What I'm Doing During Hurricane Sandy

Playing tennis ball, what else?

Dexter done!

Daycare Woes and Frankenstorm

Sometimes I wonder why momma does not seem to understand the fundamental rules of daycare:

The First Rule of Daycare is: you do not talk about Daycare.

The second rule of Daycare is you DO NOT talk about Daycare.

Meaning that a month ago when I had an eye owie, I was determined not to tell how I got it. Not even when vet lady put green gunk in my eyeball and let it run out my snooter.

I tried to show enthusiastic agreement when vet lady declared that it was most likely allergies. 

But you know my momma. I admit that she caught me pestering my eye a few times too many so she took me back to see a different vet lady and she immediately pointed out that the mark above my eye, combined with some marks on my snooter and a bit of swelling in the old eye socket could only mean that I had a tussle with somebody of the canine persuasion.

I want everybody to know that I am not a rat (I say that without really understanding what it means because I would think it would be obvious that I'm no rodent). 

But momma called Daycare and said "Oh Dexter was BIT by a doggie at daycare and the pattern of tooth marks indicates it was a small dog. Are there any little dogs beating up on Dexter?"

I am chagrined. How can I hold my head up at daycare now? Will all the doggies be laughing at me for being a tattletale? And will the gang of midget dogs plot their revenge on yours truly while I am enjoying a brief sun bake? 

Oh well, hopefully by the time I return they will be on to some other drama. My return, by the way, has been delayed by the impending arrival of Frankenstorm. Yes, Momma already told the daycare that I certainly would NOT be going in on Tuesday. 

We're all ready for Frankenstorm here at the estate.

Yesterday, my human brother spent the day hooking up Big Red the generator (I know that the generator is orange - I'm not color blind - or am I? hard to tell - but Big Orange just doesn't sound as cool).

He even put this transfer switch in so that momma can safely turn power on and off to Big Red as the need arises.

All that remains is for Master to put in the exhaust chimney so that Carbon Monoxide lady doesn't keep shrieking "EVACUATE! EVACUATE!" That really hurt my ears.

Now then, I want to tell you and your humans to stay safe during the big storm. There is NOTHING more important that your personal well being. No heroic trips to work or last minute runs to the grocery store. Just hunker down and ride it out.

Dexter done!

My New Bed

Momma has been keen for me to take over supervisor duties in the dog cave. 

However, the only place to rest my labraself was heretofore something which might have formerly been a soft bed but which had become flat as a pancake (although the best pancakes are actually quite light, fluffy and not flat at all) due to the weight of the Relentlessly Huge.

I informed momma that given the proper motivation (meaning a new bed) I might be persuaded to keep her company while she puttered away on the computer.

To my surprise, just a few short days later, a box arrived. A box alleged to contain a bed just for yours truly.

That doesn't look like much of a bed...

My momma is pretty clever you know and I'll be damned if she didn't take the bits and pieces from that box and somehow wiggle and push and grunt and puzzle and..... what do you know?

Hey! Momma! How did you do that?

I wasted no time at all settling in. It is an extra special super duper therapeutic bed. Ah sweet relaxation.

I wonder if I could be a bed model?

Much as I love my momma, she is quite ill informed when it comes to comfortable sleeping positions. Because no sooner did she see me curled up in a happy little labraball then she exclaimed "Oh Dexter! That bed is too small for you!" And she was on the phone chatting away with those nice LLBean people about how best to effect an exchange for a larger version.

I hope she isn't ordering a new bed. This one is perfect.

"Blah, blah, blah too small, blah, blah, blabbity, paypal, blah, UPS, blah, blah..... "


The soporific effect of momma's conversation was too much and I soon found myself dreaming about cheese food and even possibly snoring a bit.

Bed... is... so... comfy.... zzzzzzzz

Happily, the sight of my labraself in blissful slumber seemed to have persuaded momma that her purchase had been correct after all.

My very first bed. All for me! Life is good.

Dexter done!

When Not to Wonder

While I encourage my friends and readers to endeavor to approach life with an attitude of wonder, I admit there are times when wondering too much is futile. 

Some things are best placed in the category of "that which cannot be known."

For example, the fact that momma has a photo folder entitled "Dexter's Bottom."

Likewise, experience has shown that in most cases, the joyful exclamation of "Oh Dexter! What a great photo op!" should be a signal to empty one's head of any attempt at deep, analytical thought.

Observe in this picture how I have effectively purged my brain of all rational queries and assumed the demeanor of mindlessly obedient dog. 

Wait for the phrase "OK! Good dog!" as your all clear to once again enter the world of the sentient.

Dexter done!

Being an Only Dog

Why is it that the state of being the sole canine in a household is referred to as "only dog?" As if to say that there being "just one dog" is a forlorn condition fraught with sorrow and sulking about the house? 

I admit that the night Momma absconded with the Relentlessly Huge only to return with his collar and a curiously painful expression on her face I was a bit put off.

Where's Mango? 

In the weeks since, I have had the odd moment of yearning myself for the days when Mango stumbled around the house and provided yours truly with entertainment and companionship.

But life goes on, does it not? And I will be honest that I am enamored with the benefits of being top dog. 

For starters, I am getting many more walkies during which we range further afield. Sure, there is the odd photo opportunity with which I need to indulge the DOH (as in the picture below entitled "black lab sitting in construction related donut").

Can we please move along now?

But that's a small price to pay for the adventure of new things to snuffle and the rush of trotting along at a brisk pace for miles on end.

Almost daily, I can now play with my stuffies for as long as I want and while I am content to buck and tussle with them on my own, I do also love the extra umph provided by encouraging my humans to give one the occasional toss.

Wild boar alert! 

I am, however, confounded by the fact that my morning supply of cheese food has been cut off and persist in casting mournful glances at the cold box.

Cheese, please.

Being the guardian of the estate is not all fun and games. Yours truly has rather reluctantly taken up the task of waiting on the deck for momma to come home. Why, I wonder, does this require being outdoors when the sight of my happy face in the warmth and comfort of the interior would certainly be equally joyful for her after a hard day of sitting in her cubicle and muttering HBO words (sometimes I fear, not as quietly as she ought).

Hurry up, lady, who knows what might be lurking in the dark?

But on the whole, life is good for yours truly. I am sleeping much better now and so is momma. I go to daycare twice each and every week to visit with my pals. I get to have snuggle and wrestling sessions to my heart's content and I am back to the selfless activity of doing odd behaviors in return for cookies.

Now, given that save for the year after Raja crossed over the bridge, momma and master have been a multi-dog family for over two decades, it seemed only natural to inquire as to their intentions along those lines.

"Oh Dexter," replied momma, "I am really enjoying getting to know you right now. If the time comes that another dog makes sense, we will all know it, but for now, I like our family of three."

Smart lady, my momma.

Dexter done!

P.S. We have been quite remiss in visiting blogs of late. While I realize that momma was never very consistent it seems that recently looking at posts from some of our dearest friends causes her to become quite weepy and mournful for her ridiculously large companion. So, I am being patient and I hope you will be as well.

On the Topic of Couches

Sometimes I wonder why humans often refer to "sleeping on the couch" as a punishment vile. 

I have oft heard "I'll sleep on the couch" uttered as if it were a supreme sacrifice. "If you don't stop snoring you'll have to sleep on the couch" is intended as a threat, the idea of which will alarm the listener into stifling their sonorous expressions of a deep and restorative slumber.

Yours truly has a couch. I consider it the optimal location to rest my weary labraself at the end of a long day of walkies, tennis ball, and the odd behaviors that momma compels me to perform in order to earn my daily cookies. 

Allow me to demonstrate the endless variety of comfort afforded by my couch.

I can sleep on this end.

Or I can sleep on this end.
It appears Mango's portrait has fallen off its hook. Must have been a poultry guest.

I can allow my toes to dangle in the breeze.

Or tangle them up in an artful pose.

My favorite position of all.

Here shown with a close up to demonstrate that I do actually sport a very acceptable and full set of chompers.

No, Beastie, I did NOT forget to remove my dentures.

Friends and loyal readers. I ask you. Do you have a couch of your own? A favorite chair? Where do you lay to rest and escape into dreams full of chasing squirrels, swimming, or other assorted pass times?


Dexter done!

P.S. Whenever I post pictures of my couch, momma frequently receives queries as to the origin of my tasteful couch cover. It comes from Orvis, although it appears that the particular model that I have is no longer available. Fear not. They have this substitute model which Master has on his chair to great effect (he tends to shed construction debris).

Model Canines

Sometimes I wonder why members of the canine community are showing up with increased frequency in those innumerable clothing magazines that arrive in our postal box.

One can only assume that they are intended to increase the desirability of whatever garment is on display. Are humans so gullible that they are seduced into thinking that the right sartorial selection will attract canine devotion?

This golden gal is focused on what is unquestionably a fist full of nommies and not the "elaborate raw edge twill applique" which is, in any case, not even visible to her big brown eyes.

Two guesses as to what the dog in this picture is thinking.

Is it 

(a) Wow! You look fabulous in that ultrasoft and comfortable hoodie!

or

(b) Tennis ball, tennis ball, TENNIS BALL!

I also wondered, "why dogs?" 

After all, humans love all sorts of furry creatures.

Why not cats?

On second thought, perhaps the answer to that question is apparent.

But all of this did set me to wondering if perhaps yours truly could have a career as a model canine. 

I asked momma if she would help me put together a portfolio that I might peddle during my off hours.  She was happy to assist. Very supportive, my momma.

Show this photo to your humans and let me know what they say.... 

I can hear them now "I am going right out to find an ensemble EXACTLY like that so that I, too, can have a labradorable admirer."


Dexter done!

Are Black Dogs More Fun?

Sometimes I wonder why it is that black dogs are just more fun.

For example, last weekend, I went to visit my nephew, Oliver, a blond, jolly chap certainly keen for ball chasing and bitey face. Yet, somehow, I just wasn't feeling that joie de vivre.

I'm ready to go inside now, please.

Then today, my pal, Jimmy came over. Note that Jimmy is decidedly black (albeit somewhat recalcitrant about getting his photo taken).

Just look at the camera, then we'll both get some nommies.

But photo ops are really for the humans because the whole point of having friends over is to run around the yard as fast as you can for as long as you can. I think you know what I mean.

I'm unclear as to what sort of dog Jimmy actually is, but from the way he moved, I have to assume some border collie and maybe a touch of greyhound. Yours truly felt positively slothful compared to him.

It wasn't long before the next door neighbor dog, Winnie, decided that she wanted to join in the fun. Obviously she sussed out that this was a black dog affair.

Welcome to my side of the fence.

Little did I know that Winnie and Jimmy (the coupling of their names is a tad cloying) would launch into some body bashing dance of love. Foolishness such as that is not the way of the labradog, thank you very much.

I'll sit this dance out.

I retreated to the comfort of my pool. Besides, I needed a break and what could be more refreshing than splashing about in the cool waters of our local pond?

I never knew Winnie was such a party animal! She partied 'till she puked! 

And Jimmy pooped more times than I could count!

I admit to feeling a bit miffed at the evil witch who had insisted I empty my tanks before the party started. I'll know better next time.

I'm trying to ignore the boots on Jimmy's mom. Humans... no fashion sense.

In conclusion, I can now say with certainty that black dogs are more fun.

Let's hear it for black dog power!

Dexter done!