Pawsitive Pondering: X is for XXX

The A to Z Challenge is winding down. Only the letters Y and Z remain. Thanks for sticking with me through my first run at this. It's been fun!

Pawsitive Pondering

X is for XXX:

You know I'm talking about kisses, right? 

I mean, what else could triple X stand for? 

Sometimes I get carried away and nibble. . .but you smell so good! 

And guess what? 

I have plenty of smoochies to go around, so pucker up!

If you follow my blog, then you already know the miniature Dachshund is my grand-dog, Special Agent McGee; the nose he's nibbling belongs to my son, Joey.  They're both adorable, aren't they?

See you tomorrow for the letter Y!

XXXOOO-
Lisa

A to Z - Pawsitive Pondering - V is for Victory (of course!)

There are only five days left of April and the A to Z Challenge, and then normal posting resumes. My pets will be unhappy to be out of the spotlight, but a few Pup-Peroni treats should take care of that.

Pawsitive Pondering 

V is for Victory:

Victory doesn't always mean something enormous. There are little victories, too. Like. . .

permission to sleep on the living room chair.  

And. . .

schmoozing an extra treat after dinner. 

The biggest victory is having someone to love.
That one deserves a capital V.

Wishing you dog-like victories today and every day.

Have a great one!
Lisa

Pawsitive Pondering: P is for Perspective

Let's face it. Perspective matters. An adult's perspective is different from a child's; a man's is different from a woman's.  As a customer service manager I used to tell my staff, "It doesn't matter what we know the circumstance to be. What matters is our client's perspective of it." Since I still believe that, I thought I'd ask my miniature Dachshund grand-dogs to give a few examples of differing perspectives.

Pawsitive Pondering

P is for Perspective:

You say:  

Dirty laundry.

Federal Agent Chutsky says:  

A warm, comfy bed that smells wonderful, 

because to my nose it smells just like you!

You say:  

Short and long.

Federal Agent Chutsky says:  

Smart and strong! 

And cute and lovable, too.

You say:
A pair of lazy dogs.


Special Agent McGee and Federal Agent Chutsky say:
A pair of happy dogs
renewing their energy!

You say:  

Now there's a pair of handsome miniature Dachshunds!

Special Agent McGee and Federal Agent Chutsky say:

Okay. We think you're right about that one.

Thanks for stopping by.  I hope you smiled while you were here.  See you tomorrow for the A to Z Challenge and the letter Q.

Lisa

Red Socks, Reindeer and Microfiction Monday

Clip art courtesy of Webweaver

Merry Christmas!  I'm in a jolly mood because I finished my Christmas shopping yesterday, which means I can sit back and enjoy the rest of December stress free. I'm usually that frantic woman you see rushing through the mall with a glazed look in her eyes and hair standing on end. Not this year, buttercup. Yay!

(An aside:  The festive reindeer above resembles a cartoon rendition of my yellow Lab were I to embarrass him by tying back his floppy ears and attaching antlers.)

Now to the main reason for my Monday post: the just-too-much-fun Microfiction Monday, hosted by Susan at Stony River.  It is ridiculous how much I look forward to this every week. Susan has single-handedly turned Monday into one of my favorite days of the week.  Thanks, Susan! And thanks to all the other participants who make this weekly meme such a joy.  Below are my two stories to accompany the picture, each 140 characters or less.

She has no fear of dreaming for a grander life than this; 

distant lands, romance, mystery & bliss. 

She’s not afraid. . .to dream, to dream.

* * * * * * * * * *

“So I’m brainless, am I?” She muttered. 

“Well, I’m smart enough to know these red socks 

will turn his undershorts pink.   

That’ll teach him!”

Someone asked me what I consider the most difficult part of Microfiction Monday.  Well, the writing is fun and no trouble at all. The tough part is getting to all the other blogs to read the stories and leave a comment. I never make it to every one, and I know I'm missing out.

An update for all you holiday shoppers:  not counting today, there are eleven shopping days left until the big guy blasts down your chimney! Good luck with your shopping. I wish you an abundance of parking spaces, amazing sales, and short lines at the check-out!

Merry Christmas!

Lisa

Dog Days of Summer!

Surviving the dog days of summer is a breeze! Just ask me and I'll tell ya!  I am a miniature Dachshund and my name is Special Agent McGee.  Here I am, all afloat, enjoying a day at the lake!

Whew!  Sometimes being a real hot dog is too much to handle.  Time to take the plunge!  C'mon in!  The water is fine!        

Sometimes, a guy just needs his mom!

Gotta dry out these ears before taking a nap.  Don't worry.  I won't fall out the window.  Mom holds me and keeps me from sticking my badger-hunting nose too far out.

Aaaahhhhh.....time to snooze.  Gotta love these lake days!

Admit it....I'm one cool hot dog!


(This blog post courtesy of Special Agent McGee, my grand-dog.  He's a sweet little guy.)


Enjoy the final days of summer, y'all! 

Til next time -
Lisa. . .and Special Agent McGee

Furry Friendships

I sat down to post about yesterday's trip to the ER with my youngest daughter (appendicitis scare) and decided I'm still too emotionally spent to turn it into anything besides AARRGGGHHH! So the appendicitis-that-wasn't story will have to wait a few days.

Instead, I'm writing about a topic that never fails to cheer me:  my furry buddies! If you know me or read my blog, you've seen pictures of the animals that share my space.  To make it easy for you, I posted photos of my furry beloveds. Aren't they the coolest hairy kids ever?

Sitting here in my office with my gray kitty, Bailey, in my lap and my black Lab mix, Penny, stretched out at my feet, I considered how lucky I am to have been born with an "I-adore-animals" gene.  I know people who don't care for animals ("Too much hair!" "Eww, slobber!") and I can't understand it.  So dogs and cats shed. . .big hairy deal.  Pull out your vacuum cleaner a little more often.  Slobber? Nothing a little soap and water can't take care of.  Those things are a small price to pay for tail wags and purrs and unconditional love that reduces stress and eases heartache.

How do our dogs know when we need a wet nose pressed against our hand?  How do our cats know when we need a purring body curled up in our lap?  Pets know their humans.  These wonderful creatures read our moods and decipher our emotional needs like furry barometers.  Don't believe me? Ask anyone who has an animal companion and they will tell you the same thing.

What do the furry friendships in your life mean to you? Do you have an animal companion who senses your moods? Who is your furry beloved?


Til next time -
Lisa

Busting Out All Over!

Happy June!

June is a wonderful summer month that gifts us with Father's Day, June bugs, and blooming gardenias. This year, Joe and I celebrated its coming over the Memorial Day weekend with a wedding anniversary trip to Asheville, North Carolina.  That's us in front of the sign at the Wright Inn, the bed & breakfast where we were spoiled for three days. I fussed about this pic because Joe is hiding behind my hair.  He told me to quit whining. So much for romance.

When our beach plans fell through we thought of Asheville where we had, many years ago, spent a fantastic family vacation. Our visit over the past weekend only reinforced our affection for this quirky little mountain city.

We cruised the Blue Ridge Parkway, hunted waterfalls and hiked.  We had so much fun I didn't complain even once that the moist air Brillo-ed my hair, or grumble about my butt muscles aching from climbing mountain trails. (There are, like, actual muscles back there. Who knew? And where are they usually?) 

When not discovering aching body parts about which I was previously unaware, we explored downtown Asheville.  The stores and restaurants are unique and the people pleasant. Also, Asheville is an unusually dog friendly city.  Leashed dogs visit stores and curl up by their owners' feet at outdoor cafes.  As dog lovers, this feature of a city we have grown to love only serves to enhance our desire to return.

In the meantime, June is, as Rodgers and Hammerstein so aptly put it, busting out all over! Asheville or Atlanta, June doesn't care. She is bursting with explosive colors and heady, sweet scents, and demanding that we bask in her glow.

Off to bask -
Lisa

Hot Diggity Dog!

Last year I posted a bit about my daughter's miniature Dachshund, Special Agent McGee. At the time, he looked like the picture on the right.  All 2 pounds of him.

Well, he's grown up now, so I thought you might like to see him in all his hot dog glory.  He's a whopping 10 pounds 8 ounces, near his maximum expected weight of 11 pounds, and he remains a hit with the other dogs in our household.  In the top photo we found him using Rigby as a pillow.

McGee no longer resides here since his mom, my daughter Stephanie, moved into her own apartment.  I do dog sit, however, and when Steph comes over to visit or do her laundry, McGee comes along. He considers us his pack, even though he's guarding his own place now. He's a Rottweiler trapped in the body of a bratwurst.

McGee wagged his way into our lives less than a year ago and he's offered nothing but affection and laughter, and the occasional present on the carpet.  A gentleman by the name of Ben Williams is quoted as saying "There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face."  I'd say that about sums it up.

I'd be lying if I didn't admit that McGee is a pain in the butt sometimes, but if you ask my kids they might say the same of me, so I would be in good company.  I can think of worse things than being compared to Special Agent McGee since he's a funny little guy with an abundance of charm.  He really is one hot little dog.

Woof!

Lisa

Nightmare on Elmeow Street: Curious Cat Wants to Know...

To prove my fondness for canines, I asked my pet to post the photo on the left of me with Penny, one of the pups with whom I coexist. She is a cute little thing, isn't she? A bit kibble-brained but, to be fair, that is part of her considerable charm.

My other canine companion, Rigby, pictured on the right, is...ah, me-ow, I must admit, quite brilliant, in spite of his clownish mugging for the camera.  He is a thinker, and quite the challenging housemate. He is the founder of FETCH (Finding Earth's True Canine Heroes), an organization devoted to the canonization of faithful dogs. He is angling for his own reality show.

There, now, see? I like dogs. I just happen to think felines have more class.  We do not, after all, burp so loudly as to disturb our pets' rest, or create malodorous blasts of air from our nether regions.  Ah, well, I suppose it is simply a matter of one's preference...which segues nicely to my question of the week:

Imagine...you are alone in a secluded house in the woods.  Night arrives and with it a terrible thunder storm. The electricity fails and you descend with a flashlight to the dark cellar to inspect the fuse box. The door locks behind you, and you realize you are not alone. You will be trapped until morning, when a neighboring cat (oh, okay, fine...and a dog, too) hears your wails and runs for help.  With whom would you choose to be trapped and why? Please choose from the following:

a) Hannibal Lecter; b) Freddie Krueger; c) Lizzie Borden; d) The Joker; or e) Lady GaGa.

Consider your answers carefully.  Remember, I'm aiming for world domination here, so I need to know these things.

Meow,
Tabby

Hot Dog!

Congratulate me on my new grand-dog!

The little nipper is an 8-week-old miniature Dachshund. The proud “mama”, my daughter Stephanie, named him McGee after her favorite character from the NCIS television series. She has wanted a pooch of her own for years, and we gifted her with the pup as part of her college graduation present. Though he receives attention from all of us, he somehow knows that Stephanie belongs to him; she is the love of his little doggy life.

While McGee accepts us as his pack, our gray cat, Bailey, refuses to acknowledge his existence at all. Maybe she thinks if she ignores him he’ll go away. Our other cat, Tabby—aka She Who Reigns Supreme—hisses and stands her ground to let McGee know that she is the boss; he believes it and gives her a wide berth. Rigby, our yellow Lab mix, cocks his head and furrows his brow as if to say, “How do you keep winding this thing up?” Penny, our black Lab mix, is the most relaxed with the newcomer and lays down to let him play. Both dogs outweigh the diminutive McGee by 45+ pounds. It is amazing to watch them interact; they seem to know he is a baby who requires their patience.

Housebreaking the little two-and-a-half pound squeak toy is a joint effort. Mostly we try not to step on him. He trots around with the big dogs like he owns the place and I love the Rottweiler attitude in the little hot dog body; when he grows up he may just give Tabby a run for her money in the “bossy” department. I don’t know yet if he is really that self-confident or just too clueless to realize he’s the size of an hors d'œuvre.

McGee was the runt of the litter and since most miniature Dachshunds max out at eleven pounds, we aren’t expecting McGee to amount to much, if you know what I mean. My guess is he will always be small, bright, silly, and—yes, he’s won our hearts—utterly irreplaceable.

Until Stephanie moves into her own apartment we will be a three dog family. I don’t think of it as extra fur balls and muddy feet. Any dog lover will tell you it just means triple the love. Rawr.

Til next time –
Lisa

What's In a Name?

Joe and I walked the dogs at the park last evening after dinner and stopped, as is our routine, at the fenced dog run area so Rigby and Penny could do their doggy frolicking with all their doggy friends. While our hairy kids slobbered and trotted and chased themselves silly, Joe and I enjoyed the company of other dog owners.

Dog owners at the dog park are like parents of children at the playground—they join in conversation with strangers about whom they know nothing, drawn by the universal consistencies of pet ownership/child rearing. And, like parents, we are known by our dogs, rather than ourselves. If any of the dog park denizens spot me at the grocery store they will not, any one of them, say, “Hey, there’s Lisa!” They might, however, be heard to say, “Hey, there’s Rigby’s and Penny’s mom!”

I, similarly, cannot lay a name to even one of those nice people with whom I share conversation while our dogs sniff butts, share slobber, and wrestle in the mud (gosh, it almost sounds X-rated, doesn’t it?). I know which man is Giselle’s dad (she is a German Shorthair Pointer) and which lady belongs to Huey (a 10-year-old Bassett Hound), but their actual names elude me. Somewhere out there is a psychologist who could write an entire thesis on this, but you know, I’d never remember his name.

I’m not sure of the significance of this whole remember-the-dog, forget-the-owner thing. I think it has to do with the carefree air that permeates the dog park; everyone is having a stress free moment, so why ruin it with names and job titles? It may also have something to do with being an old bagger with a bad memory, but this is my blog so it is okay for me to be in denial about that. Acceptable, even.

So I’m not old, I just like to spend time talking and laughing with kindred spirits who understand the joy to be found in a beloved dog’s wagging tail and lolling tongue. After all, as Shakespeare might say, a dog lover by any other name would still carry liver treats in his pocket.

Til next time –
Lisa

Furry Furballs

Poor kitty-cat Bailey. She is sick and heading off to the vet this morning. She is in her carrier, whining as though someone just chopped off her tail with a meat cleaver which, I promise you, is not the case. Animals in our household fare extremely well. They are loved and spoiled. That is just what we do here at chez Claro.

We boast four furry kids: two dogs and two cats. They get along like siblings do; that is to say sometimes they co-exist peacefully and sometimes they don’t. The dogs tease the cats, the cats tease the dogs; an hour later they rub noses and offer each other slobbery kisses. On occasion they have been known to nap together.

The house will feel lopsided with Bailey gone today. The dogs might not pay too much attention, but our other cat, Tabby, will be out of sorts and probably whiny, wondering what happened to her little sister. With luck, Bailey’s only problem will be an overabundance of furballs in her belly, and we’ll be able to bring her home before day’s end. She endures the furball problem every year, and we along with her, as she hocks them up all over the house. The dogs appreciate the unexpected hors d’oeuvre, but Bailey does not share their glee.

Of course, she isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of a veterinary visit, either, judging from the pitiful wails I’m hearing as she bemoans her misfortune. That’s okay, though. When she returns home later today she’ll be greeted with sniffs, tail wags, a few licks across the top of her head, and a lot of loving.

That always perks up my day. No doubt it will meet with Bailey’s approval as well.

Meow,
Lisa

Going to the Dogs

Behold -- Rigby and Penny, my hairy kids. We didn’t name them after the Beatles' songs Eleanor Rigby and Penny Lane. Sadly, we weren't that clever. Boy, it hurts to admit that!

Rigby (yellow) and Penny (black) are Lab wannabes that we rescued two years ago. Their actual parentage is Lab and pick-a-random-breed. Very sociable, they love the local "dog park," so designated as it boasts fenced areas where dog owners can let their beloved Fido run sans leash. Of note is how well these various canines interact.

Today our dogs ran with a Weimeraner, a Pit Bull, two Golden Retrievers, a Great Pyrenees and about five other mixed breeds including a sweet little something-or-other that was shaped like a Dachshund with the fur, ears and coloring of a Springer Spaniel (with red bows tied atop her ears she made quite the fashion statement.) They all sniffed butts, licked each other's doggie drool, and played chase. No fights broke out. To dogs, another dog is just a dog. They identify each other by scent, not by their AKC certificate, color of their fur, or the religion of their owner. Rigby and Penny didn’t give a woof that Daisy is a Pit Bull and that Pit Bulls have a bad rep. Daisy was just a fellow pooch, and she was mighty fun to play with.

Seems to me dogs have a pretty great view of things.

I don't mean to imply that I want to exchange handshakes for butt sniffs; but it would be nice if we humans could accept each other the way dogs do and revel in our sameness instead of always looking to our differences. Considering the state of the world these days, maybe going to the dogs isn't such a bad thing.

Woof!
Lisa