Rockin' around—more like into—the Christmas tree

Thought I'd be writing this post from the cozy, friendly confines of Southboro Kennels, one of my go-to vacation spots, but Mom's sick: vacation cancelled. So instead, I'm sprawled in the sun, having bumped my sister from her bed onto the floor to get some precious VST: valuable sun time.
While I'm soaking in essential Vitamin D, let me entertain you with a recap of my holiday adventures:

1. Christmas morning madhouse: first, I grabbed some antlers, presumably donated by one of Santa's reindeer, from my Christmas stocking and ran upstairs with the contraband. Then, I raced back down to insinuate my nose into every package, attempted to untie the ribbon on a box containing a cashmere sweater for Mom and generally wreaked havoc as my face-plants resulted in several assaults on the Christmas tree with gift bags on my face. Hey, they should put some eyeholes into those things!

2. Morning madhouse, part II: In which I learn to protect the house from whizzing Hexbugs. My sister, much like Pandora, unleashed these horrid things and set them about on the floor, whenceupon I went into high-alert siren mode: Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! I skittered away from them in a kind of hypnotized dance, and when it was clear that I might have a coronary, they were removed. However, I have learned their ways and have been stalking them. Next, I will pounce, with sure results. If only Pandora had a faithful hound, the world would have been rid of such horrible evils.

3. Speaking of creatures that I will not allow to coexist with moi, my sister has ensconced a gigantic shark in her room, which she periodically wakes, makes airborne, and attempts chase in true sister-brother tormenting fashion. Lucky for her I just had my nails clipped, because just one swipe from me is all it will take to bring it down, forever.

If you'd like a hound companion who's likely to be just as much fun (and smart) as I, check out Moose, at my old place, Buddy Dog Humane Society. He's super handsome and would bring extra life (and exercise) into your home, ensuring a very Happy New Year!

Water, water, everywhere... nor any drop to drink, but I tried

Still salty. What's with that?

Not to go on and on about my fab vaca in Biddeford Pool, but I never could quite get the idea that the water had something different about it.

I'd taste the water at the big beach. Salty. The water at the little beach. Salty. The water in the tidepools. Salty. Island beach water. Salty.

What's the deal?

It was dry as a bone (and I know bones) that week in Maine, so last night's rain really gave me something to lap about. I know there's always the water dish, but for a hound, puddle water just has that certain je ne sais quoi.

Canines and cocktails at the Wellesley College Club? I'm in!

So check this out: every Thursday this summer, from 5-7, the Wellesley College Club is hosting "Canines and Cocktails" on its gorgeous terrace overlooking Lake Waban. Seems the event is part of an effort promoting the Club as a pet-friendly hotel. Glad to hear it!

Having just returned from vaca in laid-back Biddeford Pool, Maine, which also is a very pet-friendly place, I'm in need of a bit more relaxation. Took in a bit too much sun and am enervated as a result. Nothing that a good long sleep won't cure, followed, of course, by a good long slurp.

Completely enervated by the heat in Portland,
I crashed on Peaks Island, where the ocean
breeze was strong and cool.

 

What's the difference between enervated and exhausted, you ask? You've asked the right pup, one very practiced in sleeping. Enervated: to feel weakened and drained of energy; exhausted, to feel drained of one's physical or mental resources.

What, not enlightened yet?

Let's look at the roots: exhausted from the Latin verb meaning to draw water out, or drain. Enervated, also from the Latin, meaning weakened at the sinews. Weary to the very bone.

In other words, dog-tired. Just like me. Until Thursday at 5, that is.

Post-vacation blues? For me, there's no place like home

Had a great time at Liz's (petsittingbyliz.com) but really, there's no place like home. Came home after a couple of days on vaca while my family took off for college orientation.

I checked out all the beds at Liz's.

On campus, they were greeted by a good omen: a Dalmatian trotting right in front of the student union. Now, while not as gorgeous nor as fit as Sparky (who had no compare), the sight of a happy, spotted pup made everyone feel good about this new stage in life. All went well, and they were home practically before I knew it.

I was too tired to do much when I got home, but with last night's good sleeping weather, soon regained my beastliness. After my hour and a half walk, I: bayed at the top of my lungs; ran around with my new stuffed fox; dug up a whole patch of lily of the valley; nearly took a bath in the fish pond.

That was in the first minute. No place like home, indeed.

At Liz's, I tested the "no-shred" claim on my dragon toy.

Waking up is hard to do

The stretch.

OK, vaca is over, so that means I actually have to get up sometime in the a.m.

The fluff.

Bright-eyed and ready to go.

However, it is not easy. Nor desirable, if any precipitation is happening, or even in the offing. Also, I'm not at my best immediately after waking: I need a bit of a fluff, one might say, plus some serious stretching. If all of America prepared for the day as I do, plus received a min of three hours of exercise, we'd be in much better shape.

New Year's resolutions? Bah, humbug!

Lest you, dear reader, think I'm totally single-minded and selfish, I present some evidence to the contrary: not only did I receive Christmas gifts, I actually gave some.

First, the details of my holiday: I spent Christmas away from my family, at the fabulous home of Liz, as in Pet Sitting by Liz. There, I rested, gnawed at bones, and played in Liz's spacious yard. I had many canine companions with whom to socialize, as you can see from the party pix on Liz's Facebook page. And while I missed my family, the one-armed Jesus in our nativity, the wild opening of presents, and my own beds, Liz had plenty for me to try out. Beds, I mean.

So I received my gifts rather late. I, however, was thoughtful enough to ask Santa to bring mine in his pack when he visited grandma's. Here's what I selected: for Dad, extra-warm gloves so his hands don't freeze on our extra-long walks; for Mom, Alexandra Horowitz's book, Inside of a Dog: What Dogs, See, Smell, and Know (she's got us dogs down pretty well, plus the cover photo is of a hound, not as cute as me, of course); for my sister, a 2011 fold-your-own zombie calendar (I just love everything from thinkgeek.com). She said that I pick the best presents!

As for New Year's resolutions, I'm not sure I need any. And if you're thinking diet, resolve to think no more.

Level 3. Unit 5. Vacation!!

Unit 5

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How to recover from a vacation hangover

Really, this post should be titled "How Not to Recover..." because I certainly haven't found the solution. I don't know about you, but vacations make me extraordinarily tired. There's all that to-ing and fro-ing, your food never tastes the same, and sometimes you just want to sleep in your own bed (or beds, plural, since I have so many choices at home). Then, there are the others, who just can't seem to shut up. Bark, bark, bark, all day long. I come home hoarse and exhausted. You know how people say they need a vacation from their vacation? That's me.

So, did I get what I needed? Noooo. No sooner did I arrive at my domicile, than the thunder started. I shivered in the hallway, unable to be consoled. Finally got some shuteye and slept 'til this morning, went for a walk in the Hunnewell woods, and then straight to sleep again. I mean, I was zonked. I couldn't even eat.

Then, the  First Alert Smoke and Carbon Monoxide Detection Man came on, and wouldn't let up. What does he think, I can't hear? "Evacuate! Evacuate! Smoke! Smoke!" Blare! Blare! Blare! All the alarms went off, and I think they even confused Detection Man, because he was yelling over himself. I shivered on my beanbag, trying to close my ears. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Fred the electrician from Dellorfon came to my rescue. Thanks, Fred! Sleep is a beautiful thing.

Music to my ears: Lou Reed's dog concert

Who says hound dogs can’t appreciate a little culture? Being of the southern persuasion, you might think I’m more into NASCAR than Nijinski, pulled pork rather than Paganini. However, most of my youth has been spent within the cultural context of Massachusetts, curled up in close proximity to my sister’s viola. And let’s not forget my French connection.


Therefore, I’m thinking of journeying to lovely Sydney, Australia, where none other than Lou Reed is giving a concert for dogs. No kidding! Plus, it’s free. And, it’s at that gorgeous Opera House. Perhaps I could demonstrate my perfect pitch there—like a true artiste, I of course would not need a microphone.


Some folks are making a big deal that Reed's canine music is inaudible to the human ear. I say, if a tree falls in the forest…some dog is bound to hear it, and doesn't that count for anything? Life is entirely too human-centered for me. However, NPR wouldn't exist without them, so check out their story, Going to the Dogs.


“Music for Dogs,” inspired by Reed and his wife Laurie Anderson’s rat terrier, Lollabelle, will be held June 5. The concert will be 20 minutes, and there’s talk of a canine mosh pit! Plus, Anderson promises no sudden noises, thank goodness. Sign me up!

Cost of ticket to Sydney, business class, Qantas airlines: $4,110

Canine package at four star hotel, the Hughenden Boutique: Room, $228/night (a steal!) Here are the details from their website:

"Queen Victorian Room with private glass atrium or courtyard

Full Cooked Breakfast for two

Complimentary gift for your favourite pet

Quaifes Cafe and Restaurant has a number of areas reserved so that your 4 legged best friend can join you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Centennial Parklands is just across the road for dogs to be walked on a lead or play in leash-free areas." Perfect!

On second thought, since the trip itself is 23 hours, I'd need quite a long stay. Perhaps it would be simpler to ask Lou to move his venue to this continent. Certainly, less expensive. And because I haven’t yet launched my stage career, or any other career, besides eating, sleeping, and racking up outrageous vet bills, I’m not in the position to be jetting about—yet.

Party time in Rio, and other New Year's resolutions

I'm a rather laid back guy, so I figure it's about time for my New Year's resolutions.

I, Tucker the obdurate, hereby resolve to:

1. Sleep more
2. Play more
3. Eat more
4. Come when called (hey, Mom slipped that one in there!)
5. Call my great grandma on her birthday (check! that was easy--her 97th was yesterday--what a woman!)
6.  Meet some new girls
7. Travel more (Rio? Cartagena? I see I have a reader in Buenos Aires, so given this frigid weather, a southern hemisphere meetup might be in order for this southern boy—see resolution #6)
8. Eat more
9. Play more
10. Sleep more

We all could use a little self-improvement, so in keeping with the spirit of the new year, I'll check on these goals in around, say, 355 days.

Kennel "Vaca"

Just back from vaca at Southboro Kennels. Learned to bark. Loved it!

It's the kind of place where everyone greets you by name the minute you careen in the door. I was eager to see if any of my pals were there--no luck, but a beagle named Tucker. How cool is that! Rebecca and her staff are great--they even go through the doggie door with me! Guess they're practicing their limbo skills.

Pluses: outdoor pools, lots of love.

Minuses: 10 foot fence--no escaping.

I also have a great time at Linda's Doggie Playland in Westboro. The two owners, both named Linda, have two huge fields where you can play all day. I thought you could play all night, too, which is why I am currently on --ahem-- probation. The Lindas were not happy with me.

Linda's has an interview process, which is basically a free playdate if you look at it my way.

Pluses: play, play, play.

Minuses: you have to stop when the Lindas say so.

A Good Summer

Have you ever noticed that no one ever asks, "Having a good winter?" "Having a good spring?" "Having a good fall?" The obvious answer to the first: no, it's freezing and miserable; ditto to the second, and to the third, well, of course not, because winter is coming right up, or I'm stuck on the sidelines watching interminable soccer games in the freezing cold (pick your season).

Where does that come from, anyway, --"having a good summer?" What could be bad about summer, especially if you're a dog? (And by the way, I'm really bummed that the old adage, from a New Yorker cartoon caption, that "no one knows you're a dog on the Internet" is no longer true. According to Monday's New York Times, "On the old Internet, nobody knew you were a dog. On the new targeted Internet, they now know what kind of dog you are, your favorite leash color, the last time you had fleas and the date you were neutered." Ads Follow Web Users, and Get More Personal

Ouch!

"Having a good summer?" is totally the opposite kind of question from "How are you doing?" "How are you doing"" opens up the possibility that someone might say," Oh, I'm completely miserable!" (because it's winter, perhaps). There is no such honest response allowed to "having a good summer?" The only accepted response is, "Absolutely! We're just back from the Vineyard and off tomorrow to ---" (fill in another perfect destination).

Here's what could be bad about summer if you're a dog. Think about it: Are your pets having a good summer while you're off sailing at the Vineyard? Or are they toughing it out at some "pet resort" that is far from all-inclusive?

By the way, has anyone heard whether Bo Obama is headed to the Vineyard, too? I doubt it.

Here's how to tell if your folks are going on vacation without you:

First, are your rations becoming a bit thin? They might be trying to push down your weight—boarding prices vary by weight, not by volume of barking.

Second, have they dragged out that old bed of yours? Some old toys? Remember, kennels are not responsible for personal belongings that may have shifted during doggie playtimes. Your folks will choose only the oldest stuff to pack with you. Meanwhile, they've been shopping for their carefully weathered wardrobe for months.

Third, has your mom sounded desperate as she dials all the old reliable places, only to have them say, one after the other, "Sorry, we're booked!" ?Hey, maybe you'll get to head to the Vineyard after all.

One of my favorite responses to the "How are you" question is this one from the Rev. James A. Woods, dean of Boston College's Woods School of Advancing Studies. No matter when you meet him, he always says, "Extraordinary. Very extraordinary." And he is. And so is summer. As long as your folks are not on vacation.