Pluck o' the Irish: Lorcan the Magnificent!

So I am magnanimous enough to give some real estate to other pups—once in a while. This guy is a special one, imported straight from Ireland, just in time for St. Patrick's Day. And does he know how to mug for the camera! Take a peek at his antics.

Dictionary time: what's the difference between magnanimous and generous?

Well, magnanimous is from the Latin meaning "great soul," so that fits moi, of course, and it has to do with feeling generous toward someone or something lesser than oneself. Now, Lorcan is lesser, but only because he's small. I'm sure he has a great soul, too. Generous means giving something more than is usually expected. I would be generous if I agreed to go for an afternoon walk and not insist on going in the car; magnanimous if I agreed to share that car with Lorcan.

English lab rescued on Brook Path!

Without me, the rescue never would have happened. After a leisurely stroll 'round the athletic fields, Mom and Dad expected me to just pop back into the car. When I didn't respond like an automaton, they finally noticed: a cute English black lab was nosing along the road next to the Brook Path.

Intrepid Mom, treats in hand, went to investigate. No collar, no people. The pup loved the Milk-Bones, but then dashed up to whomever was walking down the path. None of them was his owner.

Wellesley Police said they'd send the animal control officer, but meanwhile, Mom was getting nervous. The pup dashed over to a car, and the driver, incredibly, happened to have a leash. Not only was this driver well-equipped, she knew her pups. She immediately tied it, martingale style, around the dog's neck, and we were all set. Mom got the OK from WPD to bring him to the station.

I did my part to clear our way, outfitting our vehicle with my personal emergency siren. Ah-woooo! Ah-wooooo! The dog didn't mind, and I liked the company. Our time together was too brief. Just as we pulled up to the station, Animal Control Officer Sue Webb was pulling out to meet us. She checked for a microchip, and voila! I imagine the pup is already reunited with its owner. Maybe we'll run into each other sometime, under less exciting circumstances.

A shout-out to the lady with the leash: thanks so much! When I went to return it, I couldn't help but notice your stunning dog sculpture and adorable pond. If you need any fish, let me know. I have lots!

Note to self: leave an extra leash in the car.

One fish, two fish, three fish—too many fish!

Last year's babies. They're much larger now, and even prettier.

Big fish in a small pond: that's the case here. And the problem: they all are big, leaving barely any room for me to take a drink.

Remember Henry Huggins? Author Beverly Cleary's eponymous creation yearned for guppies—and he got them, jars and jars and jars of them. (He also wanted a dog, Ribsy, which is why this book is one of my favorite reads of all time.) Time for another definition: the adjective eponymous has to do with a person giving their name to something. So in this case, Henry Huggins is the title of the book and the name of the main character. Got it?

So the Huggins-like fish population explosion happened this way: Two years ago, we started with five small comet fish from Russell's Garden Center in Wayland. Last year, those five small fish had grown exponentially, and they produced more than 60 babies. We thought we gave most of them away, more than 40 three-inch babies to a friend with a big pond but hardly any fish.

On the lookout for fish at Morses Pond. Less colorful, but still fun to scare.

But, you know, a pond can be dark, and fish are excellent at hiding.

Of course, I knew there were more fish in there, but since I still had plenty of open water to lap, I didn't make a big deal of it.

Come spring, though, those babies—more than 20—surfaced, and now they are almost as big as their gigantic parents. They're also eating their way through plenty of expensive bags of Hikari Gold pellet food.

So if you need some fish, let me know. Gorgeous fish to a good pond only, within baying distance, so that would be Wellesley or Natick. I'll personally deliver them. Then, I'll go home and take a good long drink.

Want good luck? Say "rabbit, rabbit"

Licorice's ears are almost as long as mine.

The superstition is that if you say "rabbit, rabbit," or something like that, on the first day of every month, as soon as you wake up, that you'll have good luck.

One great aspect of hounds is that we are friends to all animals, unless, of course, we are hunting them. I am quite fond of rabbits, domestic and wild.

So I've been hanging around our bunny cage, just getting ready, you know. The first day of the month comes, and instead of talking, I just give a long, loud (is there any other kind) bay directly into the bunny cage. Boy, did that perk up those long ears! Think that counts?

Tales of devoted dogs and faithful friends

Did you read the touching tale of the Navy SEAL dog who laid by his owner's coffin and heaved a huge sigh?

The story of Jon Tumilson, one of the 30 Americans heartbreakingly killed in Afghanistan, and his Labrador, Hawkeye, has to make everyone recognize the importance of the human-canine bond.

Two great children's books, Hachiko Waits by Leslea Newman, and Hachiko: The True Story of a Loyal Dog (and the movie, Hachi) tell the story of a pup who met his professor owner every afternoon at the Shibuya train station in Japan. After his owner died at work, the Akita waited at the train station, for 10 years, until his own death. A statue of Hachiko at the station commemorates the relationship.

We dogs are faithful, loyal, and smart. We remember. We wait. And we love our human families.

Partying it up at the Wellesley College Club

Longest nose (and legs) brings new meaning
to "first come, first served."

Two dog birthday parties in Swellesley last night, and because it looked like there were No Dogs Allowed at the Wellesley Free Library (besides Mariah, the famous pet therapy dog and guest of honor), I pointed myself toward the Wellesley College Club.

Sandwich cookies = yum!

Thursday night soirees at the club have become a habit with the top dogs in town. Last night, Suzy celebrated her 15th birthday, and boy, was there a great spread, which was a good thing given that I had to share treats with so many folks. One human guest was going for the Oreo-type cookies when she was warned they were for dogs, only.

Happy Birthday to Suzy!

I tried to give Suzy my pickup line, but she took me literally—no, she didn't come here often. In fact, it was her first visit to Canines and Cocktails (Thursdays, 4-7).  Still, she looked fetching in her birthday hat.

I helped myself to oodles of treats, and was thrilled when my friend Lucy showed up. Fashionably late, I might add. I didn't mind—it just added to her irresistible charm.

See how attentive Lucy looks? That's because she listens to her folks—most of the time. I'm saving the other photo of me being attentive and her zoning out, so I can use it on just the right occasion.

Enjoying a private moment with Lucy.

Meet Elliott from E.T., my new neighbor

Reader challenge: find the dog in this photo.

Ok, Elliott here looks more like an E.T. than she should, but that's because she's a tiny, wiggly, fuzzy baby Portuguese Water Dog who would not stop wiggling for her photo. Also, it's impossible to see her face under all of that hair.

In fact, when she came over to introduce herself, I didn't quite understand she was a canine, and completely ignored her.

However, when Mom went over with a hand-me-down mat for Elliott's water bowl (given her breed, and her size, she prefers bathing in her water bowl), and came back smelling all puppy-ish, I was none too pleased. Not about the mat. Given my slobbery habits, it didn't begin to do the job in our home.

If my readers are confused about her name, here's the explanation: Somehow, the breeder thought Miss Elliott was a boy dog. Because our neighbors had already named her, Elliott she is.

Plenty of canines and cocktails at College Club

Perfect evening at the club last week. The Wellesley College Club, that is. Checked out the treats, as well as the company, and both were fab. Big jars chock full o' special goodies there for the taking!

Mom said no to the giant bone, as well as the licorice-like twists, but indulged me in some organic kind of baked bone that turned out to be delicious.

Lots of dogs played on the terrace while their moms sipped fruity-looking drinks in tall glasses, nicely served by Charlene.

Among the guests: Wally, a big, shaggy griffon; Kelly, a miniature beagle; a cockapoo that danced very prettily around the treat table; and several others whom I'd love to meet again.

Be there: every Thursday in August, 5-7 p.m.

Goodbye, Dr. Schettino!

If a foxhound bays forlornly in Wellesley, can it be heard in  Springfield?

I'm diligent about checking my pmail, but not so my email, so it was with a shock that I opened a note from my very favorite vet in the world, Dr. Edward Schettino. We had kind of a Sunday visit thing going that I looked forward to.
In a way.

He writes:

Hi Tucker,
I didn't have the proper time today to say good-bye. [here, I sighed loudly, and Mom shrieked]  I will be leaving VCA Westboro, my last day is June 30th.  [egads! that's tomorrow--I will pout all day in protest] I will begin work in July at VCA Southwick (close to Springfield)  as Medical Director.  It is a very bitter:sweet move ... but I needed to push myself forward. [I do understand, but still...how can you leave me?]
It was a pleasure taking care of you for the last couple of years [of course] and I wish you a long healthy life. [ditto] I don't think I will ever meet a dog more stubborn  .... that is not a negative .... [indeed, I take it as a great compliment] it just makes you YOU! [true, unique I am]


I will keep following your tails on your blog! [please do, though I must grieve for a while before I set to writing again]
Best regards,
Edward

 [What an incredibly dear guy. I highly doubt I'll discover again the perfect combo of smart, professional, and fun vet. More crucially, who can I find who will consider my shenanigans humorous, perhaps even endearing? Given what I've tried to pull, anyone else would have run the other way when they saw me coming.] 

So fare thee well, dear doc, all the best, and happy trails to you. Many thanks for your patience, professionalism and expertise. I will miss you greatly.

Tucker the famous, indeed!

"Is this the famous Tucker?" a human asked this morning as we prepared for our morning walk at Lake Waban. "Infamous," muttered Mom under her breath, but I heard her anyway. After all, my ears are plenty big.

Taking a walk with my dedicated dad.

Turns out, the human belonged to my old pal, Moose! I first met Moose when he was a baby, and he's certainly grown. While of course not as large as moi, his head is big, and a bit out of proportion to his rather slender body.

Funny, what Moose's human remembered about me was that when we first met, I let out a hugely loud bay clear across Lilja field, then dashed over to meet the new pup. Apparently I made an indelible impression.

While I'm crazy about little dogs (played with a 2.5 lb-er—yep, just two and a half pounds!—just last week) I'm always amazed that their owners let them play with me.

But maybe that's because I am so famous.

Help for hounds, and treats, too

Today's an open house (12-5 p.m.—be there) and the dedication of the isolation unit at Greyhound Friends in Hopkinton, the venerable rescue and adoption shelter that has been finding homes for my fleeter relatives since 1983.

So, run, don't walk—the unit's important because pets from southern climes have been bringing in all sorts of diseases that vets don't ordinarily see here in Massachusetts. The open house is also a chance for greyhound owners to get together for a fun meetup. 

Fortunately, though I'm from South Carolina, I headed up here disease-free. Stubborn as all get-out, but healthy.

My nifty new treat jar from Second Chances in Natick.

If you can't get there, at least make it to Greyhound Friends' thrift shop, Second Chances, in downtown Natick, on West Central right near Main. We donated a bunch of dog-related goodies, and couldn't resist picking up a treat jar. It's fab. Also, we found a super feeder that puts all I need at just the right height. All I need, one must emphasize, not all I want.

In return for our donations, I was offered a bottle of glucosamine, but declined on account of my callow youth. More on age when you hear about my big Plop O'Doom yesterday. That's another story.

Caesar is dead! Long live Caesar!

The old Boston terrier in my neighborhood got out and was run over by a truck. It was kind of inevitable, given his desire to tear limbs off passerby, wheeled or otherwise. Yet, he had passed the Ides of March safely, and no one was expecting it.

Caesar was an old pal of Sparky's and they played together when he was a pup. Then C was sent to boot camp and came back an angry guy.

He and I never properly met, and that was OK with me. I've also never met the mastiff who joined him last year, and, ditto, so fences do help to make good neighbors, though not quiet ones.

So I did a triple double take when I sauntered by and there was Caesar, back from the dead! Turns out to be not a ghost, like Hamlet's father, but indeed, as if 'twere a mirror, two new Boston terriers, Romeo and Juliet.

"The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones."

Thanks to my literary sister for the Julius Caesar quote. While she plays the viola, her name is not Olivia. Email me if you don't get the reference, and I will enlighten.

I've got a crush on you, sweetie pie

That's what my neighbor Alexis confessed today. First, she thanked me. "It was marvelous being escorted by such a handsome gentleman," she said. Then, out with the confession. I was a bit taken aback, being that it came from a human and all, but I graciously accepted the sentiment. Then I went back to nosing Maisie, the rather attractive foxhound mix with whom I had been walking.

I was very glad to see Alexis, Maisie and Ella this morning. First, because I always enjoy a jaunt with my British friends. It's rather elevating to be in Alexis' company, because she is very smart and a good person, plus she always is walking that dear Maisie. And, I do like the accent.

I was doubly glad because I was fresh from a near-altercation with this gigantic Samoyed, whose owner trailed him by such a distance that I could see some skijoring was about to take place. Even though I have never formally skijored, I have taken Mom on a Nantucket sleighride or two, just for fun.  I sized up the Samoyed and could see, even under all that hair, that he had a poundage advantage over moi. Plus, it was early, I was a bit sleepy, and not really in the mood for going mano a mano. I made a show of it, but I turned around.

You never know when love will strike, even if it is after Valentine's Day.

Dog walking samaritan helps woman, builds community

Walking home from a small adventure, I was thinking about how lucky humans are to have dogs. We help them build community in ways they might not think of themselves.

As I was having this epiphany, I ran into Mom's friend Josh and a visitor from Portland, Oregon, where people are so friendly an Easterner might think they have an ulterior motive. Josh is a Natick selectman (whose dog Buddy was not a friend of Sparky's but anyway, that's how we know each other) who, among many other goals, is trying to make life easier for walkers. He'd like to see Wellesley's Crosstown Trail linked to Natick's aqueduct trail. So would I. I'd also like a trail behind the businesses on the west end of town so that I don't have to risk my life walking along Rte. 9 to get to the Crosstown Trail. I might get to meet more dogs, too.

But I digress. On our walk, we met up with my pal Brinkley and her mom, and decided to hike together. We came upon an older person who had fallen, and while Brinkley and I tried to alert the neighborhood, Mom helped her get up and brought her home. Another dogwalking friend, who lives around the corner, promised to check up on her.

That's just one example of how dogs build community. Without them, who would be out and about? How would humans meet each other?

BTW, just got some mail. Lost my I.D. last week at Lake Waban and received a phone call, then my tag with a note enclosed, wishing me happy trails and signed Willow H., with pawprint. I'm intrigued. Another community building opportunity—or could it be romance?

Immense, mammoth, monumental—Giants!

Having just demolished, in less than 10 minutes, a bone deemed "Colossal" by its maker, I am generally in favor of things that are large.

So I salute the San Francisco Giants on their titanic win, and also would like to give a plug to my pal Dan Fost's history of those Giants. While not hefty nor voluminous, Giants Past & Present is extensive, informed, beautifully illustrated and organized, and of course, extremely well-written. The Dan himself predicted their whopping win this year in a blog post on giantspastandpresent.com:

... this year feels different. I know, I know, we should not get ahead of ourselves and predict a Giant victory – but I can’t help but feel that this team has what it takes for that ultimate Champagne shower.

Dan goes on to give 13 reasons why the Giants will win. He was right, and his tremendous book is right, too, for that special Brobdingnagian baseball fan.

Ungardening, or why P. Allen Smith is my man

I love to garden. I love the feel of the dirt under my nails, my feet flying, and the bliss of that nice, warm dry hole that I get to lie down in.

That's why P. Allen Smith is my man. Because while I'm busy ungardening Mom's precious flowers, she can be busy planting containers the P. Allen way.

P. Allen received some serious real estate in the Times this week (three pages!), showcasing not only his own Arkansas real estate but his gardening and marketing talents, and favorably comparing him to Mom's other idol, Martha. The Times photos were gorgeous, as P. Allen himself confessed to Mom yesterday when they met (swoon). But Mom thought Kim Severson a bit snarky as P. Allen's decorating taste and even his personal life were called into question.

P. Allen is a complete gentleman, so of course he didn't let on whether he was miffed or not. Because I wasn't allowed on the bus from Russell's Garden Center in Wayland to Loudon, NH, where Mom toured the Proven Winners greenhouses (and met the famous P.) she asked him for me whether there were many foxhounds in Arkansas. Not really, said P., more bird dogs, like his "Jackrats" (part Jack Russell, part rat terriers) featured in the Times photos. Wonder if those Jackrats catch squirrels, because they love to ungarden Mom's containers.

In which I am injured, body and soul

I don't know what came over my girl Miss L— last week, but suddenly she turned on me. The result: a fat lip, and a bit bloody, too. My first injury, wounding not only body but soul.

It happened this way. At a very sniffy patch in the road, its appeal puzzling to my human handler (Dad), but who humored me nonetheless, I stopped to enjoy myself. I was out walking with Dad, Miss L—, and her Mom, D—. For some reason, Miss L— became incensed. Perhaps I was not paying attention to her lovely and appealing scent? Was it a crime that I found someone else's more intriguing? It could have been a passing fancy, but she gave me no time to explain.

I couldn't see the problem. After all, we're not affianced or anything, just neighbors. It's a kind of girl-next-door thing, you know. She's cute and everything, but do I really want to be tied down, at this stage in my young life?

Whatever my perspective, Miss L— completely lost her veneer of cool, and pounced. Right in the kisser. Ouch.

Molly and me

Cantered around Lake Waban today, amid the whitecaps and the waves splatting against the Italian Garden. Correction: didn't canter all the way around, just enough to trim a few ounces in advance of my visit to Dr. Schettino tomorrow. That's right, the dreaded weigh-in.

My pal Kelly says that she thinks I've dropped a pound, maybe two! We'll see. Though I'm maniacal as usual, it's also good to just plop down in the sun every once in a while. You know, rest.

While I was plopped, my new friend Molly ran by, not once, not twice, but three times. That's quite a lot of lake circumference there, all added up and everything. Her mom, Susan, and my mom, knew each other long ago when they both had Dalmatians. Susan was always walking Missy and Prissy, and Mom took Sparky absolutely everywhere.

I was thinking: because Sparky was really a prince, and treated like one, my family must have had to make sure their next dog also had exceedingly special qualities. It's hard to be humble.

Molly and I had a playdate last week, and we gorged on fertilizer (organic, but still...). Now Mom really does have to call the rug guy.

Bellisima!

Had a super playdate with a new friend. Bella's eight months old, part black lab, part hound (love her for that!). She was adopted just last month through Petfinder.

Anyway, we ran around like the maniacs we are while our folks sat on the patio in the sun and gave us treats whenever we seemed droopy. We showed off our tricks, bayed at the neighbors and generally caroused. Fun, fun, fun. Thanks, Bella!

Foxhound meetup!

I'm sort of famous around my neighborhood and beyond, which is both a good and a bad thing.

The great thing is being recognized around town. Today, Mom was walking me, and a woman rolled down her minivan window. "Is that Tucker?" she asked. The same phenomenon occurred while Mom was shopping at her favorite gourmet grocery, Tilly and Salvy's Bacon Street Farm. In fact, it is the only grocery she deigns to enter. I was just hanging out, hoping to go in, and and, bingo, someone recognized me.

There's a downside, too, of course. First, it's really easy to tell which dog is doing the baying. At least I don't bark like so many of my neighbors attempt to do (those incessantly yippy creatures). But it's a sure thing that I can be heard many, many, streets away. "Oh, yep, that's Tucker," another neighbor says he thinks every a.m., around 7 or so. Nothing like a good deep bay to clear away that morning frogginess, uh huh. You should hear it ring right across Lake Waban, waking up those Wellesley girls.

Mom always was glad there was another Dalmatian in the neighborhood, just to serve as a body double. Truly, though, she was offended anyone could have mistaken the other, far less handsome one, for le grand Sparky. There really was no comparison.

So I was thinking, it might be good to team up with some other foxhounds for a bit of a romp.

Looking for: energetic foxhound (is there any other kind) to play, play, play for a good hour or so. Remember, must be kind to rabbits, and, no jumping in the fish pond.