Waggling...

Communication is an ever evolving practice.  This, this is what I have learned in my now five years of life.  Effective communication with your puppy parents means constantly working at learning the cues they use to communication.  Because, you see, communication is not merely just words.

Myrtle has started waggling her fingers at me.  It took me a rather long time to realize that whenever she started to waggle, she was starting to communicate.  When she moves her fingers up and down, fluttering or as if playing the piano, this means that Myrtle wants my attention.  When she moves her hands from side to side, often bent at the wrist toward her body, this means that Myrtle wants my presence NOW!

I am such a good comfort puppy dog that my presence can calm Myrtle's deepest fears ... just a bit ... and ease her most wretched illness ... just a bit.  She wants me near her, nearer than I am at that particular moment when the waggling begins, because she needs me.

It is rather nice to be needed.

Much of the waggling has taken place in our bed at night.  This is because, for the past couple of weeks, at least, Myrtle has had to sleep on her right side.  She had a pacemaker put into her chest and she cannot sleep as she normally does.  The change and the pain Myrtle feels bothers her and so, in order to fall asleep, she wants me to tuck myself up against her side, head on her shoulder, so that she can then curl her body around me.  I don't mind.

Well, mostly I don't mind.  Mostly because Myrtle will waggle her fingers at me beneath the covers ... impatiently waiting to gain my attention from my sleep.  Yes, I am already asleep when Myrtle has the need for my greater presence.

We get into bed.  I frolic with the pillows.  Myrtle yells at me and tosses my chew bone at me.  I grab the bone and climb up on her torso for a chaw.  I finish and crawl beneath the covers to find some warmth.

Myrtle sleeps with her windows open.
The bedroom is often in the 40s.
One morning we even had snow inside.

Waggle.  Waggle.  WAGGLE.  Fingers and hand in furious motion, increasing in intensity the longer it takes for me to wake.  Why Myrtle doesn't just call my name to wake me is a mystery.  But I have learned that much about communication is mysterious.  A continual learning curve.

Of course, I have taken to my own form of waggling.  Trying to sit up more, Myrtle is spending lots of time on the couch.  I am not all that content to merely sit beside her.  No!  I want to be in my puppy momma's lap.  So, I waggle my paw at her and at the blanket in her lap until she makes room for me.

Interpreting the waggle.
An important combination skill.

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

Babies are priceless...

Myrtle has written about baby surgery before, how she sometimes has to make repairs to my babies because of my overly enthusiastic loving of them.  Sometimes, she wearies of doing so.  I know, because my puppy momma has the bothersome habit of tossing an injured baby atop the bookcase in the living room and waiting to tend to it until the pile of injured babies become visible to the room.  That is not the IMMEDIATELY REPAIR MY BELOVED BABY approach I would prefer her to take.   However, since I have no skill with a needle and thread, I must wait upon Myrtle for help.

When browsing the Internet over my puppy momma's shoulder, I found the article below.  Myrtle had caught a lot of flack for the amount of babies she has bought for me.  Well, for one, a fellow just cannot have enough babies and frankly I think Myrtle has been dropping the ball in this area over the past few months.  For another, why in the world would anyone want to deprive a puppy dog of the comfort of his babies?  Should there be a limit on comfort??  I say, "NO!"

So, to honor my puppy momma in her provision for my comfort, I thought I would post the text of the article here and provide the link for passing on just in case other puppy dogs need a defense for their puppy mommas or ... (hopefully not) ... need proof for their need of babies!

Toy Trouble: It's Worth the Price!

One of the biggest complaints I hear when it comes to dog toys that they just don’t last and that they are a waste of money. I would like to address these complaints with the following 5 reasons you should feel good about spending $$ on toys for your dog.

1. Playing with toys stimulates your dog’s mind and can help promote problem solving skills.
2. Toys keep dogs busy. And guess what? Your busy dog doesn’t have as much time to get into trouble.
3. Toys help fulfill instinctive drives including: shredding/ripping, hunting/finding food, chasing and herding.
4. Toys help expend energy. Fetching/retrieving activities expend pent up energy. If you are a part of the fun, then you get the added bonus of additional “bonding” time. So go ahead and play a game of fetch with Fido!
5. Toys help with emotional balance: dogs that get adequate physical and mental stimulation tend to be healthier and more emotionally balanced.

Please don’t deprive your dog of toys because you think it is a waste of money. Consider how many children’s toys need to be replaced because of damage over time. Toys are made to be played with….and with dogs, that often means annihilation . So, with that in mind, determine how much you can spend on toys each month and consider it an investment in your dog’s emotional well-being.

These are a few tips on making the toys you choose last a little longer:

1. Change out toys every week. Novelty seems to be something that many dogs love when it comes to toys.

2. Keep at least one interactive toy out of reach and use it for special occasions. Pull it down and use it for a reward during training or to help keep your interactions with Fido “amazing” in his eyes.

3. Some toys are tougher than others….Kongs, Marrow Bones, and many food dispensing toys should be around awhile.

4. Toys made from material will have a shorter life expectancy, especially if you have a “shredder” on your hands. Just sit back and enjoy watching your dog rip it to pieces (make sure he doesn’t ingest any of it) and properly dispose of any small pieces.

5. Appropriate chews will help fill the gap when it comes to expense…..back straps, pig ears, deer antlers, bully sticks, and Himalayan Chews are all great choices for filling your dog’s need to chew.

Some dogs need a little help when it comes to toys, so try a variety. You should eventually find something that your dog likes! And remember that the small investment in toys is worth a happy, mentally healthy dog!

by Amy Weeks

So, all your puppy mommas and puppy papas out there, feel free to pick up a baby (or three) for your puppy dog in good conscience this week, knowing the purchase is priceless!

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

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!

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!

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.

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.