Sleeps with Dogs

Yep, that’s me. On any given night I have a six-dog night – five cocker spaniels and a basset hound that insists on stretching her body across the entire width of the bed. For the most part she is my footrest. I have resisted the sad eyes of TBTB visiting dogs accustomed to sleeping with their owners because there is absolutely no more room for a lab or sheepdog on a queen-size bed. Occasionally one sneaks up in the middle of the night if they get past Luce, who guards the bed passionately against after dark invaders. I have however relented and allowed the smaller Yorkies, Poodles and a few Terriers into the sleeping area since they are not big enough to sleep with the big dogs – or so they tell me.

Needless to say it is extremely crowded with dogs on either side of me, covering my feet, on the pillow above my head, and anywhere else they can find space. BunBun and Luce like being on top the covers, making it difficult to move around when one is under them. A good night’s sleep is something of the past but I can’t bear to tell them no, herein lies the problem. I’ve thought of sleeping on the couch but as Zachary my grandson reminds me. “But MeMa, they will just follow you,” and of course he is right. When I go on vacation and have an entire bed to myself it feels a bit odd but I must admit I sleep like a baby on my own.

Zippy DoDog the Basset has always marched to her own drum no matter what the other pack members are doing. When they go outside for their final pee of the night, she refuses – only to want out at bedtime and then she’s off for a run while the rest of us are waiting to go to sleep. Often times I am almost asleep, actually in the REM state when I hear the familiar ARF at the backdoor. I unwind myself from the others, get out of bed and let her in the back door and up on the bed, causing everyone else to adjust their positions to make room. Chaos, this routine is exasperating but I allow her to do it again and again. The definition of insanity is “to do the same thing over and over and expect different results.” Well so be it, I must be insane.

Currently we do not have a roommate at TBTB Dog Camp. This allows me the luxury of sleeping in one bed or the other, depending on my mood. The upstairs loft bed is next to the large A-frame window where I can look up at the stars or have an Alpine view with an occasional moose, that I hope the dogs don’t see. Otherwise it’s an utter bark fest while they woof their hellos across the tundra. It’s lovely up here particularly when it’s snowing outside.

The other choice is the downstairs bedroom that has the feel of a rustic, cozy cabin with log walls, perfect for nestling in the pillows with a good book and glass of vino. Both beds have flannel sheets and down comforters with lots of pillows for lounging. Last night the rustic cabin bedroom was calling me. I got the treats out and all 11 of us claimed our spot when I realized Zippy was missing. She had gone upstairs earlier assuming we would sleep in the loft since we did last night. I called her offering a treat for her to come but she ignored me, as usual. I decided to leave her up there, knowing when she realized we were downstairs I would hear the familiar ARF at the bedroom door and once again get up to let her in while everyone rearranged themselves to make room on the bed. Sigh. . . Oh well, so be it. DoDog is like a sack of potatoes if you try to move her when she’s sleeping.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up the next morning and my legs were still stretched out fully in the bed with room to spare, and no Zippy. OMG, is she okay I wondered? Okay is not the word. I went upstairs to find a basset hound stretched across the width of the bed, snoring under the covers. Apparently she thought having a bed of her own was such a good thing that she slept through the entire night alone. Wow! This could be the beginning of a good thing if she decides to sleep alone from now on. I will have so much more room in my bed. Fat Chance. Last night she insisted on getting in the downstairs bed with the rest of us, on her time of course. Apparently she totally forgot about having a bed of her own.

And so it was, another six-dog night. Sometimes I wonder why I allow them to rule my bed. The only thing I can say, “it’s for the love of the dog,” absolutely no other reason. I’m a pushover, at least where canines are concerned. And, I really do love my life with them. Otherwise, why would I bother? I will continue to do the same thing over and over but without any expectation of a different result.

Perhaps that means I’m not insane after all?

Woof! Woof!

Tales of a Dogsitter – Jump & Grab, AGAIN!

Baking, baking, baking. Healthy treats for my canine friends such as Energy Barks with Granola and Molasses, Puppy Dog Eyes with Carob and Peanut Butter, and Liver Bites with – Liver! It has been quite a process, especially the Liver Bites. Once they are baked on a cookie sheet they must be cut while hot and then dried in the oven for another few hours on low temperature – to make them crunchy.

Everyone is exhausted from watching me – complaining that begging is hard work. I have shared with them no matter what they say. Now it’s late, I’m hungry and it is time to take Zippy out for her final pee of the night. Being on permanent restriction requires a leash. We are quick about it but apparently, not quick enough. When I return I see Anne in her crate with just her butt sticking out, and RockDog right on her tail growling and trying to shove his way into her space. “Anne, did you get my food?” I said aloud as I search and see my sandwich still on the counter. Good thing, I haven’t eaten all day.

I can tell something is up by the way these two chowhounds are acting. I reach in the crate and grab Anne’s collar to back her out, as she growls and struggles to stay inside. I also pull RockDog back because he is very anxious to get into the crate if he can only push her out of the way. Finally I shove them both aside to investigate and that is when I see it, the remains of one of the cute little paw print bags used to package the treats. The torn bag has gaping holes all over and only a few crumbs left inside. Obviously we are back to the jump and grab routine. Just when I think Anne is trained to not do it, she strikes again. In two minutes flat she leaped up to the counter, snatched a bag on her way down, took it to her crate (but not without RockDog noticing) and consumed part of the bag and most of the liver bites before I knew it. Of course she went for the Liver, the most expensive treat. She is definitely no dummy.

Anne is now a snoring dog, right beside RockDog who essentially ratted her out with his over-the-top behavior about food. Had he not been so persistent to get in the crate with her, I doubt I would have noticed one small bag of missing Liver Bites. As it were, she got busted. But the smirk on her sated face told me it was well worth it. And I have no doubt she will do it again in a heartbeat, first chance she gets. Anne is an opportunist at heart.


Woof! Woof!

Tales of a Dogsitter - Monday, Monday

On my way downstairs I pass the leather couch covered with sleeping dogs and realize it’s true what my friends say. If you are sitting on my couch, you are taking up a dog spot. I can't remember the last time, if ever, that I actually sat on the couch. If I did the dogs would be all over me because the fact is, like most everything else here, the couch belongs to them. Nothing is sacred in my house of dogs.

When I want some down time I get in my bed and work on the computer and/or read to get away from the hordes of them, but of course even there I have six dogs vying for position on the bed and it's a cluster until everyone finds their spot, circles twice and settles in. And then a lone dog that I won’t name has to be sandwiched in next to me, pushing against the computer eventually disconnecting the power cord. I shove him back a few inches so I can plug my Mac back in and then move my legs over a bit to accommodate his comfort. Finally all is good until I have to get up for something, which means of course everyone else gets up too. When I return to the bed the whole settling-in process is repeated. Once all that is done alas, I can maybe get some work done or at least feel like I can focus on something other than furry creatures that follow me everywhere including the bathroom insisting on being petted while I take a pee. It's exhausting, but also special. I'm not complaining just merely stating how it is at TBTB.

Today is Monday and the sun is out, the front door is open and the dogs are in and out racing on the deck. I am preoccupied with fixing their gourmet breakfast of oatmeal, bananas, and eggs covered with Greek yogurt, and when I turn around OMG. . . a blood bath. A trail of the red, sticky stuff is covering the floor from the deck through the dining area into the kitchen. All eleven dogs are licking, smelling and walking in it; there are blood prints everywhere - a likely scene from a horror film!

One of the sheepdogs has a bloody beard and front legs. I search his head, feet, and mouth along with all the other dogs and can't find where the blood is coming from. I wash the floors in the house, hose off the deck along with the dogs and call it good. The flow of blood has apparently stopped. The dogs just want to wrestle more, so obviously no one is seriously injured. All of this before I'd had my first cup of coffee/tea, or anything else for that matter.

A few minutes later after the final paw prints have been wiped from the floor, I look outside to see the sheepdog's beard again covered in dark red blood dripping off his chin. I grab my gloves, warm water, peroxide, and cotton balls, determined to find the source. After searching through the sticky wet fur on his face and head, I finally find a teeny scratch on the brim of his nose. It is so small that it is barely noticeable, but when I push on it the blood oozes out. So that's it! A micro-cut in an area without much skin, that bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. The vessels are so close to the surface that the blood flows freely from this tiny opening producing enough hemoglobin to simulate a massacre. With the mystery solved, the dog cleaned up and the alum stick applied to BearBoy’s scratch, at last it is time for a doggie breakfast and my first cup of coffee of the week! Bloody Hell, what a morning! ☺

Monday, Monday (ba-da ba-da-da-da)
So good to me (ba-da ba-da-da-da)
Monday mornin’, it was all I hoped it would be
(NOT)
Oh Monday morning, Monday morning couldn’t guarantee (ba-da ba-da-da-da)
That Monday evening you would still be here with me
Monday, Monday can’t trust that day
Monday, Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way . . .

Or, something like that. . . just another Monday in the life of a dogsitter!

Woof! Woof!

Tails of a Dogsitter - A Dog Named Finnbar

I lay down next to him on the cold floor at the vet clinic – my face nuzzled into the fur of his massive head, inhaling the smell of the sea where we had just been. He consumed a full jar of his favorite Yummy Chummy treats before the sedative took effect, and then all ninety-four pounds of him slowly slid down into the warmth of the soft sheepskin rug. I stroke the wiry fur on his face and whisper what a good dog he is and how genetics are not his fault. The lethal liquid is slowly seeping into his back leg but I see only his face. I am strong for him, although I feel soft and vulnerable inside. I tell him I’m sorry and I love him as I kiss the top of his beautiful head. He licks his lips twice and just like that, his heart stops. I imagine his spirit rising out of his body and floating upward toward the sky to join the celebration waiting for him at the Rainbow Bridge where friends like OgDog, Maggie, Duke, Chula, Roxanna Danna and Bridger are waiting. The tears flow freely down my face. All my strength is completely drained out of my being and the release is inevitable.

Minutes earlier we had been at Bishop’s Beach with two raw sirloin steaks cut into small pieces. The tide was out and except for the occasional dog and owner passing by, we were alone on our walk. He enjoyed seeing the other dogs on the beach and eagerly ran to greet them. The playful ones could easily entice him into a game of chase – although it was a short one, as today he preferred my company and the steak. I told him everything, the decision that had been made, why it was made, what to expect and how I would be with him until the end. He trusted me.

He passed through my world for a reason that only time will reveal. Over the past week he has instilled strength in me that I didn’t know I had. His presence caused me to question my belief that all dogs could be saved. Apparently some cannot and he was one of those. I wonder if I did everything I could, if I tried hard enough? My mind continues to ponder these questions while my imagination creates a different ending to the story. . .you see, abstractly because of what happened with me, he was laid to rest. . . forever.

I can’t help but wonder why the universe arranged for me to be in this particular situation at this time in my life. Me, of all people, I don’t even believe in capital punishment. I can’t seem to wrap my head around interfering with nature and that is how I see taking a life, whether it is man or beast. Nevertheless, I remind myself this was not my decision to make. He needed a friend and I was it. There was no other choice except to go with him in the end. . . My favorite mantra played over and over in my head, “everything is as it should be at this moment.”

Finnbar came to TBTB last fall for his first visit, integrating well into the pack and forming friendships with various dogs. He particularly liked to lay in front of the fire with Zippy, the Basset Hound. The owners told me he was territorial about his food, a behavior not that unusual for some dogs. I simply fed him outside on the deck away from all the others, and there was no problem.

It was a real surprise to me when the owners were offered jobs in Old Harbor and could not take him with them because he had growled at a small child in the village. That too didn’t seem so unusual as kids can be frightening to dogs that have never been around them. They were devastated but rather than take him to the shelter, they asked for help in finding him a new home. I was happy to write an ad for craigslist that did produce a single, retired guy in Cordova that wanted to adopt him as a hiking buddy. Perfect, Finnbar loved to hike. Logistics were such that Derrick was unable to get the ferry to Homer for another two-weeks after the owners were to leave, so I agreed to keep Finnbar at TBTB until the time he could be picked up by his new owner.

Finnbar enjoyed the activities in dog camp, particularly our walks on Bishop’s Beach and resting by the fire in the evening. He played with any dog that was willing to run with him. After a few days I brought some new stuffed animals home for the pack. Ironically it was a stuffed bunny that was the center of an incident with Bunny, my rescued cocker. They were playing and all of a sudden Finnbar grabbed Bunny by the ear and she yelped. I grabbed him and he immediately let go. Her ear was punctured in three places and blood was gushing onto the floor. I scolded him and tended to her injury not thinking much about it, rationalizing that they merely had a snit over a new toy and he hadn’t meant to hurt her. After all Bunny does has a reputation of being the bossy girl in camp. Fast forward two-nights later. . .

The dogs shadow me in the house, following me from room to room. Dinner was over and I was washing dishes with all six dogs in the kitchen around my legs – certainly nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly Finnbar grabbed Annie, my other rescued cocker, by the neck and began shaking her like a rag doll. He was no match for her, outweighing her by at least 70 lbs. I yelled at him to stop, but he would not. I then grabbed him around the neck and we wrestled to the ground but he still hung on to Annie. I remember thinking he was going to kill her before I could get him off. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity he released his grip on her and she ran upstairs, while I put him outside on the deck. Annie had a gaping hole on the left side of her neck, blood was flowing everywhere and I could not get near her, she was so traumatized. She underwent emergency surgery to repair the ripped flesh and torn muscles in her neck and jaw area resulting in multiple stitches and the insertion of a drainage tube. Her major blood vessel had barely been missed, and the vet said it looked like the attacker was definitely going for the kill.

After learning that Annie was probably going to survive I was then able to reflect on what had happened. I pride myself in never having a dogfight at TBTB Dog Camp. I’m very aware of dog body language and can easily head off a potential snit before it becomes a problem. This was different. There had been no growling and absolutely no warning. It was a quiet pounce and an immediate death grip. The scary part was that he would not listen. Unlike the earlier situation with Bunny, this was a frenzy. Noisy dogfights are usually not serious, and in contrast the silent ones can be deadly. The only noise during this attack was Annie’s desperate screaming.

Finnbar was placed in a crate because now I could not trust him. I immediately called the owners and also the potential adopter. Over the next several days, the owners made a decision based on the unpredictability and severity of the attack, and the fact that he had recently growled at a child. They determined Finnbar must be put down so he could never harm anything else. Over the next week they made the arrangements by telephone. I was asked to drop him off at the local animal shelter and they in turn would take care of having him euthanized. In the meantime I was desperately trying to come up with different options, all of which turned into dead ends – no pun intended.

What happened that fateful night in the kitchen? Was it coincidental that Finnbar attacked the two rescued cockers and not my other dogs? Did he sense a weakness in them and self-confidence in the others? Or, did he recognize that they too had been shelter dogs like he had once been? Both altercations occurred at my feet - was he becoming territorial over me? Did he miss his family and act out in frustration for being left behind? Were these isolated incidents that would never happen again? Or, were they merely a precursor of attacks to come? These questions played over and over in my head.

In the end, the reason for the aggression didn’t matter. The fact was the attack was vicious and unpredictable and was very close to being fatal. I spoke to several dog behavior specialists and everyone agreed that grabbing and shaking is a very serious offense and usually means a death sentence for the offending dog. He was not adoptable – the risky behavior could not be passed on to someone else. All the experts agreed with the owner, Finnbar should be put down. Time was running out. I did some major soul searching and decided there was no way I could drop him at the shelter to go through this alone. I knew I had to go with him and try to explain the why of it to both of us.

I understand the ultimate decision. What would I have done had he been my dog? In my soul I knew it was right, but my heart was still broken. I had bonded with this dog, and loved him as I do all dogs. I had forgiven him. I wanted to find him the perfect home – one where he could once again be the only dog and have people who adored him as much as his previous owners. I wanted to believe it would never happen again, that he could be saved. I wanted so much to believe. . .

This was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done as a dogsitter. It was my decision to stay with him, but for me there was no other choice. I couldn’t walk out on him when he needed a friend. Writing has been a form of therapy for my soul. It has forced me to articulate and separate the facts from the emotions, and in the process find acceptance. His memory remains etched in my psyche.

Tales of a Dogsitter - Little Annie, the Boozer

I look at the wall clock and see that it’s 5:30 PM on this snowy evening in Homer Alaska - time to chill out after a busy dog day. There is a glowing fire burning in the woodstove and it’s time to relax and make myself an adult beverage. I am back on the Yin Yang diet so no beer and wine are allowed. Therefore it will have to be the hard stuff, like Rum. The doggies had their dinner and are sleeping by the fire as I mix myself a Bacardi coke with lime, and settle in my favorite chair with a novel. After a while I get up to visit the bathroom and return to the living area and hear: lap, lap, lap! OMG! There she is. . . my precious Annie, with her nose deep in my glass slurping up the Cuba Libre that I have left by the chair.

No, no – you cannot have that silly girl, as I grab the glass from off the floor. She proceeds to lick her lips and sneeze, not one but three times. Serves you right girly, for getting into the booze. She comes over to me and continues to lick the condensation off the floor where the drink had been sitting. Well Ms. Annie, we knew you might be a boozer after the wine episode. You obviously love the dark rum and coke almost as much as the merlot. And, any little nip out of my glass seems to create a perpetual smirk on your face - what is that about? I know you think life is pretty darn good at Tails-by-the-Bay Dog Camp where occasionally there is an abandoned drink on the floor or the night stand just waiting for you to stick your tongue in.

Lap, lap, slurp, slurp, hiccup, sneeze, and , ooops. . . No! Was that a? Surely not, but oh yes!. . . a FART? Not necessarily in that order! Who knew this adorable California wiggle butt could be such a lush? Ms. Annie girl, you are a hoot!

Woof! Woof! ☺

Tales of a Dogsitter - A Lesson in Tolerance

It is Sunday night at TBTB Dog Camp and the snow is blowing outside, but inside we have a raging fire in the woodstove with a full moon out the window. Doggies have had dinner, a potty walk and are now sleeping all through the house. I’ve also had dinner and nodded off while reading in my favorite leather chair with a few furry friends. It seems like hours have passed when I’m jolted back to semi-consciousness by sounds from the roof vibrating, or is it the walls? Are we having an earthquake? These are my REM thoughts as I pull myself out of a dead sleep to see what all the noise is about.

I realize. . . no it can’t be. Is it SNORING? OMG, it is. . . someone is snoring louder than any man I’ve ever heard! Who could it be? I look outside to see if my roommate Russ is home. Nope, his car is not in the driveway. Was it ME, I don’t think so since I’m wide-awake now and it’s louder than ever. It has to be a canine, but WHO?

I did the doggie headcount, checking them twice: 9 sleeping darlings – not Luce or Woody, nor Zippy or Rock – not Annie or BunBun nor Zip Tally or Betty. Well that leaves. . . doggie number 9 – a lovely 12-year old Chocolate Lab, Fern. OMG it is her. She is sawing logs like I have never heard a dog do before. Hilarious! Who would have guessed that a sweet, reserved female could make that much noise? Way to go Fern! I know you’re in doggie dreamland right now and the other dogs don’t even notice. In fact, they are all still sound asleep. Goodnight Girly, sweet dreams!

A house full of happy, sleeping dogs at TBTB Dog Camp – does it get any better?
Woof! Woof!

Imagine a room full of sleeping humans with one person snoring extra loud? Would all the others be sleeping? Or complaining?

Tales of a Dogsitter - TBTB Thanks-Giving Day, 2010

Seven dogs and I rise early on turkey day. There are goodies to package up – including some homemade Kaluha that I made a few weeks back that needs to be bottled. It has been sitting in the dark closet just waiting to be opened. Well, okay so I already opened it and had a nip, or two, or. . . In fact, I have decided to give the stuff away because I cannot leave it alone. Made with 190-proof grain alcohol and mixed with milk, it tastes just like a milkshake! The problem is it goes down way too fast, and leaves me wanting more. I must share this with my friends so out the door it goes with me today, well most of it anyway. ☺ I am fortunate to be invited for dinner at three houses, what a treat - sorry doggies but you have to stay home.

On normal days the TBTB doggies are fed a breakfast of oatmeal, boiled eggs, homemade Greek yogurt and bananas on top their kibble. This morning I added a scoop of canned pumpkin wishing them a happy day. Sure, they think. Fine for you to say – you’re out of here and two of us will be in a crate while the remaining five of us will sleep on the couch all day just waiting for you to return. Okay, okay . . .I get it. Maybe a nice long walk before I leave will help with the guilt – I’m finally out the door around 11:30 AM – leaving behind some pretty sad faces. On a normal day at least three dogs would come with me in the car. But today, they all have to stay behind.

I arrive at Anne & Dick’s just in time to sit down to a delicious meal of turkey, oyster dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, homemade cranberry relish and the best part? Pumpkin Pie made from real organic pumpkins grown in Homer. Nom, nom. . . And, did I mention the yummy red wine? Now, I’m really full. I intended to pace myself, what happened? Oh well it is Thanksgiving and it’s okay to be stuffed like a turkey. I hate to eat and run, but I must move on and make my appearance at house #2.

Jane and her friends have just settled in at the table when I arrive. Oh, no thanks, I’m really good right now, no plate for me. I’ll just have dessert. Oh, and some wine please. ☺ I pass up incredible looking vegetarian dishes along with a perfectly roasted turkey and all the trimmings. I flat did not have any space in my belly for another morsel of dinner, but I did opt for something sweet, AGAIN! One of Jane’s guests is a baker/sous chef and he made the most amazing cheesecake with goat cheese. It was so incredibly rich that I needed another glass of red wine to go with it. Plus there was a sliver of Pecan Pie on my plate next to the cheesecake. Of course it was all consumed in a heartbeat. Yikes! I need to keep moving to digest all this good food. See you later guys, enjoy the Kaluha and thanks for the wine!

I arrive at house #3 around 4:30 – just as they too are sitting down to eat Thanksgiving Dinner – dé·jà vu. No thanks, please just let me sit here and have a splash of wine. Sharon hands me a wine glass full to the brim. OMG. I drink it quickly so they can get on with their meal and I can get back to the doggies. The food by now has moved through my stomach and the only thing left sloshing around in there is red vino! (And, you wonder where Misty Ann gets her wine tooth?) Thanks Guys, have a Happy Thanksgiving, and call me later if you need help with the leftovers!

By this time I’m feeling pretty guilty for being away all day. I arrive back at TBTB just in time to make doggie dinners. OMG, did I even think to bring home any leftovers? Nada. Not only was I gone most of the day I also forgot to bring home a single turkey scrap. So once again they had to settle for kibble with a dollop of canned pumpkin on top!

In the meantime I come up with a plan for black Friday – and NO, it is not shopping. The thought of that madness causes me to hyperventilate! Instead at TBTB Dog Camp we are celebrating "black" Friday as "Dog Day Thanks-giving" – sounds much more appealing, don’t you think?

So. . . on Friday morning in the company of seven grateful canines, I roasted a Butterball turkey breast, made mashed potatoes, herb stuffing, gravy and lima beans, all while they sat in the kitchen and patiently looked on. At last their real Thanksgiving dinner was served! And, a short time later I had seven snoring dogs sacked out in the living room. Life is as it should be at TBTB Dog Camp where dogs are treated special - as they should be.

I am thankful for the six special dogs (LucGoose, WoodBoy, DoDog, RockDog, Misty Annie, & BunBun Roush) that permanently share my space, and all our canine guests that come over for a sniff around Tails-By-The-Bay - the upscale retreat for the well-pampered dog. Woof! Woof!

or on this day. . .
Gobble, Gobble!

Chronicles of a Doggie Bed 'N Biscuit

Tail-By-The-Bay Bed ‘N Biscuit is an upscale retreat for the well-pampered dog. We take care of dogs in the house where they are allowed to be on the bed, couch, and chair, or wherever they prefer. We serve homemade concoctions of carrots, rice, spinach, salmon and rice, with peanut butter biscuits and yummy chummies for desert. They go on long walks on the trail, compete for the chuck-it ball, and sometimes go to the beach for a swim. The resident dogs - OgDog, Luce, Woody & Zippy, enjoy all the canine activity. It’s a dog’s life here and they all love it!

The business was managed this winter by a very dog savvy couple, and I have received wonderful feedback on what a great job they did. Thanks Kristin & Chris for allowing us to travel all winter leaving our doggie clients in your capable hands. We couldn’t have done it without you, and you are missed both by us and the dogs - especially Paxton.

When we arrived back in Homer on Tuesday, five dogs were here to greet us. Sophie a retriever mix has been coming to the Bed ‘N Biscuit since she was a few months old so needless to say she is a regular. Her parents tell me when they turn onto Katie Jean Circle, Sophie starts jumping around in the back seat because she is so excited to come see her friends. Sadly she and her family are relocating to Oregon next month so she will be here only one more time before they leave. She will definitely be missed.

Zip is a gray & white Welsh corgi, and also a regular. His dad is a traveling speaker so Zip spends a good deal of time with us especially during the winter, sometimes as much as three weeks at a time. Zip loves to herd the other dogs around and has a little man complex. He can run after the ball with the best of the retrievers but his legs cannot compete with their speed. He never gives up though; throw the ball and Zip is off and running. He is a sweetheart underneath all the tough guy stuff, and we enjoy having him around. His favorite place is the pup tent when he’s not out herding.

Paxton is the neighborhood dog that thinks she really lives at TBTB. She prefers it here because her family works all day and she is alone. Apparently she spent most of the winter in the house, in front of the woodstove. She rarely goes home. Her family occasionally checks on her here, but for the most part she’s on her own. One has to wonder why they have her since apparently they are too busy to give her the love and attention she so deserves. We have adopted her and treat her like our own. She too loves the pup tent, or lying in the bathroom where it is cool. But her favorite is the organic, homemade food we serve not to mention the yummy chummies. If Paxton does wander back to her own house for the evening, I can count on her returning around 11 PM when she wakes me up barking “let me in,” wagging her tail wildly when she sees me. I open the gate and she goes directly to the pup tent unless Zip already has it. In that case she heads to the nearest empty dog bed or the bathroom.

Jessie is a newcomer this summer. She’s a 16-year old Husky that comes for day care while her mom works. Jessie loves to go on walks and lie on the deck in the sun. She is completely deaf but once I open the gate to go on a walk she is right there. Plus she has an uncanny ability to know when I open the treat jar not wanting to miss her share. She’s a very sweet girl and gets around surprisingly well for an older gal.

And then there's Ruby, who was picked up at the Emergency Room as her dad was having a heart attack and being airlifted to Anchorage. Ruby has been with us for over two weeks now; she is a golden lab full of energy but very well behaved. She has no competition when chasing the ball, as she can fly like the wind. A few days ago I kept noticing spots of blood on the floor. I was checking all the paws in the house thinking someone had a cut? Nothing. Then I started checking other areas to see if maybe one of the dogs had an injury. Nothing. Okay, then it dawns on me. . . I normally don’t accept unaltered dogs, but we picked her up during an emergency so didn’t have the normal interview. My suspicions were right, Ms. Ruby indeed is in season or as some may say “heat”. Great, now what? Where can I get the proper supplies for this dilemma in Homer, Alaska?

I call the local groomer that has some pet supplies in her shop. Yes they have what I need in a Small only. That won’t work because Ruby is a big girl. They can’t help me, but they suggest I call the Wagon Wheel, a feed store. Nope they don’t have any Pup Pants either. Last resort, Homer Hounds. Ah, yes we have the large Pup Pants you need for $22 and then you have to go to the store and buy Maxi Pads. Maxi Pads? You’re joking. Nope that’s what you do to keep her from leaking in the house, and having active males from miles around at your doorstep. Okey, dokey then. . . don’t want that!

I buy the Pup Pants and the owner of the store shows me where to insert the pad, right in front of the hole where the tail goes. I have to get the tail through that hole? OMG! Off to Safeway to find Maxi’s, I start laughing. I cannot believe I am getting pads for a dog? But at TBTB Bed ‘N Biscuit we aim to please and take care of our clients. ☺

I get back to the house with all the stuff, and now for the hard part. How can I get this diaper on her when she keeps sitting down and her tail is wagging non-stop? How will I ever get it through the tail hole? We go in circles for a while, she sits, I get down on my knees, she gets up, I get up, and the whole process starts again. We do this about 3-4 times when I finally get one side fastened and half the tail through the hole. Ruby then rolls onto her back and I cease the opportunity to Velcro the other side – a bit crooked but fastened! Once she stands up we make some minor adjustments and we’re good to go for a while. These pup pants have to come off every time she goes potty and then it’s another goat (dog?) rope getting it back on, but we are slowly getting used to each other. Just today she started standing and waiting for me to get her tail inserted. That’s a good sign.

I had some sad news for Ruby today. Apparently her life is about to change because her dad is not going to make it. His children are making the decision to unplug life-support tonight. One son raises Labs and had given Ruby to his dad 6 years ago as a birthday gift. Ruby will be going home with him when this is over. I’m trying to prepare her for the change by talking about it. I think a dog can understand more than we think. It certainly can’t hurt to talk to her about it. At least she is staying in the family and not going to a foster home or worse yet, a shelter. Ruby will be going back to Wisconsin where she came from.

I’ve had many jobs during my career, but this is the best. You just never know what to expect from dog to dog at TBTB Bed ‘N Biscuit. Dogs teach us about being in the present moment, about enjoying the small things, and about tolerance. TBTB practices Wu Wei, the true way of the dog. Translated, Wu Wei simply means the art of not doing. Dogs are happy to just be. We learn so much by sharing their time and space. It’s a total howl, and I love it. Woof! Woof!

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