Road Trip and Rednecks!

One of the huge drawbacks to living in Homer is the lack of fresh fruit and produce eight months out of the year. Early fall is apple season so the chance of getting a decent one is good right now. The rest of the year the apples are flavorless and mealy because of course they are coming out of cold storage where they have been for years. Well okay, that might be a slight exaggeration but they are crap most of the time. I refuse to get conditioned to buy them anyway, so apples are a rarity for me. The Honey Crisps were big and luscious at Safeway today, plus they were on sale for $3.49/lb. Because they were ‘on sale’ that sticker price did not register as to just how absurd it really was. I grabbed two of those babies on my way through the produce section. Imagine my surprise when I checked out - $6.18. I was aghast! “$6.18 for TWO applies?” The clerk replied, “Well, they are on sale.”

Holy Shit! They would have been over $7 at regular price, and they are not even organic. Based on their abnormal size, the apples must be genetically modified (new buzz term). The corporate bastards are making tons of money for something not even good for me and that pisses me off. I picked apples as a kid in West Virginia and they were never this big - almost a pound each. And, the price is ridiculous even by Homer standards. Supply and demand theory dictates, and we are easily ripped-off here because we have no choice other than to drive 75 miles north, to Soldotna. After this purchase, it was time for a road trip in Sooby, our new/old 1995 Subaru.

The next day still seething over being held hostage by big, fat, gorgeous apples (and they were delicious) I loaded up five dogs and we were off in search of better prices. Just to clarify, I am not a coupon shopper by any means but I do resent being blatantly screwed. The leaves were in full color and the sound of snoring dogs inside Sooby created a peaceful, beautiful drive north. We arrived at our destination where I shopped, filling my cart with sale items that included apples @$2.49/lb.  (a mere $1.00/lb. savings).  While loading the car with groceries the dogs only raised their heads long enough to see if I was offering treats. Satisfied that I was not, they went straight back to sleep. We were on the road home in just under an hour and $100 lighter. The money saved on food prices, more than made up for the gas used to get there.

It was important to be home by 5:30 as Forty West was being picked up from doggie day care. We had plenty of time to make the deadline so there was no need to rush. All dogs were happy to settle in for the ride home without a potty break. After about 30 miles, Woody began his demand barking signaling to me that he could not wait - he had to pee now. I passed a couple of rest stops but thankfully kept going. Finally we reached Nilnilchik, a small village with a couple bars, a pizza joint, a coffee shop, a gas station, and not much else. Still forty miles to Homer town, I was hoping Woody would go back to sleep but the tone of his bark changed and I knew it was time to stop, he could not wait.

I pulled off the road into a large parking lot with a rundown bar sitting about 100 yards back off the road. It was now drizzling rain and the wind had picked up. I told the other four dogs to stay put (one look outside and they weren’t getting up anyhow), and we would be right back. I left the car running, quickly hopped out, fastened his leash and let WoodBoy out to take a much-needed whiz. He barely cleared the car before assuming the position. We then rushed back to Sooby anxious to get out of the rain, only to find my door locked. WTF. I then tried the back door, locked; the other two doors on the passenger side, plus the back hatch - all locked. It slowly dawned on me that I had locked the keys in the car, it was running and four dogs were watching me from inside. SHIT! How the hell did this happen? Only one answer made sense, the car automatically locked because it was running? OMG, the rain is now coming down hard, we are cold and have no idea what to do. The only two obvious choices are: go to the bar and ask for help, or break a window. How in the hell can I do that with four dogs on the other side, I wonder? So we hiked toward the sign that read Inlet View bar. I literally had to pull on Woody to get him moving because he wanted to smell everything along the way, and pee some more, oblivious to the rain that was soaking my sweatshirt. Did I mention my down vest was in the car, along with my purse, the cell phone and the rest of my life?

I opened the heavy bar door to find a small, empty convenient store on the left, and a bar to the right with three people, two customers and a bartender. The smell of greasy fries and cigarette smoke filled my nostrils and was instantly absorbed into my wet hoodie. WoodBoy raised his nose to sniff the air hoping for a snack. He might be deaf and almost blind, but there is nothing wrong with his nose. A rebel flag hung on the wall behind the bar, along with a sign that read: ‘what part of redneck don’t you understand?” Two middle-aged men sat hunched over their mixed drinks not about to let go of them, much less get up.  I explained my problem and they just nodded, without comment. I then mentioned that I would just break the window (hoping one of them would volunteer to help me do just that). Instead, a guy called Bubba advised me not to do that because it would be expensive to replace. The other guy just sat with his back to me, never once turning around. It was apparent there was not going to be any help here, these were just warm bodies occupying barstools. The bartender volunteered to ask the cook if he had any ideas, about the same time another woman came from the convenient store, sporting an air of authority.

“You can’t have a dog in the bar (dive).”

“Okay, I locked my keys in the car . . .”

“Doesn’t matter, get that dog out of here.”

Enough said, who was I to argue? My life was inside the car. No money, no phone – what’s a girl and her dog to do, except leave? We began walking back to the car, Woody again smelling every bush along the way. The people aren’t particularly friendly at the Inlet View Bar. As I thought more about the situation it finally dawned on me as to why that might be. It had to be my Salty Dawg sweatshirt symbolizing liberal Homer town. Probably not the best thing to wear in a redneck bar – you think?

The windows of Sooby were filled with sweet faces and wagging tails. If only I had trained RockDog to hit the lock button on command. . . Why can’t I be more like my dogs and just relax, I wonder. This too will pass. The good news, had I pulled over at a rest stop before getting to this village, there would be no one around! Yikes! All the tourists have gone home so it can get pretty desolate along the road. I’m working on finding the positive here, but the clock is ticking and I have no way to contact Forty’s mom because as you know, the cell phone is locked up. I have to break a window but then the question becomes, which one? The bar door opens and Bubba comes out, getting into his car and driving off without giving me a second glance. Whatever, Asshole!

Back to the situation at hand. . . not the drivers side, not the passenger window, and not the boot because then how would I reach the door lock? Maybe one of the windows on the side, but I need to find a big rock to do the job. During this process the bartender opens the door and yells something out at me. I have to move closer to hear her, again dragging Woody away from smelling another bush: “the gas station can open your car door but they want $45.” OMG, music to my ears! The gas station of course, why didn’t I think of that? “That’s fine, have them come.” Obviously $45 is way cheaper than any window I might break.

We wait another 15 minutes in the rain and see a truck pull up in front of the bar. A guy gets out and retrieves something from the back bed, and I know he must be our man. I start waving my hands, “Over here, Hello! Over here!” Ecstatic, I’m almost jumping up and down and of course all the dogs are now barking! He gets back in his truck and races over to us. After assuring him all the dogs inside the car are really friendly, he goes to work and has the back window rolled down in less than five minutes. Apparently it was easier to push the automatic window button than to flip the lock with his Slim Jim. The open window is on Forty’s side of the car and with the wind now in his face he just sits there looking at us, not one bit interested in getting out of the warm car.

OMG we are finally back in Sooby and the dogs greet me like I have been gone for hours. In total it was about 45 minutes. I wrote the guy a check  (after first convincing him that it was a good one), and we were once again cruising the road back to Homer town. I should have tipped the bartender, but I was so excited to get the hell out of there that I forgot. Next time through I will stop and if she’s there, say thanks and give her $10. We pulled into our driveway a little late but still five minutes before Forty’s mom arrived to pick him up! He definitely had a story, if only he could talk.

This too did pass, but not without leaving behind a navy blue Salty Dawg sweatshirt that reeked of cigarette smoke, greasy food and a liberal attitude, not necessarily in that order. Not to mention the inspiration for a story.

Woof! Woof!

The Moose is Loose

Earlier this week fifteen dogs and I head out on our trail for a romp around the sand pit. Halfway down the path about twenty-five yards ahead of me, I notice an unfamiliar profile peeking out the bushes. What the hell??? OMG, it’s a big one. The dogs are leading in an auto-racing mode to the pit, hitting their brakes just in time to see Mama Moose lower her head for the charge. SHIT!

With little Sophie the Shih Tzu on leash, I immediately turn around and start running, calling to the dogs in a high-pitched panic voice. Assuming they follow, will the moose come charging after us? No time to wonder; just time to run like hell. I can only hope the dogs are behind me, without her in hot pursuit.

We make it back to the house safely and the moose goes off in the opposite direction. Once she realized we weren't a threat she moseyed on her way. We didn’t see the baby, but no doubt one was nearby. One lone basset hound stayed behind just to get in the last ARF! before hightailing it back to the deck.

This morning the remaining twelve dogs and I race out the back door at 5:30 AM for a quick pee (them, not ME!) only to be stopped in midstream (no pun intended). At the top of our dark driveway stood a very large moose (probably the same one). We could only see a stoic unmoving shadow but the dogs were immediately on alert, stopping me in my bare feet. Yikes!

We scurry back to the house in the dark without a bark escaping anyone’s lips (including MINE). What could have easily been chaos was only a close encounter of the third kind. Good, Good, Good Dogs!

The adventures of a dogsitter are never predictable, especially when there is a loose moose lurking in the bushes.

Woof! Woof!

Sweet-Tooth Anne

I’m invited to Dr. & Mrs. Smith’s dinner party on Thursday evening. He’s heard I’m a good baker so he requested I bring the dessert. I’m substituting at school all week so it has to be something seasonal and easy because time is a factor. I decide on a pumpkin spice cake with a Grand Marnier cream cheese frosting. I can mix, bake, cool and ice it in just the amount of time I have between getting home from work and being at the party by 6:30. I shop during my lunch break and begin the baking process when I get home. The timing is perfect. I take the cake out of the oven and place it on my bistro table to cool while I go to the bathroom for a quick pee.

When I return to the kitchen I am aghast at the scene before me, so much so that it takes a few seconds to register in my brain. Anne is on top the bistro table, gobbling up the cake so fast that crumbs are flying and the other dogs on the floor are catching them in midair. When she sees me she scurries off the table straight into her crate. Holy Shit, it is 6:00 PM and the entire top layer of the cake is demolished – and I’m talking in nanoseconds. Had I been even 10 more seconds in the bathroom the entire thing would have been gone. I am so pissed I can’t even speak, and she knows it that’s why she’s hiding. I slammed the door on her crate without saying a word. What to do now? I have to tell them.

Gutless Cake

I text Mrs. Smith because it’s easier than calling: “Forget the dessert, Anne ate it. Sorry”. I’m so embarrassed I don’t even want to go. How the hell did she get up there? A bistro table is tall enough to be cocker-proof and I always shove the chairs all the way in to prevent table surfing. I assume she jumped on her crate and leaped three feet across the room and onto the table. With the aroma of pumpkin filling her little nostrils, apparently she just could not resist. Sigh. . .

My cell rings and a man says: “Hi Karen, this is Bob.” I say hi not having a clue who I’m talking to, as I’m still in cake shock.

“You know I used to use the same excuse when I was in medical school and late turning in a paper - the dog ate it.” What? Oh, it’s Dr. Smith.

“Oh Bob, I am so pissed off, sorry about the dessert. And I just sent you a photo to prove it” I say.

“I have a terrible sweet tooth, bring what’s left of the cake and I will eat it.” Of course I think he is just being nice and trying to make me feel better. But no, he insists that I bring the remainder of this gnawed out spice cake. I hang up thinking he can’t be serious. I then get a text from his wife, “he’s such a sweets whore, bring the cake. He will eat it.” Okay, so I take the cake.

Dr. Smith meets me at the door and immediately grabs a bite of the spice cake as I set it down on the counter with the icing container. “Wow, this is really good and it doesn’t even look that bad. Maybe we can fix it?”

Mrs. Smith gets a large glass platter out of the cabinet and we flip the cake out of the bundt pan onto the plate. We begin working with the icing, filling in the sagging areas - a little lopsided, a bit flat but not too bad considering the bottom half has been gutted like a slaughtered animal. A finishing touch is needed to complete the art piece we have created. Something green for the top like a few fern fronds, voila! I must say it doesn’t look that bad, but do we dare serve this dessert?

After the Repair

Serve it we did! Even before we finished our salmon entree Dr. Smith had the cake out ready to cut pieces for all of us, making sure the icing filled any obvious holes on the plate. The guests went on and on about how moist the cake was – maybe Anne left some slobbers? When I left the party there was only a sliver left on the platter. No one breathed a word about a cake-eating cocker spaniel named Anne Banane. Who knew? Only the three of us, and the dogs at TBTB - and they aren’t talkin’! Mum was the word.

Sweet-Tooth Anne is now out of the doghouse and I’m wondering when she will strike again - leaping tall tables in a single bound, or bouncing like a ping-pong ball looking for something to grab off the counter and run. She’s an opportunist and when the situation is right for snagging food, she is all over it. It’s the smell of something cooking in the kitchen that drives her. But who can stay mad at a face that looks like this? Anne Banane you are both exasperating and hilarious!

Woof! Woof!

Hitchin’ a Ride on Easy Street

High Five!

Zippity DoDog is a riot. The girl has never known a stranger and is loved by many. A hound dog with a sense of humor that can sometimes be exasperating – well, it doesn’t get much better than that. So today . . .

I drive seven dogs to a dirt road called Easy Street where there are only a few houses, little traffic and lots of open space. The intent is to have a long hike to wear them out because a tired dog is a good dog. We cram ourselves into a white VW Beetle called VeVe. The group includes Forty West and Lady, the Labs; Bear and Mikke, the Old English Sheeps; RockDog, and BunBun Roush, the Spaniels; and DoDog. The car is rockin’ to and fro with excitement on our short ride to Easy Street. I finally stop, sling open my door as they fly over my lap into the open space. It’s always a race to see who can get out of VeVe first. 

The dogs walk, run, sniff butts, hike legs, and chase each other through the trees, into the bushes and over the hill. By Homer standards it’s a really warm day so they find a muddy stream right away to drink and get their paws wet. The labs lay down in the mud to cool their bellies. After a mile or so they all begin to slow down so we turn around and head back to the car. Zippy has chased Forty and she has chased Lady using mucho energy. When she runs she also barks with that deep hound dog voice. Her stubby little legs are low to the ground so she has to run twice as hard just to keep up. On the way back she is draggin’ her ass way behind the rest of us, doing the DoDog shuffle as she pretends to sniff the ground but we all know she is merely taking a breather.

Halfway back I turn around and see three cars coming toward us, slowing down because of all the dogs, finally coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road. I yell to the drivers: “keep moving, they will get out of your way,” as I continue walking and calling the dogs toward me. I round a corner and they all come running except for Zippy. Did I mention how stubborn she can be about doing what she wants, when she wants to do it?

The rest of us wait on the side of the road to let the cars pass. The first two are loaded with people ooohhing and aaaahing about the dogs. “Are all these YOUR dogs,” and “Boy, do you have YOUR hands full,” were some of the comments made as they passed us at a snail’s pace. Where is the third car I wonder, as we stand waiting in the sun? I finally see it rounding the bend with what looks like, oh but it is, a Basset Hound in the driver’s seat! What the hell?

As the car approaches, we see Zippy on the lap of a small woman, looking over the steering wheel and I swear she is smiling. They totally pass us by before the car stops and the door opens. DoDog jumps down and runs over to the pack with a smirk on her face, seriously. I figure she took at least a half-mile off her walk by getting in that car. The driver was apparently in awe. I apologize for the inconvenience but there was no need. The woman drove off laughing, waving at Zippy oblivious to the rest of us.

Snoozing on VeVe's dash on the ride home

We make it back to VeVe and all is quiet on the ride home. The dogs crawl slowly out of the car and onto the deck for a drink of water out of the swimming pool, and a nap in the sun. DoDog is totally spent. She sleeps the longest and snores the loudest twitching her legs ever so often. I wonder if she is dreaming of chasing labs through the bushes, or if hitchin’ a ride on Easy Street just wore her out? I can’t imagine how she got the lady to stop her car and open the door? Most likely she stood in the middle of the road refusing to move. That would be just like a DoDog. 

Spent

Woof! Woof!  

Shit to Pay

Wants to remain anonymous

Waiting tables on Friday nights at the Elks Lodge provides me with enough leftover food to feed the dogs for a week. They dine on prime rib, rib-eye steak, halibut, chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, rice, homemade rolls, and squash – not a bad supplement to their organic kibble. I merely give them a spoonful each night to sweeten the bowl and let them know what great dogs they really are. Last week I actually had four boxes of leftovers that weighed between 2-3 lbs. each, that I put in the freezer. I cannot believe how much food is wasted – working in a restaurant is evidence of just how much we toss without a second thought, while thousands of people go hungry every day – but that’s another subject.

On Tuesday I placed one of the boxes in the kitchen sink to thaw, and forgot about it. The next morning much to my amazement the box while still in the sink, was empty with only a few grains of telltale rice on the floor. There are only two likely culprits that had access to the kitchen overnight – Bear and Mikki, the Old English Sheepdogs. I threw the empty box in the trash and made breakfast for twelve dogs. Bear walked away from his bowl making it all too obvious he was the one that consumed the three pounds of steak. He never leaves food so I can only assume he is too full of beef to care much about oatmeal and yogurt. Whatever, it’s a done deal so there is no point in mentioning it. A dog must be caught in the act to understand when you tell him a behavior is unacceptable.

Later in the evening I went to dinner and indulged with my girlfriends – one has just signed the closing papers on selling her home and the other had her possessions moved to Hawaii where she just bought a house. Not one, not two, but THREE Cosmos – one too many for the girl known to be a cheap date. Returning home to twelve canines I took another box of leftovers out to thaw but this time I put it in the oven, out of sight out of mind. Off and on during the night I heard the Sheeps walking around downstairs but they are often restless on summer nights when there is so much light.

The following morning the dogs would not let me sleep past their usual get-up time of 6:30. There is no mercy this morning, only hell to pay. I grabbed my sweatshirt, found my shoes, opened the loft door and stumbled down the stairs in a fog behind ten dogs going down and the Sheeps trying to climb up. This is too much chaos in the wee hours of a rainy morning – the perfect time to be sleeping. Sigh. . . We quickly get into a bottleneck situation, the lead dogs stopping abruptly at the bottom of the stairs and flat refusing to move forward – what the hell?

Oh NO, the dreaded fear clinches my already queasy tummy. I have a hunch something is lurking at the bottom of the stairs, just waiting for me as I wade through the frozen-in-space canines. That’s when I see it. OMG not today, ANY day but this one, please. Piles and piles of runny excrement scattered in blobs throughout the first floor everywhere – thank God for vinyl flooring. One of the Sheeps obviously had a major blowout and the results cover the floor. I try to always look for the good in any disaster – so the good news? The stairs appear clean and that is a consolation. Adding dogs with shitty feet to the equation would have plunged me over the edge into the black abyss.

And the smell, well it’s pretty bad. Finally getting around the dogs, I know what I have to do and it isn’t pretty. Paper towels, a trash bag, a bucket of disinfectant and a mop, but first I have to lead each dog around the poop infused obstacle course without stepping on anything. No worries they make a wide berth around each pile, walking on their tiptoes. For over an hour – before I even have a pee - I cleaned and I cleaned and I cleaned SHIT.  GAWD, it was exasperating.

No face shots!

The Sheeps have been coming to dog camp for five years and have never had an accident in the house. No doubt they were trying to wake me up from my alcohol induced sleep but failed to do so. I wonder if they are sick - is it one or both of them? Maybe I need to call the vet. Several hours later after multiple cups of coffee it finally hit me. I had totally spaced out the box of steaks that had been consumed just 24-hours ago. Of course it was Bear because he’s the one that ate the three pounds of rich food and was merely purging it out of his system. I realize with relief he’s not sick at all, just stuffed. It had to come out somewhere and when the urge hit him, it happened to be in the middle of the night when the house was asleep. Poor boy must have been traumatized, albeit relieved.

Today was a long day but we managed to get through it by washing blankets, rugs, floors and butts. OMG it’s going to be an early night. I had shit to pay all day and I’m exhausted! Serves me right. . . The work of a dogsitter is done for today.

Woof! Woof!

We Woof You BearBoy!

Boomerang Beau

Beau Beau is an Australian Shepherd that was in obedience class with RockDog, making him about 2-1/2. He loves to come to dog camp to wrestle and run with the dogs. I was recently a guest speaker at the Rotary Club luncheon and the subject was TBTB Dog Camp. One of the members asked if I could think of a funny story that happened at camp. Not one but two tales came to mind and both involved the Beau!

After spending the weekend Beau was picked up by the owner’s son before she returned home. A couple days later Maria stopped by to pay for his stay and of course an excited Beau was with her. She gave me a check and they left, all the while he’s looking over his shoulder wondering why he’s leaving? A few minutes later Woody was at the back door asking to go out, and there on the deck stood Beau Beau as Maria’s car was pulling back in the driveway. He had jumped out the window and ran back. That’s understandable because he’s just confused. In the past when he comes with her in the car he stays – he couldn’t understand why he was not staying today. Back to the car, she rolled the window up so he could not jump out again. As they drove off I could hear Beau howling his discontentment all the way up the street. He managed to get his snout out the window and was telling the world he was not happy about it.

Recently Beau was at camp and we had a ball day over the hill. I made a video for my Facebook page of the dogs chasing each other in hot pursuit of the green tennis ball - barking and dancing all the way down and back. The day after he went home Maria saw my post and played the video. Beau immediately tuned in pacing and whining at her door. He got so excited that she sent me an email that he may show up over here first chance he gets. Sure enough, before I even read her email Beau was back. And, he was extremely sneaky about it.

I was at the top of the hill playing fetch with eight energetic canines throwing the ball as far as I could into the bushes below. Somehow Beau got over that hill unnoticed and came back up with the pack of dogs. It took me a minute to realize something was wrong with this picture. There was one too many smilin’ dogs in the mix – and the extra face belonged to a dog named Beau! He looked at me wagging his whole body, pleading please, please, please – can I play? After hearing the dogs barking on the computer he felt sure he was missing something – and he was! More ball chasing than you can imagine.

Beau is like a Boomerang for a few days after leaving dog camp – he just keeps coming back. Maria has the job of distracting him so that he forgets about us for a while. Playing a video just brought it all back to him and he couldn’t stand it – he had to get back in the action, Pronto! After all it’s only a mile run up the hill and that’s nothing for a herding dog like Beau. And what can I possibly do? He’s so darn cute and loves camp so much. I just put him in the VW, take him home, give him a hug and tell him: "until next time buddy, you will soon be back for another stay at TBTB."

We Woof U Sweet Beau Beau!

DoDog

Zippety DoDah was rescued from a farmer’s market in Girdwood, Alaska in 2004. I was driving home from Anchorage when my beloved VW called VeVe insisted on turning off at the Girdwood exit. I had no control, VeVe merely turned toward the mountain. The farmer’s market was closing as we pulled up but I decided to take the three spaniels for a quick walk about since we were already there. We immediately noticed a little Basset Hound with mournful eyes tied to a tree behind one of the booths. “What a beautiful dog,” I commented to the vendor. “She’s free if you want her,” was her reply.

“FREE?” Apparently Zippy was causing two elderly cats a problem so it was determined that she had to go. She was passed on to this vendor to find her a home at the market that day and if not, she was headed to the local shelter.

 “Sorry” I said, “but I already have three dogs and getting another one is out of the question.” Zippy had picked up her toy and dropped it directly in front of OgDog, my pack leader just as I finished my sentence. We walked back to VeVe, I put the dogs in the car and automatically looked back over my shoulder. Zippy sat looking at us with the saddest look ever – Bassets are good at this. That’s all it took. I immediately turned around, walked back to the booth and said, “We’ll take her” and placed her in the back of the VW with the others. And that’s how it came to be that my spaniel pack adopted a Basset Hound. Apparently exhausted from a long day at the market, Zippy slept the entire drive home.

DoDog has proved to be the most stubborn, exasperating, endearing, and funny character in the pack. A friend once described her as a dog “marching to her own drum,” an accurate description. She has brought people together from near and far, is the mascot in a neighborhood where she is mostly adored - well except for her occasional trash rooting expeditions that her nose cannot resist, and her habit of eating frozen poopsicles in the winter. We are all grossed out with this one, but she loves it!

Zippy has never known a stranger, will get in the car with anyone, loves the sun in Mexico and is scared to death of cats. I had a client drop off his dog one day and while driving away he nearly had a heart attack when DoDog put her head on his shoulder from behind. She had crawled in the backseat of his car when no one was looking to go for a ride. Another time she saw an opportunity to run in the neighbor’s house to find the dog food bowl when she came face-to-face with Charlie, the cat. He merely backed her in a corner in the bathroom and without even touching her you could hear her howls and moans throughout the neighborhood. I thought she was in real trouble but Charlie merely had her cornered and was pacing back in forth in front of her nose and she was doing what she knows best, howling like only hound dogs can do.

She has slept in various beds in the neighborhood, swiped dog kibble in available bowls, grabbed steaks out of grocery bags, eaten a bottle of Vitamin C’s causing her to puke and poop bright yellow for days, and generally  been a pain in the butt, albeit an adorable one. The DoDog tales are endless - living with her I usually have a good story at least once a week. One day she will have a children’s book written in her honor.

Yesterday I saw her meandering her way up to the house across the street and noticed two cars in the driveway. The house is for sale so the neighbors have been leaving while potential buyers have a look. I took a leash and walked up the driveway asking a man and woman if they had seen a Basset Hound. They said yes, they thought she lived there! She had walked right into the empty house and proceeded to go through every room with them. She was merely showing them around since she is familiar with this particular house because. . .

One summer day she went to visit and found the house empty but the sliding glass door was slightly cracked open. She proceeded to push it open and go to the master bedroom where she climbed into bed and under the covers for a nap. For hours we were looking everywhere for her! When the neighbors got home they thought their cat was in the bed until DoDog crawled out and walked to the door to be let outside! She had not touched a thing in the house, just needed a nap. . .

I assured the couple she did not live there but she was the welcoming committee in the neighborhood. I put a leash on her and walked her back to our house where she crashed for a nap in the sun. Being the social butterfly on Katie Jean Circle can be exhausting!

In 2004 she was called Zippety DoDah and over the years we have given her many other pet names (no pun intended). My three-year old grandson insisted on calling her Zippety DoDog which we shortened to just DoDog, ZipDog, Zippy, Doodle Bug, and when I’m mad at her at least once a day? Well, I won’t mention those names. . .

Woof! Woof!