Monday, January 30, 2006

Fun quotes about dogs....

If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.
-Will Rogers

I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult.
-Rita Rudner

If your dog is fat, you aren't getting enough exercise.

My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can. That's almost $21.00 in dog money.
-Joe Weinstein

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them.
-Phil Pastoret

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

The happy dog's bedtime prayer

My dear friend Jeri Cohen shared this prayer with me, and since I sleep with the bed hog Roux every night, it touched my heart....

Now I lay me down to sleep,
The queen-size bed is soft and deep.
I sleep right in the center groove
My human being can hardly move!

I've trapped her legs,
she's tucked in tight,
And here is where I pass the night.
No one disturbs me or dares intrude
Till morning comes and I want food!

I sneak up slowly and it begins
My nibbles on my human's chin.
She wakes up slowly and smiles and shouts,
"You darling beast! Just cut it out!"
But morning's here and it's time to play
I always seem to get my way.

So thank you, Lord, for giving me
This human person that I see
The one who hugs and holds me tight
and shares her bed with me at night!

--Author Unknown

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

And from the humans...

Dear God, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.

Dear God, from the dog

I received this email today - I'd seen it before, but I thought you might enjoy it...

Dear God: Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?

Dear God: When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?

Dear God: Why are there cars named after the jaguar, the cougar, the mustang, the colt, the stingray, and the rabbit, but not ONE named for a dog? How often do you see a cougar riding around? We do love a nice ride! Would it be so hard to rename the "Chrysler Eagle" the "Chrysler Beagle"?

Dear God: If a dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad dog?

Dear God: We dogs can understand human verbal instructions, hand signals, whistles, horns, clickers, beepers, scent ID's, electromagnetic energy fields, and Frisbee flight paths. What do humans understand?

Dear God: More meatballs, less spaghetti, please.

Dear God: Are there mailmen in Heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize?

Dear God: Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember -- to be a good dog.

1. I will not eat the cats' food before they eat it or after they throw it up.

2. I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell.

3. The sofa is not a 'face towel,' neither are Mom and Dad's laps.

4. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.

5. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

6. I will not bite the officer's hand when he reaches in for Mom's driver's license and registration.

7. I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet.

8. I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table.

9. I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house -- not after.

10. I will not throw up in the car.

11. I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.

12. The cat is not a 'squeaky toy' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thing.

And, finally, My last question . . .

Dear God: When I get to Heaven may I have my testicles back?

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Owning Border Collies IS a Contact Sport

It’s been at least 35 years since I was in a schoolyard ruckus. “Back-in-the-day” those ruckuses could have been just aggressive play driven by pre-adolescent surges of testosterone or a bona fide fist-fight over something mundane, like a ball glove or even – gasp! – a girl! Most of my bone-jarring and rights-of-passage dramas came from playing football. As the team center, I was involved on every offensive play, and we switched sides to play defense. So I had lots of rough ‘n tumble moments on the old gridiron. Scrapes, cuts, and bruises were just part of being a boy.

This morning Gumbo brought all those youthful memories back.

At 5:30 AM, I toddle out in my bathrobe, sans slippers, to pick up the paper. As usual, Gumbo and Roux bolt from the door like thoroughbreds at the Kentucky Derby. I always mimic the race track announcer with “And they’re off!”

Gumbo, leading the way, heads to the Ward’s house to harass their dog with a frenzy of barking. A pit stop or two later, he and Roux are in the final stretch headed back to our bedroom for ball throwin’ time. It should be noted that these dashes to and fro are done at full border collie speed.

Just as I’m ready to stoop over and pick up the day’s edition of “pulp truth”, Gumbo slams into me going full-tilt-bonzo. I drop like a sack of potatoes.

I’m in pain and I’m bleeding. Adding insult to injury, I’m lying on the driveway with my bare-ass butt exposed to the world. Luckily it’s near freezing and still dark, and the morning neighborhood walkers haven’t ventured out yet.

I lie there for several minutes. I can’t get up. I do manage to throw my robe back over my butt so if the paramedics come I won’t embarrass the family. I finally manage to get upright and hobble back inside the house.

Roux is standing by the open door, tail wagging and looks of “Where’s the ball? Got the ball? C’mon, where’s the ball?” Gumbo is nowhere to be found.

As I stumble into the kitchen to sit and see where the bleeding is coming from, I see Gumbo is sitting on the far side of the kitchen, ears back and an “I’m sorry, Dad!” look on his face. His tail is working up an apology too, swishing back and forth ever so slightly.

I cuss him out.

The injuries hurt worse than they look. Nothing more than skin abrasions, I’m now sporting a quarter-sized scrape on my left foot near my little toe, along with a scuffed right knee and some skin ripped from a toe on my right foot.

After washing off the now drying blood, I bring Gumbo to me and accept his apology. The border collies and I throw the tennis ball like we do every morning. After showering I manage to find three bandages to put on my injuries so my shoes won’t cause a blister. We’re out of Sponge Bob Square Pants Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet. Now wouldn't that be cool!

If any NFL team needs a middle linebacker, I got one. I can personally attest that a 40 lb. border collie, without slowing down, can drop a 250 lb. man. Gumbo will work for tennis balls and won't cause any public relations nightmares. And any team owner would certainly like that.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Every girl's lookin' for a sharp-groomed dog

WOW! Talk about the change a little beauty treatment can make!

Gumbo and Roux (the formerly mentioned poo dog) spent an afternoon at the Petco Spa and Grooming Center.

They both came home looking great and absolutely knowing it.

Their coats are different - Gumbo's is soft, very thick (double-coated) and mostly white. Petting him is like petting a rabbit -- except he's much more gentle than the rabbit my daughter had as a child.

Roux is what is known as "rough coated." Her hair is coarser, curlier and sleeker. If she were a human, she would have wavy, thick, luscious hair -- she would be an Italian lover with locks we would love to run our fingers through and eyes we can get lost in forever.

We usually get them groomed once a month to six weeks. They usually mess up the "new look" within a day with their snarly facing -- both of them some to see us with wet chins and necks quite regularly.

We evidently skipped the holidays, because I'd forgotten how great they looked with a fresh grooming.

In honor of their spa appointments, I had a nice haircut today and shopped the mega Talbot's sale in one size smaller! We're all a bunch of stylin' babes at the Wilkerson household!

Roux's Eau de Poo

The border collies were quite frisky this morning, probably because Lindsey and I didn't spend much time at home yesterday. We played ball and Lindsey set out to replace the kitchen cooktop, his home improvement chore for the day.

Both dogs spent some time in the back yard, and then Roux wanted to go out again. She was outside for longer than usual before she came to the door.

I was watering plants throughout the house, and Roux came wiggling up to me. I spoke, and she jumped up, planting her front paws squarely on my shoulders.

I got a faceful of her "surprise," a fragrant brown streak all the way down her white bib.

"AWWWWW," I screamed. "She's been rolling in poop."

Lindsey, never ruffled by such matters, called her over and washed her off as best he could. I can't get the smell out of my nose, so I'm about to light every candle in the house.

Talk about a dog who knows how to command attention. Eau de poo will do it every time!

The grooming salon at Petco doesn't open for another hour. Hope they can fit her in today.....

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Gumbo and Roux, outstanding in their field

Ever since Gumbo, Roux and our granddog Lucy discovered the wonderful dog park operated by East Baton Rouge Parish's recreation department, we've been itchin' to start one here. (See our other post below about the Baton Rouge dog park!)

Doesn't matter that half the folks in our world don't even believe in leash laws. We want to participate in developing a safe, fun, place for our animals to run and play with each other. Our "city digs" have a fenced back yard, but border collies need room to romp, so we regularly travel to a nearby park for some good ball chasin'.

I've located an under-used public park, and contacted the mayor about the possibility. He seemed amenable to the idea, so we'll see. I'll keep you posted as this develops.

We took Gumbo and Roux out to test our theory -- is there enough land for a good dog park? They ran and ran and ran -- chasing the ball so much that Roux finally said: "I've had enough."

She took the ball, went to the Jeep and sat down by the door.

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