tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28640243850239429822024-03-14T06:12:11.400-07:00From the Den of the DogmanA writer's blog on the subject of dogs, dogs, dogs, and sometimes cats! Stories, humor and essays about pets, all original writing.Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-10993336215023998462011-06-21T04:00:00.001-07:002011-06-21T18:19:20.815-07:00Chi-Chi's Enemy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBf1rATOEI/AAAAAAAABBQ/cwKF-lP2yiM/s1600-h/chichidevil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBf1rATOEI/AAAAAAAABBQ/cwKF-lP2yiM/s200/chichidevil.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 13pt;">(Chi-Chi died today, from complications of diabetes. Before her death, we had the chance to become actual friends. This piece, written two years ago, describes my basic relationship with that funny little dog.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">I don't think Chi-Chi really <i>hates</i> me. Her feelings are both deeper and more complicated than that.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">Chi-Chi is the pack member I've alluded to a few times, but not written </span><span style="font-size: 13pt;">about </span><span style="font-size: 13pt;">much . She's a 14 year old, <a href="http://www.diabetesindogs.net/">diabetic</a>, <a href="http://www.akc.org/breeds/chihuahua/index.cfm">Chihuahua </a>who belongs to my mom, which makes her my sister. To be sure, she hates me less than my human <a href="http://dorland.pp.ph.ic.ac.uk/magpie/theory/gorgon.jpg">sister </a>does, but since I live with Chi-Chi, she has to endure me much <i>more</i>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">I've lived with Chi-Chi for eight years, and she still barks at me as if I was a burglar <i>every</i> time she sees me. Not every time I come into the house, but <i>every </i>time she lays eyes on me. When I get down on the floor to try to befriend her, she backs away in terror, snarling at me, until finally she's in the back of her box.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvCimaG9qkI/AAAAAAAABBg/OB7pd_U53F0/s1600-h/Chichiinbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvCimaG9qkI/AAAAAAAABBg/OB7pd_U53F0/s200/Chichiinbox.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 13pt;">That's right. Chi-Chi lives in a box. I know it's supposed to be called a "<a href="http://www.hsus.org/pets/pet_care/our_pets_for_life_program/dog_behavior_tip_sheets/crate_training.html">crate</a>," and, technically, that's what it is, but it looks like a box to me. Chi-Chi spends at least twenty hours a day in the box. The door is never latched, or even closed, it's just where Chi-Chi prefers to be. One might think this would mean she's housebroken. One would be mistaken. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">It's not that she doesn't <i>know </i>we'd prefer she went outside, it's that she doesn't <i>care</i>. Her turds are as hard and dry as rocks, and we don't have carpets in the house, so she's easy enough to clean up after. To be clear, though; these aren't "accidents." She knows better, she has the opportunity to go outside, and she decides she'd rather not. I don't much like cleaning up after her, but I must say I admire the strength of her convictions<i>, </i>however ill-advised they may be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">When I approach her in her box, she is as aggressive as possible. Fortunately for me, she's a Chihuahua. How aggressive can that be? I used to worry a little, until one day I decided to just let her bite me, if she wanted. She <i>did </i>want to, but since I could barely feel it when she dove into the flesh of my hand, we've both come to understand that actual violence on her part is an ineffective deterrent.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBf5gF0W2I/AAAAAAAABBY/esMABKPIMHM/s1600-h/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBf5gF0W2I/AAAAAAAABBY/esMABKPIMHM/s200/IMG_0093.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Chi-Chi weighs eight pounds, but the vet feels she should weigh six. At one point, she weighed twelve pounds, and looked more like the bioengineered result of blending a <a href="http://static.gotpetsonline.com/pictures-gallery/farm-animal-pictures-breeders-babies/pot-belly-pig-pictures-breeders-babies/pictures/pot-belly-pig-0026.jpg">pot-bellied pig</a> with a <a href="http://www.sideshowworld.com/TY-FTeller-Chap2-7.jpg">human fetus</a>. Then she was diagnosed with diabetes, began insulin shots and a special diet, so today she's at least recognizable as some form of canine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">My parents got Chi-Chi from a <a href="http://www.azchihuahuarescue.org/">rescue organization</a> when she was already about a year old. She was tightly bonded with my father, who passed away 2 ½ years ago. Since my father's death, Chi-Chi has become much closer to my mother, and, if anything, hates me even more. Understand, I've never yelled at Chi-Chi or disciplined her in any way. I've always been as gentle with her as if she were a glass figurine. It doesn't matter, though. Chi-Chi is the only dog I've ever met who just can't stand me.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">But "hate" might not be the exactly right word. Chi-Chi will accept a treat from me, though she trembles as she does so, and I have to reach my arm <i>way</i> out so my hand is as far away from the rest of my body as possible. She'll muster up the bravery to pluck the treat from my hand, and then immediately retire to her box to eat it. She would prefer that I never touched her, or looked at her, but I <i>have </i>fed her and given her insulin shots. She is terrified when I have to do this, but when I leave her alone in her room, she eats all her dinner.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBfzy0aYeI/AAAAAAAABBI/DTfcBXl4U8k/s1600-h/Chi-Chi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SvBfzy0aYeI/AAAAAAAABBI/DTfcBXl4U8k/s200/Chi-Chi.JPG" /></a></div><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Sometimes, though, I'll see Chi-Chi looking at me when she doesn't think I notice, and she's not giving me the <a href="http://www.hermetic.com/bey/evil_eye.html">evil eye</a>. I'll catch her looking at me with an expression of awe, if not reverence. If she sees me looking back, she'll usually start barking and snarling again, but it doesn't matter. I know. And she knows that I know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">Chi-Chi sees me walk, feed, and totally care for Levi, Rocky and Erica (of course she's been <i>invited</i> on the walks, and, naturally, she refuses). She sees me comfort them during frightening times, like thunderstorms. It's clear to her that <i>they</i> all love me. So what's the problem?<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">Honestly, I believe it's that Chi-Chi is <i>scared </i>to love me, for whatever reason. Maybe it's something unknown in her past, like abuse from a man who looked like me, but I don't think so. I think Chi-Chi holds back from a simple fear of loss and rejection. I think that because she's so small, when Rocky and Levi are excited around me, she's scared she might get knocked over and hurt. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">Mainly, though, I think that Chi-Chi has decided she <i>can't</i> love me, because she wouldn't be able to stand if I didn't love her back. Of course I would, but I think Chi-Chi is a one-person sort of dog, and that, whoever her master is, better be a one-dog kind of person. Knowing I love Levi, Erica and Rocky, I think Chi-Chi is unwilling to accept sharing my love with anyone. Therefore, Chi-Chi's reasoning goes, she <i>has </i>to hate me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">I'm sorry for Chi-Chi in that she can't bring herself to be my friend, but she has a relatively full life, anyway (full for someone who spends twenty hours a day in a box, that is). She has a very close bond with my mom. She loves <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/how-to-breed-perfect-dog.html">Levi</a>, who is clearly aware of their size disparity and is always extra gentle and careful around her. Like everyone, she loves <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/rockys-way.html">Rocky</a>, though you can tell even she knows he's not too bright. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">But Chi-Chi's best friend in the pack, outside my mom, is the other girl, close to her size and age. Chi-Chi and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/erica-kane.html">Erica Kane</a> <i>adore</i> each other. Erica's been long habituated to dogs, but Chi-Chi is the first one she's known who's actually <i>smaller</i> than she is. As far as I know, Erica is the first, and only cat, Chi-Chi has ever seen, but somehow they couldn't be tighter sisters and girlfriends. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;">So all in all, me and my pack moving in on her territory was a positive thing for Chi-Chi, even if it does mean she has to live with me, her enemy. I refuse to be <i>her</i> enemy, though. She can bark, snarl and bite all she wants, it doesn't matter. Any friend of Rocky, Levi and Erica, is a friend of mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">(Note to my Hispanic and Spanish speaking readers: </span><i style="color: #cc0000;">I </i><span style="color: #cc0000;">know what Chi-Chis are. I do not believe my parents did when they chose that name)</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 13pt;"><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">Please share this blog with others.</span></span><span style="font-family: ''; font-size: 7pt;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br />
</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-29430164371181398052010-11-07T09:58:00.003-07:002010-11-10T17:49:41.916-07:00Goodbye Erica KaneOn November 6, 2010, Erica died in Scottsdale, Arizona. Click here to refresh your memory of <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/erica-kane.html">Erica.</a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/TNbYVUqUfgI/AAAAAAAACKA/moshfEcNJw0/s1600/IMG00261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/TNbYVUqUfgI/AAAAAAAACKA/moshfEcNJw0/s320/IMG00261.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This is the last photograph on my precious Erica, from Friday, November 5th. She was gorgeous until the end. Karen raised her from a very sick kitty into the best cat I've ever know.<br />
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My consolation is she died quickly, without lingering illness and dimishment of her powers. She was my cat to end all cats.<br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/webbing-and-nails.html">Webbings and Nails</a><br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/dreams-of-dogs-and-cats.html">Erica's Dreams.</a><br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-nightly-threesome.html">Sleeping Arrangements</a><br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-turn-its-my-house-so-follow-my-rules.html">This was Erica's House; We were just tenants.</a><br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/webbing-and-nails.html">A philisophical exchange between Erica and Levi.</a><br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/problem-with-rainbow-bridge.html">Don't want to hear about the damn Rainbow Bridge!</a><br />
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I'll miss that girl for as long as I live. She was a great cat.Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-66265324363539940102009-12-31T15:45:00.000-07:002010-01-05T09:47:08.486-07:00What Happened During Hibernation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JuxwMm0lI/AAAAAAAAB10/PmP0xb1j27I/s1600-h/karenanddogs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JuxwMm0lI/AAAAAAAAB10/PmP0xb1j27I/s400/karenanddogs.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Happy New Year! May 2010 be a great year for each of you.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Ju2duJhkI/AAAAAAAAB18/FZcLhPu7sxA/s1600-h/lyric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Ju2duJhkI/AAAAAAAAB18/FZcLhPu7sxA/s640/lyric.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Ju7bBjo5I/AAAAAAAAB2E/J-IpdOwS9nw/s1600-h/Chelsea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Ju7bBjo5I/AAAAAAAAB2E/J-IpdOwS9nw/s640/Chelsea.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Thanks to my friend, Frank, I now have a few pictures of the original pack, Lyric, the German shepherd, Chelsea, Holden, and a couple more pictures of Karen.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JvAf3XHTI/AAAAAAAAB2M/518FKfvLK1Q/s1600-h/holden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JvAf3XHTI/AAAAAAAAB2M/518FKfvLK1Q/s400/holden.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 14pt;">After enjoying a hibernation of a few weeks, I've decided to essentially shut down the Den of the Dogman. Over the last couple of months, I've written about all that I want to on the subject of dogs.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I'm not removing the site from the Internet, nor am I closing it <i>completely</i>. I'll post new stories from time to time, but not on a regular basis. If you want to be sure that you get any new stories that may appear, subscribe by e-mail at the upper right. You won't get on any spam list, and if something new appears, you'll be the first to know.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I've enjoyed writing this blog, and am continuing to write, just in a different, longer, format. I'd go into further detail, but I haven't begun yet. If you'd like to be kept up to date on my writing projects, just let me know and I'll be glad to do so. If you'd like to hire me to write something for you, give me a call.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Thanks for reading.<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Rich<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JvVXxCXkI/AAAAAAAAB2U/4xB6URmMghg/s1600-h/karenrichlyric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0JvVXxCXkI/AAAAAAAAB2U/4xB6URmMghg/s400/karenrichlyric.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-size: 14pt;">(Levi, Erica, Rocky and Chi-Chi, too)</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Jvip_9eXI/AAAAAAAAB2c/wIFBXf5DHEk/s1600-h/Rugged+Levi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/S0Jvip_9eXI/AAAAAAAAB2c/wIFBXf5DHEk/s640/Rugged+Levi.JPG" /></a><br />
</div>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-1649970616760619592009-12-19T04:00:00.004-07:002009-12-18T21:36:58.191-07:00They Were Winners, Who Became the Doggie's Dinners<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyxRWomM9bI/AAAAAAAABug/ZoIHnNPUG1I/s1600-h/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyxRWomM9bI/AAAAAAAABug/ZoIHnNPUG1I/s320/images.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>You've got to love this story from Dallas. <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-1911-Dallas-Pet-Scene-Examiner%7Ey2009m12d18-Dogs-who-ate-owners-are-up-for-adoption-at-city-shelter">Two pugs who ate their owner</a>s are now up for adoption! That's right. ATE their owners! It seems the married couple who owned the dogs committed suicide, together, leaving the dogs to fend for themselves, for at least <i>days</i>! What are two little doggies supposed to do? That's why Levi maintains dogs should always be allowed to determine their own necessary amount of <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-turn-weighty-matter-by-levi.html">fat reserves!</a><br />
This reminds me of one of my favorite dog songs by proto-punk rock legend Nick Lowe, <i>Marie Provost</i> (sic). The song, below, is about a silent film star, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_Prevost">Marie Prevost</a>, who, after great early success, died alone in her Hollywood room at the age of 38. Her body was eventually found because of the incessant barking of her dachshund.<br />
Rumor has it that Marie's legs were covered in tiny bites when the medics removed her. Nick Lowe sings that, "She was a winner/who became the doggie's dinner." <br />
If you've not heard Nick Lowe's song, or if you have, have a listen now and enjoy this little video. It's a great tune that you'll be humming all day, as you make sure to feed your dogs <i>plenty</i>. But first, the lyrics:<br />
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<pre><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">MARIE PROVOST
Nick Lowe
Marie Provost did not look her best
The day the cops bust into her lonely nest
in the cheap hotel up on Hollywood west
July 29
She'd been lyin' there for two or three weeks
The neighbors said they never heard a squeak
While hungry eyes that could not speak
said even little doggies have got to eat
chorus:
She was a winner that became a doggie's dinner
She never meant that much to me
Whoa oh poor Marie
Marie Provost was a movie queen
mysterious angel of the silent screen
And run like the wind the nation's young men steamed
When Marie crossed the silent screen
Whoa she came out west from New York
but when the talkies came Marie just couldn't cope
The public said Marie take a walk
All the way back to New York
-repeat chorus-
Those quaalude bombs didn't help her sleep
As her nights grew long and her days grew bleak
It's all downhill once you've passed your peak
Marie got ready for that last big sleep
The cops came in and they looked around
Throwin' up everywhere over what they found
The handiwork of Marie's little dachshund
That hungry little dachshund
-repeat chorus-
poor Marie</span>
</span></pre></h1><br />
<object height="505" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uqW8aSAoiAI&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uqW8aSAoiAI&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="505"></embed></object>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-58518380217573014972009-12-17T00:01:00.004-07:002009-12-17T00:01:00.480-07:00Tired of Your Dog? Get a Fox!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SylIZtVRkhI/AAAAAAAABt4/9CY8-FJAfm8/s1600-h/whiteface2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SylIZtVRkhI/AAAAAAAABt4/9CY8-FJAfm8/s320/whiteface2.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>This is a remarkable three minute film! If you don't know about this, watch it.<br />
In short, Russian scientists did an experiment wherein wild foxes were bred for tameness. Within 10 generations, the Russians found they had...dogs? And if <i>not </i>dogs, then what? If you have any interest in how dogs came to be, you'll learn a lot from this excerpt from "Nova."<br />
<object height="505" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/enrLSfxTqZ0&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/enrLSfxTqZ0&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="505"></embed></object>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-41865048863117851282009-12-15T00:01:00.002-07:002009-12-15T00:01:00.143-07:00Dogs Don’t Hibernate but the Dogman Does<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SycDbYqp8fI/AAAAAAAABtY/pKNvwfnW4h8/s1600-h/hibernation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SycDbYqp8fI/AAAAAAAABtY/pKNvwfnW4h8/s320/hibernation.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">It's true. Look it up on Wikipedia. Dogs just keep going year round. Regardless of the biological realities, however, the Den of the Dogman is going into hibernation mode from now until the beginning of 2010.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">I can feel your panic building. "What does this mean for <i>me</i>?" you want to know. Fair enough.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Until the beginning of January, I will <i>not</i> be posting new material daily to this site. I may post some new stuff, I may not. If you're a Facebook friend, I'll annoyingly announce when there's something new. But really, now is the ideal time for you to go to the bottom left of the page and become a "follower." As a follower, you will always be informed of new events in the Den. Of course, subscribing by e-mail always remains an attractive option.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">I will continue with the weekly dog news, and am introducing a new feature I call, "Dogman Remix." In short, I am going to rework some of my favorite stories already posted to this site. Some changes I make will be very minor, like adding a comma here and there. Other changes will be more significant. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">If you haven't read a particular story in the "Dogman Remix" series, now is the perfect time. The story will be better than ever! <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">If you liked a story the first time you read it, you may want to read it again. It should be at least a little better.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SycD2Ctw_2I/AAAAAAAABto/UQyRXZ6tcVg/s1600-h/psychotic-kitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SycD2Ctw_2I/AAAAAAAABto/UQyRXZ6tcVg/s200/psychotic-kitten.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">If you're psychotic, you will be able to spend time comparing the two stories, the original and the "re-mix," and noting the changes that have been made. I'm trying to offer something for <i>everyone</i> here!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Other days during hibernation, I will not post anything at all. Do not be distressed by this! Things are <i>different</i> during the holidays, and soon everything will be back to normal.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">In the meantime, relax. Have fun. If you <i>have</i> to read something here, just dig around the archives. Can't go wrong there.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Happy holidays to all my readers and friends, and especially to all their dogs and cats. If nothing else, I hope my writing has made pet owners just a little more mindful of how blessed they are by their animal families. <br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Rich</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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</div>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-84743244367059175072009-12-14T00:01:00.015-07:002009-12-14T00:01:00.307-07:00My Turn: It’s My House, So Follow My Rules, by Erica Kane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWteUh5wOI/AAAAAAAABsw/SbLku5HuESQ/s1600-h/My+Turn+Erica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWteUh5wOI/AAAAAAAABsw/SbLku5HuESQ/s200/My+Turn+Erica.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">I've lived with dogs since I was a tiny kitten, and I have to say that they are literal minded to the point of idiocy, usually, or, at their best, like Levi, they are a mass of neuroses and misguided perceptions. Don't interpret this to mean that I don't <i>like</i> dogs. I'm very fond of them indeed, though the things that worry or excite them are quite beyond my understanding. Do you have to act like hooligans because the doorbell rang? It just means someone's here, but they'll leave soon. You dogs need to learn to concentrate on what's important.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWtl3Kv96I/AAAAAAAABs4/jLZCHyiiPIE/s1600-h/Erica+rubbing+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWtl3Kv96I/AAAAAAAABs4/jLZCHyiiPIE/s200/Erica+rubbing+table.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Because of the inattention of the dogs and humans I cohabit with, I have had the opportunity to mark <i>everything</i> and every<i>one</i> in the house. Those stupid dogs (and humans) see me rubbing my face on chairs, tables, walls, <i>everything</i>, and they don't do a thing to stop me, or mark their things first. I've proceeded with some caution, but at this point I can announce, with no fear of contradiction, that I own the entire house, all its contents, and the surrounding lot and landscaping.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Though my clever encroachments have given me indisputable title to the family home, it is not in my nature to be a tyrant. I shudder to think of what antic rules might be imposed were Levi to become lord and master of our domicile. I have no intention of evicting anybody, human or dog, now that I have obtained title, and as a practical matter nothing will change. I just have a bit more security, which I need for my psychological well-being.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Which brings me to the real object of this essay: my fear of imminent starvation. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Despite being a cat of property and distinction, I am dependent upon dad for my very sustenance, and his inattention makes me fear that I might starve to death in the near future. By noting this now, and publicly, I hope to aid the possible service of justice in the event of my negligent homicide by starvation.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWtyGO6e4I/AAAAAAAABtA/gXlVnpL4pV4/s1600-h/Erica+eatinng2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWtyGO6e4I/AAAAAAAABtA/gXlVnpL4pV4/s320/Erica+eatinng2.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Of course, I free feed. My food must be available to me 24/7. Who knows when I'll be hungry? Certainly not dad! He is <i>so</i> inattentive!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">I have what's known as a "gravity" feeder. It holds about two pounds of food. As I eat what's in the bowl, the food is replenished from the canister. It's an amazing invention, so simple but necessary and useful. Rather like the wheel. It's the kind of creation that makes me realize what useful and creative creatures humans really are.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWt4KVJ4_I/AAAAAAAABtI/tfZLvvgqJMU/s1600-h/Gravity+feeder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWt4KVJ4_I/AAAAAAAABtI/tfZLvvgqJMU/s200/Gravity+feeder.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Despite the manifest cleverness of humans, my dad will often let this device become so empty that it holds <i>less</i> than a pound of food! I understand that his <i>intent</i> is to fill it up again, sometime, but who knows how the future may conspire to make that intent untenable?<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Once my gravity feeder is one quarter empty, I loudly notify everyone in the area of the potential disaster that lies ahead. If my yowls are heeded at all, it's by dad looking at my feeder and saying something wholly irrelevant like, "Erica, there's enough food there for a month. Stop it."<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">"Enough food for a month." What then, dad, what then?<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">So he lets the feeder get ever lower, dangerously lower, until I'm forced to spend much of my energy motivating him to fill my feeder up <i>all the way</i>! I "meow," I yowl, I run back and forth from wherever he is, to my food bowl, and he'll do nothing at all! Dad may be "the dogman," but he certainly doesn't know how to properly appease a cat. It's times like this that I wish I were <i>big</i>, and could make dad do what he's supposed to!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWuARLaJAI/AAAAAAAABtQ/1f4uneuGKoc/s1600-h/erica+eating.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyWuARLaJAI/AAAAAAAABtQ/1f4uneuGKoc/s320/erica+eating.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Finally, things will get <i>dangerous</i>. The feeder will be half empty. That's when I switch into high alert, and I will no longer be denied! I will not stop bugging <i>everyone</i> until the feeder is full to the top.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">My rational side knows that with the feeder half-full, there is enough food for at least a week. But are my wishes so extreme? Is it too much to ask that my feeder just be kept full? Especially considering I'm the landlord around here. Really, that's all I want out of life.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;">Especially now that I legally own everything else.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 10pt;"><i>Ed. Note: This is ordinarily Levi's column, but late Sunday night he informed me that he wasn't a machine who wrote on cue. I reminded Levi that he had known about this deadline for a week, and that he himself had insisted on a weekly column in the first place. Levi then asked for a cookie, which he got.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 10pt;"><i>Erica said she would fill in for Levi, and that she had an important issue of which the public needed to be made aware. I told her that would be fine.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 10pt;"><i>She handed in the above at the last minute. It's actually fairly accurate, except, of course, I dispute Erica's legal ownership of the house by virtue of her markings. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">If you don't care for Erica's opinions, feel free to check out some of Levi's past work <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/levis-views.html">here</a>.</span><i> <br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 10pt;"><i> </i></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-22178537796282587612009-12-13T00:01:00.023-07:002009-12-13T13:18:42.324-07:00Sunday Wrap-up and Poll Question<span style="font-size: small;">Happy Sunday and thank you for stopping by the Den.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLtgOT6E8I/AAAAAAAABr4/g9dIq0ymbtk/s1600-h/CULT.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLtgOT6E8I/AAAAAAAABr4/g9dIq0ymbtk/s200/CULT.gif" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">If you look to the bottom left of this page you'll see a box that says, "Follow Me!" It gives you an opportunity to "join" the Den of the Dogman! What could be cooler? Presently, I have 19 followers. Bless them all, but I need <i>more</i>, hundreds of followers, because, ultimately, the Dogman has somewhere to lead you all! Is this the beginning of a cult? I can't say. Just sign up to be a follower, and I will be your Alpha! You might have to sign up for "Google Friend Connect" first. Don't let that put you off. It's a minor inconvenience for the opportunity to follow me!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now, what happened in the Den of the Dogman this week?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLto9vKDSI/AAAAAAAABsA/_W8sJb3nxzc/s1600-h/smellingurine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLto9vKDSI/AAAAAAAABsA/_W8sJb3nxzc/s200/smellingurine.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">On Monday, Levi sounded off in his weekly, "My Turn," column. This time around, Levi decided he would be a mentor to puppies everywhere, so he offered some general advise to the young in, "<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-turn-youve-got-to-stop-and-smell.html">You've Got to Stop and Smell the Urine</a>." Come back tomorrow for some more of Levi's thoughts and opinions.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLtvRJRbTI/AAAAAAAABsI/GoYQTkFySI4/s1600-h/twowomenandoneman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLtvRJRbTI/AAAAAAAABsI/GoYQTkFySI4/s200/twowomenandoneman.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">On Tuesday, a titillating title, "<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-nightly-threesome.html">My Nightly Threesome</a>," led into a short talk about the sleeping arrangements of Erica, Levi, and me. Not my best piece, but there's a really funny movie at the end that will make it worth your while to check it out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLt1hvjv5I/AAAAAAAABsQ/Yy9BFptQ7tw/s1600-h/scareddog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLt1hvjv5I/AAAAAAAABsQ/Yy9BFptQ7tw/s200/scareddog.jpg" /></a>Wednesday, Thursday and Friday consisted of a series of stories that brought us back to 1984. First, Karen and I moved, with Lyric and Holden, to Los Angeles. This required Holden to fly, which really messed him up. If there's any way for you to avoid having to fly your pet in cargo, any way at <i>all</i>, do it. Don't risk them, too, having to experience "<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/dog-torture-at-30000-feet.html">Dog Torture at 30,000 Feet."</a></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLt7Gt0hEI/AAAAAAAABsY/tdgGC4eoSrw/s1600-h/apocalypse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLt7Gt0hEI/AAAAAAAABsY/tdgGC4eoSrw/s200/apocalypse.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">Once in LA, Karen and I became disillusioned with humanity. We were living in "<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/apocalypse-1984.html">Apocalypse 1984!"</a> Because of this, and some other reasons, we did the only thing that seemed logical – We got another dog!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLuDptqdXI/AAAAAAAABsg/qEzUxN1pV3c/s1600-h/c-girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLuDptqdXI/AAAAAAAABsg/qEzUxN1pV3c/s200/c-girls.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;">And that dog was a beautiful, grey and white, half German shepherd, half Australian shepherd puppy named Chelsea. She was such a good puppy it made me "<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/wish-they-all-could-be-california-girls.html">Wish They All Could be California Girls</a>." Now we had three dogs. We weren't pet owners anymore, we were pack leaders.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Tomorrow, there will be yet another opinion from the demented mind of Levi. Again, he won't tell me the subject, and, again, it doesn't much matter. I'll almost certainly end up distancing myself from Levi's views, as I always have had to in the past.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For a look at some of Levi's earlier opinion pieces, click <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/levis-views.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally, leave a note and tell me which of these five Entrecards you like best, and why. I've been alternating them, and I'm curious as to reactions. Please leave a comment. Which one most attracts attention. Knowing nothing about the site, having to click ONE, which one would you choose?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-75734870633950953552009-12-12T00:01:00.022-07:002009-12-12T00:01:00.730-07:00Saturday News of the Dog<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">It's been my policy to stay away from disturbing news when I present my Saturday wrap-ups of the week's dog news. The papers are full of stories about puppy mills and dog fighting and people throwing dogs off balconies and such, and I don't want to fill people's heads with that kind of stuff.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLTr_QRdQI/AAAAAAAABrQ/jahwQWcxplI/s1600-h/dogman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLTr_QRdQI/AAAAAAAABrQ/jahwQWcxplI/s200/dogman.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">Still, this first story today is far from pleasant. Bizarre, sad, disturbing story about a guy who wanted to be a <a href="http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking-news/ci_13969584">dogman</a>, and what went wrong. Robert Brunette, of Boulder, CO, kept about 50 dogs and lived with them as their "Alpha." Weird, <i>Lord of the Flies </i>type antics ensued. Now he's been <a href="http://www.kionrightnow.com/Global/story.asp?S=11652207">convicted</a> on all counts, and it seems, this putative "dogman" is facing 4 years in prison. The moral of this story: Kids, don't try this at home. Or, perhaps, try not to go <i>too</i> crazy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLTx4kiRlI/AAAAAAAABrY/6bnNsaIkc-s/s1600-h/dogcat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLTx4kiRlI/AAAAAAAABrY/6bnNsaIkc-s/s320/dogcat.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">Science has weighed in, and it's official, verified and scientific. <a href="http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/unleashed/2009/12/dogs-are-smarter-than-cats-by-a-hair.html">Dogs are smarter than cats</a>! I can't imagine this finding will result in any controversy whatsoever. I am refraining from mentioning this finding to <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/erica-kane.html">Erica Kane</a>, however.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLT6oU7dbI/AAAAAAAABrg/FgP0ndpm9Qc/s1600-h/lizairaq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLT6oU7dbI/AAAAAAAABrg/FgP0ndpm9Qc/s200/lizairaq.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">Here's something positive, for a certain dog, anyway. <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-1911-Dallas-Pet-Scene-Examiner%7Ey2009m12d9-Amazing-dog-survives-suicide-bombing">Liza</a>, a dog of uncertain provenance from Iraq, survived a suicide blast last week that killed 125 and injured 500. Humans. But Liza is alright, and has been reunited with a 14 year old boy who is the sole surviving member of his family. Of course the dogman wishes both Liza and her young master all the best.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLUBHBgYcI/AAAAAAAABro/9CcZDnvcWtQ/s1600-h/christmas_dog_cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLUBHBgYcI/AAAAAAAABro/9CcZDnvcWtQ/s200/christmas_dog_cat.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">With so few shopping days until Christmas, let us be thankful for <i>The USA Today </i>for providing us with a handy guide for the <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/life/lifestyle/pets/2009-12-10-pet-gifts_N.htm">top ten gifts</a> for dogs and cats.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLUM_WdCkI/AAAAAAAABrw/sLEtdUO47DY/s1600-h/BoSouthLawnPortrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyLUM_WdCkI/AAAAAAAABrw/sLEtdUO47DY/s200/BoSouthLawnPortrait.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: large;">Speaking of dogs and Christmas gifts, it's gratifying to know that <a href="http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/pets/79066697.html?elr=KArks:DCiUMEaPc:UiD3aPc:_Yyc:aUU">Bo Obama</a> will have his own Christmas stocking in the White House. Naturally, Levi opposes this, claiming that it will add to the deficit, but <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-turn-no-bama-by-levi.html">Levi's feelings</a> about the First Dog might color his opinion somewhat. For one, I'm hoping Bo and the whole Obama family have a great Christmas!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="font-size: large;">This dog talks! Again, this particular dog <i>talks!</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-80076818021228914952009-12-11T00:01:00.022-07:002009-12-11T18:14:18.949-07:00Wish They All Could Be California Girls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfHEHgiHI/AAAAAAAABqY/Y8nPPGIXdLs/s1600-h/German-Shepherd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfHEHgiHI/AAAAAAAABqY/Y8nPPGIXdLs/s200/German-Shepherd.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">For <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a> and me, not much good came out of Los Angeles in 1984. We'd moved there without a plan, with our two dogs, Lyric and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/dog-torture-at-30000-feet.html">Holden</a>, and were soon overcome by a fear and loathing of the mass of humanity we found ourselves amidst. We decided that the logical reaction to our new found <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/apocalypse-1984.html">misanthropy</a> would be to increase the canine to human ratio in our household. We decided to get a puppy.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGqZbbGzTI/AAAAAAAABrI/eyigz7SWa60/s1600-h/slingblade-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGqZbbGzTI/AAAAAAAABrI/eyigz7SWa60/s200/slingblade-008.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were two primary rationales for getting a puppy. Lyric, the Seeing Eye dog, was smart, young and strong, everything a German shepherd should be. Our other dog, <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-ugliest-dog.html">Holden</a>, was a fat, dim-witted, beagle mix, and he was simply not an ideal playmate for her. Often, in her fun, Lyric would send Holden <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/apocalypse-1984.html">sprawling</a>, and we didn't want him to get hurt. We wanted Lyric to have as full a life as possible, and we thought that should include a relationship with a dog with which she could have some parity. Forcing her to play with Holden seemed like forcing Bobby Fisher to play chess with Sling Blade (look, he liked fried potatoes, OK?). It couldn't be very satisfying for Lyric.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfM3F18ZI/AAAAAAAABqg/Iuq-cL7xbjY/s1600-h/holden.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfM3F18ZI/AAAAAAAABqg/Iuq-cL7xbjY/s320/holden.JPG" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Furthermore, Sling Blade…I mean, <i>Holden</i>, needed another dog, too, we believed. Though he may have been satisfied with <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/impassable.html">Lyric</a> as a playmate, since Lyric was a guide dog, when we went out, Holden would be left alone. Holden was a bad boy when left alone, prone to tremendous acts of destruction, and we reasoned that if he wasn't left <i>all</i> alone, but had a better behaved dog keeping him company, then <i>maybe</i> that would help him straighten up and fly right. We knew even then that was unlikely, but, who knows, <i>maybe</i>.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let me say right now that both of the above rationales were based on false premises. After thirty years as a dogman, I'll say, with some certainty, that an intelligent dog does <i>not</i> need an equal for a playmate, and, with <i>total</i> certainty, that leaving a good dog home alone with a destructive one is much more likely to corrupt the good one than it is to mend the ways of the bad. But, back in 1984, we were at the beginning of our learning curve, and those two reasons for getting another dog seemed reasonable enough. </span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, Los Angeles sucked and we wanted a puppy!</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfS64IhUI/AAAAAAAABqo/z64UTQZvVP0/s1600-h/sakaritonkkoda-209x168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfS64IhUI/AAAAAAAABqo/z64UTQZvVP0/s320/sakaritonkkoda-209x168.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">We found an ad in the paper and decided to get a three month old, German shepherd/Australian shepherd mix, puppy. We figured this would be a dog that could keep up with <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric</a> and who might be smart enough to reform Holden. We got to the house, and met both the parents. The father, a German shepherd, was a very friendly, stable, fellow. The Australian shepherd mother seemed just a little "off," but to be fair a couple of strangers were looking over her puppies, so I guess she had every right to be.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfYZq0pFI/AAAAAAAABqw/zQRzue26xrg/s1600-h/misty2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfYZq0pFI/AAAAAAAABqw/zQRzue26xrg/s320/misty2.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">There were four or five puppies, but we were instantly drawn to one little grey and white female who seemed more outgoing than the others. We named her Chelsea, and took her away in the car to begin her new life.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Chelsea was not only adorable, she was <i>perfect</i>. She was alert and interested, liked the car ride, and didn't cry for a second when separated from everything she'd ever known. She was infested with fleas, so the very first thing we had to do, before we even brought her in the house, was give her a flea dip.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfc4Gs1HI/AAAAAAAABq4/A-0xOcLYrqI/s1600-h/fleas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfc4Gs1HI/AAAAAAAABq4/A-0xOcLYrqI/s200/fleas.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">It's easy to forget now just how <i>awful</i> a problem fleas used to be. Whatever horrifying odorless poison is in the Frontline Plus and other flea and tick products we use today is an absolute godsend. Back in 1984, the only way to de-flea a dog was to immerse it in a fluid that stunk like kerosene, let it dry, and then dip the dog again. When we first saw Chelsea, we thought she had some small scabs on her. On closer inspection, we saw they were flea colonies, massed so as to appear solid. The flea treatment had to be traumatic for a three month old puppy, but Chelsea went through the ordeal with a happy dignity.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I haven't thought about Chelsea as a puppy for a long time, and now the memory of her is flooding me with warmth. The pictures that appear with this article are <i>not</i> Chelsea, but they show basically what she looked like then. She was so smart, and happy, and bright-eyed, and eager to join her family.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfkzR9g0I/AAAAAAAABrA/8VAue6cAnPw/s1600-h/australian_shepherd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyGfkzR9g0I/AAAAAAAABrA/8VAue6cAnPw/s320/australian_shepherd.jpg" /></a></span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lyric and Holden both accepted Chelsea at once, and she was thrilled to have two other dogs to play and live with. Everyone was happy, at least for a while.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Lyric, Holden and Chelsea would live together for the rest of their long lives. Other dogs would come and go, but those three remained the core of the pack for their entire lives. Going to California might have been a bad idea, but when we left, we had our Chelsea, so, as it turns out, <i>something</i> good came out of us being in Los Angeles that awful summer of 1984.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands<br />
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</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-2061273590063084812009-12-10T00:01:00.026-07:002009-12-10T19:38:44.222-07:00Apocalypse 1984<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBcl3RZYDI/AAAAAAAABpY/QykUrM7wmJI/s1600-h/hollywood%26vine+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBcl3RZYDI/AAAAAAAABpY/QykUrM7wmJI/s200/hollywood%26vine+copy.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">To engage in a little understatement here, it was probably not the best idea for me and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a> to move to Los Angeles in 1984. We didn't know anyone in L.A. and we had no jobs at a time when unemployment was at levels comparable to today. We were thousands of dollars in debt to student loans, which were taken out at 17% interest. Really, all we had that was worth anything was each other, and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric</a>, Karen's Seeing Eye dog, and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-ugliest-dog.html">Holden</a>, our little mutt.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Twenty-five years later, it's hard for me to imagine what we were thinking. We had one bachelor's degree between the two of us, a junker car, and absolutely no plan. Nevertheless, we rented a house in Glendale that we couldn't afford, and we set out to conquer the world.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBcuNQKSsI/AAAAAAAABpg/Is6Fu7a9cSU/s1600-h/holden2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBcuNQKSsI/AAAAAAAABpg/Is6Fu7a9cSU/s200/holden2.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">These were great times for Lyric and Holden. Karen was going through a phase of custom cooking for the dogs, and homemaking biscuits. We had a huge yard they could play in, and we lived a few blocks away from a massive dog park that we took them to daily.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBc3EUGq6I/AAAAAAAABpo/aK99f4k0nHw/s1600-h/long_coat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBc3EUGq6I/AAAAAAAABpo/aK99f4k0nHw/s200/long_coat.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">One of the reasons we got Holden in the first place was so that when Karen got back from training with Lyric, there would be a playmate waiting for her. Lyric adored Holden from the start, and once he got used to her, Holden reciprocated. Lyric loved spending time with Holden, and even took to grooming him daily. She knew he was still basically a puppy, and she loved mothering him.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The mothering didn't extend to the dog park, though. Lyric <i>lived</i> to go to the park. She would chase sticks endlessly and also just <i>run</i> with the exuberant energy of a German shepherd in the prime of her life. While she was doing this, Holden would leisurely wander the park, mainly sticking to the perimeters. Holden wasn't a dog who enjoyed vigorous exercise. For him the park was mainly an opportunity for a good sniff, followed by a poop, which he always took while as close to the road as possible, so he could look at cars as they whizzed by and be sure the drivers were looking at him while he produced his little masterpieces. But I digress.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBdGT2PRHI/AAAAAAAABpw/wpbvvRQjqSs/s1600-h/20070206steamroller.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBdGT2PRHI/AAAAAAAABpw/wpbvvRQjqSs/s200/20070206steamroller.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">There was just one problem. Almost every time we went to the park, at one time or another, Lyric steamrolled Holden.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">This is another example of what I would call a <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/dogs-and-their-sense-of-humor.html">dog's sense of humor</a>. Lyric thought it was funny to see Holden at a distance of 25 yards or more, when Holden was sniffing and paying no attention. Then Lyric would charge him like a bull, and just smash into him, sometimes at full speed sending him flying and sometimes at a glancing angle simply knocking him down. Holden would get to his feet, dazed and confused, while Lyric laughed like a maniac and pranced away.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">She never injured Holden, and he didn't hold it against her, long-term, anyway. It took him completely by surprise <i>every </i>time, which is why Lyric thought it was so funny. There was nothing mean-spirited in this steamrolling game, and at home, after the park, Lyric would gently groom her little brother before they both enjoyed their dinner that mom had made them.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">At the same time, Karen and I began exploring L.A. In 1984, at least, there was a definite air of the apocalypse to Los Angeles. The summer Olympics were in L.A. that year, so the city was jam packed. It was also the year crack began appearing in cities. AIDS was still new, and seemed like a possible plague precursor. Unemployment in LA was higher than 10%, and it seemed that an air of sinister violence hung over everything.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We were out in Hollywood one hot and sticky weekend night. The street was full of weird, scary looking, people. A young Hispanic man was shouting to a soft drink vendor, "Put plenty o' coke in that Coca Cola, man!" and it seemed violence might be eminent if he didn't. There were bright lights and 80's clothes and music everywhere, and the air stunk from pollution, patchouli and piss.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBffpp2xaI/AAAAAAAABqQ/C_-2Ic-dIGU/s1600-h/dragonAnimation2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SyBffpp2xaI/AAAAAAAABqQ/C_-2Ic-dIGU/s200/dragonAnimation2.gif" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I don't know what it was about that particular night, but it affected both Karen and me profoundly. It seemed impossible that Armageddon wasn't right around the corner, perhaps as close as Burbank. We saw that night, as if for the first time, just how <i>bad</i> people could be, and what a fragile hold "society" had over them. The world seemed violent and dangerous and full of people we didn't want to be around, or, worse, become.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Lyric and Holden brought us so much happiness, and society was letting us down. We decided to get another dog. We rationalized that Holden wasn't really a suitable playmate for Lyric, who was so much smarter, bigger and faster than he was. We thought it would be nice to get a third dog, one who could keep up with Lyric. Holden wouldn't get steamrolled anymore, and, we asked ourselves, are three dogs really any more trouble than two? (The answer is, "No." However, it's a slippery slope. Four dogs really aren't any harder than five, and so on. That's how we eventually ended up with six at a time).<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">There is one difference in having three dogs instead of two that we didn't know about, but which wouldn't have stopped us had we realized. When you have two dogs, you have <i>pets</i>. Once you hit three, though, you're part of a <i>pack</i>. That summer of 1984, in a strange city, repelled by humanity, we added a German Shepherd/Australian shepherd mix we named Chelsea to our family, and the group of dogs I refer to as our first pack was completed.<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-3231917097043154952009-12-09T00:01:00.028-07:002009-12-09T00:01:00.417-07:00Dog Torture at 30,000 Feet<i>(Over the next several days, I'll be telling a more sustained story than I normally do. My goal for this site has always been to have every story stand on its own, independent of anything previously published. The chronology of the next four or five days entries will be sequential, comprising a larger narrative, though at the same time I hope they will each stand on their own merits, apart from the larger arc.)<br />
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</div>It was late spring of 1984, and it turned out that Big Brother wasn't in charge after all. Ronald Reagan was. To a couple flaming liberals freshly graduated from college, this wasn't necessarily preferable.<br />
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<a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a> and I were living in Bloomington, IL, the town we'd gone to college in, with Karen's first Seeing Eye dog, <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric</a>, and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-ugliest-dog.html">Holden</a>, a generally worthless cur whom we nonetheless adored irrationally.<br />
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For reasons too convoluted and stupid to go into here, we decided that it would be a good idea to move to Los Angeles to begin our adult lives together. We didn't have jobs, didn't know a soul there, but with Randy Newman's, "I Love L.A.," echoing in our obviously hollow heads, we knew without doubt that it was going to be the Promised Land for us.<br />
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We just had to <i>get </i>there. We were working on a tight budget, so we had to get there as efficiently and economically as possible. It was decided that I would drive from Illinois, in a Chevy Malibu stuffed with our belongings, and find us a place to live, and then Karen, Lyric, and Holden, would fly out.<br />
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Because this is a web site of dog stories, I'm going to skip my nightmare solo trek across the continent, involving major engine trouble in Denver. Bad as my trip might have been, it was <i>nothing</i> compared to poor Holden's.<br />
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</div>Karen and I always considered the dogs to be <i>ours</i>, jointly. But <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/impassable.html">Lyric</a> was Karen's first Seeing Eye dog, so there was a special bond, and Holden was my special boy, because…well, because Holden needed to be <i>someone's</i> special boy, didn't he? Not every dog can be a Seeing Eye dog, or handsome, or smart, or consistently housebroken. I won't argue that Holden had any intrinsic or objective worth, just that <i>every</i> dog, A.K.C. champ or lowly cur, deserves to be someone's special boy or girl.<br />
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Initially, we considered me driving to L.A. with Holden. The difficulty there was Holden was a terrible traveler. He was alternately carsick and disruptively buoyant, with a hound's howl that he could keep up for hours when he was unhappy, and at that stage of his life, car rides made Holden unhappy. Obviously we knew he wouldn't like the experience of flying more than driving, but at least it would be over for him much more quickly.<br />
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We had used <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acepromazine">acepromazine </a>successfully on Holden before. Acepromazine is best described as knock-out drops for dogs. If you wanted to date-rape a dog, acepromazine is what you might want to slip it. I know now that acepromazine is not absolutely safe for all dogs, but our vet at the time said it was, and none of our dogs has ever had an adverse reaction to it. One little white pill, and Holden would sleep peacefully for a two-hour car trip. Two pills, and we had the bio-equivalent of a dead dog on our hands. For his cross-country voyage, it was decided that Holden would have four acepromazine tablets.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx7OyVvMxsI/AAAAAAAABpA/Als6b7emCV8/s1600-h/pighampink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx7OyVvMxsI/AAAAAAAABpA/Als6b7emCV8/s200/pighampink.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>As a Seeing Eye dog, Lyric was, of course, entitled to not only fly in the plane's cabin, but to board first with Karen. As a worthless mongrel, Holden was lucky the airline let him fly as a piece of luggage. A special crate had been purchased for Holden, and furnished with his blanket and Myron, a pink, stuffed, pig that was Holden's favorite toy. He had been given one acepromazine for the two hour drive to the airport, and slept like a contented baby for the entire ride.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx7Mwe9PYDI/AAAAAAAABoo/IPY2HYhKzdY/s1600-h/seeingeyedog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx7Mwe9PYDI/AAAAAAAABoo/IPY2HYhKzdY/s200/seeingeyedog.JPG" /></a><br />
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Upon arrival at O'Hare, Holden's sweater was put on him, he was placed in his crate, and given the rest of his tranquilizers. Karen reported that he was doped up to the gills. Then Karen brought the crate to the guys who would load Holden onto the plane, and extracted promises from them to be extra careful with him.<br />
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The second Holden was transferred to the custody of the airport crew, he woke up and began to <i>scream</i>. His screaming got louder as he was carried away from Karen and taken to the plane.<br />
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I wasn't there, so I'm not sure how Karen did this, but after she and Lyric boarded, she had a chance to ask a crew member how Holden was doing.<br />
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</div>"He's making an awful lot of noise," she was told.<br />
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Five or six hours later, the plane arrived in L.A. Karen and Lyric were the first to disembark (ah, the perks of being sightless!), and we hurried to the area where we were to pick up Holden. We were there waiting as the crew member carried Holden in his crate out of the baggage area. We knew it was Holden because we heard the screaming as soon as the door to the luggage area opened.<br />
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The crate was set down in front of us, and Holden grew quiet. I was on the floor, opening the crate to let my poor boy free.<br />
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Holden half crawled, half staggered, out of his crate. His eyes remained on the floor.<br />
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"Holden, my good boy!" I exclaimed, petting and hugging him. He continued to look at the floor, and turned away. He didn't seem to have any idea who I was, or Karen and Lyric, for that matter. Never a bright bulb, the light behind Holden's eyes was completely out.<br />
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Holden ultimately recovered, mostly, but he was never <i>quite</i> the same dog again. At the risk of sounding ridiculous, his innocence was gone. Before his flight, he still had a puppy's outlook on life as an invariably joyful place. Then he'd been drugged, put in a box, taken away from his mom, and put in a small, cold, noisy place, alone, for hours. The dog that got off the plane in L.A. wasn't a puppy anymore. His flight had been a rite of passage, a journey into the existential void from which one can never fully return.<br />
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</div>Meanwhile, the whole family had entered an existential void from which we were lucky to ultimately escape; we were the four newest citizens of America's Wasteland, Los Angeles.<br />
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</div><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
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</div>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-35280131183937158472009-12-08T00:01:00.003-07:002009-12-08T00:01:01.271-07:00My Nightly Threesome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx3Ci5ONLUI/AAAAAAAABnw/wT-Wr-LGEJY/s1600-h/saddest-dog-ever.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sx3Ci5ONLUI/AAAAAAAABnw/wT-Wr-LGEJY/s320/saddest-dog-ever.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>It's been raining all day, which is a big deal in Phoenix. Unlike a lot of the people who live here, I hate the rain, and don't appreciate it all the more for its infrequency. I'm not sure if <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/levis-issues.html">Levi </a>dislikes the rain intrinsically, or if he picks up a vibe from me, but when it rains here, Levi doesn't even want to get up from the couch. If it's actively coming down, Levi won't voluntarily go in it. I've seen him refrain from peeing for 48 hours rather than get wet.<br />
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When we lived in Illinois, Levi had no choice but to go out in the rain now and then, but he didn't have to like it. In Arizona, on a day with foul weather, Levi, and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/erica-kane.html">Erica </a>are basically just waiting all day to go to bed for the night. The three of us sleep in a double bed, so it's close, but not tight.<br />
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When I start to make the motions of going to bed, Levi will hurry to get there first, so he can lie horizontally across the bed. I don't know why he does this. I would say it was a <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/dogs-and-their-sense-of-humor.html">joke</a>, but he isn't laughing, and isn't very happy when I have to adjust him to something like a standard, vertical, bed position. Levi isn't a dog who would ever growl at a person, especially me, but when I have to reposition him in bed the look on his face is as close as I ever hope to get.<br />
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</div>Levi doesn't like to get under the blanket, and he likes to press his back against me while he sleeps. As we get into our positions, Erica comes to join us.<br />
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Erica sleeps on my head. She starts out our night by cuddling against the side of my face, while I pet her with my opposite hand, which is behind my head. She purrs, and if it's a cold night, she gets under the covers with me for a while, but only until she warms up. Then she creeps out, and positions herself around my head, like a Davy Crockett coonskin cap.<br />
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</div><br />
That's how we stay until morning, unless Levi goes into a heavy dream cycle. Watch this video and imagine what it's like when that's happening in bed next to you.<br />
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<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/z2BgjH_CtIA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/z2BgjH_CtIA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />
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Hopefully this terrible weather will abate, and Levi, Rocky and I can get both of our daily walks in. On rainy days like this, when Levi's under exercised, he's at his most dangerous. Especially with his Howard Hughes nails.<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-68049499308791372592009-12-07T00:01:00.003-07:002009-12-07T20:09:12.323-07:00My Turn: You’ve Got to Stop and Smell the Urine, by Levi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxtxOoC_4I/AAAAAAAABm4/ZhgNhLkM2cA/s1600-h/MyTurn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxtxOoC_4I/AAAAAAAABm4/ZhgNhLkM2cA/s200/MyTurn.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Dad's web site is misleading. If you read what he writes about me, you get the impression that I do not like puppies. Of course I like puppies! I am not a monster.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Of course, when puppies are acting wrong, I do not like what they are <i>doing</i>, but I still like <i>them</i>. My motto, concerning puppies, is, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Now that I have reached an age of maturity, my experience and accumulated wisdom can be offered to stupid puppies, so they can stop being stupid and begin their journey towards being good boys, like me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Teach these rules of life to puppies early, and they will stop being stupid and annoying sooner.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxuIVf-P4I/AAAAAAAABnA/g3x0nZmjTHY/s1600-h/sniffing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxuIVf-P4I/AAAAAAAABnA/g3x0nZmjTHY/s200/sniffing.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">When you go for a walk, don't pull around crazily on your leash in every direction, puppy! Walk right! But don't forget to stop and smell the urine on the way. Often you'll find that your mom or dad doesn't understand the delight of a particularly piquant prior piss, (Levi <i>loves</i> alliteration!) and they will try to hurry you along. <i>This</i> is where you should expend your energy, in learning how to STOP, <i>really</i> stop, in a sudden and irrevocable manner, so you can take the time to really get to sniff your neighbors. This STOP might have to stop your mom or dad while they're jogging, so make sure you really know how to plant yourself like a tree. If you can pull your human off their feet, or make them swear at you, you know you're doing it right. And don't just STOP at the beginning of a walk. Mix it up. This is <i>your</i> time.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Regarding <i>your</i> peeing, three words: learn to pace yourself. If you are going on a walk, and you empty your bladder all at once, what's the point of even continuing? Here's a good rule of thumb. Figure you're going to need enough pee for about thirty squirts per mile, and never forget that the last pee, where you're just squeezing out three drops, is <i>just</i> as critical as that first pee, a comparative torrent. The person walking you might indicate some irritation at your frequent stops, as my dad does, but you know what? These are <i>your</i> excretory habits, and you need to be firm. I don't tell dad how to pee, nor do I permit him to tell me.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxuXBN-XVI/AAAAAAAABnQ/WhOaMO9A-7g/s1600-h/BrunoBoxer1year10MonthsChewingBone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxuXBN-XVI/AAAAAAAABnQ/WhOaMO9A-7g/s200/BrunoBoxer1year10MonthsChewingBone.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxvDkdFUBI/AAAAAAAABnY/k7Dy4CIgnLg/s1600-h/eggslaststep_Full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxxvDkdFUBI/AAAAAAAABnY/k7Dy4CIgnLg/s200/eggslaststep_Full.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Another thing puppies need to know is to be sure to take advantage of opportunity, whenever opportunity comes your way. Nothing gnaws like regret, not even a bulldog with a knuckle bone. Do you remember July 11, 2004? I do. On July 11, 2004, I had the chance to get a pan of eggs and cheese that everyone had forgot about from the counter, and I did <i>nothing</i>! "I'll go check the other room and make sure no one's coming," I thought, and then something was going on in the backyard, and the next thing you know, I was outside with Rocky! When I got back in, someone had moved the pan! Some of you puppies may not have had eggs and cheese, but take it from me, they will change your life if you can ever get them. They are good, like meat, but they are <i>not </i>meat! I love them, and I could have had a whole pan of them of July 11, 2004, but I made the mistake of not realizing that the window of opportunity will not remain open forever.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Also, puppies, hold your ears <i>right</i>! Most puppies let their ears flop down. That is <i>not</i> right! Hold your ears up proud, like I do! If you do not learn to hold your ears up when you are a puppy, then you will grow up to be a floppy-eared dog! You do not want to be a floppy-eared dog, because floppy-eared dogs look stupid, and you do not want to look stupid and have floppy-ears! So hold your ears <i>up</i>, puppies (except if you see me! Then put them down, submissively, or I will beat you up!)!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I have learned many things in my life, and these paltry tips merely scratch the surface of advice I have for young dogs everywhere, but they are a start. I will continue to offer life advice to stupid puppies, so they will love me and be grateful for me like everyone should be!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxxv8IPFIsI/AAAAAAAABno/QYwpIPJeJ94/s1600-h/dog_chasing_tail-300x255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxxv8IPFIsI/AAAAAAAABno/QYwpIPJeJ94/s320/dog_chasing_tail-300x255.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">One last thing. Puppies, about that tail chasing stuff. It makes you look retarded, so stop it! I mean it. If I catch any of you doing it, I'll bite your ears and make you bleed! I'll…<br />
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<div style="margin-left: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><i>Editor's Note: This is where I had to stop the dictation session. Levi was becoming very agitated at the thought of puppies chasing their tails, so I suggested a late walk to get his mind off the image. For the record, I think it's pretty cute when puppies do that, but that's not an argument I'm willing to have with Levi again. As usual, the dogman expressly distances himself from all of Levi's stated opinions. </i></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
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</div>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-73891650822324769432009-12-06T00:01:00.001-07:002009-12-06T00:01:00.185-07:00Sunday Brunch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLIQB66gI/AAAAAAAABlA/cDe_wLeWzgY/s1600-h/Happy-Dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLIQB66gI/AAAAAAAABlA/cDe_wLeWzgY/s320/Happy-Dog.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Welcome to the Dogman's Den. I hope everybody is having a peaceful and enjoyable Sunday. This week, the weekly recap of stories has been moved from Friday to Sunday, and this will remain the regular day for the week in review.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Monday, the virtues of old dogs were extolled. Puppies might be cuter, adult dogs might be more alert and accommodating, but if you ask me, there's nothing on earth <i>sweeter</i> than an old dog. Maybe their breath isn't the sweetest, but everything else is. If you need a dog (and everybody does) consider adopting an older one, not just because no one else will, but because they're the best! Read about old dogs <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/old-dogs.html">here</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLXDQg8FI/AAAAAAAABlQ/OEVrpaWHCxM/s1600-h/scaredgsd.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLXDQg8FI/AAAAAAAABlQ/OEVrpaWHCxM/s200/scaredgsd.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Next up was "The Impassable," a chilling tale about an early fear of Karen's first Seeing Eye dog, Lyric. To read, "The Impassable," click <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/impassable.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Clothes make the man, and Holden's sweater made the dog. Sick, that is. An interesting look at the sort of things dogs train themselves to do, that perhaps provides some insight into their thought processes. Or perhaps not. What do I know? I'm just a simple Dogman. Read about "Holden's Sweater" <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/holdens-sweater.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The Dogman had a problem at a large pet store this week, and got <i>really</i> peeved. Fortunately, the problem has been resolved, due to <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/outraged.html">this</a> posting and a letter sent to the large pet store in question's corporate headquarters. A lesson has been demonstrated here that you should attend to. When you feel your consumer rights have been abridged, when a retailer treats you in an unfair manner, make some noise and don't just take it. I'm one of the most confrontational people around, and even I don't like having to go medieval on a retailer, but now, instead of being out $35 I'm <i>up</i> $70, I won't have the same problem at that store, and, I daresay, none of my neighbors and friends who shop there will have a similar problem. So I guess that makes me sort of a hero. I can live with that.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Finally, this week, the most popular story from the Den, ever, was posted on Friday. I understand why so many people were reading it on the internet. It's a really good story. Read "Things to Do in Albuquerque When You're a Dead Dog," right <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/things-to-do-in-albuquerque-when-youre.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLxGJ58fI/AAAAAAAABlo/FHzDlNjS6Ro/s1600-h/MyTurn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxsLxGJ58fI/AAAAAAAABlo/FHzDlNjS6Ro/s320/MyTurn.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Tomorrow, being Monday, I will hand control of this site over to Levi, so he can present the latest in his "My Turn" series of opinion pieces. I've tried to get some idea of what he'll be writing about this week, but Levi's not talking. I guess we'll have to wait. In the meantime, this <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/levis-views.html">page</a> takes you to all of Levi's previous columns. <br />
</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-61490502851852241612009-12-05T00:01:00.003-07:002009-12-05T13:12:57.240-07:00Saturday News of the Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxm3CX8f8GI/AAAAAAAABkE/YLwtdbWqC2E/s1600-h/parisandchi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxm3CX8f8GI/AAAAAAAABkE/YLwtdbWqC2E/s200/parisandchi.jpeg" /></a><br />
</div><a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-10613-Houston-Dogs-Examiner%7Ey2009m12d4-Katherine-Heigl-saves-25-dogs-from-euthanasia"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Actress Katherine Heigl saves 25 Chiuahuas</span></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">! Here's the deal. Because of Paris Hilton and other such celebretards, Humane Societies in Southern California find themselves swamped in the little dogs whose fashionista moms (and a few gay dads, I'd reckon) considered them an accessory and have now moved on to another trend. Sadly, the poor little dogs have no choice in the matter. Heigl got the 25 little dogs flown cross country to New Hampshire, where they have a good shot at adoption. Celebrities might get too much attention in general, but Katherine Heigl's generous act should garner applause from us all. </span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Chapman University, in Orange, CA, is having University sanctioned "puppy therapy" to help students deal with the stress of finals. OK, I'll come out and say it. Kids today are soft. <i>I</i> got through college without any G.D. puppy therapy. But, still, <i>puppies</i>! Check the story out <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-dog-stress4-2009dec04,0,5679819.story?track=rss">here</a>.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">My policy is to stay away from ugly dog news on this site. This next story, while sort of ugly, is pretty darn interesting! From beautiful Valparaiso, IN: <b>Mom's Dog Kills Son's Pet Hamster; Son Tries to Kill Mom's Dog</b>. R.I.P., Senor Hamster, but at least the doggy is alright. The 25 year old son pulled a gun on the dogs, threatened his mother, stopped her from calling police, and then was found with weed and paraphernalia. He's facing 14 years, which is 946 hamster years. Read this delightful holiday story <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-7520-Chicago-Crime-Examiner%7Ey2009m12d4-Moms-dog-kills-sons-pet-hamster-son-tries-to-kill-moms-dogs">here</a>.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">If you're adopting a dog, consider adopting an <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/old-dogs.html">old dog</a>! They're the best, they need you, and, whether you know it or not, you probably need them. I'll say it again: If you're adopting a dog, consider adopting an old dog! Read this <a href="http://www.nbcwashington.com/news/local-beat/Even-Old-Dogs-Need-Love-78469447.html">article</a>!</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">And, finally, <a href="http://content.usatoday.com/communities/pawprintpost/post/2009/12/vick-wishes-he-could-have-dogs-again/1">Michael Vick wishes he could have a dog</a>! What a shame he can't. I'll bet Roman Polanski would like to have a Jaycee Dugard, but guess what? Sometimes we reach a point where there are no second chances!<br />
</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-43427842230557041432009-12-04T00:01:00.008-07:002009-12-04T18:57:52.528-07:00Things to Do in Albuquerque When You’re a Dead Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxiN64qfP6I/AAAAAAAABj0/cAbVSUdzepU/s1600-h/tombstone-clipart.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxiN64qfP6I/AAAAAAAABj0/cAbVSUdzepU/s200/tombstone-clipart.gif" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The fundamental problem with stories about dogs is that so often they end, tearfully, with the subject dog expiring in an excruciating death scene. That won't be the case with this story. In fact, this story <i>begins</i> with the dog, in this case, <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric</a>, already dead, having passed away peacefully in her sleep at the ripe old age of 15. Adore her as I did, this story isn't about Lyric, <i>per se</i>, but about her earthly remains and their disposition.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxiOCK5oEII/AAAAAAAABj8/Mejyv-7ljNA/s1600-h/GermanShepherdEmmChair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxiOCK5oEII/AAAAAAAABj8/Mejyv-7ljNA/s200/GermanShepherdEmmChair.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Personally, I believe almost all of the rituals and traditions associated with death are insane. Of course, the remembrance of deceased loved ones sustains us, but the physical remains are just that, <i>remains</i>, of someone who once was, but who now exists only in our memory. If anything, it seems to me, ritualistic display, handling and disposal of the corpse of either dog or human is an affront to who they <i>were</i> before they became a corpse. Every dog or cat we had who died <i>after</i> Lyric was disposed of in the county dog hole, and I think that's as it should be.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The county dog hole is just that, a big pit for dead dogs and cats. I suppose it has a real name, but I like to think of it as the dog hole. It's loaded with corpses, then lime is poured, then it's loaded with corpses again. Lather, rinse, repeat, until you need to finally dig a new, or deeper, dog hole. Thinking about it, dogs and cats aren't lonely and scared in the dog hole, and they're with their own kind. If they <i>insist</i> on being dead, I frankly can't think of a better place for them to be than the dog hole. If there were something like a dog hole for people, I'd sign up, right away. Karen felt just as I did, and after her death we donated her remains to the New Mexico Museum of Anthropology. But when Lyric died, we were far less callow, and felt certain things needed to be <i>done</i> to the remains. So we tried to do them.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Before I get to Lyric's bodily remains, let me discuss her hair. Lyric was a long-haired German shepherd, and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a> brushed her thoroughly for the twelve years she was ours. During that time, she saved all of Lyric's hair, in white kitchen garbage bags. When we moved, we'd move the bags of hair with us. By the time <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/12/impassable.html">Lyric</a> died, we had more than thirty.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I will argue that Karen was <i>not</i> clinically insane. She actually had a reason for keeping Lyric's hair. Granted, it was a half-baked and ultimately stupid reason, but it was a reason, nonetheless. From the time she met Lyric, Karen had the fantasy of saving Lyric's hair, and one day having it spun into yarn and made into a sweater. It wasn't until after Lyric's death that Karen bothered to look into the feasibility of this plan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Karen consulted artisans, and learned this. You <i>can</i> make things out of dog hair, but you probably shouldn't. There's a reason we don't make things out of discarded pet hair. Apparently, anything made of the collected hair of Lyric would not only be hideous and overly fragile, but would also <i>stink</i> of wet dog all the time. Ultimately, the thirty-plus garbage bags of hair went to the dump.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Then there was the matter of Lyric's bodily remains. Naturally, we'd meet Lyric's spirit again at the <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/problem-with-rainbow-bridge.html">Rainbow Bridge</a>, but Karen was crystal clear as to what she wanted done with her body. She wanted Lyric cremated, and wanted to sprinkle the remains at a particular location in the Sandia foothills that Lyric had loved. It was a location we always imaginatively referred to as "the place." It was just a bit off a path, with a small stream, and it was pristine, and rugged and magnificent. It's where we wanted to let Lyric's soul fly free.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh1zsKbS3I/AAAAAAAABjM/nkLq2QncQZI/s1600-h/Red-Sugar-Canister.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh1zsKbS3I/AAAAAAAABjM/nkLq2QncQZI/s320/Red-Sugar-Canister.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We hiked to the place, and I carried Lyric's remains in a canister that resembled an extra-large coffee can. My big girl felt so light in that can.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Once at the place, we sent our last earthly love to Lyric, and prepared to sprinkle her dust to the New Mexico winds, where it would be lifted and flown far and wide, so all of the Sandia mountains, indeed, all of the American west, would be imbued with Lyric's sweet essence. I don't remember, but I'm sure some beautiful words were said. Then I opened the canister so Karen and I could toss the fairy dust into which our girl had been transformed into the breeze.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh17OPZqpI/AAAAAAAABjU/hQfHpcgUL6c/s1600-h/Carbon-Black-Powder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh17OPZqpI/AAAAAAAABjU/hQfHpcgUL6c/s320/Carbon-Black-Powder.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">What was in the can was not at all what we expected. It was black, and rocky, and had recognizable chunks of charred dog in it. Somehow, this relatively small can held a <i>massive</i> amount of matter, and though the can had felt light, the "cremains" were dense. There was going to be no letting Lyric float away in the wind. As we each tossed the first handfuls of her into the air, the charred mass dropped straight to the ground, as if it were iron filings and the earth were a giant magnet.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh2DyVnegI/AAAAAAAABjc/YFTawLRXhFI/s1600-h/Foothills-sandia-sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxh2DyVnegI/AAAAAAAABjc/YFTawLRXhFI/s320/Foothills-sandia-sunset.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We were near the small, babbling, creek. We had imagined many of her remains would persist near the creek she had loved and romped through. What we <i>didn't</i> expect is that by the time the third and fourth handfuls of the black matter had been removed from the can, the stuff would begin to, literally, dam the creek. What had been intended as the liberation of a sweet, beloved, soul, had suddenly turned into an illegal biohazardous dumping with serious environmental implications.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We still had half a can of Lyric left. We dumped it into some foliage, and got out of the place, before some park ranger came up and arrested us for despoiling the foothills.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We laughed then, and I laugh now, remembering this. What was in that canister was no more Lyric than the bags of hair were a sweater, or what's in some drawers in a museum in Albuquerque is Karen, or whatever's buried in the cemetery is your grandmother. Whatever happened to the black sludge damming the creek that day, <i>my</i> Lyric will always be beautiful, always happy, and always on the arm of her Mom.</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-83989916698897957782009-12-03T00:01:00.035-07:002009-12-03T14:13:15.744-07:00The Impassable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc0hewPtTI/AAAAAAAABik/zhqcB9-mCAk/s1600-h/facesmile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc0hewPtTI/AAAAAAAABik/zhqcB9-mCAk/s320/facesmile.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">After <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a> got back to Bloomington with her first Seeing Eye dog, Lyric, she liked to work her for miles a day. Karen and Lyric would often walk from our apartment to Illinois State University, in Normal, a couple of miles away and back.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I've written about Karen's <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">initial meeting</a> of Lyric, but didn't have an opportunity to describe the <i>kind</i> of dog she was. A long-haired German shepherd, she had a delicate, absolutely feminine, beauty. She could speak pages with her eyes, and nuance her eyes' pronouncements with a nearly imperceptible adjustment of the angle of her ears. Everyone who knew her was awed by her beauty and grace, and sensed there was something of the ethereal to her. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">After Karen's initial experience with her at The Seeing Eye, Lyric loved her more completely than I've ever known another dog to love a person. For whatever reason, Lyric loved <i>me</i> instantly, but, in general, it took a long time to get to know her. It wasn't that she was in any way unfriendly, she was simply deeply involved with the people she already loved, and, unlike most dogs, you had to <i>earn</i> Lyric's love and trust. Once you did, though, you had a beautiful, smart, athletic shepherd, who would adore you forever and make you feel particularly special for garnering her attention.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Lyric was also manipulative in some ways. Not being a dog with an insatiable appetite, Lyric found that she could mess with us regarding food. She'd refuse to eat kibble for two days, and we'd freak out. Oh, no, she's going to die! So, different foods were brought and rejected, or nibbled and discarded. Lyric loved Milk Bones, though, and managed to extort first two or three, and, before long, eight or nine large Milk Bones a day out of us. Of course she didn't need her kibble, she was living on cookies. When those would be cut back, she'd remain on strike against regular dog food, until we did something special, like pour milk on it.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc00LU1QSI/AAAAAAAABis/kQ5Loe0houI/s1600-h/German_Shepherd_Dog_black_and_red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc00LU1QSI/AAAAAAAABis/kQ5Loe0houI/s320/German_Shepherd_Dog_black_and_red.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Understand, Karen and I were young, and Lyric, along with <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-ugliest-dog.html">Holden</a>, was our first dog. Of all the dogs I've subsequently owned, or known, Lyric, in her prime, was far and away the most manipulative. She was also gorgeous, the first Seeing Eye dog I'd ever known, and had a magical presence about her. All these factors combined to cause us to spend several years, and I'm embarrassed to admit this, just bending over to kiss her ass. Not that she didn't deserve the best, but she was getting specially cooked chicken breasts, while we were living on frozen burritos.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">After a few years, we managed to put an end to the food manipulation. Cookies remained prominent in Lyric's diet, but we got her to eat kibble by remembering the basic maxim, that no dog has ever, in history, voluntarily starved herself to death to make a point. All that seems kind of obvious now, but when you're in your early twenties and on your first dog, it's something you have to learn for yourself, I suppose.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc09UFQD3I/AAAAAAAABi0/BlqelT2q5Xg/s1600-h/Copy+of+lyric+n+karen+u+of+i+grad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc09UFQD3I/AAAAAAAABi0/BlqelT2q5Xg/s320/Copy+of+lyric+n+karen+u+of+i+grad.JPG" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">As I've said before, Lyric had a quality that reminded us of a college girl, a co-ed. She loved campuses and quads, and with her long hair and serious minded ways, with those deep, searching, brown eyes that could still secretly dance with mischievous energy, I always thought of her as, perhaps, a graduate student in Comparative Lit, or maybe Renaissance Art. Certainly <i>not</i> in any discipline which would allow one to make a living if they were to ever leave college.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">But back to the initial months with Lyric. Every day, Karen would work her for hours, and they both loved it. From the time they arrived home in late summer, they'd leave the apartment on their own every day, whether Karen had any place to be or not, and just <i>walk</i>. This was the time long before Lyric's hips started to hurt, and before Karen became engrossed in school, when they could really concentrate on being <i>with</i> each other and developing as a team. As I think back on it, those months might have been the happiest of Karen's life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The daily walks continued, never less than an hour, as fall turned to winter in central Illinois, and I saw my two girls turn into a stellar team, never having a problem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">One day, though, in late November, Karen and Lyric left, and, a minute later, I heard barking down the street. By the time I got downstairs, they were back at the apartment.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"Lyric's freaking out," Karen said. "There's something around the corner, and she's just stopping and barking and <i>refusing</i> to take me past it." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Seeing Eye dogs are taught to refuse to lead their people into danger, even if they are ordered to do so. It's called "intelligent disobedience" and is one of the fundamental principles of guide dog training.<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"Maybe there's a big hole or something," I suggested.<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"She'd be able to work me around that," Karen said.<br />
</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc1Sr5AdQI/AAAAAAAABi8/zFUL-oN5zRw/s1600-h/_45441790_snowman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sxc1Sr5AdQI/AAAAAAAABi8/zFUL-oN5zRw/s320/_45441790_snowman.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Then we got around the corner, and there it was, the impassable. It stood, arrogant in its power over all it beheld. It was a snowman, and it was scaring Lyric <i>horribly</i>. She couldn't dare bring herself to pass it and drag Karen down with her, when the snowman attacked, or whatever Lyric imagined it would do.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Gentle words were used, and avoidance of the snowman was practiced until it was gone. I assume it was somehow the first snowman Lyric had ever seen, but given that we didn't raise her, I can't really know. Maybe it was the first, or maybe, while she was being raised by her foster family, a snowman had broken into the house and eaten the baby. You just never know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><i>To note again, I have virtually no photos of Lyric (or anything else). Except for the graduation picture, the other shots are purely decorative, and are of dogs with some quality or another that reminds me of Lyric. All the dogs shown here are beautiful, but I wish you could have really seen Lyric. Of course every dog is special, but, Lyric, she was really something extra special, and she was already getting old when the graduation picture was taken. She was still beautiful, but in her prime...</i></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><i> </i> </span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-67399983015326104082009-12-02T00:01:00.021-07:002009-12-02T00:01:00.862-07:00Outraged!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXee1awMfI/AAAAAAAABiE/ka5mvxujiI8/s1600-h/retractable+elash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXee1awMfI/AAAAAAAABiE/ka5mvxujiI8/s320/retractable+elash.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>I bought one of those retractable leashes for Levi a couple weeks ago for $35. Within ten days, it no longer retracted, but dribbled sixteen feet out of its plastic housing. Neither Levi nor I misused the leash, it was just badly made. Once Levi went to full extension, the leash never snapped back as it was meant to.<br />
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I went back to the large, national chain, where I purchased the leash, expecting no difficulty. With the economy as it is, and the fierce competition for every consumer dollar, I naively assumed that minimal standards of customer service prevailed. As I'm sure most of you know from your own experiences, they don't.<br />
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I brought the leash to the register and showed the cashier how it was malfunctioning.<br />
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"Where's your receipt?"<br />
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"I don't have it. I bought it almost two weeks ago and I didn't know it was going to break."<br />
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"We won't exchange it without a receipt."<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXepx1Fw2I/AAAAAAAABiM/WBWPimiYPs8/s1600-h/home_new-from-cesar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXepx1Fw2I/AAAAAAAABiM/WBWPimiYPs8/s200/home_new-from-cesar.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>I asked to speak to the manager. The cashier, "Cesar," told me that he was the manager.<br />
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"What's the problem," I asked. "You sell these leashes here."<br />
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"How do I know you only had it two weeks?"<br />
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Understand what's happening. "Cesar," the manager of the Scottsdale location of one of the largest retail pet food and supply outlets in the country, is calling me a liar. He is suggesting that I picked up a broken leash somewhere, a retractable model that he just happened to sell, and then brought it into his store to exchange for a new one. Then what? Did he think I'd sell the new one on the black market and make a cool $5 profit? I'm just saying, as a scheme for ripping off pet stores, the scenario "Cesar" was imagining was pretty low rent indeed.<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXfclKH0fI/AAAAAAAABic/vyb1YmrsfrA/s1600-h/retractable-dog-leash-789979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXfclKH0fI/AAAAAAAABic/vyb1YmrsfrA/s320/retractable-dog-leash-789979.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>It is true I didn't have the receipt with me. Would you keep the receipt for a dog leash? Regardless of your answer, consider this. This store I'm referring to has a frequent shopper program, with a card like you use at a grocery store, which was used to buy this leash. They therefore have internal records of everything I've ever bought there. A credit card was also used, which could have easily been checked if, indeed, "Cesar," had any doubt that I had purchased the leash as I had claimed. I don't think he doubted me, though. I think he wanted the store to hang on to its money, regardless of the quality of the merchandise it sold to innocent consumers.<br />
<br />
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"Cesar," the manager, instead of trying to resolve the issue, dug his heels into the unstated, but necessary, conclusion that I was a liar and a thief. Had he been suited to retail management, he might have looked at the activity on my frequent shopper card. I have, in the past, spent literally <i>thousands</i> of dollars a year at this store. I did tell him this, as I flung the leash down the aisle of the store.<br />
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"Don't you want that?" he asked, unbelievably enough.<br />
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"No! It's a piece of fucking shit!"<br />
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"If you're going to use language like that, I'll have to ask you to leave."<br />
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I left. I'm writing corporate today. There are a lot of people out of work these days, and "Cesar" needs to be one of them. If this company doesn't condemn "Cesar's" actions, and back up their words by firing him, I'll have no choice but to assume this outrageous customer service is company policy. If they try to in any way justify the treatment I received because I swore during the exchange, I will remind them that <i>many</i> of their customers swear, and that even those who don't, normally, would swear if they had to deal with an intransigent asshole like "Cesar." Then, if I have the opportunity, I'll swear at them.<br />
<br />
<br />
I drove across town to this store's only real competitor and purchased a much nicer new leash for only $20. While there, I spoke to the manager, and told her my experience at the other store. She's the one who told me my receipt could have been simply obtained by the other store, via my frequent shopper card, or credit card. I thanked her, and told her that even though it meant driving a mite farther, she had a new customer who was going to spend thousands of dollars a year at <i>her</i> store. She seemed pleased.<br />
<br />
<br />
You may have guessed the name of the store "Cesar" allegedly managed (I don't know if he was <i>really</i> the manager. The store was pretty empty, and he was a greasy, shifty-eyed, kind of dirtbag, so he might have been lying.) I'll give the name of the store <i>after</i> I talk with corporate. If they don't fire "Cesar," issue me an apology, and give me $35 back, I'll assume "Cesar" represents the larger corporate position, and I'll gladly name the company, and store location, and actively talk shit about them for the rest of my life, frequent their largest competitor, and try to influence my friends and acquaintances to avoid them as well. After all, if we customers don't stand up for consumer dignity, who will?<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXe9jRVXxI/AAAAAAAABiU/ODwPXwuZJ2A/s1600-h/logo_petco.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxXe9jRVXxI/AAAAAAAABiU/ODwPXwuZJ2A/s320/logo_petco.gif" /></a><br />
</div>I hope this isn't giving too much away, but the <i>competitor's </i>name is PetCo, and they treat their customers very well.<br />
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<i>Disclosure: PetCo is NOT a sponsor of this piece!</i>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-12259527328571690772009-12-01T00:01:00.024-07:002009-12-01T14:17:56.519-07:00Holden’s Sweater<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxSDr1Ikp-I/AAAAAAAABhU/itmfzdJnSZU/s1600/chilly-dog-red-argyle_medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxSDr1Ikp-I/AAAAAAAABhU/itmfzdJnSZU/s320/chilly-dog-red-argyle_medium.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Do clothes make the man? In many cases, it seems they do. Police uniforms, priests' vestments, prisoners' orange jumpsuits, all instantly define their wearer. It's further been my observation that clothes can make the dog, or, I should say, that clothes can make the dog sick. I'm referring to Holden's sweater.<br />
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-ugliest-dog.html">Holden </a>was my first dog, and I've written about him at some length in the past. He was ostensibly a beagle-mix, a fat, dim-witted, coarse-coated fellow, foul smelling and ill humored. To make him even less appealing, he was something of a sickly puppy.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">In his first year, the harsh Illinois winter made Holden sick, giving him a cough. Since his hair was fairly short, we bought him a red argyle sweater to keep his chest warm. Because he was big-boned (I'm joking; he was <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/my-turn-weighty-matter-by-levi.html">fat</a>), the only sweaters that fit Holden were, in all respects aside from his neck and chest, far too big for him, so they would hang in the back, half-way down his tail. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">That first year, Holden <i>loved</i> his sweater. It did minimize his coughing, and he managed to be a badly behaved, though generally healthy, puppy because of it. In those olden days, dogs would just be "let out." Of course, Holden was especially terrible about coming back when it was time. He preferred to roam the neighborhood, looking for garbage to eat or doing god knows what. Most of our neighbors didn't know <i>my</i> name, or <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/karen-dogwoman.html">Karen</a>'s, but everyone knew Holden, because we were screaming for him so often.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxSEF81i9oI/AAAAAAAABhs/mHVxCN1SM_w/s1600/holdenesque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxSEF81i9oI/AAAAAAAABhs/mHVxCN1SM_w/s200/holdenesque.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Once we left the house to go look for him, because he'd been gone for too long, and we were walking down the street calling for him. We came across some strangers. I asked them if they'd seen a little yellow dog.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"Oh, Holden?" they asked. "No, we haven't seen him tonight." These people might have been strangers to us, but they definitely knew Holden.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">We walked a little farther looking for him, and ran into another stranger. We asked him if he'd seen a little, yellow, dog.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"Was he wearing a cape?" the guy asked.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"No," I said, "It's a sweater. It just hangs long in the back."<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">For that first year, whenever Holden started to cough, we'd put the sweater on him. In his second year, when he was no longer a puppy, we continued to do the same. By this time, though, when Holden was coughing and feeling poorly, he didn't have even his characteristic minimal energy. By the second year, if Holden was sick, and was wearing his sweater, he was feeling essentially incapacitated.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Though Holden was a low-energy dog, who liked to conserve his calories, he was still capable of being a bad boy, especially in new situations. We were renters, and it's always more difficult to rent with dogs, and we had either two (Holden and <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric</a>) or three (add Chelsea). So when we met potential landlords, it was imperative that we present as a well-behaved pack. Lyric, the Seeing Eye dog, was, of course, a perfect charmer, and Chelsea was always a good girl, but Holden was unpredictable and could be decidedly squirrelly. <br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Then we made the discovery that controlled Holden from then on, in situations where he needed to be controlled. I don't remember how we discovered this, but we found out that if Holden was acting up, and being a little wild, if we put the sweater on him he instantly became placid. Since he associated the sweater with not feeling well, a quasi-Pavlovian syndrome had developed. When the sweater was put on him, Holden instantly believed he was sick, and acted accordingly sedate. We were able to present him to landlords and pass him off as an elderly, sedate, harmless fellow, instead of the little tub of trouble he actually was.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I wish I had some pictures of Holden, particularly in his sweater, but you'll just have to use your imagination. He looked a lot like the second dog shown in this article, except a dirty yellow color. Aesthetically unappealing as he might have been, though, Holden will always be remembered, by at least one anonymous guy in Bloomington, as that dog wearing a cape, and that's an epitaph I think Holden would be pleased with.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"> </span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-72617982593194501512009-11-30T00:01:00.004-07:002009-11-30T19:54:50.172-07:00My Turn: A Weighty Matter, by Levi<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMi4RzsqeI/AAAAAAAABgM/Brty4okS118/s1600/MyTurn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMi4RzsqeI/AAAAAAAABgM/Brty4okS118/s200/MyTurn.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I have a bone to pick with the vet. Ordinarily, I enjoy picking bones (I am, lest you forget, a dog), but in this case, the sport of chewing is overshadowed by the seriousness of the issue at hand. According to our vet, <a href="http://www.auschwitz.dk/mengele.htm">Dr. Mengele</a>, I assume, I need to lose weight! Me, Levi!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">To further his agenda of starving dogs and cats, the vet said that Rocky and Erica were "a little overweight" as well. Chi-Chi's always been a fatty, but then it turned out she has diabetes and she's not nearly so fat now. In fact, I'd say she's just about right. Dr. <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/05/opinion/05tue3.html">Kevorkian </a>would disagree. He says dad should be able to feel all of our ribs and spines easily. That's loony! Sure, he should be able to feel we <i>have </i>ribs and spines, but there shouldn't be anything <i>easy </i>about it. This is what I look like now:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMjOJp1nmI/AAAAAAAABgc/s3M6AREB2Ts/s1600/Levi+Erectus.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMjOJp1nmI/AAAAAAAABgc/s3M6AREB2Ts/s200/Levi+Erectus.JPG" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">I've heard it said that you can never be too rich or too thin. Maybe that's true about being too rich, but I can assure you, anyone thinner than me is dangerously thin.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">"Why dangerously," you ask. "Aren't you engaging in hyperbole again, like when you compared the Fed Ex man to Hitler?" To that I say, "No, a hundred million times, No!"<br />
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I am <i>not</i> fat! This is what I would look like if I was fat! I do not look like that!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">When that deranged vet says that I'm overweight, he's just demonstrating his ignorance. What he calls, "overweight," I call, "famine-proof." A smart dog like me knows trouble often lurks right around the corner. With an extra 10% or so bodyweight, I will be able to face that trouble head on, without crippling hunger thwarting my ability to plan and think clearly.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Let's suppose, for an instant, that, heaven forfend, dad and grandma ate some bad clams and keeled over dead. It could happen. Where would <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/chi-chis-enemy.html">Chi-Chi</a>, <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/rockys-way.html">Rocky</a>, <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/erica-kane.html">Erica </a>and I be then?<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Certainly we'd be hungry, but we wouldn't starve to death. If we were what <a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/notorious_murders/family/crippen/1.html">Dr. Crippen</a> says is "ideal" weight, we would be so hungry that we would have no choice but to start eating dad and grandma immediately. Then, when help arrived, <i>we'd</i> look like the bad guys. That won't do. Levi never plays the villain!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMkLFwdwhI/AAAAAAAABg8/9AN1U7GyPFA/s1600/rocky2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxMkLFwdwhI/AAAAAAAABg8/9AN1U7GyPFA/s320/rocky2.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">With our famine-proof physiques, though, if sudden death overtook dad and grandma, we'd have at least a day before we had to start eating them to fend off death by starvation. We'd have a whole day to figure out which parts of them would be best to start with. We wouldn't have to just start eating willy-nilly, like "ideal" dogs would be forced to do. Also, maybe we'd be able to wait it out, until fortune smiled upon us once more.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">In a horrible situation like that, it's possible someone could come save us. Or maybe dad and grandma would stop being dead and feed us, because we would be very hungry. But if dad and grandma <i>stopped</i> being dead, that would mean they hadn't been dead at all, just sleeping, maybe.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">So, if we were maintained at what that crazy bastard vet says were our "ideal" weights, it could be a tragedy waiting to happen! Dad and grandma might be sleeping too long, and in our state of near starvation, the pack and I might think they were dead forever, and start eating them! Not only would we be in trouble, but it would be embarrassing. I do not like to be embarrassed.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">So, in conclusion, dogs and cats should, ideally, be 10% above their "ideal" weights, so that they are famine-proof, and terrible mistakes happen less frequently. If a veterinarian says something different, he is wrong and a bad vet! He doesn't care if your dog eats you! Do you really want a guy like that treating your pets? No, of course you don't.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">If your dog is more than 10% overweight, you still might want to be careful about trying to impose a diet on him. Talk with him, emphasize the health consequences, but whatever you do, let his weight-loss be <i>his </i>idea. When a fat dog is put on a diet he gets very hungry, and while I'm not saying a fat dog is <i>going</i> to eat you and your family if he gets extra hungry, I'm just saying it isn't something you want to find out about.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;"><i>Editor's Note: I don't have a note today. This is just how Levi wrote it, and I think it speaks for itself. For more of Levi's interesting views, click <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/levis-views.html">here</a>.</i> <br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-23572431404405452312009-11-29T00:01:00.006-07:002009-11-29T10:04:45.365-07:00Old Dogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxGHKgMTQwI/AAAAAAAABec/Wx-wyjb1ZrE/s1600/ben+on+couch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SxGHKgMTQwI/AAAAAAAABec/Wx-wyjb1ZrE/s200/ben+on+couch.jpg" /></a><br />
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No kind of dog makes me feel as good as an old dog.<br />
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Puppies are cuter. They'll do things to make you laugh and then make you go, "Aw." Their enthusiasm for everything is their charm.<br />
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</div>Adult dogs are great. They can be your best friend and constant companion. They've learned the art of control and the virtue of patience, but they still remain ready for anything. If you want to get up at two in the morning and go for a walk, an adult dog will always be happy to go with you. For an adult dog, "going with you," is about as good as it gets.<br />
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But as the puppy turns into the adult, so, at some point, does the adult dog become an old dog. In an increasingly frenetic world, the old dog becomes increasingly still. He can't compete for attention with a puppy, but he knows he doesn't have to.<br />
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As a rule, old dogs know who they are, and are comfortable with it. We see an old dog with bad hips struggling to get up and think it's sad. But the dog isn't sad about it at all, and doesn't know what the fuss is about. He's just getting up, and it's not quite as easy as it used to be.<br />
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Puppies are taking everything in, starting to figure out the world. Adult dogs are alert and, hopefully, confident, and every decision they make helps define them. Old dogs are secure in themselves. Let the kids watch and strut and worry. An old dog's done that for years, and has begun to understand the futility of that sort of world orientation.<br />
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</div>An old dog has learned acceptance, of his limitations, and the world's. An old dog doesn't sweat it, not because he doesn't care, but because he's learned that sweating it never helps. Old dogs don't get as embarrassed as they did when they were younger. When a young dog stumbles, for example, he's like a person, pretending that it didn't happen, or that he did it on purpose, or that his ankle isn't sore now. When an old dog stumbles, he slows down more so he won't stumble again, and understands that stumbling is just something that happens every now and then.<br />
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Over Thanksgiving, I pet sat for an old dog, Benson, a 13 year-old golden retriever who was suddenly consigned to home when his grandma decided she didn't want dog hair on her carpet. Benson lives one door down from me with his mom and dad and two young boys, and he adores his routine. Every morning he walks out of the house to bring the paper to dad in bed, just like a dog from a 50's sitcom. He's unfailingly polite and well-mannered.<br />
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</div>And he was <i>unhappy</i> that he'd been left behind. When I came to see him Thursday morning he regarded me coldly and didn't want to be petted or comforted. He wanted to sit there, being mad at the family who left him behind when they left in the car. But then breakfast was served.<br />
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An old dog can be mad at the whole family, but he won't let that stop him from eating. Starving yourself never helped a situation. As Benson ate, he wagged his tail. Just eating his plain dog food, that he eats every day, is enough to make Benson happy, even after the terrible betrayal by his grandma. After he ate I gave him a special treat, a piece of a dog treat very much like chicken jerky. He was happy with this unexpected delight, but not overwhelmed. He took it with dignity, lay down where he'd been standing, and ate it happily.<br />
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</div>Benson likes me, and he's happy to be fed by me, but he still knew he was left behind, and he still felt the injustice. He's always a good boy; he's earned the right to go on family trips. He doesn't let his sadness ruin the good things about life, though, and one of those good things, for Benson, is eating. He might have been ditched, and been sitting around home, alone, bored, all night, but those aren't reasons not to eat joyfully when he has his breakfast, and then to lie back down with the beautiful dignity you can only find in an old dog.<br />
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Most of the dogs I've had grew old with me. <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/meet-lyric.html">Lyric </a>lived with us longer in retirement than she did as a worker, and for whatever reason, remembering her old makes me happier than remembering her in her prime. It's as if all the sweetness of a dog has been concentrated in an old dog, while energy, ego, overwhelming instinctual desires, and other less essential elements of the dog's being have been boiled away. Look into the <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/all-dogs-eyes-are-same-size.html">eyes </a>of an old dog, assuming cataracts don't render them unreadable, and you can see all the dignity, love, and understanding that have made dogs our partners for all these millennia.<br />
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Next time you see an old dog, get down on the ground and pet him, and really commune with him. Soak in the wisdom he's accumulated over his lifetime, and be quietly thankful for the opportunity. The dog will be glad for the contact, and will be happy to share his life's knowledge with you, if only you'll stop for a moment, and listen.<br />
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(This piece inspired a blogger friend of mine to write her own celebration of her older dogs. It's excellent and moving, and you can read it <a href="http://ugottabekidnme.blogspot.com/2009_11_29_archive.html#6842362255562206660">here</a>). <br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.com</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com</span></span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-30125003297870001642009-11-28T00:01:00.044-07:002009-11-28T00:01:00.280-07:00Saturday News of the Dog, now with various internet stuff!Welcome to Saturday's News of the Dog.<br />
There's a small change in the format of the Saturday News starting this week. You know I don't include dog horror stories in the news, like stories of dog fighting, abuse, etc. That being the case, it's sometimes hard to find enough <i>good</i> dog news in a week to fill a web page. So, from now on, instead of strictly news, Saturday will be weekly dog news as well as dog and cat stuff I find around the internet. I guess the main thing to remember about Saturday's posting is, I still don't write any of it myself. Not that it isn't still hard work, of course.<br />
Now, without further ado, this week's News of the Dog:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">50 homeless, puppy-mill, dogs, get a Thanksgiving <a href="http://www.suntimes.com/news/metro/1907128,CST-NWS-dogs27.article">feast</a> in Chicago on their way to new homes in New York. Excellent!</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">What was the deal with dogs at the first Thanksgiving? I was idly wondering, and then I stumble across <a href="http://content.usatoday.com/communities/pawprintpost/post/2009/11/dogs-at-first-thanksgiving-read-on-/1">this</a> news story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">As has become a Saturday tradition, here's another freakishly large dog, this one is <a href="http://www.examiner.com/examiner/x-9371-Chicago-Dog-Rescue-Examiner%7Ey2009m10d7-Is-Boomer-the-largest-living-dog">Boomer</a>, from right here in the USA (well, South Dakota, but that's close enough).</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">This is so great! A squirrel attacks a dog who is going after her babies. Poor dog. Good for you, squirrel! See <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1230489/Squirrel-attacks-dog-Hero-squirrel-saves-baby-eaten-dog.html">here</a>! <br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">What are you getting your dog or cat for <a href="http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jRaKX_GjHY6eBFA1U7yslFB9SZwwD9C5SLH82">Christmas</a>? It'll be here before you know it.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">This might be the saddest dog story I've ever read. At least it's the saddest I've read recently. It's called, "The Rescued Lab and His Tennis Balls." Proceed at your own risk <a href="http://www.waycooldogs.com/the-rescued-lab-and-his-tennis-balls/">here</a>.</span><br />
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</span>And, finally, a dog that does her own laundry! This is pretty impressive.<br />
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<object height="405" width="500"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/13E8oR066JQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/13E8oR066JQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0&color1=0x234900&color2=0x4e9e00&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="500" height="405"></embed></object>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-67950195285035259922009-11-27T04:00:00.014-07:002009-12-05T21:14:54.962-07:00Leftovers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The thing about the day after Thanksgiving is it's traditionally a day of leftovers. So it is here in the Den.</span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The first leftover is an essay about the dogs (identical) cousin, the coyote. We might hate it for the threat it represents to our pets, but if we look a little more carefully, we can do nothing but respect it for its ability to do on its own that which our dogs need our help. Click <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/in-praise-of-coyotes.html">here</a> for some thoughts on this wily canine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sw8wl33wB_I/AAAAAAAABcw/K5RWjMjRVOk/s1600/H5Cerberus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sw8wl33wB_I/AAAAAAAABcw/K5RWjMjRVOk/s320/H5Cerberus.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The next leftover is a piece I liked quite a bit, but others had some issues with. Regardless, it's the day after Thanksgiving so it finds it way into the leftover bin. It's a very short play entitled "Cerberus Meets Caligula." It's about a short meeting between the mythological three-headed dog who guards the gates of Hades, and Caligula, demented Roman Emperor. It's an absolutely pointless play, but I was taken with the idea of writing a part for a talking, three-headed, dog. North American production rights are still available! Click <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/cerberus-meets-caligula-play-in-one.html">here</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sw8wsuFIJFI/AAAAAAAABc4/0h7_YfhRQns/s1600/mexican+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/Sw8wsuFIJFI/AAAAAAAABc4/0h7_YfhRQns/s320/mexican+dog.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">The Dog on el Dia de los Inocentes is a short piece of fiction about a little dog in Mexico during the annual festival for dead children, held every November 1<sup>st</sup>. It was an attempt at something a little different, and it didn't turn out half-bad, if I do say so myself. Enjoy it <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/dog-on-el-dia-de-los-inocentes.html">here</a>.<br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Finally, for desert in this meal of leftovers! All Dogs Eyes are the Same Size, a piece which seems to have inflamed the imagination of readers. Take a look <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/11/all-dogs-eyes-are-same-size.html">here</a> and see what you think.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 12pt;">Come back tomorrow for Saturday News of the Dog in an exciting new format!<br />
</span>Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2864024385023942982.post-58444824998306300562009-11-26T04:00:00.002-07:002009-11-26T04:00:01.235-07:00Thanksgiving Feast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SwwPuNFNI6I/AAAAAAAABcA/_fRodjla7qA/s1600/765e_turkey1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SwwPuNFNI6I/AAAAAAAABcA/_fRodjla7qA/s200/765e_turkey1.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Happy Thanksgiving! I hope that you realize how much you have to be thankful for, especially if you're lucky enough to have dogs or cats. Make sure they get some turkey today. Yes, it will give them bad turkey farts, but that's a small price to pay for their happiness. (And I just said <i>some</i>. I mean a few bites. See this <a href="http://www.margsanimals.com/blogs/index.php/margspets/?blog=1&title=happy-turkey-day&disp=single&more=1&c=1&tb=1&pb=1">article </a>to find out why maybe turkey is not the best idea. Maybe a little ham?)<br />
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Today, a few of the Dogman's favorite pieces, for your holiday enjoyment.<br />
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</div>First, meet Rocky. He's a good boy, he tries real hard, and he has a lot of character! That's a pretty good combination, if you ask me. Read about Rocky <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/rockys-way.html">here</a>.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SwwRonzGwuI/AAAAAAAABcQ/CygeCIs1euo/s1600/skunkbabies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Wc2_JaJSX-s/SwwRonzGwuI/AAAAAAAABcQ/CygeCIs1euo/s200/skunkbabies.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
</div>I don't think Rocky's ever run into a skunk. If he had, though, he surely would have been thrilled! Dogs love skunks' odor. Why is that? A possible answer to this question lies <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/dogs-and-polecats.html">here</a>.<br />
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Finally, for after-dinner Thanksgiving fun, here are the rules for Rocky's favorite game, Look Out, Cat!!! I'm sure all your pets would enjoy a rousing round or two after supper and before dessert!<br />
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</div>Learn how to play, Look Out, Cat!!! <a href="http://scottsdaledogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/look-out-cat.html">here</a>.Rich Sandshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07160127531017931995noreply@blogger.com0