CONNIVING CANINE

I've posted this story before, but it makes me so happy I decided to share it again.

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell.

On a cold winter evening I like to have a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows.

The first winter that Faulkner consented to live with us, he was a little more than a year old, and the first evening that was chilly enough to send me to the kitchen for cocoa, I returned to the family room with it, sat down in a comfy green chair, and placed my cocoa, complete with marshmallows, on a tea table.

As luck would have it, Faulkner chose that moment to announce that he wanted to go out to his fenced-in yard. He did this by standing at the door to the garage, which was in the family room.

So I got up to let him out. When I reached the door, he made a mad dash for my cocoa and ate the marshmallows off the top.

And I have to admit that the very next night he fooled me in exactly the same way.

That's how Faulkner taught me not to leave my cocoa and marshmallows.

Faulkner's middle name was Boo for Boo Dogley, a play on Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird. Boo evolved into numerous nicknames such as Boodles, and he answered to every nickname, including Sir. His name was Joe when we adopted him. He wasn't a Joe, and he paid absolutely no attention to that name.

Faulkner was the King of Collies.

What a dog. Every time Favorite Young Woman and I talk about him, we end up at the marshmallow story, laughing and missing him.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MY CHILDREN ARE BULLIES

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Yes, it's true. You read the title correctly. My children *sob* are bullies *whimper*. I'm so ashamed. Just last week I wrote a post in which I came down very hard on bullies. And now I've learned what my very own children are capable of doing. It's so shocking. I didn't know if I could tell you, but I feel I must take responsibility for their actions. Don't bother calling the police to report their crime. I'll deny everything and offer sexual favors until the cops run in terror.

 I have tried to be a responsible parent. But sometimes nothing a parent does is of any help. I swear to you it's nature, not nurture.

 It happened yesterday afternoon. The kids -- Harper, Scout, and Franklin -- were gathered around the rose bush in the back yard. They were obviously having a look at something and chatting about it. This is never a good sign. It means they are in collision or collution, or whatever, against something.

They were supposed to be outside playing because at times, they become a little too rambunctious in the house.

 I went outside to see what was really going on because I am a diligent parent.

And what I saw, Oh Lord please save my children from their instincts, oh my goodness -- white feathers on the ground under the rose bush. And I knew immediately, oh yes I knew, I knew they had killed a bird.

I suspect they used their sling shots, or maybe one of them took my BB gun when I was drinking beer and watching my few remaining soaps. I don't know the truth yet. No one is talking.

But no bird was under the rose bush. I went to look around the yard. I saw it. A dove. A poor white dove in the middle of the back yard. I thought, I'll have to cover up what they've done because blood is thicker than water. They are my children and I'll punish them, but I won't allow the police to take my babies away.

I took a closer look at the dove to determine how to conceal the crime and realized he was alive. Yes, he was alive, but he couldn't move. Couldn't fly. Couldn't even get up and walk away.

What was I to do?

Should I take him to the nearest hospital, pull up to the ER, and toss him out the window toward the door? Someone might be able to help him.

I went inside to text Favorite Young Man because he is a criminal mastermind. He would tell me what to do.

I started texting him, and suddenly, Harper walked in with the dove and put it on my $750 area rug.

He was now one dead dove and there was no turning back.

I screamed in horror because I simply couldn't believe my very own boys had carried out such a vicious attack. Then I started coughing because I had screamed so loud.

I dashed out the front door because dead creatures freak me out hoping that my neighbor, an RN, might be able to help me with, uh, CPR. Perhaps we could revive the dove.

Alas, Anthony hot, hot young Anthony who gives me so much pleasure when he takes off his shirt to work in his yard was not at home. So I set off up the street looking for any available man who might be of assistance. The only person I found at home was a young mom with her little boy.

I knocked on the door, crying, Suzanne, I'm desperate. My children have killed a dove and I don't know what to do.

She said, Would you like me to take care of it?

You wouldn't mind?

No, I wouldn't mind, Suzanne said.

Now I had a partner in crime. Because it was such a nice day and I decided to stroll around the block before I went to Suzanne's It was too late to revive the dove so he would have to be hidden.

Suzanne picked him up - gasp - with a trash bag, dropped him inside, tied the bag shut, AND WE HID THE BAG IN THE BOTTOM OF THE GARBAGE CAN.

Now how do I teach my children it is a sin to kill? I think it's even a commander, commando, going commando, or something in the Bible.

I sent Franklin to his room.

I lectured Scout.

And because Harper was the one who brought the dove inside, as if he were so proud of himself, I sent him to bed without his supper.

But now I have even more to worry about. In the past I have seen dead mice, dead bunnies, a dead possum, dead moles, dead rats, dead squirrels, and many dead birds.

I fear my children are not mere bullies. They are cereal killers.

Please pray for them.

Infinities of love,

Lola

COLD WATER

Gentle

 Readers,

My good friend Carol sent me this great story in an email. I hope the photo shows up. I've had many battles with Blogger lately and one fight concerns photos.

Can Cold Water Clean Dishes?

This is for all the germ conscious folks who worry about using cold water to clean.

John went to visit his 90 year old grandfather in a very secluded, rural area of Saskatchewan.

After spending a great evening chatting the night away,
the next morning John's grandfather prepared breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast.

However, John noticed a film like substance on his plate, and questioned his grandfather asking,

'Are these plates clean?'

His grandfather replied,

'They're as clean as cold water can get 'em.
Just you go ahead and finish your meal, Sonny!'

For lunch the old man made hamburgers.

Again, John was concerned about the plates,
as his appeared to have tiny specks around the edge that looked like dried egg and asked,

'Are you sure these plates are clean?'

Without looking up the old man said,

'I told you before, Sonny, those dishes are as clean as cold water can get them.

Now don't you fret, I don't want to hear another word about it!'

Later that afternoon, John was on his way to a nearby town and as he was leaving,

his grandfather's dog started to growl, and wouldn't let him pass.

John yelled and said, 'Grandfather, your dog won't let me get to my car'.

Without diverting his attention from the football game he was watching on TV, the old man shouted,

'Coldwater, go lay down now, yah hear me!'

Meet Coldwater!

MERLE'S DOOR

Gentle Readers,

This week seems to be the perfect time to tell you about Merle's Door: Lessons from a Freethinking Dog because with the granddogs visiting it's non-stop bark, run, and play around here. My boys think Stella the bulldog is heavenly. Pauly is more standoffish and difficult, so he hangs out more with me, and that's fine with Grandma.

By chance, writer Ted Kerasote comes across the dog he names Merle, and he sets out trying to insist that Merle obey his commands and conform to life as a typical dog. He soon learns that Merle prefers to make his own decisions. The two end up of teaching each other.

After Merle settles in with Ted, Merle quickly become known as The Mayor in their small town as he makes his daily rounds visiting his friends and checking up on everyone.

I kind of skimmed some of the stuff about how we should let our dogs live the free dog life, doing as they see fit as long as they don't chase cattle, because after Harper got out of the yard last summer and slipped away, watching him cross a busy street with traffic coming at him horrified me. I thank God for bringing Harp the Herald Angels Sing back to me.

We don't all live in a small town in Wyoming where our dogs can have doggie doors and go in and out and do as they please.

However, I enjoyed Merle and Ted's adventures together tremendously, and the book has some lovely photos. Ted seems to be a good writer AND a pretty hot guy (he was once making sweet, sweet love to a lady when Merle tried to help out and the lady asked if he really had to do everything with his dog), and Merle, quite obviously, was a beautiful, sensitive, intelligent, fun-loving dog.

I say WAS because of course Merle dies in the end. Get out the boxes of Kleenex and Puffs -- no Scott tissues, too rough on the nose for a weeper like Merle's Door.

I couldn't help loving the relationship that develops between Ted and Merle, and I think you will too.

I suggest you put Merle's Door on your summer reading list. The book could make a fun movie, but Hollywood, please don't cast Owen Wilson as Ted. He already played Marley's dad in Marley and Me, a cute movie, but I liked the book by John Grogan much better. Perhaps Tom Hanks could be Ted.

Infinities of love and dogs,

Lola

GRANDCHILDREN

I'm sorry, Gentle Readers, but my posts will be sporadic this week.

My granddogs, Stella and Pauly, are staying with me. Busy, busy, busy!

Infinities of doggie kisses,

Lola

DOGGIE TOY SNEAKERY

Gentle Readers,

Franklin and I are playing a new game called Doggie Toy Sneakery.

Here's how to play: Leave the back door open because the weather is nice. The dogs can come and go as they please, enjoying their well-fenced back yard.

However, Franklin has a hidden agenda. He takes the doggie toys to the back yard and leaves them there. I bring the doggie toys in and put them on the family room floor.

Franklin takes the toys to the living room, pretending he will play with them there. Then, when I'm not looking, he sneaks them to the back yard.

I sneak them back in and put them in the family room.

This game can continue all day and provides hours of fun.

But somehow, Franklin is winning. He is ahead by two because that's how many doggie toys I can't find.

The dogs are definitely taking over my world.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MY BOYFRIEND

Gentle Readers,

Recently I was having one of my sleepless nights, in spite of being very cozy and comfortable in my bed with Scout at my head and Harper at my back. Franklin, of course, does not sleep in the bed. He prefers a dog bed on the floor although I would love it if he'd join us in spite of the crowding.

Anyhoo, at about 3 a.m. I got up and went in the family room and the boys joined me. We tried reading a bit and watching a bit of a documentary and then I tried to fall asleep in a chair, which sometimes works.

But I couldn't sleep.

Franklin had gone in the office to sleep on the bed. I don't know why he sleeps on that bed (the office doubles as a guest room), but he won't sleep in my bed. I decided to try joining him.

I walked in the room and very tentatively lay me down to sleep next to him. He didn't budge. After a while, I put my hand on his right front paw. A few minutes later, he stretched out his left arm and put his left paw on top of my hand. We fell asleep, holding paw-hands.

Thank you, Franklin.

Infinities of love,

Lola

MORE CONNIVING CANINES

Gentle Readers,

I know I once told you the story of how Faulkner the collie managed to sneak around and steal the marshmallows off my cup of hot cocoa two nights in a row because he was so much smarter than I am.

Well, I don't think I've ever told you about Harper's cake thievery. I love The Cake Mix Doctor. Some of her cakes are better than others, but not one is bad. One of my favorites and a great selection for any occasion is Darn Good Chocolate Cake. It doesn't have any icing and it doesn't need it. It's a nice dense chocolate cake with chocolate chips in it. Mmmmmmm.

Well, after Harper had been with us a month or so, I made a Darn Good Chocolate Cake and set it back on the kitchen counter to cool.

A while later, I strolled out to the kitchen and Harper left the kitchen rapidly, licking his lips.

Half the cake was gone!

I made another Darn Good Chocolate Cake about two months later and set it out to cool, even farther back on the counter. Same thing. Harper comes out of the kitchen, licking his lips, half the cake is gone.

After that, when I baked a cake, I put it in a corner of the kitchen, way back from the edge of the counter, and put the heavy mixer in front of it.

Harper had taught me a lesson. I learn more from dogs than I could ever learn from people.

Infinities of love,

Lola

OY VEY YESTERDAY

Such a day I had yesterday, Gentle Readers.

I recently obtained a job other than staying at home with my dogs and writing to you, but I had not yet received word on when I was to begin. I was anxiously awaiting the phone call that would signal the first day; I kept my phone by my side at all times. Then yesterday morning the phone rang and it was a person of importance saying, Today is your first day. Didn't you receive the email we sent you? Be here first thing tomorrow.

No, I did not receive an email, but when I checked the spam, among the stuff from Omaha Steaks and Hallmark and Blockbuster, there were two important emails telling me how and when I was to start my job. I never check the junk because I've never had anything important go there before.

But it turned out that God sent the email to the wrong folder on purpose. He wanted me to be at home because Franklin broke a window. He was standing on the couch with both paws pressed against the glass, barking at someone who dared to pass by his house, when all of a sudden SMASH! BREAKING GLASS! and Franklin took off running toward the back door. I followed, afraid of finding bloody paws, but he was mercifully uninjured. Glass remaining in the window hung like daggers. What if I hadn't been home and one of the dogs had tried to go out the window?

Thanks to my wonderful realtor who sold me the house and has helped me out so many times, I found someone who came right out to fix the window and he didn't even charge me an arm and a leg, and believe me I might have paid that way if it had been necessary.

So it was definitely a good thing I was at home. I started the job this morning, and the piano is back in front of the window so there will be no more standing on the couch with our paws on the glass. I only moved the piano because the tuner said to keep it away from the dampness but it had already been in that spot for 18 months with no damage to it and I think everything will be o.k.

Including me. I had to get up early this morning. : (

Infinities of love and gratitude for a job so I can keep the dog world turning,

Lola

IT'S A GREAT DAY

Good_Day.wmv 5868K   Download

I wish I could take credit for this video. Someone sent it to me in an email and I thought it was very enjoyable. Just click on download or the little box that looks kind of like a piece of paper with the corner folded down.

Love,

Lola

THE WORRIED WARRIOR

Gentle Readers,

My beloved Faulkner, the conniving canine who stole the marshmallows from my cocoa, was a worrywart.

As I've said before, he had an intuitive intelligence. Perhaps because he had only us to herd (Favorite Young Woman would get off the school bus and I'd let him out to herd her up the driveway and into the garage because he was convinced she couldn't handle this task alone), he also made it his job to take care of us and when we adopted other dogs, he took care of them too.

If I dropped something and didn't notice, he would stare and refuse to leave the item until I took care of it. He made sure the doggie water bowl was always full. If it lacked water, he jerked his head toward it to tell me to get up and fill it. He alerted me when it was dinner time. If the other dogs needed to go out or felt ill in the middle of the night, he made sure I knew. He touched my nose with his cold wet nose to awaken me, and if that didn't work, he used his collie proboscis to pick my head up off the pillow.

He was my protector. Once when we were out walking late in the evening, he saw a small snake in the street and jumped to attention, ready to strike and keep me safe. I had nothing to fear when I was in Faulkner's gentle paws.

And he was a worrier. Oh, such a worrier. If things weren't right at home, he knew it. A disagreement, a voice raised in anger, and the worried look appeared in his eyes and he immediately sat and offered his paw for a handshake because that was a surefire people pleaser and he wanted his people happy.

A noise during the night caught his attention immediately. Storm on the way? He knew before the weather channel. School bus parked out front. What was wrong? He used his emergency bark only when he was really concerned. The rest of the time it was his normal bark or collie talk, which if you've never heard it, is hilarious. I have no way to represent it in words.

He liked Beck. He went up to the speaker and listened so carefully when the donkey brayed on Odelay, one of my all-time favorite CDs. He was tolerant of cats. He slept on the bed with Milhous and liked it when Milhous stood on tiptoes to rub the top of his head on Faulkner's chin. He simply looked perplexed when F.Cat Fitzgerald, the smallest adult cat I've ever seen, slapped him on the nose.

No matter how hard he worked, though, to keep everything under control in his house, the slightest problem upset him so horribly. Favorite Young Woman was upset about something several months ago and she described her feelings as that of a worried collie who wants to shake hands. Perhaps we shall always think of ourselves in terms relating to the King of Collies.

I think it was a bit of a relief for him when he went deaf and he no longer heard what used to worry him. He seemed to lose the feeling he was responsible for everyone.

And now he flies on the wings of the angels, the best worried warrior that ever lived.

Infinities of love,

Lola

IN WHICH FRANKLIN LEARNS

Gentle Readers,

As you may or may not recall, I adopted Franklin the so-called Border Collie recently (check him out at HEEEEEEEERE'S FRANKLIN, the post for October 28, 2010).

I have discovered some things about Franklin:

1. I don't think he's a Border Collie; I think he's an Australian Shepherd.

2. Franklin is extremely intelligent and obedient.

I'm not so sure that Franklin was dumped. Perhaps he simply got lost, as Harper has managed to do on occasion. Someone went to the trouble to at least start training Franklin.

He has never peed or pooped in the house. He has always known that most of us in the family go outside for that activity.

The first night he was here, when I told him to sit and I pointed in the general direction of his rear end, he looked at me rather sheepishly and sat. However, I also think he learns very quickly because I use the command "Crate" when it's time to go in the - guess what? - crate, and I only had to tell him twice and shove him in the general direction of the crate before he knew what Crate meant.

He has also learned, or already knew, Heel, Down, Kiss, Come, and Get Up Here And Sit Beside Me So We Can Cuddle While I Read This Book. He sits when he sees me coming with the lead. He knows that's how we start a Heel. At first when we went walking he pulled really hard when he saw squirrels, and I said, No, we are not chasing squirrels. Now he walks right past the squirrels as if they aren't even there.

I'm impressed with this dog who is sweet and charming and has adapted to our ways. He knows that "House" means it's time to come inside, but I could probably teach him that it's also the name of a TV show I like.

The one thing Franklin absolutely will not do is get in bed with me. I have encouraged him to do so, but the answer is No Way. He will stand at the side of the bed and put his paws on it first thing in the morning when he hopes I will get up and feed everybody breakfast, but he will not actually get into the bed and cuddle. He's certainly capable of jumping high enough to get in the bed, but he seems to prefer the doggie bed on the floor.

If that's the way Franklin wants it, then I'm not going to argue with him about it. He should get to have his way sometimes.

Although Franklin is extremely intelligent, he is not intelligent in the way my beloved Faulkner (who died July 27, 2010) was. Faulkner could not only learn commands and hand signals; he had an intuitive intelligence. He could figure out things for himself, like "If I walk on the other side of the garbage can that Mama is taking to the house, then my lead will help pull the can." Brilliant, simply brilliant,

But it's o.k. that Franklin doesn't figure out stuff like that because he's wonderful exactly the way he is. As my friend Carol says, Faulkner was Faulkner and Franklin is Franklin.

And that's good enough for me, one very fortunate doggie mom.

Infinities of love,

Lola

SLEEPING WITH A FRIEND

FRANKLIN'S FOOT FETISH

Gentle Readers,

When Franklin first approached me without fear but with love, it was to lick my toes.

He has continued to lick my toes from time to time, but also gives kisses where they really belong, and no, I do not mean my butt.

Franklin's love of my feet now extends to my slippers. After he had been with me a couple of nights, I slid out of my comfy bed in the morning ready to slide my feet into my slippers and found only one. A quick search uncovered the missing slipper on a doggie bed, hidden behind the curtains.

The slipper was not chewed. It was merely wet and had obviously received a good licking.

I resolved to put my slippers away at night from then on. Franklin had taught me a lesson about picking up after myself.

Good dog, Franklin.

But then last night I got out my nightie and slippers and put the nightie on the bed and the slippers on the floor and went in the bathroom for a little flossing, brushing, and washing.

I came out and both slippers were gone. Again, both slippers were on a doggie bed and had received their licking and kept on ticking.

Apparently, Franklin likes the way my feet taste and smell. Perhaps he also likes the way they look but has not yet found the words to tell me how he feels.

What a lovely compliment. Not many men go for my feet, especially in such a gentle manner.

Thank you, Franklin.

Infinities of love,

Lola

HEEEEEEEERE'S FRANKLIN

Here’s the story

Of a dog named Franklin

Who was living with some very lovely folks

But Franklin was too much for these older people

And he felt all alone.

Then on Sunday Franklin’s daddy met a doggie mommy

And Mommy knew that it was much more than a hunch

That Franklin should join her doggie family

And that’s the way we all became The Franklin Bunch!

The Franklin Bunch

The Franklin Bunch

That’s the way we became The Franklin Bunch!

And now together again for the first time on any blog, we present the stars of 

The Doggie Show

Our Cast

Lola as 




Mama

Scout as 








Scout

Harper Lee as








Harper






And Introducing

                           FRANKLIN


Back Story: Someone breaks into a woman's home. She has seen two stray dogs hanging out in a field, so she takes them home. She keeps one to be her watch dog and gives the other, a border collie mix, to her parents. They name him Franklin Jr. But Franklin Jr., who is only two years old, proves too much for this older couple to handle. Franklin Jr.'s dad announces at church that he's looking for a home for the dog. Mama raises her hand and says, "I"ve always wanted a border collie." And here's where our story begins.


Pilot Episode: Mama and her Favorite Young Man arrive at the home of Franklin Jr.'s parents. They go to the back yard to meet Franklin, who is so frightened that he flies over the fence. His dad has to go after him and bring him home, where Mama approaches him slowly and cautiously. Soon she and Franklin are acquainted, and he agrees to go home with her. F.Y.M., who serves as the show's Dog Wrangler, gets a nervous Franklin into the car, drives him to Mama's house, and carries him to the back yard. Franklin takes off faster than a speeding bullet to find a place where he can leap the tall fence in a single bound, but returns quickly when he discovers that Mama's entire fence is seven feet tall. Franklin is afraid to go up the steps to the deck, so Mama lets Scout and Harper outside. They encourage Franklin to join them on the deck and then in the house.


That evening, Franklin and Harper become fast friends as they run in and out of the house together. Soon, a Bromance develops between them.

Scout, who is a little jealous but accepting of the new guy in town, lets loose with an occasional growl (Scout secretly believes he is a grizzly bear cub).

Franklin is afraid of Mama. He starts every time she moves. Mama knows that Franklin had a hard life as a stray, so she speaks to him in a soft voice and moves slowly. She tells him how much she admires his rather large paws.

Before long, Franklin begins to relax. By the end of the evening, he has reciprocated by licking Mama's toes. Franklin goes to bed in his own comfortable crate on a soft bed with a bowl of kibble and a bowl of water. His new life has begun.

Good night, Franklin.