Problem Solving

The Pest loves to chase a ball and not just his favorite orange ball. Any golf ball, rubber-band ball, Kong red rubber ball, filthy dug-up tennis ball, even a wadded up sheet of paper ... any time you give it a toss, the Pest snaps with electricity and charges after it.

Inside the house we still play chase the ball with Pest and the Passive One. It's only a small thing for me to give them this enormous thrill. Being the responsible dog owner that I am, I attempt to ensure their health with lots of exercise, especially if I can lay barefoot on the couch wearing my pj's sipping iced tea while doing it.

This morning we were all "exercising" in the TV room and the Pest trotted the slobbery orange ball back to me for another toss. I lolled it over the back of the recliner, it bounced a couple of times, popped up on the kitchen table and stopped right in the dinner plate position. The dogs were fast in pursuit even as the ball left my hand but missed it on the bounces and were now faced with a dilemna, not about jumping up on the table, that wasn't even worthy of debate since they could easily rest their chins on top. The problem was that the ball sat in a spot too far from any edges to reach it, except for one edge and that one was blocked by a kitchen chair.

The Pest went to the far side of the table assessing the situation while the Passive One stood right in front of the ball peering at it through the slats of the chair like a man stares through prison bars. He pressed his muzzle between the bars that make up the chair back but of course his bucket-sized head prevented any progress. The Pest jogged over to join him and they stared hard at the teasing culprit ball willing it to roll even just a little. They weren't sleuthing really, they didn't make up a team like Sherlock and Watson, or Cagney and Lacey ... maybe more like Laurel and Hardy trying to outwit but ending up unarmed for the battle. They manuvered to new positions and still the ball was unresponsive to their mental taunting.

The Passive One shoots an accusing look my way and whines a begging "Help!" that brings the ever loyal Pest to his side. The Pest looks at his "big brother" pal convinced that the Passive One has the answer, and they sit side by side settled back into the staring contest with the ball.

I watched all of this eagerly thinking back to the silent conversations their canine pack ancestors surely had. I could almost hear my dogs thoughts in every change of their expression. The orange ball is a most cherished part of my dogs' world, ranking higher than kibble, a walk and sleeping on my bed. They weren't going to just walk away from it and though the orange ball had two 100+ lb anxious Rottweiler predators stalking it, the ball displayed absolutely no fear. My dogs were baffled.

And so they sat, in identical poses in front of the kitchen chair eyes locked onto the object of their desire. Time stood still for several seconds then suddenly as if choreographed both dogs stood and stepped back and turned to look at each other. It was loud and clear, audible and obvious, "I dunno! Do you have any ideas??" And then in unison, they looked at me and said "MOM!"

I laughed out loud. Laughed myself off the sofa actually. The dogs never budged, only glanced at me curiously, crazy mom-lady clumsily laying on the carpet making funny barky sounds. Eventually I pulled my pj clad self together and ambled over to the kitchen table where I picked up the ball, gave it a toss back into the TV room and they dashed off in pursuit.

I've heard it said that life has a funny way of repeating itself. In this case, I sure hope so.

Pest Control

"The Pest isn't a bad dog, he's just naughty. And though he does seem to get into a lot of trouble, it's just a healthy curiousity and adventurous nature. He is wild but in the sweetest sense and he is crazy though in a very charming way." Those are a few of the things I say, as all parents do, to explain away the fact that my "child" needs some control.

It's not that I want The Pest to do circus tricks. I'm not interested in job-ing him out as entertainment for children's parties. He has little to no self-control and so shaping his behavior is left up to me and my opinion is that if I could teach him some restraint when it comes to chewing the insoles out of my son's shoes that would be a huge success.

The thing is, the Pest ate my son's red modeling clay. Of course, it would have to be Red, not something that would blend in better on the beige carpet. I first realized that he'd gotten into it when I saw big red blotches in his stool and went to investigate. So, of course, subsequently I located red blotches on the bottom of my shoe. Later I found leftover bits and pieces chewed upon and into my carpet and noticed red between his teeth. I panicked at the red in his mouth thinking immediately that somehow he'd seriously cut up his mouth and was bleeding to death! Just another day in the life of a Pest out of control.

Controlling the Pest should be as easy as teaching him proper behavior but the Pest has a constant filtering system that weighs out the pros and cons of obeying. "Now she's telling me what to do, why?" "Is this just a suggestion or really a command?" You can see him considering his options. "She's not backing this order up with any food, so is she really serious?" "What will she do if I don't obey and is it worth it?" The "is it worth it" question doesn't take much time to process as the consequences for not obeying are not harsh. I don't believe in hitting your dog and generally try to follow The Dog Whisperer's philosophy of being the pack leader. Calm and assertive, that's me! So if I call for the Pest to "Come!" and he doesn't, then I go get him and repeat the command "Come!" which somehow seems to mean something like "Join me" at that point. And leaves me wondering who really is in control after all?

So what is control when you have a dog like Pest? What is it I really want to control about him? If he wasn't wild and crazy and somewhat naughty all the time, where is the fun in that? I got a dog ... not a dud. And like I said, I never intended to train him to entertain people and do tricks at their parties. Though he tells me that the party gig would be fine with him, as long as he got first dibs on the cake. If he's safe and happy and healthy and not too destructive too often then I'm happy with him and he's happy with me. And that works for us.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

Why is it that the Pest and the Passive One sleep so much? It's not even noon and the Pest is kicking his feet around in dreamland totally "out" on the bathroom tile floor. The Passive One is snoring on my bed with his head hanging dangerously off the side. He's got his orange rubber ball in his mouth and looks like a pig ready for the luau feast.

They sleep not because they are ill. We keep our schedule with the vet, they eat well (maybe too well?), have plenty of water and get moderate outdoor exercise. These dogs are all bright eyed and, if they had one, would be bushy tailed.

I promise you their sleep habits are not from over work. The Pest starts his job early. He's our four-legged, furry rooster, responsible for waking the house. His first target is the Passive One who receives a firm pounce on the head. My husband gets a nose-poke in the side and then I am bestowed a thorough face washing. He then bumps the boys bedroom doors open ..."Bang!" and I hear the resentful morning chants of my children "Pest get out! Pest go away! Pe-est!!!!" Then the Pest charges downstairs for breakfast heady with the knowledge of a job well done. His work day is complete.

After everyone has left for school or work, both dogs lay down to rest and take a casual nap. That's the type of nap where the body lays still but the eyes are open, at least mostly open and their consciousness is still in gear.

During a serious nap the eyes are locked down, their bodies lay flat, and their brains have switched channels. You could now parade a marching band past them and unless the tubas are carrying pork chops, there is no response.

A serious nap has dreaming. Their noodley legs peddle with nails sweeping the floor. They make brief snuffley woof's or occasional stiffled yaps declaring "the hunt" as they travel down their imagined dog-happy path. Their deep slow breathing quickens almost to an audible pant as they imagine running through breeze blown green grass fields, with a pack of pals romping to the theme song of "Rin-Tin-Tin".

With all this muscle movement and deep breathing, it's aerobic exercise. I am surprised that they don't wake themselves up! But still, they snooze on taking a serious nap several times a day, every day, all day up until it's time for bed. That's when they can finally sleep all night long, resting up from all the dreaming of the day.

A Day At The Office

Yesterday I took The Pest and the Passive One to my husband's workplace to spend the lunch hour. His office building is located in an industrial park that surrounds a big empty field, where we thought the dogs might enjoy a fresh air romp on this sunny but not scorching day.

I arrived at the office with both dogs completely revved up. Just getting to ride in the van is a Christmas morning thrill. Their tongues are flung out like wet red ribbons panting on the windows now all smeary with residual nose and mouth slobber. They'll pace the upholstery thin working into a frenzy of anticipation while complaining "Are we there yet? Are we there yet?"

We pull into the parking lot, and my husband, "The Fun One", comes out of the building. The van begins to rock, side-to-side and up on two wheels. "Let us out! Open the door! C'mon, c'mon. c'mon!!", they cry. "It's The Fun One! The Pack Leader, the Alpha Dog, Our Hero!" He cautiously slid the van door open, just an inch, and The Pest and the Passive One exploded out, knocking The Fun One backward with their canine zeal. They broke out in The Happy Dog dance, jumping and twirling they pawed at his shirt, drug their nails across his silk tie, snagged threads on his dress pants. But The Fun One doesn't complain because he's Happy Dog dancing too. "Hey boys!", he cheers. "Wanna play?" It's a meeting of the mutual admiration club.

The Pest gets distracted by a 3 foot hedge that runs the long length of the building. "What could be hiding behind that?" he quips, and dashes over to investigate. The equally curious Passive One is right on his heels when they reach the hedge and disappear behind it. The hedge is so thick that their furry feet, trotting along, are completely hidden. Invisible dogs. POP! Two heads appear in profile above the hedge line. They float single file along the top, totally disembodied. Little Rottweiler ghost heads silently moving down one length of the building, about-face and return haunting the hedge.

Then we walked the short distance across the parking lot to the open field. Leashes off, they yell "Freedom!" and run with abandon, their paws sounding like hoof beats on the hard dirt. They take off as if they have a true destination in mind, then stop look for each other, change directions and charge off another way. They have no compass. They have no GPS system. They have no obligation to follow a particular path. This is life without walls, living large, wild and free. And they run, run, run, in the sun, the sun, ugh the suuunnn. The running ends and the trotting, walking begins. Toward the shade, and the grass under a tree. The price of freedom: exhaustion.

After a few minutes, we head back to the van where they quietly laid panting all the way home. "Ahhh, A/C." "Ahhh, water bowls." And they flop on the kitchen floor, resisting any urge for movement during the remainder of the day. Their excuse being that they worked through lunch and now deserve a break. "Comp time", I guess. They've decided to make it a short work day and are now dreaming of the weekend.

Magic Words

Rottweilers are an intelligent breed and, though typically stubborn and hard-headed, they learn pretty fast. Our dogs know sit, stay, wait, all the basic commands that make life in our house have some semblance of order. No circus tricks but I guess you could say that our dogs understand what we are saying. Especially if it's one of the Magic Words.

A Magic Word is not a command or something taught but a word, or quite possibly a phrase, that comes up in conversation while you are talking to your dog(s). There is powerful magic in these words.

For example, one Magic Word at our house is: Walk. Or more exactly: Walk? It has other forms as in "Want to go for a _____?", or "Let's go for a _____". It also has the form "walkies" at our house, which sure looks insipid now that I see it in writing so we're going to quit using it. The dogs have even come to understand the silent movie version of this word. That's when nothing is said but you only go to the place where the leashes are kept. Like magic, the Pest and the Passive One jump up from their nap and dance frantically like kangaroos. They caught the signal, heard the unspoken word and are certain of your intentions. Even if it wasn't your intention ... now you have no choice. It seems like a promise to them. If they don't already have their collars on, well good luck! Because there is no sitting still now for you to clasp them on..

Another Magic Word is: Eat. This word also has variations such as Hungry, Thirsty and Dinner. This is not so much a verb as an event. Especially if spoken around 6:00 (either am or pm). If I immediately begin the task then I am met with hero worship and high fives, especially since they've enthusiastically headed toward the door where the dog food bag is hidden. But if I pause and even think about fixiing myself a cup of coffee first or making a quick phone call, their combined will makes them people herders and I'm swept, literally, in the appropriate direction. "Now get on with it. Load those dog bowls up."

The Magic Word: Car. Now this is especially dangerous if combined with opening the door to the garage. Two dynamic dogs will compete to wedge past you ("Get out of our way, you obstruction!") and can knock you flat or send you flying. Big dogs demand a big car and so our minivan is required because allows each one his own seat to recline upon as we act like chauffeurs. There is no argument of who gets what seat since Pest understands that he has chosen his seat in the back, and the Passive One has his seat in the middle. But Pest also understands that he can jump over the backseat and use Passive One's head as a stepping stone toward the front chaufeuring seat. There he stands next to the driver, slobbering on his arm until it drool dribbles off the elbow. "Car" means adventure usually, fun most often, and a mess always.

At the end of the day, there is still left one Magic Word: Bed. This word has to be combined with the phrase "Let's go to B _ _". The Passive One has figured out this phrase so well that all I have to say is "Let's go ..." and he's already headed up the stairs. The Pest's head and ears come up at the phrase, but he waits to see where the other dog is going before he follows. Once upstairs, Passive One steps around twirling the blanket on his b_ _ around while the Pest prefers the coolness of the bathroom tile floor. My husband and I then climb up into our b_ _ and quickly find two dog heads at the foot of our mattress with big pleading eyes hoping we'll invite them up. We tell them "No," which, of course, is not their favorite Magic Word.

Magic Words during magic days with my dogs. I sure love them, the days and the dogs. I encourage everybody to have a conversation with your dog(s). They are great listeners and they will talk back if we'll just watch and listen. Especially if we use Magic Words.

Waterboys

Our dogs drink at least four bowls of water a day. Just regular sized dog water bowls that need refilling a few times as I go about my usual routine. And if I forget, they don't nag or whine at me, they just go looking for some other way to resolve their thirst. Little did I know how far they'd go.

A few nights ago after dinner, we all settled into the family room to watch some TV. The dogs, as always shadows, are right where we are. I don't remember what TV show we were watching, or why it really had our attention. But we slowly became aware of something odd, an unusual sound. Was that running water?

I offered, "Oh, must be one of the boys taking a shower". "None of the boys are home", my dear husband informed me. "Is the dishwasher running?" That was me again suggesting another idea. "Can't be. It's in the kitchen and the sound is coming from upstairs." That was my husband again. He's smart. "The clothes washer, maybe?" By now, I was grabbing at furballs. So we just listened. Then my husband, with realization announced, "Sounds like, uh-oh... a broken pipe!" Before the last word was out we were up and launching for the stairs. He takes them two at a time, I'm coming behind him as fast as my short little legs will go.

At the top of those stairs, we are beckoned to our bedroom by the sound of gushing water. What we discover in our master bathroom are two Rottweilers having a wild ole time partying in our bathtub. The water faucet full on! The Passive One is paw deep in the tub lapping up water from the bottom. The Pest is concentrating on chugging water directly from the faucet. Both soaking wet and happy about it. Big muddy pawprints lined the tiles along the tub's edge and all across the floor. Several trails of water streaked down the window and pooled on the sill. Water churning down, spraying up, shooting over, flying across.

We announced our arrival: "What's going on, boys?"

The embibing paused as they noticed us. They shot us big, sloppy, goofy grins, tongues hanging down to their knees, delighted with themselves. "Hooray!" they cheered, "the more the merrier! C'mon in, we'll make room! Isn't this great! Fun, Fun, Fun! Hooray! Hooray!" "Whee!" They flipped some water at each other. "Ha Ha! Whoopee!" They flipped water at the ceiling. "Whoo-hoo! Yah buddy!" They flipped water over at the mirror. The bathroom was a-riot with teasing, and romping, and stomping. They leapt, they laughed. Would the neighbors call the cops to complain about the wildness they could certainly hear??

For a surprising second there was calm, the room still, hesitating. Then determinedly the Pest dipped his head to one side, and the Passive one immediately caught the message. My husband and I braced ourselves against the doorframes and cowered. The dogs wound up, from their drooping ears to their docked tails, and let forth a mighty shake that made the floor move, picture frames rattle, the shower doors dance on their glides. Wild, free, who cares if we're inside! A meteor shower of spray, shooting stars of messy wet fur. My bathroom turned into a black hole now that it's covered with their hair.

So who's to blame? And who turned that faucet on? They certainly aren't telling. They've now taken to giving me the eye, while I'm brushing my teeth, shiftily glancing from the tub faucet to me and back again. Hoping. But why encourage them? I know we didn't teach either of them to turn that faucet on. Maybe they have learned it from watching TV. Anyway, they haven't yet repeated the feat, and I'm still re-filling waterbowls.

The Pest and The Passive One

If you've been keeping up with "Living with a Dog Named Pest", you know that The Pest is only one of our two Rottweilers. The Pest IS a pest and his best buddy is The Passive One.

The Passive One is almost 4 years old, birthday greetings should be sent in September. The Pest however is just past his 1 year birthday. The Passive One is an adult. The Pest is still just a kid, a kid brother, the kind that wants whatever you are playing with, takes your toys and won't give them back. The kind of kid brother that does things just to get under your skin and make you upset. Teasing, poking, doing the annoying "I'm not touching you" thing. Pestering.

We own two of the most loved and prized orange rubber balls. That way each dog can have his own to play with. Yesterday afternoon The Passive One had his ball between his front paws laying on the floor like The Sphinx, relaxed and resting in front of the TV. The Pest, who avoids relaxing at all costs, rapidly chews his ball passing it noisily from cheek to cheek pacing and plotting something diabolical.

To my surprise, he doesn't just pounce. He's feeling wicked and so taunts his prey by swaggering over to stand right in the face The Passive One, like a western gunslinger calling him out into the street. He juts his chin forward and up making his eyes haughtily staring down his nose at his victim. Then he waves his head left to right teasing in a sing-song way "Lo-ok wha-at I've got". He pauses a second only to find that he is getting no reaction. The Passive One might as well yawn right in his face.

The Pest "harumphs" but is still unthwarted. He pokes the ball roughly into his pal's muzzle and gives it a good rub over the nose sassing daringly "You can't stop me! Neener-neener-neener". The Passive One answers the challenge with a roll of his eyes and loud exhale. The Pest hopes for a break-through and throws himself into the quest. He spits out his ball and pounces onto The Passive One, gnawing his forehead and repeatedly chomping on one ear after the other. Then in a playful frenzy, he whips himself around to attack his back, haunches and feet. At the height of his zeal his gives a thorough chomp down on the scruff of The Passive One's neck, and attemps to give it something resembling a shake.

The Pest is now standing over him facing toward the rear so The Passive One wears a canopy of The Pest's rear legs. Ying and Yang. The Pest is panting and grinning, boasting like a champion. The Passive One, meanwhile, silently edges one paw over and rolls the other orange ball smoothly under his chest. Now he has possession of both of the two orange balls. Above The Passive One's smiling face floats a smug cartoon bubble that says "Take that, little brother".

Ear trouble

After midnight last night, we woke up to what sounded like a helicopter in our bedroom. Whop, whop, whop, whop the sound got louder and more persistent and more annoying. Whop, whop, whop ... an airstrip in my bedroom. Whop, whop, whop... Argh! What is that???!!! Through half-opened eyes I see The Pest frantically shaking his head beating his ears back and forth so hard I felt the updraft and feared he'd lift off.

My sleep deprived mind whined "maybe if you rub his ears the torment will stop for all of us." I mutter a "come here buddy" and he ambles to the side of the bed to receive a firm thorough ear massage. His eyes close. My eyes close. We both relax assured that this will be the solution. He slid to the floor. I slid off to sleep. But only for a second, literally. Whop, whop, whop. Ok,time to advance to plan B.

I rolled out of bed, groggily tripped over an obstacle course of dogs in the dark, a total work-out just to get to our bathroom where I keep my dog medical arsenal. I pull out Cottonballs, Q-tips, bottle of ear-cleaner and with groggy determination I half whispered a sing-song two syllable "Pe-est". Pitifully he whopped his way to me and rolled over placing his head in my lap. The Pest closed his eyes and clenched his teeth with a "Go ahead, I'll be brave" expression and together we swished, and wiped and assaulted the unknown enemy. I was using two cottonballs at a time because the inside of his ear is so big. The last time only one cottonball came out.

Still asleep I think "hmmm that's not good". I felt in his ear, looked in his ear, nothing. Well, maybe I only used one that time? I'm only partially alert and after all it's now 1:00 a.m., I must have miscounted. But then The Pest stood up, his head cocked to one side with that ear drooped and that one eye scrunched closed. He was winding up for the big one. He shook his head, really shook it this time putting his whole body into it, and squeaking the floorboards beneath his feet. This shake had such force I thought the ear might actually come right off his head. But then gloriously, soundlessly, out popped the missing cottonball. The Pest looked at me seemingly as surprised as I was but his expression said "Missing something?"

When the cleaning was done, he got up off the floor and shook his head again and this time his ears went whap, whap, whap. Improvement. And after only a couple more whap, whaps, he settled down to sleep, and so could we. Crisis averted and all is well. Good night sweet helicopter head.

The Pest has a health care plan

The Pest isn't a politician, an insurance broker or a medical professional. Yet he demonstrated for me today his own version of health care and I'm here to tell you that it worked for me.

When his stomach alarm goes off at 6:00 am every morning, his first action is to come wake me up. Today, while loading up his food and water bowl, I realized that I wasn't feeling very well and decided that I'd better go back to bed. Rest and recuperation were all I needed, for sure. But there is no I in Team, and the Pest thought that meant he (also not in Team) would assure that I was cared for all day.

As I said before he is not a doctor or nurse and yet he has a wonderful bedside manner. He sits beside my bed with his chin resting on the mattress in a manner to completely guilt you out of not getting up to play or not inviting him up in bed with you. I knew I wasn't getting up today. So inviting him up to snuggle was the only other option he presented. But I didn't want to do that because he's a bed hog. Or rather bed HOG. He can't lay next to me and let me rub his ears or his tummy ... he has to lay across the bed, cutting my sleeping space into a one-quarter of the bed square. And then he pushes against me with his back legs, his head and tongue dangling off one side of the mattress and his hindquarters determined to eject me out the other side. No Pest, you can't get up here, go get your ball.

His ball. Now, that brings us to the second point of his health care plan: "Visiting hours at the hospital". I have had no rest today to go along with my recuperating because The Pest and his orange ball have been non-stop visitors. He chews on it for a while and once it's slimy and disgusting he drops it on the bed next to me. Nice. I wonder if the Dog Whisperer could teach him how to bring flowers or candy next time he visits the sick. No magazines though because he shreds those up and chews the pages like gum leaving gooey wads somewhere you step on them in your bare feet.

And thirdly, his plan for physical therapy: Keep the patient moving. The Pest first instigated a Tug of War, or maybe it was Tag You're It. Whatever he called it, it most certainly was not "Keep Away" because he didn't. In this exercise, first he deposits the ball on my face, then I take it and say "Here you go boy. Go play with your ball". He gives me the big eyes which means "No, YOU play with me". I've received this message before and try putting the ball into his mouth while saying "Go on now, go play" to which he replies, with a big smiley pant "That's NOT what I have in mind." Now I respond and yes, this IS my final answer "That's enough pal, now take your ball and go on." I punctuate my point by tossing the orange ball off my bed and down on the floor. I'm sure he'd have gotten my hint that time, if only the ball didn't roll under the armoire. So he lays on the floor barking and barking and persistantly barking at it.

In the end, I must admit that his health care plan worked. Just look, I am up and out of bed, obeying the "doctors" orders. Here's you ball, Pest.

Dog days of summer

It's hot where we live. Hot and humid, and we are all praying for cool October weather. Our dog's both have black fur coats and they hate it outside during these blazing summer days.

A Pest solution is to crawl under the end table and lay right on top of the A/C vent so that the cold air blows right up his nose while no one else in the room gets any of the cooling benefit. We keep the ceiling fan on to keep the air moving, but he's not really into the breeze as much as the freeze.

I accidentally dropped an ice cube on the kitchen floor over the weekend and he lunged for it like it was a chicken leg. I tried to pick it up to give to him, but his chin remained on it as protection from all intruders. Meanwhile, skating it along with his chin, the rest of his body was contorted in an awkward arch trying to keep up with his glide. Graceful on the ice, he wasn't. And the longer he pushed it the smaller it got until all that was left was a puddle to lick up. At least it was a chilly puddle.

The Pest does, by design, have to venture outside several times during the day, no matter what the temperature threatens. He trots into the shade to take care of business and then he wants right back in. If the sprinkler is on, he wants back in even faster. When I was a kid, I loved to play in the sprinkler to cool off. But remember, we are talking about a dog in a black fur coat in the late summer. Wearing a soggy wet black fur coat, steam rising, doesn't even hint at heat relief.

His oasis is the tile floor upstairs where the A/C vent blows down from the ceiling. It's a Two-for-one deal for Pest because he gets his tummy flat down on the cool tile and the A/C vent blows cold air right on his back. He sleeps there at night and naps there sometimes during the day, dreaming of someone to fan him with a big palm leaf, rub his ears and feed him grapes and the occasional ice cube.

At the Dog Park

Big applause to all the people who plan and develop dog parks!!! We are blessed to live in an area where there are plenty of lovely parks that include fenced in areas specifically for dog romping and chasing ... the equivalent of dog Disney World!

The Pest and the Passive One took me to a brand new dog park the other day. It received a Grand Opening ribbon cutting ceremony over the weekend, so we felt that three days later we should pay our respects. Once out of the car, they pulled at my arms like cart oxen tugging me to go faster, not because they knew where we were going. They get excited to go anywhere. Pulling and straining at their leashes, demanding speedier progress. But they have four legs each. That's eight legs to my two. No way can I keep up!

We arrive at the gate, and pause in awe. Silent in wonder. This park has grass. Green, soft, mown grass. A far cry from the worn down, moon surface bare dirt dog park we usually go to. And sparkling, new doggie water fountains with buttons that actually work! And lot's of outlying trees ripe for pee marking. The dogs both look up at me with dreamy tear-filled eyes. "Is this Heaven?", they whisper.

The best thing about dog parks is socializing with new playmates. The variety of sizes, shapes, colors, heritage make for a festive Dog Party. The Pest and the Passive One lope into the park and head for the pack with their heads lowered and their sniffer working overtime. Everybody has to be sniffed and sorted out. "Hello. What's that fragrance you're wearing?" "Have we met before?" "Hey cut that out! I don't even know you!"

And the toys, like Christmas morning, are scattered everywhere. Dirty, war torn, disfigured and abandoned -- all the better to play with, my dear. The Passive One grabs the weather beaten rope remains and shakes it whipping against his sides, flinging nasty grit everywhere boasting of his treasure. The Pest just runs with the pack, showing off, doing his best to be noticed and accepted. His popularity is short lived once he starts nipping at other dogs legs and latching on to the back of their necks, being a general nuisance. What he lacks in manners he makes up for in charm.

The walk back to the van is effortless for me but they are begging to be carried. They whine "I'm too tired. Please pick me up. Can you lift me up? I want to hug you." But Ha! I've heard it all before and am unmoved by their tongues dragging along the sidewalk and heads hanging low seemingly too heavy to be held up by their chunky necks. "C'mon guys," I tell them. "There's water dishes in the van." And the hope of refreshment spurs them on. Once in the van laying on their comfy seats with the A/C blowing and the hushed sound of the tires against the road, it gets very calm. Their heads are up but their eyes are closed and they pant softly through a contented smile. I can see that it's going to be a very quiet afternoon at our house.

Pest fitness

This morning, not yet bright and early as always, cause The Pest is an eager riser, I let him outside into our backyard to do his usual morning thing. It's a grassy, spacious yard with lots of room to run and play, annoy the squirrels and manhunt a tennis ball. After I'd made a pot of coffee, filled the water bowls and metered out the dog chow, I looked out the window to check on his progress. He was lazily lying on the deck, head on paws peaceful and drowsy. My heart melted at the sweet sight of him. I thought Awwww, poor sweet little thing, surely he'd be much more comfortable taking his nap on the carpet inside the house where's it's airconditioned. So slowly I opened the door and let the poor sweet thing into the house.

Poor sweet thing ambled up and stretched long, mosied through the back door and then walked a circle around my legs. That must have wound up some internal spring because then he took off running into the hallway and foyer. The throw rugs were shoved up in corners like terrified pedestrians as he blurred past again, his feet going Chugga-Chugga-Chugga-Chugga on the hardwood floor. The Pest dashed in then banked up the living-room wall ricocheting into the dining-room, a rocket around the seating for eight. Accelerating on the turn, (how could he pick up anymore speed??) he was a mere light signature through the family room. The windows rattled in their sills, sofa cushions mere flying casualties, floor boards lifting in his wake. He launches over an easy chair and rearranges the coffee table. His tailwind kicks up ashes from the fireplace. Two frantic zip-zip figure-eights in the hallway later, he drops down at my feet, his chin on his front paws, his bobbed tail giving me a thumbs up, and his tongue flung out like a red carpet at the Oscars. He's taking his bow. TA-DA!

Our vet is concerned that The Pest doesn't get enough exercise. She should see the track marks on my wallpaper.

The Pest's orange ball

The Pest has lots of bones to chew on. Not the rawhide kind which get all gummy when chewed .... who'd want that gunk sitting at the bottom of their stomach anyway? All the bones take second place though. The Pest really prefers his cheap orange rubber ball.

When he first gets that ball in his mouth he prances, head held high gloating. Every available person must view and admire his achievement. Nobody nearby? He'll locate an audience. Ah-ha! I've been discovered taking a nap. The Pest smoothly, soundlessly, tip-toes with such stealth and finesse to the side of the bed, so far successfully undetected . Pause ... breathe ... deliver - PLOP! The slimy dripping orange trophy is rolling down my face. We are eye to eye. My eyes half-open and annoyed. His eyes reflect an innocence that I don't buy anymore. And he thinks, Oh good, she's awake now. Let the petting commence!

Chewing that ball is fine art with him. He's practiced hours to expel an irritating whispery whoosh every time he clamps down on it. Not a quiet pleasant ocean surf type of whispery whoosh, but more like the harsh hushshsh sound a strict, stalwart, seasoned librarian makes against a giggling teenage patron. It's a talent really, as he's had no formal training. And he's composed different versions of the whispery whoosh.

One version has a holiday theme. That's when he's wearing his collar and his enthusiasm over that chew toy explodes. His dog tags get a vigorous shaking as he chomps. Jingle jingle whispery whoosh, jingle whoosh jingle jingle.

There's also the suprise party version of the whispery whoosh that sounds more like a quick whispery whoosh nokt! That's when he's visiting me at the computer, just checking in, and his mouth is open and the ball gets squeezed up and down like bubble gum.

At the moment though, he's playing his silent version. Laying flat out asleep here, with that orange rubber ball in his mouth, snoring. Sort of reminds me of those medieval feasts that you've seen on TV where the roasted pig is served with the apple in his mouth. Maybe he's dreaming of dog heaven where the orange balls are plentiful and your adoring fans bring you dog treats in a popcorn bowl. The Pest breathes deep and lets out a long contented sigh. All is right with his world, a nap and a orange rubber ball.

LIVING WITH A DOG NAMED PEST

The Pest. My year-old Rottweiler whose name was actually Deuce the day that his owner relinquished the six-month old pup to rescue. Deuce? That name promises some pride and strength of character. The Pest doesn’t have any character at all.

The Pest has no manners, and doesn’t care who knows it. He blatantly jumps on the head of my other male Rottweiler and you can almost hear his devilish cackle. Coming down the stairs from my bedroom to the living room is almost an Olympic event for me as I dodge his feet flying back over front, long ears flapping like wind funnels. He barreled into my leg the other day, 100 pounds, 100 miles an hour coming down the stairs like he had someplace important to go. My entire calf jolted into a charley horse of mammoth proportions and I hobbled ridiculously the rest of the way down. I couldn’t find a stretch to pull the knot out, and you know if you’ve been delivered a charley-horse that’s all you can think about at the time. I dropped to the floor and grabbed onto my calf with both hand hoping to prod, ply, plead that muscle back in place.

Next to me on the floor, sat The Pest, bright eyed, a glint that held too much glee. Then he presented me with a big, sloppy kiss licking from my chin to eyebrow, but there was no apology in it. His posture was telling the truth about this dog. What he really was saying was “Let’s do that again!”