, because bending over often makes her faint.

Do-You-Want-Some-Food?: This means that my puppy momma is willing to get up and feed me if I am willing to get up and eat.  Sometimes, continuing a nap is actually more appealing than food, so I appreciate the choice.


I am sure there are more words I have learned because Myrtle is my puppy momma, but these are the one that come to mind just now.  Last night, Myrtle said, "Come-Come-Come," so I did.  But I asked her to write for me today.  So she did.


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

When did we move to Siberia...

Snow.  LOTS of snow.  And more snow.

Snow and really, really, really cold temperatures.  So cold that it is sometimes hard to keep my paws on the ground.  Yet Myrtle keeps sending my outside to do my business anyway.

The snow here is almost always fluffy and soft. Most of the time, there has not been too much of it at any one time.  And I can just wade through the stuff to tend to my needs.  But lately there's been snow piled up higher than my head.  Even so, Myrtle expects me to figure things out.

I note that she never  has to tend to her business in the snow.  How is that fair??

This is the last snow storm.  Right now, more and more and more snow is falling, even though my puppy momma keeps grumbling about how the forecast said there would be only light snow today.

Can you see me?
There in the door?
Watching over my puppy momma?

For some reason, Myrtle won't let me outside when she works on clearing her walkways.  So, I am left, alone, indoors, worrying about my puppy momma.  Shoveling makes her faint.  When she mowed and fainted, I would lick her face to wake her up.  No one is out there to lick her face.  Myrtle says the snow does a good job of licking her face.  Still, I worry.

I think that snow should only be allowed to fall in manageable proportions.  Don't you?  I also happen to think that when it snows, puppy dogs should be allowed to tend to their business indoors.  Don't you?  Please, have a word with Myrtle about that, will you?  Thanks.  Truly.


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

God bless inventors...

And Aunt Celia and Uncle Eric, of course.

They sent my puppy momma an electric blanket for Christmas.  That and a foot warmer for the bed.  I think that they actually sent the blanket to me and Myrtle just misunderstood.  But whoever invented the microfiber plush electric blanket is my new best friend.  It's so warm!

Myrtle has been keeping the heat down to save money.  So, it is a tad cold in the house.  You would think she'd let my curls grow out to help ward off the constant chill, but Myrtle says they tangle too much.  So, I've been a cold dog for a long while.  Until.  Until this bit of magic came into our world.




 
After much, much, much practice, I have learned to burrow inside the blanket whenever Myrtle gets up off the couch or the GREEN chair.  The key is to find a way to have the blanket both beneath and around me.  Then, I can roast in happiness.

Lest you worry, Myrtle's disease means that she does not regulate her body temperature well.  So, the electric blanket and foot warmer help when her chills set in, but she always keeps the blanket set low lest she become overheated.  The foot warmer, on the other hand, she had on high, since her feet often turn blue.  But I don't go near it.  I have my own warmer in the bed:  Myrtle's body.  She doesn't mind that I drape myself about her.  My puppy momma can be quite accommodating.

Sometimes.
Never about bacon.
But I digress.

Sidney I. Russell.  God bless Sidney.  Well, God also bless those who came after the man who invented the heated under blanket in 1912.  A good man.  A man who understood the value of warmth.  And God bless John K. Stewart and Thomas J. Clark who created the Chicago Flexible Shaft Company that was the grandparent of the company that eventually created my blanket, Sunbeam.  Australians really understand heat.  And softness.  And the needs of puppy dogs who have puppy mommas on a limited budget.


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

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!