tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9255442122112047792024-03-13T12:23:51.341-04:00Adventures of Jack the Wonder DogMy name is Erin and Jack is my dog. My husband got him for me as an early wedding present. From the instant Jack and I met eyes, we were best friends. Nine + years later, he is my right hand man, my best friend with four legs and my snuggle buddy.Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-15141754147703511612015-05-16T23:19:00.002-04:002015-05-16T23:19:59.421-04:00In God's HandsDog spelled backwards is God. I've always treated my relationship with Jack as one that God himself gave me. I've tried to always nurture it, embrace it, pick up the poop when it falls and keep a smile on my face. This is the final post I'll make here about my Wonder Dog, as today was his last day. Here's his story:<br />
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Friday, April 10<br />
I woke up at 1:45am to hear Jack crying from his house (kennel) in the kitchen. I came downstairs, and let him straight out. I checked his blanket, and it appeared to be dry, so I wasn't too sure what was wrong. Maybe his stomach was just upset? I pulled the cover on his house over the front and felt something wet. That's when I investigated further, he had pooped in his house. Gross. It took me about 15 minutes to clean it all up and then I realized, he was still outside. Normally he just goes out, does his business and comes back. Five minutes tops. I went into the backyard, and see him hunched over, trying to poop. Then standing up, walking two steps, and squatting down to pee. This repeated itself about four times. I called him inside, put him in his house, kissed his head, and said good night.<br />
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I woke up and came downstairs at 8am. He had pooped in his house. Again. I let him outside and for the next two hours, we did 15 minutes outside. 15 minutes in his house. Outside, house. Obviously something was very wrong. I thought he might have eaten something, like a toad or found something in the backyard. My son and I left him for an hour, went and did errands, and when we came home, took Jack for a walk. On the walk I see he is trying to poop; just mucus is coming out. He's drooling (he doesn't drool) and he keeps squatting to pee; but nothing is coming out. I called the vet immediately, explained what was going on, and we got in to see her within the hour.<br />
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At the vet's office, its determined his prostate is enlarged "which is very unusual for a male dog, but especially a neutered male dog". They catheterized him and when they showed me his urine, I was sobbing. It wasn't urine, yellow and beautiful. It was dark orange/brown and had the consistency of snot. In between sobs (and my own snot) I heard her say he has a very serious urinary tract infection. They took blood, gave me antibiotics and said they'd call me in the morning. When I got home, I explained to my family what was happening but that I couldn't shake the feeling, he has cancer. "He will be okay." "Don't think like that." But somehow I just knew. <br />
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That evening Jack didn't want to take his antibiotics. He spent the afternoon sleeping in the sun, laying in the shade or under the bay window (some place he has never gone to before). <br />
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I barely slept.<br />
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Saturday, April 11<br />
At 9am, Jack and I were sitting in the vet's office. She got back the urinalysis and was amazed at his levels. They were all 3+ (which means he was WAY OFF from a healthy puppy). She showed me how to give him his antibiotics (since he didn't take them the night before, he was now already down one dose and we needed to play catch-up). Of course watching a pro do something, you think it looks easy. Of course its easy for the pro. That's what they do. That's their job. However, when I got home, I had no such luck. I felt like an awful pet parent because the one thing I needed to do for my dog to keep him alive, I couldn't. I couldn't shove a pill down his throat.<br />
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Because she gave him his antibiotics in the office, I just needed to ensure he got them Sunday morning. Empowered by my 15 second tutorial from the pro, I felt up for the challenge.<br />
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Sunday, April 12<br />
Now I know why I never played sports, I suck when it comes time to play. I tried three times to put the pill down his throat. One time I was certain it was successful; but he cheeked-it then spit it out at me. As if to say "I'm not stupid. I'm sick. I don't want the stupid pill. Leave me alone." Except, maybe Jack underestimated me.<br />
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Since the vet's office was closed, I didn't have them to give him the pill. So I went to Petsmart. Their vet office is open on Sunday! I walked in, explained my situation to the lady in blue and she said, "he's not our patient. So we can't administer the pill." Say WHA? I handed her ALL of my documentation, explained, through tears and snot, that he needs his medicine, I've tried, I can't do it, and she suggested I used a pill gun. That caught my attention.<br />
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Picture a hollow pencil with a plunger inside. The top is soft and expandable. Put the pill in the top, slide open the pets mouth, push the plunger, pill lands in the throat. Easy.<br />
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Except, no. With fumbling hands, and already sleep deprived and weary, he got the best of me, and I couldn't open his mouth wide enough. I was spent.<br />
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Our next door neighbor, Nicole, had been made aware of what was going on from the first phone call on Friday to the vet. She said, "if you need anything, call me". So I phoned a friend.<br />
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And that friend came over, pet my sunbathing dog, opened his throat, put the pill back there, closed his mouth, gave him a friendly pat on his noggin, hugged me and left. She was an angel in purple. She just saved my dog. I explained that he wasn't drinking anything, and she made the awesome suggestion of using a syringe. With none on hand, the hubs went to Target and came home from the pharmacy with a bag full of syringes any junkie would have admired.<br />
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We spent the afternoon planting new plants in the front, I filled up the syringe with water, injected it into his mouth, got the "I really don't like you" look from him...went back to the plants, filled up the syringe, got the look, and repeated. All afternoon. Because of Nicole, I knew my dog would live to see the vet tomorrow.<br />
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Monday, April 13<br />
At 8am I was on the phone with the vet. Explained our weekend adventure and how awful its been. "Its time we hospitalize him. Bring him in." And so I did. I walked him into the office, gave him a kiss on his head and walked out. For the first time in four days, I felt relief. Relief that he was finally going to get help. Relief that I knew I hit my threshold of being able to care for him and they were able to take control of the situation and actually give him fluids and let him rest and observe him. All the things I couldn't do.<br />
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I called several times that day, asking how he was doing, overall just being "that" mom. "Is his tail wagging?" That night I finally slept well.<br />
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Tuesday, April 14<br />
Funny thing happens when you don't have a pet you need to rush out of bed and take care of. You can get ready at a slow pace. By 9:30 the vet called and said he was eating and could get picked up. My son did a happy dance in the waiting area when they brought Jack out. He had a purple bandage on his front right leg from his IV (which we removed when we got home...to find his leg had been shaved). Finally things were looking up.<br />
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It was determined then that he had a very severe urinary tract/bladder infection. He was given two different antibiotics to stay on for the next week and a half.<br />
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During the next week and a half, I noticed as Jack would walk around the house (he has been contained to the first floor since his ACL injury in the Fall) that there were dribbles on the floor. Pee dribbles. I called the vet, and they said its typical to have the "push" sensation after such a severe infection, its just his body getting back into a groove.<br />
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Over the next two weeks, I cleaned my floors almost daily and changed his bedding every other day because of his dribbles.<br />
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Wednesday, April 22<br />
Jack finished his antibiotics and the vet asked I drop off a urine sample to check on his levels.<br />
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Thursday, April 23<br />
The vet asked for another sample because they needed to run more intense tests on his urine. They will call me tomorrow with the results.<br />
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Friday, April 24<br />
No phone call.<br />
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Saturday, April 25<br />
9:30am my phone rings. The tests reveal an abnormal amount of red and white blood cells in his urine and also abnormal amounts of transitional cells. Bottom line, he has bladder cancer. We have no idea how long it has been going on, but its there. TCC will end up being the death of my dog. We could do an ultrasound ($800+) and start him on tumor shrinking medicine (which could have awful side effects) or just wait it out. <br />
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On Mother's Day, we had plans that took us away from the house all day. When we returned, after leaving Jack alone for 7+ hours, I was certain there was going to be puddles in his house. Not one. Hooray, my boy is feeling better! We went outside and as my son played in his water table, Jack gave me Mother's Day kisses:<br />
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From there, it went down hill rather quickly.<br />
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Monday, May 11<br />
My son and I are playing on the floor, Jack comes over with his Elmo (a squeaky toy my son "needed" to get for Jack) and I realize he smells. He smells like a dog who pees on himself. I put Jack in the tub and as I lathered him up, I was sobbing like a baby. I knew this was the last bath I would ever give him. And then I felt the tumor.<br />
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Tuesday, May 12<br />
I had a meeting that took me away from the house all day, but my mother-in-law was with Jack all day. She said he slept. All day.<br />
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Wednesday, May 13<br />
Jack slept. All day. When the lawn service came, we sat on the steps in the backyard and watched. Jack didn't budge. He laid into my leg and watched. The went back to sleep. <br />
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Thursday, May 14<br />
I washed all of his bedding. Sprayed Lysol on surfaces, and when I went to put the cover on his foam bed, he tried to crawl into it. I laughed and pushed him out of the way then put the bed in front of the fireplace where he always laid. That was at 4:15pm. When I went upstairs for bed at 10:30, he hadn't moved. <br />
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Friday, May 15<br />
I called the vet. Jack has been drinking an abnormal amount of water. And its not coming out. He's also eating, but obviously the tumor is in the way of his intestine, so a formed BM isn't happening. He's walking funny and there's a new sack on his back left leg. His stomach was making awful noises, and when I took him for a walk, he was pooping mucus. I called the vet and she made the appointment for tomorrow at 10:30. "Its time the doc looks him over and accesses things as they stand now." When we were in the backyard together, a cat came under the fence. Jack looked at the cat. Looked at me as if to say "one last time" and exerted more energy than I've seen in over a month, chased the cat away (didn't bark) and then walked his fence perimeter for the last time. We ate dinner outside and Jack laid on his pillow with us. <br />
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Saturday, May 16<br />
I got myself ready, and when I was putting on my socks asked Jack if he'd like to go for a walk. His ears perked up and as soon as he left his bed, he cried out in pain, twice. I promised him it wouldn't be a long walk. He ate all his breakfast (which surprised me because he hasn't packed it away in a very long time) and away we went. He tried to pee; nothing came out.<br />
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My husband and I went to the vets office with him. He was suddenly perked up, vibrant even. We took him for a walk instead of waiting in the waiting room and he tried to pee, several times, and nothing came out. His kidneys were shutting down. We got into the room and we knew. The doctor examined his back leg and said the cancer has spread. The mass is hard. TCC is an extremely aggressive cancer and spreads very quickly. <br />
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The decision was made. I held my best friend close to my heart, prayed into his ear and with two short breathes on my arm, he was gone. We laid him on his side, and I couldn't pull my hand away from his head. His baby-soft ears. His floppy ears which I've messed up onto his head a thousand times and when I finally pulled my hand away I knew I would never touch my dog again. <br />
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I sobbed. We sobbed. We cried hard, big, wet tears. My husband and I held each other, and my hands shook. My heart exploded with pain and grief, knowing my best friend was gone. But, once the tears stopped I realized I had another emotion lingering. Relief. My best friend was finally out of pain. He'd be able to finally take deep breaths. He'd be able to run after the squirrels again. He'd be able to walk without crying out.<br />
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I know that from the time I met Jack all those years ago in the pet store God knew how this day would play out. God loves me and he loves Jack. I know one day I will play with Jack again and when I see him again his whole back end will wiggle with excitement. I know this because I believe in a God who cares for His people and for His pets. Dog spelled backwards isn't an accident...<br />
<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-67443553454676493142014-09-06T22:10:00.001-04:002014-09-06T22:10:17.679-04:00I know. I knowI know, I know, its been "almost a whole year since you've posted"...yes, it has, however things have been so bananas lately, I haven't (correction, mom) had a spare minute. Until today.<br />
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See, this past week I've started to walk with, what mom is calling, "a pimp limp". It started on Sunday and then throughout my week, its been getting worse instead of better. Which had mom on high alert since, ya know, I'm her favorite son and everything. (Even if its not 100% true anymore, I will never believe anything different!) I had been favoring my right leg all week, taking it slow while walking, not going up/down the stairs with my normal ease and grace. Then yesterday, WHAM-OH, its my left leg. Like, causing me to walk with a "pimp limp" because I'm literally off balance and cannot go places. Great.<br />
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While mom was in between meetings yesterday, she called the vet's office and was able to get me an appointment for today! Super! I love car rides!<br />
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Well, funny thing happened last night. A GIANT storm rolled through and caused us to loose power. Twice. Mom didn't know that. So this morning when Lil' Dude came in for his morning snuggles at 5:30, mom was concerned because it was "too early". When he returned for more love at 7:30, mom sent him back to his room (I heard all this going on from my kennel in the kitchen by the way. I don't get the joy of sleeping on mom and dad's nice, big-enough-for-us-all-bed. Instead I sleep in my "house" in the kitchen, with my own blanket. Annnnyway, when mom woke up at 8:30, she realized that all the clocks in the kitchen were blinking, so she reset them. Then it hit her, like a lightning bolt. She had reset them to 9:45. NINE?! Where'd that hour go?! Yikes!<br />
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In a fiery flash mom was upstairs, putting on a hat and giving Lil' Dude and dad some kisses, grabbing me (gently, of course. I'm injured after all) and popped into the car for the 5 minute ride to the vet.<br />
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Funny thing about our vet's office. Its small. The waiting area is about 8'x8'. (Do you know how small that is when every other patient is on a leash, and they wanna sniff your butt, but you don't feel good, so instead your hiding behind your moms legs? Its small. Trust me.) After waiting patiently (and getting lots of treats from mom's special treat pocket!) It was our turn to go into The Room of Doom! (enter scary music!)<br />
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Although they paint it beige and have sensible flooring, don't let it fool you. Its got needles and pokes and Q-tips written all over it! As expected I got poked "just a little pinch" and they did a heartworm test..then the doctor came in. She's really nice and smells good, but she's always giving us bad news. Like "he has an ear infection" or "his allergies are really bad this year" so when she told mom, "we need to take him back and have some X-Rays done, I knew I was doomed (enter scary music).<br />
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As expected, the X-Rays were awful. They held me down with thick metal shackles and beat me til I stopped wiggling. (Ok I'm exaggerating. But only a little. It was AWFUL guys!) But when mom was called back to view them, I knew I was in it deep. Yup, the X-Rays showed nothing. HU!? WHAT THE HECK, DOC?! Clearly my pimp-limp isn't just for the ladies...They were clean as a whistle (which I once heard whistles are actually incredibly dirty and awful and gross. Quite the opposite of clean if ya ask me!)<br />
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When mom started explaining that I was all walking all "cock-eyed" (she didn't say "pimp-limp" to the doctor. I wonder why??? Could it be disrespectful mom? Maybe even slightly embarrassing?) The nice vet-tech took me for a lil gander around the back office. That's when my macho bravado wore off (adrenaline) and I showed my true colors. It was confirmed, my pimp-limp was caused by a torn ACL on my left leg and a possible tear on the right. <br />
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In typical, "that's-my-mom" fashion she started crying. (And let's talk for a second. Mom doesn't cry. She only cries when she's super-duper upset. Or when she wants to high-five someone in the face with a chair, but can't because its illegal...) So when I saw mom crying, I knew it was time to get the heck outta there! The tech handed mom a tissue (which was gross in about .3 seconds!) and filled her in on the details of what our options were. Mainly, surgery. EEK!<br />
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I've only had one surgery before and lets say I walked in with a few more "things" between my legs than when I left. Nuff said, right? I don't really like the idea of surgery (especially since that night after my "boy surgery" I was so doped up, I walked into the riser of one of the exterior stairs on the apartment building mom was living in...it wasn't one of my finer moments.)<br />
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When mom called Nana to fill her in, she brought up a great point. When my buddy Winston (remember that ol' fella?) had a torn ACL a few years ago, it was recommended by the vet (a different vet, but same office mom and I go to) to let it heal on its own. (Hu. I KNEW I loved my Nana!)<br />
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So now mom, dad and me are left with the decision of surgery or no surgery. Based on my behavior today I say I'm fiiiiiiine now. (oh wait, that's probably just the pain pills). Either way, I think I'm gonna hold off on surgery for now. As long as I can "get plenty of R&R" I should be okay in about 8 weeks-ish. (What that really means is I get to be babied, like, well, a baby, and taken care of, and get lots of kisses, hugs, snuggles and treats, but no long walks.)<br />
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Sorry I don't have any pictures to attach to this post. Mom said she'll work on getting one up...<br />
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In the meantime, wish me luck on my R&R journey! I wonder what movie Lil' Dude and I will watch tomorrow while I'm R&R-ing!<br />
<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-8117905771519751292013-11-15T14:00:00.000-05:002013-11-15T14:00:08.405-05:00There goes snack timeSeems Lil' Dude has decided to become selfish and actually EAT his snacks. Which, this is a new idea to me, because, ya know...for a while he's been all, "Here ya go, Jack!" and slipping a pretzel here or a little muffin there. But about two months ago, my world went from right-side-up to backwards-end-down when he learned a very simple, very bad word. No.<br />
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N.O.<br />
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This word has become the pins in my needles. The drain to my bath tub. Its sucking <i>all the fun</i> out of my day! Another thing he's started doing is telling me to "GO!" into my house...and then closing the door.<br />
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Thankfully mom is there to referee things. She always has my back...not to say that Lil' Dude is being bad- he's just learning how to do things (at least that's what mom tells me as she slips me another cookie) and she always corrects him and encourages him to be "niiiiice" and pet me, which always means I get another cookie...<br />
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Overall this whole, having a permanent roommate (Lil' Dude) in the house is working out well. I mean, I don't share my cookies with him, so I guess its cool that he doesn't share his cookies with me anymore...Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-80187850892018736082013-09-20T22:13:00.004-04:002013-09-20T22:13:59.946-04:00Don't come near MY baby...When mom brought home Lil' Man I wasn't too sure of him. Sure he smelled okay (a mixture of milk and spit-up and poop...which is how I got to know him so well...) but it wasn't until I sniffed him and realized that he smelled like mom that I took him under my "tail" (birds can say "wing"...but I'm a dog, I don't have wings...don't judge me!) All of a sudden, when I sniffed that milk and mom combo did I realize, he's mine now. And what's mine, I will protect.<br />
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Whenever someone new would come into the house to pick up <i>my </i>baby, I'd be right by their side the whole time. If someone went to pick him up from the swing, well darn it, I was in between the swing, their knee and my baby. If they'd sit down with him at the kitchen table, guess where I was? Riiiiight underneath their chair so that if they dropped him, I'd be there to catch him.<br />
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Yes, he was mine from the instant I sniffed him and ever since, we have been inseparable.<br />
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Today, I overheard Nana telling mom about a dog who alerted his family that the babysitter was hurting his baby. Seems the dog kept getting overly protective of the baby once the sitter would come into the house, and the owners even had to restrain him from the sitter a few times. (Now, under normal circumstances, I would NOT be okay with knowing that a dog was being unfriendly to a human...but in this case, I wanted to get in on the action and "sick" her!)<br />
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The parents got smart and kept a phone under the couch to record the noises in the house. Turns out that while the baby started crying, she screamed at him, cursed and then you hear a slap, and the babies cry goes from "I'm fussy" to "I'm in pain".<br />
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Nooooooooooow let's start from the beginning on this one. IF I was the dog living in this house, where MY baby was being hit by ANYONE you can bet your bottom dollar that my nose would be SO FAR UP THEIR BUTT they couldn't sit down for a week.<br />
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I've never been more proud to call myself a dog, than I was when I read this article. For all those people out there who say a "dog is just a dog" or "stupid mutt" or something else that demeans the important role we take on in our families...all I have to say is, you must never have had a dog before.<br />
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Bravo to my canine companion for taking care of your baby and protecting what's yours.<br />
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(If you need backup, just gimme a call...pretty sure mom would lead the charge!)<br />
<a href="http://www.care2.com/causes/dog-alerts-parents-babysitter-hurting-child.html">Here's the article</a> that details what happens (and doesn't talk about sticking their noses up butts...)Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-52721384406700753712013-07-22T21:32:00.002-04:002013-07-22T21:32:44.093-04:00I know, I knooooooowDaaaaaang, its been a while since I've posted right?<br />
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Well here's the thing, I've been so busy being a big brother and watching all the squirrels in the backyard, I haven't had anytime at all to sit in front of my laptop and write things!<br />
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I apologize. Truly. See, I have sad puppy eyes and everything. (This would be the perfect place for mom to put in a picture of me with sad-puppy eyes, except I rarely make them...so capturing them would be difficult...)<br />
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ANYWAY, the purpose behind this post is this article right<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/summeranne/dog-finds-a-tiny-kitten-risks-everything-to-save-her"> here</a> about a dog who risked everything to save (drum roll) a KITTEN! Not even her own SPECIES and she barked and yelped until the animal people took both of them away!<br />
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And, while I'm typing, summer camp went off without a hitch! Mom (with the background help from me, of course!) had a great group of kiddos and had so much fun!<br />
<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-41679258295641563462013-04-25T12:43:00.001-04:002013-04-25T12:43:10.162-04:00Hold on tight!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mom, 'Lil Man and I go for walks. A lot. Last year when we went he was little and didn't really do much. Like, he just sat there, kinda like a blob. A cute one, but still, a blob. Well that's all a thing of the past. See, this year, on our very first walk of the year (together, mom and I take walks in the winter, but he's a "baby" and "can't go outside when its that cold" so we went alone.) I'm just walking along side the stroller, when all a sudden I feel a tug. Hu? I look over and guess whose holding my leash? Lil' Man! Seems whenever we go for a walk now, all he wants to do is hold my leash. Which is cool with me, I mean, I'm just happy to get outside and sniff around the block. You know, a lot can change over the winter! </div>
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<i> I hide under his blankie</i></div>
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<i>I try and hide under Eeyore</i></div>
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Neither have been super successful, so I'm gonna keep trying. Ahhhh the life of having a little brother...<br />
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<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-91315915650556402052013-02-18T13:42:00.000-05:002013-02-18T13:42:05.979-05:00Arch nemesisPretty sure, in every dog's life, when they see a piece of luggage, they know what's coming. Sudden death. This means, they are leaving and who only knows when they will be back. Some people like luggage, they get all excited when its pulled out, I'm sure because they are taking it to some amazing location with lots of drinks and sun and laughs...but me? I see luggage and dread what's to come.<br />
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To some dogs, cats are their arch enemy. To some dogs, it might be another dog who puts the crackle in their fire. For me, its those red bags with wheels.<br />
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I see them come up from the depths of the basement and I just know I'm going to be left. This means an eternity of waiting for mom to come home. This means a lifetime of cold, lonely nights, left with no one to play with me or take me for walks. This means no love, or attention or fresh water. This means I will have to staaaaaaarve until they come home.*<br />
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(*<u>Mom note</u>- he is never left alone or even goes to a kennel. This trip he stayed with my brother in law, who let Jack sleep in bed with him each night (at home he sleeps in his house, which is kept in the kitchen) he got to climb up on the couch (at home, he's not allowed on the couch) and got rawhides each time he went into his kennel for the day (at home, he gets one Milk-Bone. That's it) AND, because we forgot to bring toys with us, my brother in law gave Jack a rope belt to tear up and destroy, while playing tug-o-war...So yes, our dog is a little over dramatic...just a heads up!) <br />
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<i>I fit...I don' t know why I can't join 'em!!</i></div>
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<i> </i> </div>
Once the bags come out, I know what's next. They get filled. With clothing that they will wear without me. Shoes that they will go for walks wearing, without me. Yes, the life of a puggle is a rough one. <br />
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But yesterday my luck changed. I was pulled from the bowels of my depression when I found my way home, in the snow and ice, alone and cold. I was scratching at the door, hoping they'd be home and I could get a drink of water when mom answered the door!* <br />
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(*<u>Mom note</u><i>-</i> My best friend, who is dating my brother-in-law (convienent, right?!) put Jack into her car, drove him across town and dropped him off at our doorstep. He did not wander around in the snow and ice until his little puggle ears got frost bite...he rode across town, in a car with HEAT and came into the house, with HEAT!) <br />
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It was like Christmas seeing mom!! Then the hard part came...waiting until Lil' Man woke up from his nap so I could give him kisses...but when he did wake up, you bet your bottom dollar, I gave him as many kisses as he'd let me, until he crawled away!!<br />
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So now, they are all home and I'm so happy, I'm snoring next to my mom. I hope the luggage stays in the basement for a very long time. My poor puggle heart can't take much more...<br />
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Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-53669195374624862742013-02-04T14:32:00.002-05:002013-02-04T14:32:41.160-05:00This is why I love this kid...When its his snack time...its my snack time too!<br />
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<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-27687860893673487382012-08-22T11:03:00.000-04:002012-08-22T11:03:04.991-04:00Itch I can't scratchI thought this summer would be different than all my previous summers.<br />
I thought this summer I wouldn't be itchy.<br />
I thought this summer I would finally escape the pain of seasonal allergies.<br />
I was wrong.<br />
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I escaped June, July and part of August. Which, based on my past history, is really good! But now, the end of August, something has sprung up causing me to itch. And scratch. And drag myself across the floor like a soldier in combat training....<br />
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Ohhhhh seasonal allergies, why oh why can't I escape you??<br />
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Maybe we should move to Alaska? HmmmmErinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-12609114368611276202012-08-12T12:54:00.001-04:002012-08-12T12:54:12.146-04:00Schoep- man's best friendI just read this article about an older pup named Schoep who has really bad joints, and his owner takes him to the lake to float...<br />
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Its a pretty inspiring story with some great photos- <a href="http://animaltracks.today.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2012/08/10/13201367-in-loving-arms-man-floats-his-sick-dog-to-sleep-becomes-internet-sensation?utm_source=loot&utm_medium=is_awesome&utm_campaign=social_media">check it out!</a>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-68516003871191756332012-05-31T09:45:00.001-04:002012-05-31T09:45:08.140-04:00Day in the life...<div><p>Naptime!</p>
<br/><img src='http://lh6.ggpht.com/-oxtUevoxxLA/T8d13_cLzkI/AAAAAAAABD8/A45V3HypelM/IMAG0535.png' /></div>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-20999703346466060762012-05-30T16:58:00.002-04:002012-05-30T16:58:55.776-04:00Shhh, don't whineA funny thing happened a few months ago, mommy's belly got a lot smaller and our house got a lot louder. Not like, the house starting making noise, like this one little thing* started making a lot of noise. A lot. (*Thing will be referred to as Mr.Pricklepants...otherwise known as our son!)<br />
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See, mom had our baby back in December (which is why its been so long since I've posted anything on here...apparently I <i>can't </i>do it by myself, hu. Go figure, right?) And while somethings remained the same, others have changed, quite a bit actually. I'm starting to understand why we watched Lady and the Tramp everyday in November...seems mom was trying to prep me. Again I say, hu.<br />
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Its not that I don't like Mr.Pricklepants, in fact, we get along swimmingly. He cries, I whine. We speak the same language. Although, there have been some game changers which I'd like to complain about.<br />
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Specifically, when did it become ok to throw up in the house? Everyone runs to help Mr.Pricklepants, but I puke? "OUTSIDE!". Pretty sure we shouldn't change the rules on that one guys. Just sayin.<br />
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Also, he farts and everyone gets all googly eyed- "oooh, that was a big one!". I fart, "Ohhhh, that's groooooooooss!" If the rules are the rules, why do we bend them for this little prickly person? Again, just sayin.<br />
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But I will say, I've gotten used to the crying. Thankfully he doesn't do it that often...and it seems, based on my powers of observation, mommy doesn't like it when he cries and I whine on top of his noise. Daddy says mommy is "over worked" and a little "on edge" so it would be best to "shhh, don't whine"Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-53585288300825713602011-11-21T11:14:00.013-05:002011-11-21T11:58:47.257-05:00Happy birthday to me!Six years ago today, dad surprised mom with me! Here's a little photo rundown of how I became the glue that bound these two crazy kids together and of the last six years as a family!!<br /><br />Now, my official birthday is actually September 21, 2005. That's when I was born to my biological mother...but mom, dad and I don't celebrate that day. We celebrate the day I was born into my real family- this one; which just happens to be today, November 21.<br /><br />See, back in 2005, mom and dad were <span style="font-style: italic;">almost</span> married. Yes, for four months I was the child of a broken home. I lived with mom, went to work with mom, spent all my time with mom- but got to visit dad at night for family bonding.<br /><br />I got to go to work with mom everyday- its a lot of work being a puggle puppy!:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0MwPPgFLqMA/Tsp6qukLAhI/AAAAAAAABBg/ooTQh9ySuOk/s1600/DSC02496.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0MwPPgFLqMA/Tsp6qukLAhI/AAAAAAAABBg/ooTQh9ySuOk/s400/DSC02496.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677485154726773266" border="0" /></a><br />She'd take me on long walks in the snow to potty train me:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gA8a6xrIklk/Tsp6_zBP7RI/AAAAAAAABBs/OAExCLmKj0I/s1600/DSC02485.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gA8a6xrIklk/Tsp6_zBP7RI/AAAAAAAABBs/OAExCLmKj0I/s400/DSC02485.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677485516699725074" border="0" /></a>And, of course, nap time:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b9nPTx2MQHs/Tsp7v6kz82I/AAAAAAAABCE/stmic-jnvnE/s1600/DSC02541.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b9nPTx2MQHs/Tsp7v6kz82I/AAAAAAAABCE/stmic-jnvnE/s400/DSC02541.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677486343361655650" border="0" /></a>Well, by the time we'd go visit dad at his house, boy was I pooped! But I always stayed awake long enough to play games with him...you know, male bonding.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vvqzqMA-dhk/Tsp8gXMTHgI/AAAAAAAABCQ/Px-oiZmvUQI/s1600/CIMG0092.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vvqzqMA-dhk/Tsp8gXMTHgI/AAAAAAAABCQ/Px-oiZmvUQI/s400/CIMG0092.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677487175677189634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n8_7qDtFyts/Tsp8ywRtvzI/AAAAAAAABCc/l3GyvJu7Ys4/s1600/CIMG0081.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n8_7qDtFyts/Tsp8ywRtvzI/AAAAAAAABCc/l3GyvJu7Ys4/s400/CIMG0081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677487491648438066" border="0" /></a><br />Once mom and dad got married (and I was no longer a product of two households), mom and dad bought a big house with an even HUGER backyard- just for me to play in and enjoy!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zjTe2UTvc7o/Tsp9qKKHD0I/AAAAAAAABCo/3i7sDHeLNtI/s1600/CIMG2776.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zjTe2UTvc7o/Tsp9qKKHD0I/AAAAAAAABCo/3i7sDHeLNtI/s400/CIMG2776.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677488443488669506" border="0" /></a>Every Halloween mom dressed me up. Sometimes I'd feel stupid walking around with a lobster on my back, but then the kids would come and they'd be dressed up too! I'm pretty sure I'm a bigger hit than the candy- but the jury is still out...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G2aJIVxGjUA/Tsp_BmhtmVI/AAAAAAAABC0/xx3H8FFOdgg/s1600/CIMG5826.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G2aJIVxGjUA/Tsp_BmhtmVI/AAAAAAAABC0/xx3H8FFOdgg/s400/CIMG5826.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677489945752475986" border="0" /></a>Holidays are always fun in our house...my favorite? As long as there are wrapped gifts, I'm in heaven. See, I find joy in shredding wrapping paper. Its the gift that keeps on giving.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-__tbBU-fyMg/TsqA-gv1-cI/AAAAAAAABDA/WsjUP_nQgoY/s1600/CIMG2213.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-__tbBU-fyMg/TsqA-gv1-cI/AAAAAAAABDA/WsjUP_nQgoY/s400/CIMG2213.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677492091684780482" border="0" /></a>Do I have something on my face?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTxAQbzFuco/TsqBKqLFXQI/AAAAAAAABDM/Cm4iu-SVZTo/s1600/CIMG2209.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LTxAQbzFuco/TsqBKqLFXQI/AAAAAAAABDM/Cm4iu-SVZTo/s400/CIMG2209.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677492300373384450" border="0" /></a>I know I'm real lucky to have a mom and dad who care so much about me. Mom tells me stories of the dogs and cats she meets at the SPCA and I tell you what- I am thankful for having a warm bed to snuggle in each night and a meal twice a day.<br /><br />I know that not every dog is treated like a member of the family they live with. Some are left outside all day (even when its really cold, or really hot) and some don't have a mom to towel off their feet when they come in from the snow.<br /><br />So each year on my birthday (which is right around Thanksgiving- did you notice that?!) I always remind myself just how thankful I am for my family. And, especially since in a few weeks mom tells me my "sibling" will be arriving. Whatever that means. I've been an only child for six years...whoever this "sibling" is better be really cute, not smell, not make a lot of noise and not try and steal my toys. If its a nice "sibling" I just might share my mom with them. But only if they are nice! (That's a picture of me with my favorite toy, my Brain.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mM69_eXKZ5c/TsqCl6yk3UI/AAAAAAAABDY/4QgvGVQ9JP8/s1600/CIMG2354.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mM69_eXKZ5c/TsqCl6yk3UI/AAAAAAAABDY/4QgvGVQ9JP8/s400/CIMG2354.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677493868202089794" border="0" /></a>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-71137870784208830212011-10-20T18:01:00.006-04:002011-10-20T18:13:18.618-04:00Big brother dutiesMom has a habit of putting together things without using all the instructions. (Which results in an extra screw here or bolt there.) But now that she's putting together furniture for <span style="font-style: italic;">my</span> baby, I have been put on guard.<br /><br />(Not that I can read, I offer more moral support and guidance when she needs it.)<br /><br />This past weekend mom's task was putting together the baby swing. Which meant I was front and center the whole time, tracking the progress, verifying the picture in the instruction manual matches where she was in real life...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTuCmGKCPzE/TqCbfvqHJFI/AAAAAAAABAY/2DUEyHapsVI/s1600/CIMG3051.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FTuCmGKCPzE/TqCbfvqHJFI/AAAAAAAABAY/2DUEyHapsVI/s400/CIMG3051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665699300903429202" border="0" /></a>(I might look indifferent here, but I thought I was getting a cookie for my good behavior. I was distracted...)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NR67cO8uVEQ/TqCby9U66cI/AAAAAAAABAk/XlujmlEEYrk/s1600/CIMG3052.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NR67cO8uVEQ/TqCby9U66cI/AAAAAAAABAk/XlujmlEEYrk/s400/CIMG3052.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665699630990158274" border="0" /></a>(Quality control- gotta sniff it out)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8sS-jX9DO4/TqCcIBQ1JAI/AAAAAAAABAw/CSGhASFvcro/s1600/CIMG3056.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8sS-jX9DO4/TqCcIBQ1JAI/AAAAAAAABAw/CSGhASFvcro/s400/CIMG3056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665699992823997442" border="0" /></a>(Ta-DAAAAH! I'm gonna be such a great big brother! I mean, look at this! My managerial skills are impeccable.)<br /><br />As it turns out, I did a great job supervising because it all got together (and has stayed together) for five whole days now!<br /><br />I'm awesome.Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-45673157806741666942011-10-04T13:01:00.002-04:002011-10-04T13:20:51.610-04:00Way to go, Mom!I don't like to get my nails trimmed. Some people don't like to get their hair cut, some people don't like to brush their teeth. I don't like to get my nails trimmed.<br /><br />The last time I got them trimmed, mom took me to the pet store (which will remain nameless) and I got tackled by two groomers because I couldn't "hold still long enough"...which resulted in me really hurting my back (remember when I told you about my trip to the emergency ER the night before mom and dad went on vacation?- wait, maybe I didn't write it...I seem to be slackin' on the ol' blog-a-do...)<br /><br />Anyway, I noticed my nails were getting a little "long", but I didn't want to say anything to mom. I was hoping it would go unnoticed. (But, I should know by now- nothing goes unnoticed by mom. She's got super powers I tell you!)<br /><br />So this morning she said to me, "upstairs! Bath time!" (I always get excited about taking a bath; mainly because I know I'll get lots of cookies and if I give mom my sad face, she gives me extra hugs...) Well, guess what?<br /><br />Before she turned on the water to fill the tub, she said, "come here. Sit." So I did and then, do you know what she did? She trimmed my nails!<br /><br />She pulled out a towel for me to sit on (and she was kneeling on it). She had me sit between her legs, wrapped an arm around me, softly grabbed my right leg and then pulled up this torture device I've never seen before (but I trust her...so I just waited to see what she'd do with it) and then all a sudden, SNIP! "Good boy!" SNIP, "Goood boy, Jack!" (it went on like that for a few minutes!)<br /><br />It was like a spa experience. All that was missing was the soothing music in the background.<br /><br />I've never had my nails trimmed by mom before and it was such a nice experience! Maybe it was the extra cookies. Or the extra snuggles. Or...something. (Maybe she slipped something into my water this morning to ease my nerves?) Whatever it was, I want more.<br /><br />When she was all done I sniffed (and maybe ate a few) of my nail trimmings, before mom got to clean 'em up.<br /><br />So, bottom line, to all you puppy friends of mine out there, I encourage you to ask your parents to trim your nails if you (like me) have a hard time getting a MAN-icure. (I know typically its called a "pedicure" because your getting your toes done, but since I'm a boy dog, we call it a MAN-icure in our house!)Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-15897219160170138902011-08-31T09:09:00.006-04:002011-08-31T09:29:29.331-04:00Scratchy McScratchersonDo you suffer from allergies? 'Cause I do. And lemme tell you what- they are in FULL swing right now. I've had allergies for as long as my lil' puggle brain lets me remember, which flair up in the summer. Each year. Like clock work. Mom says I'm allergic to "everything". Aunt Jessica says I'm "allergic to being a dog" and my doctor (who specializes in pet allergies) says I'm "allergic to June, July, August and most of September".
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<br />No bueno.
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<br />So I'm on a constant allergy pill that I get a double dose of when I'm extra itchy. Like I am now. Well, to help my scratchy nature, mom gives me (what she calls, "soothing" baths) to help cool down and calm down my skin. Know what I like most about my baths? The cookies that come before and after the bath. Mom always takes the bubbles and makes a mohawk on my head with them...which I'm sure I look awesome with, but she never has a mirror handy so I can see- so I just feel stoopid.
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<br />Anyway the other day mom gave me one of her soothing baths. But before she did she used the <a href="http://www.furminator.com/?gclid=CIi0oPbO-aoCFQVN4AodHDvwWA">Furminator</a> on me. Ever heard of it? Well, lemme tell you- it makes me feel like a million bucks! Its a hair brush but it pulls out all the under coat, leaving just my super shiny coat for all to look at and make other dogs jealous! After mom pulls it through my coat, she pushes a little button, eliminating the "yuck" (as she calls it). Looks like this when its all piled together:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6wk882gHzU/Tl40cYTwSaI/AAAAAAAAA-0/FIfTmUhPlJ4/s1600/CIMG2836-1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6wk882gHzU/Tl40cYTwSaI/AAAAAAAAA-0/FIfTmUhPlJ4/s400/CIMG2836-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647008644935469474" border="0" /></a>See, I have hair bright and golden hair just like Goldie Locks! haha
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<br />Anyway, since the whole purpose of the "soothing" bath is to not irritate my skin anymore, mom lets me air dry. Which means I first get a cookie (for being such a good boy and letting her do the mohawk thing) then I run around like a madman. Its so much fun! But first she wanted me to pose. Whatever mom. Can I run noooooooooow?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GYKemWKf0h0/Tl40-XDwuUI/AAAAAAAAA-8/dhVcnwDsPK8/s1600/CIMG2835-1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GYKemWKf0h0/Tl40-XDwuUI/AAAAAAAAA-8/dhVcnwDsPK8/s400/CIMG2835-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647009228715505986" border="0" /></a>Once I was dry I got back into scratching. Why? Because it feels SOOOOOO good. Well, that was a no bueno move for mom, and she put the cone of shame on me! (See, I might have forgotten to mention this, but I *might have scratched my muzzle so hard earlier in the day, causing myself to bleed and look like I got into a dog fight...which may or may not have been the reason behind giving me the bath in the first place...whatever. Details...) Mom said I "needed" the cone of shame. But I feel so stoopid in it. Thankfully I was able to talk mom into taking it off when we went on our walks. I didn't want the neighborhood dogs seeing me in such a pitiful state.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Lmd2U5TvJSY/Tl42Cb5ZO3I/AAAAAAAAA_E/jC8RBXBbODw/s1600/CIMG2850-1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Lmd2U5TvJSY/Tl42Cb5ZO3I/AAAAAAAAA_E/jC8RBXBbODw/s400/CIMG2850-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647010398245305202" border="0" /></a>(See that green thing under the cone of shame? That's my "bowtie")
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<br />Worst part about wearing the cone of shame?<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EZvHnXZOlyI/Tl42QvrHXAI/AAAAAAAAA_M/wDtvrnt-atg/s1600/CIMG2852-1.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EZvHnXZOlyI/Tl42QvrHXAI/AAAAAAAAA_M/wDtvrnt-atg/s400/CIMG2852-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647010644072291330" border="0" /></a>I couldn't stick my head into the toy basket to pull out any toys! Epic fail.
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<br />So you might be wondering why the title of this post is Scratchy McScratcherson...that's what dad calls me when I'm itchy. Cute, hu?
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<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-68360710833047448652011-08-26T12:55:00.002-04:002011-08-26T13:01:51.326-04:00(wo)man's best friendOne of the many reasons I asked mom to start this blog with me was to have a feel good website out there. So many are doom and gloom and sad and make you want to cry- mom and I (especially) wanted to make a website dogs (and their owners, of course) could come to and say, "awww".
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<br />So I'm poking around on Facebook (no, I don't have my own profile yet- I share with mom) and I see a post from my cousin Diva's mom, Heather.
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<br /><a href="http://abcnews.go.com/US/slain-navy-seals-devoted-dog-remains-side-funeral/story?id=14378885#.TlfDpQrwHq8.facebook">Here, read it</a>. Then come back.
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<br />Ok, you read it? Yeah...isn't that powerful? I mean, talk about devotion and love between friends. Some people (typically those who don't have a pet) say things like, "oh, its just a dog" or "its just a cat"...but here's the thing, the bond between pet and owner is immeasurable. Its infinite. And, for those of you out there who share a bond with your pet like I do with mom (or like they do in the story I posted)...give your pet a little extra loving tonight to show how much you care. Throw the ball once more for them or give an extra treat.
<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-57846959963158043152011-08-18T13:34:00.002-04:002011-08-18T14:14:46.771-04:00What the?**Let me first start by saying this post is about using a bark collar (or "shock collar") on Jack. We did NOT come to this decision lightly and if you are considering using a bark collar on your dog, use it RESPONSIBLY. **
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<br />I have some issues you may have heard about before. When animals come on to the television, I bark, UH-LOT. Why? Because I think they are IN my house...and I have to protect MY house, so I bark. Before mom and dad put the television up high, I used to run around the sides of the tv to chase elephants out of sight. (Or penguins, polar bears, cats, dogs, sloths...you name it, I barked at it.)
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<br />This issue never seemed like a big deal, so mom and dad always corrected my behavior (but I still did it. Either I have short term memory problems or I just don't care- if I see an animal in my house, I'm going to protect my house.)
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<br />Well, that isn't my only "issue". You see, when people come into MY house (like my grandparents, Aunt Caitlin- anyone) I use this high pitched bark/squeal to greet them with. Mom and dad say its "annoying" and "disruptive" and "bad behavior". This too they try and correct my behavior, but I'm- "stubborn".
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<br />Two weeks ago, mom was in the kitchen, dad was upstairs and I was on the couch relaxing, when all of a sudden, CAT! I jumped off the couch, barked like a mad man, and got yelled at. Bad. Mom was NOT happy with this.
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<br />(*Mom note, before this cat incident, we had been debating the bark collar- but seeing the reaction to the cat commercial made it clear in my mind what step needed to be taken.)
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<br />The next day mom came home with a new treat for me! What's in the bag mom?! WHAT'S IN THE BAAAAAAG????? Ooooh, a new collar! I LOVE getting new collars!
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<br />I wore my new collar with pride. Walking extra slow in front of mirrors- you know the drill. I looked gooooooood.
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<br />Then it happened. A dog commercial came on. I jumped down, got in position in front of the tv and BAAA- OUCH! What the heck was that?! I shook it off.
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<br />BA- OOOOOOOOOUCH!
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<br />Clearly there is something wrong with this collar! I got scared and ran to mom's side and hid behind her legs. For about 15 minutes.
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<br />This process repeated itself each time an animal commercial came on. How. WEIRD?! Until, finally the other night, I saw the commercial and didn't want to bark at it. I just sat there. I wasn't happy, but I just sat there and let that cat purr because its litter was so clean and fantastic and I just watched. I was disgusted with myself.
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<br />Mom told dad about this and they high fived! Its like an evil plot against me.
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<br />And then when grandma walked in I went to give my typical greeting (the bark/squeal) and only got BAA- out before I felt like I was kicked in the throat. Grandma seemed to like this though; she said "good boy Jack! Nice to see you too!"...I am beginning to think there is something to this new collar. People seem to like me MORE when I'm wearing it.
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<br />Mom and dad call my new collar my Bow-Tie. Cute name for a high-tech collar, eh? I wear it well...
<br />Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-67135457518857165202011-07-26T11:02:00.006-04:002011-07-26T11:12:20.550-04:00Chew on thisDad got me for mom as an early wedding present and since mom and dad didn't live together before they got married that meant mom and I spent a lot of time alone.<br /><br />When the big day came and dad moved his stuff into our apartment, things changed. All of a sudden socks were being left on the floor (which I quickly snatched up and started gnawing on!) then there was the toy I found in an "almost closed" box, which I pulled out and chewed on.<br /><br />Dad made a big fuss about "<span style="font-style: italic;">your</span> dog chews on things!" to which mom swiftly came to my defense, "he's only chewing on things that <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> leave out for him to get!"...way to go mom! Dad learned his lesson and started to put his toys away, which meant I didn't get to chew on them anymore (boo.)<br /><br />Well, all that chewing drama happened five and a half years ago (without one relapse since!)...so imagine my surprise when I follow mom into the office the other day and find one of dad's shirts laying on the carpet!<br /><br />At first I thought it was a trick, but without a treat at the end. Like maybe dad left it there to see if I would gnaw off a button or something...but I moved it with my nose and nothing happened, so I decided that while mom worked, I would make myself comfy on the shirt.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cNDW4pjGlZM/Ti7YXFofN1I/AAAAAAAAA-k/8zvYyhQuQK0/s1600/CIMG2806.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cNDW4pjGlZM/Ti7YXFofN1I/AAAAAAAAA-k/8zvYyhQuQK0/s400/CIMG2806.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633678075047655250" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8uoLFn-BX5A/Ti7YhIRB6CI/AAAAAAAAA-s/QKNTMNGd0II/s1600/CIMG2807.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8uoLFn-BX5A/Ti7YhIRB6CI/AAAAAAAAA-s/QKNTMNGd0II/s400/CIMG2807.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633678247553263650" border="0" /></a><br />When mom told dad what I was doing...do you know what dad said? "I'm okay with it as long as he doesn't fart on my shirt!"...mom told me this news and I gave her a sad face, not because dad was making fun of my digestive tract but because I already did...heheheErinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-64983227263196998242011-06-29T17:42:00.002-04:002011-06-29T17:46:09.849-04:00Summer camp blues...So Monday rolled around and mom left me. All day. By myself. When she <span style="font-style: italic;">finally</span> got home and rescued me from the depth of my despair, I realized she smelled funny. So I used my weight to wiggle into her socks and sniff it out.<br /><br />Sniff, ahh, that's a big dog.<br />Sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiff, oh, that's a small dog.<br />Snifffff- wait, is that a <span style="font-style: italic;">CAT?!</span><br /><br />Turns out summer camp is for MOM. Not for me. What. EVER.<br /><br />**Mom note- Jack is coming to camp on Friday to spend the day with the kids. Shhh, don't tell him. I don't want him to get too excited over here. He's still got to wait one more day before that happens...and no worries- pictures will be posted :)Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-50335167045252686562011-06-23T10:42:00.002-04:002011-06-23T10:49:51.432-04:00Summer camp next week!I have been such a big help getting mom ready for the summer camp program next week. See, when she first started bringing home books from the animal shelter, I had a "problem" with them because they smelled like other dogs. <br /><br />I was, you could say, "a pest". That I was, "getting in the way" or that I was "too over excited"...whatever you want to call me, I was so anxious about all these smells on the books and folders! <br /><br />My fear was coming because I didn't want mom and dad to think they could bring me home a brother or sister to "surprise" me...so I kept staying front and center, you know, getting in the way.<br /><br />Anyway, next week is summer camp and I cannot wait! I hope to come and spend some time at the camp next week with the kids! I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE kids!!Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-29059508023744897672011-06-02T09:01:00.002-04:002011-06-02T09:07:17.078-04:00My favorite recipeMom likes to spoil me and one of her favorite (and mine) things to do (and eat) are homemade dog cookies. <br /><br />We are going to be making these cookies this summer at the SPCA summer camp, but I thought I'd give you a preview because there is just too much delicious-ness going around over here! Yum!<br /><br />Low-Fat Beef Cookies (Because even though I'm cute, I too have to watch my waist line!)<br />3 1/2 cups whole wheat flour<br />1 cup cornmeal<br />1/4 cup skim milk<br />3/4 cup water<br />3 1/2 oz can of beef puree (1 small jar of baby food)<br /><br />1. Blend wheat flour and cornmeal together. Set aside.<br />2. Whisk together milk, water and beef puree. (This is when it starts smelling REAL good!)<br />3. Slowly add flour mixture to beef mixture until a stiff dough is formed. (This is when I start whining because it smells so good!)<br />4. Place dough on floured counter and roll out, about 1" thick. <br />5. Cut into shapes with desired cookie cutter and place on ungreased cookie sheet. (I prefer the bone cookie cutter over the mail man shaped one...just seems wrong to eat something shaped like a person!)<br />6. Back at 375 for 35 minutes or until cookies are crisp. Let set overnight to crisp cookies.<br /><br />See, its really kinda easy to make healthy treats for your dog! So there you go. A Jack-approved cookie recipe that I'm sure your bff with four legs will love as well!Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-9101258169743785662011-05-11T15:09:00.001-04:002011-05-11T15:10:59.022-04:00Spoiled by the sunIf there's one thing I love about spring time around here, its the sun. Most afternoons you can find me lounging in the sun and, when I get too hot (because I always get too hot) I find a shady place to rest my head and dream the day away. <br /><br />Yes, being a puggle is a tough job, but I'm glad I get to do it. <br /><br />Now, enough typing, time for another nap...Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-33981296541916798672011-04-21T11:00:00.002-04:002011-04-21T11:05:59.531-04:00Book Review<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9McWFOr1VLo/TbBGraR9RJI/AAAAAAAAA94/oCBpXNgMur0/s1600/zz.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9McWFOr1VLo/TbBGraR9RJI/AAAAAAAAA94/oCBpXNgMur0/s400/zz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5598052048424486034" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Mom brought home a new book for us to read the other day called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ugly-Pugling-Wilson-Pug-Love/dp/0670063223">The Ugly Pugling</a> by Wilson the Pug (and his mom, Nancy Levine).<br /><br />The book reminded me a lot of, well, me! We both have squished little faces and we both write real good (with the help of our moms...of course!)<br /><br />So the book is all about Wilson the Pug finding the love of his life at the park one day...but then she disappears. He visits her house...but she doesn't come out. After a long time, she finally opens the front door and guess what?<br /><br />She's a MASTIFF! Do you know how BIG Mastiffs are?<br /><br />(Here's a little lesson, pugs weigh between 10-20 pounds. Mastiffs can weigh between 130-180 pounds! THAT'S A HUGE Difference!)<br /><br />The book talks about their love for each other...but Hedy (the girl) is supposed to win the top prize at the Mastiff show...which means she'd be wed to Shakespear, another Mastiff! (But, here's the thing, Hedy doesn't like Shakespear- her identical sister loves Shakespear!)<br /><br />In a book that will keep you on the very edge of your doggy bed...I HIGHLY recommend <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ugly-Pugling-Wilson-Pug-Love/dp/0670063223">The Ugly Pugling.</a>Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-925544212211204779.post-90053130736160337372011-04-05T15:29:00.003-04:002011-04-05T15:33:03.840-04:00Don't Lick the Dog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MCnSYNyuen0/TZtuOXg6ZBI/AAAAAAAAA84/MRtXFI7VARY/s1600/cover.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 398px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MCnSYNyuen0/TZtuOXg6ZBI/AAAAAAAAA84/MRtXFI7VARY/s400/cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592184555419886610" border="0" /></a><br />Mom is doing a lot of work for the SPCA summer camp program and today she brought home some new books from the library. Since I'm so smart, I already read all of them myself (except the ones about cats...I don't really "do" cat.)<br /><br />My new favorite book is called "<a href="http://www.wendywahman.com/pages/kids.php">Don't Lick the Dog</a>" and it shows kids how to interact with dogs they don't know! We should make a movie about this book, starring me, of course. I mean...with a face like mine, who wouldn't want to watch me on the big screen?<br /><br />So if you have kids, check out this book- its very informative!! (That's a "smart-word" I just learned...)Erinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11844675154342333990noreply@blogger.com1