Of Toys and Such

I often overhear to my amusement, 2-leggeds comment upon the billion dollar "pet toys" industry in the United States.  Most 2-leggeds are surprised if not outright shocked by the "privileged" treatment of 4-leggeds in the 21st century.  "Dog accessorizing?!!" You got to be kidding!"  My response:  NOT accessories, but necessities!Fortunately my family, especially her, has firmly embraced the concept of necessities (over accessories) and proudly (and frequently) donates to the "dog toys" industry so it may continue to thrive; like a national health for pet necessities.  One might argue that from Day One, I, along with my 2-legged companions, have been "trained" to "need" play-things, toys, etc., so that it now has become a habit for her to shop constantly for items that would be "a delightful, entertaining, and dog-proof distraction" that is, of course, washable.  My earliest recollections of toyland begins with my Woobie; a green and white checkered stuffed dog that journeyed with me to my new home.  Most of this journey I don't recall, but Woobie, despite his tattered appearance, is forever burned into my memory.

She too remembers Woobie well:  the car ride home (with me in tears), the interstate back-up (with me crying and wimpering all the way), my single howl of anguish upon arriving at my crate (so she says), and her and I's first sleepless night together (he seems to have been conveniently absent).  She likes to bring Woobie (and my puppy-stage chew string) out to remind me (mostly herself) of those early days when I weighed under 15 lbs and was "cute as a button."  Those were the days in which I earned the nickname Danger Dog--the subtext of the meaning is still not all clear to me, but it is a catchy name.

As time passed, a cabinet drawer was no longer ample enough to store the collection of toys she gathered (he doesn't shop at all) allegedly for me.  A small 10 gallon plastic container with a lid (never used, as it was full from the moment of purchase) became the transitional storage area, on the way to a bigger (50 gallon) facility.

  

Like the previous one, this 50 gallon facility was not actually "tested" for size 

(not unlike the demilitarization facilities for Cold War chemical weapons based in the South Pacific and the west desert of Utah); so no lid, no matter how much she tried to stand on it, could contain the overflow of toys.

Sometimes she and I conference about sorting through the mountain of "pet industry goods" to see if there are items that could be recycled to other dogs we know, or even (dare I admit this!) placed in the green treasure holding tank for the weekly pickup.  This always seems like a good plan; but there is a catch:  apparently she has become as attached (if not more) as I, to each of my toys.  So battered Woobie and the puppy-stage chew toy are kept "because they are from my puppy days;" the hard rubber bones (and there are many) I never particularly liked, are kept "just in case" I might suddenly (after years of neglect) become interested in them, or 4-legged visitors may come to play (I can count the number of such visits on one pad), or the even more hopeful

"another puppy joins our clan" (I like this last one, but he is adamantly opposed--this is an on-going discussion in our household despite the majority vote in favor, her and I).  

Perhaps the most curious decision is to keep items that have long been separated, like Bingo's Head and Body-decapitated in a tug-a-war after which his insides were hastily cleaned up and deposited in the green treasure chest.  

Bingo's head is now its own toy, living a disembodied life at the bottom of the 50 gallon box.  

So, in the end, it is not so much my desire to acquire or to hang on to the dog

 necessities gathered across time.  It 

is more about our remembrance of days filled with play gone by, more about her looking ahead to the time she and I part on earth, more about her deep love for me, and my deep love for her.  Besides, if I'm to be woman/man's best friend, there ought to be some tangible perks along the way.

On This Day of Labor

The 2-legged saying "It's a dog's life," has troubled me for some time.  What does this mean?  As a "dog" I wonder what exactly the 2-legged who coined this phrase was thinking about?  What is "a dog's life"?  There seems to be an implication that dogs do nothing but eat, sleep, and scratch all day.  Well, let me set you 2-leggeds who are reading this straight:  a "dog's life" is filled with more than these activities!  

Perhaps a quick perusal of my daily responsibilities will shed some light.

My day begins as most 4-leggeds, with the task of waking my 2-leggeds and making sure they actually get out of bed.  This is never an easy task.   She dutifully gets up, lets me out for my morning constitutional, and lays out my breakfast before she falls back into bed.  Not a good start for her since she needs to be up early to help me with the household chores.  With much prompting, in the form of wimpering, I can usually get her up again and headed in the direction of our labors.  Our work together is seasonal but for this entry I'll just focus on our Summer chores (no doubt Fall, Winter, & Spring chores will each be described in great detail as the seasons pass). Because I live with 2 2-leggeds, there are different chores associated with each.  I'll begin with her and my chores first.

She and I try to complete our first chore before the sunny globe's rising:  the watering of the scent-ladened flowers.  We must beat the heat, or so she says, to save them from a withering death.  My task is to retrieve the watering can where ever it has blown to overnight, get it to the spigot and the coiled red hose, watch her fill the can, make sure she doesn't trip along the gravel path, direct her to the flower containers, smell each flower to see if anything new happened since yesterday, roust out any errant wasps (this is a harrowing tale for yet another day), then take the empty watering can back to the red hose.

We must repeat this several times on two decks and the front porch, usually about 1 hour worth of work.  A very strenuous labor indeed!  Watering is immediately followed by the ritual sweeping of the decks and washing down of any hummingbird poop.  I don't think these chores are absolutely necessary, but she is adamant about walking bare-padded without stepping on grasshoppers, ants, moths, poop, dirt, and whatever else has taken up residence on the decks since yesterday.  I simply chase the  broom, scatter the bugs, and lick at (she tries to stop me) the poop, while she putters around.  Once this set of chores is completed we grab a biodegradable poop bag or two (made of all things--tapioca, carrots, & corn!  this may sound very tasty, but it isn't!) and begin our search and rescue of all poop (mine and other 4-leggeds) on our little acre.  My job is to locate the piles, her's to retrieve them.  All bags of treasures are deposited in the green container under the East Deck.  Outside chores are done for now; inside ones now begin.

[Note:  We do water plants inside the house every-other-day but this doesn't involve a red hose or the big blue watering can, so I just trail along to lap up any spills.]

My first inside duty is to pick up after the 2-leggeds (especially him).  I hunt down, retrieve , occasionally chew on, then deposit any socks, underwear, or other 2-legged clothing that happens to be at floor-height, into the laundry

basket.  

She sometimes comes along on this journey for moral support.

 

The canvassing of floors doesn't end here.

 I'm responsible for collecting and for putting all my toys in the toy box.  This I don't quite understand since in an hour I'll be taking them out again and redistributing them throughout the house. 

One of my last indoor tasks for the day is to locate and to shred any paper products she and he plan to recycle.  This is perhaps the best chore of all!  Shredding is as much fun as swimming, chasing birds, and climbing mountains, but it is hard work, and some 4-legged has to do it!

Probably the most important task I perform is that of border patrol.  It is my sole duty to patrol our woods, to guard our home, to inspect any packages brought inside our house, and to scrutinize all company (4-legged and 2-legged) that seek admittance into our abode.  I know other 4-leggeds understand the weightiness of this particular responsibility;

it is one chore 4-leggeds undertake with much vigilance and perhaps the only chore 2-leggeds give us credit for.  Little do these 2-leggeds really know about the world around them!

I hear most 2-leggeds are early risers but his half of the 2-legged set is decidedly not!  If nudged too frequently he will roll to the center of the bed and out of reach.  Since he sleeps like a "log" (so she says) wimpering won't work.  I must turn to the head-shaking-ear-flapping method which not only works but often gets a wry smile out of him as he swings his 2 legs out of bed. Our morning task is to get the coffee going (a bitter tasting but sweet smelling liquid substance for you 4-leggeds out there who didn't know).  If I don't keep nudging him along the way, he is wont to drift into his study, plop down in front of the computer, and bury himself for hours on end.  It is no easy task to keep him on task.  

Often I accompany him on his a.m. constitutional to the end of the cul-de-sac where we survey the woods, check for other 2-leggeds' belongings/droppings, and note what new flowers have sprung up since the day before.  

Summer days are filled with lots of work, but it would be remise of me to not mention that these very days are also filled with all kinds of adventures; of which I shall describe at much length in future entries.  But some days, like today this day of labor, there is only one chore that absolutely needs to be completed: