Every Dog Has His Day...

They say that every dog has his day and tomorrow is Nipper's! It is hard to believe that that tiny, five week old puppy is going to be fifteen years old tomorrow. Where did the time go? But, most of all I want to know, why do dogs get old so young?

The same little guy who couldn't even gnaw his way through a Milk Bone back then is getting his own birthday cake tomorrow. It will have three tiers and be decorated with bacon, bologna, hot dogs and salami. I am the one baking it and between you and me, it is so much fun, I can't wait to serve it.

Here's a photo of Nipper peeking out from under the kitchen table. On top are the ingredients for a three-tier, meat-a-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-ific doggie birthday cake.

Hope you can make it tomorrow! Don't tell Nipper, but his present is a motorized bubble machine that generates up to 1,000 bubbles per minute. His dad just came up from the basement (after installing the batteries, etc.) and declared, "It's tempermental, but it'll work."

Hmmmm...just like me?

Jake and Jake Sweeney!

I have always been easily manipulated by the media. So, when I was a little kid, I had two goldfish named "Jake" and "Jake Sweeney." You see, the Sweeney car dealerships advertised heavily on Saturday mornings and afternoons, which is when I did most of my television viewing.

Who could blame me for wanting to use the Sweeney name? In between "Mr. Hop", "Shock Theater" and "Big Time Wrestling" I would watch in amazement, milk dribbling out of my bowl of Frosted Flakes while Mr. Sweeney hawked the virtues of dozens of used cars. He'd stand out in front of the dealership holding a microphone (which immediately gave him credence in my book) and the lot guys would drive up car after car. When he was finished giving the spiel about how swell each one was, he'd rap the hood with his knuckles and it would drive on as if by magic. Now, that was power!

Once, when I was about five, the Sweeney dealerships had a promotion that gave away a free pony (or $50) with the purchase of every used car. When I got all excited and asked if we could buy a car in order to get one, my dad said that we couldn't keep a horse in the city of Ft. Thomas. A precocious child, I cited a family we knew who lived in the city who had a horse. "You need a special permit," he said (thinking quickly on his feet), "And I don't know how to get one."

Fifteen minutes later I called him to the phone. It was the Mayor's office and they wanted to know where to send the paperwork. Precocious, thy name was Marsie...

Four decades later and I still don't have a pony. But I did buy two goldfish yesterday and for old times sake, named them "Jake and Jake Sweeney." They're nice, but you can't ride 'em. Hey, maybe...that gives me an idea. If not now, when? Gotta go, I'm calling they Sweeney's; perhaps they has a few left over.

Nipper's Serenade!

Our dog Nipper has an "official" song. It's one of many, really, but nearly every day of his 14 3/4 years with us (except for the six weeks he was with his birth mother and littermates), I have sung this to him:

(To the tune of "Rubber Duckie".)

Nipper Newbold, you're the one -

You make our house lots of fun.

Nipper Newbold, we're awfully fond of you -

Boop, boop, be-do!

Nipper Newbold, joy of joys!

So pretty it's hard to believe you are a boy!

Nipper Newbold, you're our very best friend it's true!

Chorus:

Everyday you roll over and we rub your tummy.

Why? 'Cause it's so furry and chubby!

Rub-a-rub-rubby!

Nipper Newbold, you're so fine -.

We let you outside when you whine.

Nipper Newbold, we're awfully fond of -

Nipper Newbold, we'd like a whole kennel -

of youuuuu!

I have a theory. Life is a huge musical and there is a song for virtually everything! Do you sing to your pets? Bet you do! What songs are on your personal menagerie's "Hit Parade" list?

Cleanliness is Not Next to Hamster-i-ness!

Hamsterdam.
Peace offering.
Release.
Materials of cleanliness.
Inside the ball.

My hamsters are mad at me. Squeaking mad. Why? Because I had the audacity to clean their cage. (Well,actually it's an aquarium with a screened lid, but let's not quibble about the details because there is enough discord in the house right now as it is.)

It had to be done. They were getting downright stinky and since they share my office and I'm the responsible-pet-owner-in-residence, I'm the one who has to do it, even though it makes me the "bad guy." I know that they spend lots of time getting their little lair "just right," but it's not like they're not used to it. We have a routine.

Once or twice a week, I put up the baby gate to keep Nipper out of the kitchen, place Sheldon and Leonard in their little hamster balls so they can run across the kitchen floor while I work, spread the newspaper out over the kitchen table, gather the materials and give "Hamsterdam" a good, old-fashioned, soap and hot water scrubbing. Then they get fresh litter, clean water, a new bowl of food and to assuage their pique (gosh, I love dropping pretentious French phrases when it comes to talking about housepets), bribe them with a vanilla Oreo cookie to make it all better.

But they are still spitting mad...so angry they can barely run their wheel. You should see them stomping around that cage messing the place up again. Ah, well...what else do they have to do? As my Great-Grandmother was fond of saying, "Everybody has to have a hobby!"

I'm a Dog Watcher!

*Singing*
(In my prettiest, warbilest voice to the tune of “Girl Watcher” by the O’Kaysions):

“I’m a dog watcher.
I’m a dog watcher.
Watchin’ dogs go by.
My, my, my…”.

Now I may not have been awarded the Presidential Physical Fitness Award in grade school (I didn’t want to do those stupid 100 sit ups anyway), but as an adult I have excelled at the sport of dog watching.

You see, my inner child never progressed beyond the stage of pointing to every canine she sees and practically shrieking, “Doggie! Doggie, doggie, doggie!”

Dog watching never gets old and my absolute most favorite place in the world to indulge is Hyde Park Square. It is a dog-watcher’s heaven on earth. There is absolutely nothing better than sitting at one of those little tables out in front of Awakenings with a sugar-free, fat-free, vanilla latte and watching the pooches on parade.

They range from pure-breds to mutts, and the owners are all equally proud. Most are willing, if not eager to stop and let you pet their pals and share their stories. It is people at their friendliest and most open in ways they might never be if they didn‘t have their dogs with them. Admiring someone’s dog is a sure-fire conversation starter and a great equalizer. The truth is, from my own experience with my own dogs, is you are not just walking your dog…it is your heart at the end of that leash and you are taking it out for all the world to see.

Do you have a favorite dog watching spot? I'd love to know! C'mon, after all, turn-about is fair play!

Pussycat, Pussycat, I Love You!

I'm besotted with the calico cat who lives down the street. We've never met, but I look for him (or her) whenever I drive by. He (or she) is almost always lying in the window, enjoying the sun and keeping a watchful eye on the birdies. On the days he (or she) is there, it makes me smile and on the days he (or she) is not, I feel a bit blue (for just a moment or two) and wonder what he (or she) is up to.

Is he (or she) partaking in a little snack? Napping on the bed? Chasing a mouse? I'll never know, but I'm always charmed by the thought...

Funny how that works. That kitty whom I have never formally met has become a happy touchstone in my life. It's just another example of how animals, sometimes just by their sheer existence can bring us joy.

I'm going to take Nipper for a walk and leave this little catnip bouquet on his (or her) doorstep right now. Perhaps I'll see the owners and introduce myself. Maybe not...sometimes it is best to remain a "secret admirer."

Do you have any animals you admire from afar?

Good as Gold(fish)!

Oh, I have such a love-hate thing going with goldfish. I love everything about the finny little creatures, watching them and taking care of them, but I hate the nasty habit they have of dying on me despite my best efforts. Through the years I have had at least a hundred; from the dime-store Comet variety to giant $50 Raspberry headed Orandas. They have lived in everything from plain old bowls to climate-controlled aquariums with air pumps with names like "Silent Giant." And between you and me, none of them has lived for more than a few weeks to a month, with one exception: Eartha Kitt Fish.

Eartha was a Black Moor goldfish with long, flowing fins that put me in mind of an evening gown. She lived in a one-gallon bowl that sat on the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room of my single-girl condo. Eartha held court for three years and even had her own tiny Christmas stocking. Friends and family asked about her constantly and she became part of a humorous running commentary. The fantasy world that we concocted for her was far more glamorous than our own; when we weren't watching she sang in French bistros, dated movie stars and supped with Kings and Queens.

My chanteuse of a condo-mate provided more than finny eye-candy. She was a great companion and added a bit of sparkle to not only my life, but to others as well.
Not bad for a $1.75 fish from Woolworth's.

Eartha, it was my privilege to have been the one to feed you and clean your bowl. You continue to swim through my thoughts and all these years later, I still miss you.