Just rewards...

Frankly, I do not like it when my puppy dog momma leaves.  I know many of my fellow canines out there are not so fortunate as I to have their puppy parents around all the time, but I am.  Myrtle may be ill much of the time, but she's here.  With me!

Today, she got an email and leapt up from the couch and left me high and dry.  She does this, occasionally, when a warning about a gas price hike comes.  Here, in Fort Wayne, gas can swing upwards of 30 cents in mere minutes.  My point is not that I mind Myrtle going out to fill up her tank before the price hike. I mind that she does so without me.

You see, Myrtle and I have a rather strong disagreement about my place in the car.  In the house, my place is nearly always next to or draped upon my puppy momma.  However, in the car, she insists that I stay in the other front seat, a whole THREE feet from her.  When we go to the vet, Myrtle is so mean that she ties me up just to keep me out of her lap or off her shoulders.  She also grows upset with me when I vocally protest the presence of dangers nearby ... dangers such as people and vehicles.  All I am trying to do is help!

So, when Myrtle went into the kitchen to do some of her freezer meals cooking, I thought I would stay on the couch just to teach her a lesson. I thought that I would show her how it feels to be left behind.

Only.
Only my stomach betrayed me.

You see, Myrtle's hands are growing weaker, which means she is more clumsy.  Clumsy in the kitchen means the possibility of more food falling on the floor.  Food that is most certainly meant for me!

I tried to stick to my principles.  I tried to stand up for equal rights.  However, I failed.  The tantalizing aroma wafting from the kitchen felled my resolve and off I went to curl up at Myrtle's feet.   Things worked out well for me, though.  Myrtle didn't spill any of the Black Bean Soup with Roasted Bell Peppers that she was cooking, but she did knock over her container of Honey Nut Cheerios!  Instead of just having one or two that fall when she walks to the living room with her mug of cereal, I had the equivalent of an entire bowl myself!


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

A new game...

My puppy momma has come up with a new "game."  Sometimes I wonder if her games are really games.

This one is called:  "What about your baby?"  Myrtle knows that I desire to be by her side when she is moving from place to place in the house.  Being the puppy son of a Southern Woman, I was raised with good manners.  Now, whenever she leaves the living room, she waits to for me to follow her almost to her location before asking, "What about your baby?"  Such a question strikes terror into my canine heart.  After all, a good puppy dog always tends to his babies.  So, I will go racing back to the living room and look them all over before bringing one ... or three ... to wherever Myrtle was going.

I suspect that the game is more trickster activity than play.  After all, I'm the one doing all the racing about and the work.  Myrtle?  She just stand there and watches me ... and then chuckles over my huffing and puffing canine self.  Shouldn't a "game" involve participation on both players' part?

I tell you, all this game playing leaves me in need of extra naps.  Good thing that my babies don't mind if I tend to them whilst I am sleeping.


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

Perspectives...

Myrtle's wicked glee turned into mine today.  She was talking with me about how silly it is that even when all my fears of the Out of Doors have been abated, I still am not quick about taking care of major business.  You know, when there is a nice solid snow back covering the terrifying grass and it is the middle of the night so there are no vehicles, people, or other pets about trying my frayed nerves.  To make her point, she clicked on an article that she was most certain would put me in my place:  Why is My Dog Such a Picky Pooper?  Actually, my dearest puppy momma ended up with a bit of egg on her face.

If you are a puppy dog or a puppy dog parent, the article makes some rather cogent statements on the whys of the seemingly strange way a canine goes about taking care of business and does so in a humorous fashion at times.  The author clearly understands the puppy dog perspective.  For example:

While these social signaling behaviors can and do inform the places and amount of time it takes your dog to do his or her business, it’s also important to remember that, like humans, dogs are individuals with their own personality quirks and preferences.

Put another way, physical distractions and certain predispositions can have the same effect on dogs as they do on us. That big, loud waste management truck with the terrifying trashcan-grabbing arm? What living thing could poop with that thing lurching down the road?
You know, Myrtle has never once taken her business out of doors with myriad distractions and great fearsomeness pressing in on all sides.  Anyway, it's really all about perspective.  Or maybe walking a mile in the other person's pads.

I do happen to think that Myrtle has been working on understanding my perspective a bit lately.  For example, she now feeds me when she takes her 6:00 AM medicine and takes me outside.  Then, she tries to sleep, since the wee-hours-of-the-morning violent nausea she's been battling most days is abating.  Knowing how wretched she feels, I let her sleep as long as she wants, even if she is more tossing and turning than actually sleeping.  I'm a patient fellow.  Anyway, now, when Myrtle is ready to get out of bed, she first asks me, "Do you want to get up?"  Most days, I do.  If I don't, yet, Myrtle waits.  Then, when I answer with "good morning" (really good afternoon) kisses, wagging my tail most enthusiastically to show my puppy momma how much I love her, Myrtle plays with my curls and thanks me for letting her sleep.

Every day.
"Thank you, Amos, for letting me sleep."
I think the world would be a better place if everyone started their day with thanks.

Okay, maybe Myrtle is making an effort because she's oft raised her voice at me lately and then ended up weeping and apologizing, which means that I've been doing a lot of tear removal from her cheeks.  Now, I never raise my voice with her.  But I am not ill like she is.  I do not understand how her mind works or what drives her choices.  Okay, well, I do some.  We both share PTSD and the fear and anxiety that accompanies it.  But I am not nauseous or fainting or shaky or cold or confused or vomiting or in agony or all of the above every day as is my beloved puppy momma.

I am, however, just a wee bit happy that, for once, she got schooled on the whys and wherefores of a canine mind.  I believe that the upsettedness that Myrtle heaps upon me whilst I am working on my major business will not be forthcoming now that she's done a bit of learning on the subject matter.  Broadening perspective helps everybody.  Even a puppy dog and his puppy momma.


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

New words...

My puppy momma has taught me two more words.  She doesn't want to me to share them, but this is my blog, not hers.


Oh, crap:  This means that she's just come from the basement and has forgotten to bring up that which she went to fetch and has to turn around and go back down and then up the stairs all over again.

Stop:  This is an abbreviation for WHAT-DO-YOU-THINK-YOU-ARE-DOING-IMMEDIATELY-CEASE-WHAT-YOU-ARE-DOING!  Mostly, that is.  "Stop" is also a reminder that I am not to go running to the fence to bark fearfully (digging my paws into the mulch and getting all dirty) at the huge dog sitting at the fence two yards over.  "Stop" also means to not water the bottom post of the new back steps.  I guess, really, "Stop" means to not do the things I want to do that Myrtle believes I shouldn't be doing even though I think I should.


Frankly, I would like to teach Myrtle some new words.  I mean, she wants me to take all of my business—major and minor—out of doors.  I let her know of my dire needs by whining for minor things and gurgle-growling for major needs.  However, sometimes my puppy momma is so tired that she does not hear me.

The other night, well, I just couldn't get her attention.  I was left with no other option than to conduct my major business right there in her lap.  Myrtle is still miffed at me.

Why is it that I am the one who got blamed for her not listening to me??????


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

Please explain...

Last night, I was taking my ease on the sidewalk, sitting straight up, but with my backside off of my legs.  I turned around to look at my puppy momma sitting in her GREEN rocking chair on the back porch.  And what does she do?  That silly Myrtle just bursts into tears.

Being a kind puppy gentleman, I raced over to her and hopped up on her lap to start washing away her tears.  I asked her what was wrong.  When she finally calmed down, Myrtle told me that I was so  adorable and that she didn't deserve to get to admire me day after day after day.  Or something like that.  She was still sniffing a lot.

Huh?

I am an adorable fellow, I must admit, adorable even when I was just a little pup.  But still.  Can someone please explain puppy mommas to me???????


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

I want one...

I was pursuing the Internet the other day, sitting in Myrtle's lap, when something caught my eye:




Frankly, I believe that Myrtle has been a bit selfish with her corn.  After all, she has never given me an ear on which to chow down.

Now, I do live a charmed life in a culinary sense.  Myrtle, being weary much of the time, saves on dishwashing labors by allowing me to pre-clean all plates, bowls, and saucers.  Occasionally, if I have been especially good whilst she is cooking, my puppy momma will let me lick a serving spoon or spatula.

Of course, the trade-off is that Myrtle does not really give me doggy treats.  She has the world's tiniest doggy bones that I earn when I properly conduct my major business out of doors.  But only one at a time.  They are so small, I barely taste them before they are gone.  Basically, all those doggy treats and bones and chews out there will never cross our threshold.  Sometimes, I wonder what I am missing.  However, yesterday I got to clean up after a plate of Beef with Sugar Snap Peas and today a bowl of Beef Stew with Beer.  Tastiness abounds in our home.

Still, don't you think that Myrtle ought to start making me an ear of corn when she cooks corn?  I do.  Perhaps you could start an Internet campaign to change her mind?


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

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!