Sophie rises to the occasion: Pennie is losing it.

I am all about dogging-up these days. Yes, it is ME, Queen Sophine who has been working hard for a rare occasion around this 0.46 Acres of Suburbia.

Last week, Mom decided to do a little house cleaning. It was definitely "a little," as with the Slob Little Lad and Slob Middle Lad, Mom spent most of the time picking up all their ____ . I simply can't express the words that Mom used to convey her appreciation of how much time and energy she spent picking up after Slob Little Lad and Slob Middle Lad. Strange, Mom rarely complains about picking up after Me and Pennie, when she neatly bags up all our solid waste into green biodegradable waste bags that she deposits into the trash.

Mom had no intention of ever, ever, picking up after Slob Little Lad and Slob Middle Lad, but she finally decided that the house simply HAD to be dusted and vacuumed. Mom: Zero. Slob Lads: Win!

Anyhoodles, Mom left out the can of Lemon Pledge dusting spray. The next day, while the Slobs were at home and supposed to be supervising Wee Lass while Pennie and I took Mom for some much-needed exercise; Wee Lass found the can of Lemon Pledge dusting spray. Wee Lass busied herself by attempting her OWN cleaning projects. When Mom returned from her exercise, the house had a strange, lemony odor.

Wee Lass used the Lemon Pledge on the wood staircase. Mom immediately discerned this when Mom attempted to ascend the staircase, and rapidly found herself instead, DE-scending the staircase. Mom cleaned off each individual stair, one at a time, several times, to remove all (so she thought) of the Lemon Pledge.

TODAY, Dad discovered the ONE spot of the 3rd stair from the top that still had Lemon Pledge spray on it. Dad RAPIDLY descended the staircase. He landed in a heap in the foyer. Dad had back surgery back in 2000, and his back has always had to be treated tenderly since.

PENNIE, yes Nurse Pennie, Alpha Pennie: PANICKED. She paced nervously around fetal-positioned Dad.

Who sprang into action: Sophie, Dog of Action. Queen Sophine.

I immediately assessed Dad's vital signs by poking my nose into his face. When he pushed my snout away, I knew he was at least alive. This also flipped Dad over onto his back. I laid half my body over Dad's chest, with one Dainty Sophie Paw right in the middle, ready to do Chest Compressions.

Pennie still paced.

Mom arrived in the foyer, but I had the situation well in Paw. I alternated between laying with one paw on Dad's chest, ready to do chest compressions, and my snout in Dad's face, assessing Dad's breathing.

Dad has spent the last several hours laying on the couch, with me not leaving his side.

Really, I don't know what has happened to Pennie. I think she may now be Alpha-Minus Pennie and I am no longer Beta Sophie, but Beta-Plus Sophie.

I am quite sure that Pennie is suffering from depression at Oldest Lad moving away. It is a shame to see her lose it, but then again, I AM rising to the occasion!

Failing to appreciate the Sophie Essence

This morning I discovered Mom sitting in HER Chair, with Pennie atop of Mom. Mom was holding Pennie extra close, for comfort as she thought of some Bad Things. I decided to climb atop of Pennie and Mom. Then I got down, found a deer antler gnaw, and climbed back atop Pennie and Mom. I managed to wedge the deer antler gnaw right under Mom's collar bone, and proceeded to enjoy a good gnaw AND a good snuggle. Mom failed to appreciate the soothing comfort of the rhythmic grinding sensation of the deer antler gnaw pressing into her clavicle.

Eventually, Mom decided she no longer wished to meditate upon the deer antler gnaw grinding into her clavicle, and she took the gnaw away from me.

I decided to hop back upon Mom, and this time I perched in one of my favorite positions: Sophie bottom firmly wedged under Mom's chin, perched upon Mom's shoulder and upper chest. Despite being in a somewhat head-down position, I was rapidly able to achieve Snoring Sophie Status.

Mom soon had to get up to fetch Wee Lass. That is when she noticed that I had left her a wonderful gift: Sophie Essence. Upon Mom's fleece were two luxuriously-smelling spots of Sophie Essence. Yesterday I had been banished to my grate because I was acting dangerously close to become Exploding Sophie. Nothing ever came of the threat, however, apparently my System indeed was upset, and I was experiencing a bit of Sophie Essence Leakage.

Mom was not amused. She was not even thankful!

She dashed upstairs and changed her t-shirt and fleece before heading off to fetch Wee Lass.

I truly fail to understand this woman who claims to be my Mother. I feel dangerously close to wishing to deny her any of my Sophie Essence, but I shall not. I am far too interested in Mom's well-being to deny her of any part of me; I am simply that generous.

My royal bearing

Mom and Dad left for the entire day on Saturday, leaving Pennie and ME in charge. When Mom and Dad returned home, they just KNEW that something had happened due to the over-enthusiastic greetings that we both gave them.

If only Pennie and I could talk.

Mom had been forced to wear "real" clothes to her day's outing. When she changed she allowed Wee Lass to try on her String of Pearls. Wee Lass stood in front of the mirror and admired herself, but was disappointed when she learned the pearls who not be hers for many years. Dad insisted that Pennie then try on the pearls. Pennie did look lovely, but was not impressed.

Dad then insisted that Mom adorn my beautiful Brindle Queen Sophine neck with the pearls.

Here's the thing: the pearls just looked totally naturally laying upon my neck, as if they were MEANT to be there.

Of course. I am Queen Sophine. I am a dog meant to wear pearls. Sadly, I was forced to abdicate my royal throne and sent to the shelter exile. I am clearly meant to be thankful that I did not suffer the same fate as other royalty that has abdicated and been sent into exile. Abdication and Exile did not have a happy ending for Tsar Nicholas II of Russia and his family. I suffered as Rental Dog Sophie, then Rent-to-Own Sophie and am expected to live out my life as Queen Sophine of Suburbia. With no Pearls, even though it is clear that my gorgeous brindle neck is meant for pearls.

Sophie Meditation and The Breath

Mom has been at it again with some CD that she is listening to by some famous dude named Jon Kabat-Zinn. This Kabat-Zinn guy has several books and CDs devoted entirely to this: The Breath.

The Breath? Come on. Us dogs have known about The Breath ever since we have been dogs. The Breath is what we do. It is why we are grounded and capable of living in the Present Moment. We don't need some earbuds and an MP3 player to focus on The Breath. We focus on The Breath all day long.

Mom has currently been listening to this CD that encourages her to focus on The Breath and to do a "Body Scan." Pawsonally, if Mom would only allow me to put those earbuds into my ears, I'd like to know what Mom is REALLY listening to. I bet Mom is secretly listening to instructions on how middle-aged women can take their mini-vans, hack into all their husband's finances, and escape to where no bloodhound can ever find them.

"Body Scan." I do a "Body Scan" continually all day. I am very mindful of myself. I am fully capable of living in the Present Moment, and focusing on The Sophie.

When Mom does HER "Body Scan," she lays on the bed, and then I immediately jump on top of her, wedge myself up by her crotch, fall asleep and begin to snore, loudly. It helps Mom to focus on her bodily sensations, by feeling the weight of me on her crotch, and the noise of my snoring. Pennie then shoves herself into the lower part of Mom's legs, ensuring that Mom's legs are hyperextended throughout the "Body Scan." The "Body Scan" is intended to help with pain management, and keeping Mom's legs crushed and hyperextended make sure there is always pain for Mom to manage during her "Body Scan."

Next week Mom is supposed to add Yoga to the "Body Scan." Pennie loves when Mom does Yoga. Pennie likes to help Mom focus on Mom's Yoga positions by inserting her cold, wet dog nose into Mom's private parts, just as Mom has gotten balanced into her Yoga position.

As for the "Body Scan," other than Mom laying with Pennie and me compressing her, I don't see Mom moving. However, when I do MY Sophie Body Scan this is what I do: My favorite part to Body Scan is of course my private parts. I can Body Scan and focus The Breath on them all day. I lick and lick and Breathe on myself for hours. Then I move to my paws, licking and breathing, breathing and licking. I lick and breathe on all parts of my body. I don't need an MP3 player, earbuds, or some over-educated expert to guide me through my Sophie Body Scan Meditation. I do it all alone, continually, and I even share The Breath with the whole household.

Glory Hounds

I watched "Glory Hounds," on Animal Planet, with Mom. I thoroughly enjoyed the show, and it made me feel particularly patriotic.

This is what I did not like: being called lazy. Yes. Perhaps I am not a "Glory Hound," but I do earn my kibble.
Let me get back with how it is that I earn my kibble; I have to think about it, perhaps while I am taking my afternoon nap on the couch.

Available: One used brindle girrrl

I think that the meaning is clear: I shall have to find a new home. Mom has it in for me.

I really don't know where I shall find a home suitable to the complicated needs of taking care of ME, Queen Sophine. The conditions here have been barely adequate; I've have barely the attention that I need to thrive.

Pennie could survive in the Great Outdoors. She would thrive hunting for her own meals, enjoying the gamey taste of mole, rabbit, and field mouse. I have a more delicate palate. I prefer human food, or at the very least, human cast off food. Being short and delicate-pawed, it is unlikely that I would be able to turn over one of the giant Suburbia-sized trash cans in order to feed myself.

What has brought me to this lowly state?

First there was the incident in which Mom attempted to smother me with the pillow. She still "claims" that it was an accident.

Today it was made clear that I am expendable. Mom would cast me off in order to save someone higher in the family.

Pennie and I took Mom for a walk today. We were minding our own business, when out of nowhere a Killer Terrier attacked! It was as if the Killer Rabbit from "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" had emerged from the streets of Suburbia. As I did not have the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch at my disposal, I was forced to endure this 10 pound black reign of terror.

This Killer Terrier was not only vicious, it was stupid. It was biting and attacking Pennie. Pennie was rapidly becoming enraged, and Mom was certain that Pennie would dispatch that Killer Terrier in one bite.

This is what Mom did: She sacrificed ME, Sophie. Yes, she grabbed Pennie extremely securely, to prevent Pennie from responding to the vicious attacks of the Killer Terrier. In the meantime, I was left defenseless, left forsaken by my own Mother.

This is what Mom claims: She claims that Pennie would have killed or wounded that Killer Terrier with just one bite if that Killer Terrier had kept biting Pennie. Mom claims that she knew that I was capable of far more restraint, and if I chose to defend myself, that I would not maim the Killer Terrier. In other words, Mom not only chose me as expendable, but she thinks I am a defenseless wimp, as well.

I have no choice but to consider myself available for re-homing, if I can only find a home capable of giving me the utter adoration that I require. In the meantime, I plan to make Mom feel as guilty as possible.

Mom tried to do me in.

Last night I was peacefully snoring away in the most coveted of Sophie Slumber Spots: Once Dad had fallen asleep and I heard him snoring, I used Stealth Sophie Tactics to sneak between Dad and Mom. I was curled in a tight little Sophie Ball, close enough to Dad's back to be gently rocked and rolled by his snoring, but tight against Mom's upper torso, close enough to feel secure in her love. I was of course violating Dad's rule of no dogs touching him while he sleeps, but as long as he is asleep, how is he to know? If he awakens, then he makes me move to my usual spot, between Mom's legs.

I would like to give Mom the benefit of the doubt: she usually has to feel around to figure out if it is Dad or a Dog sleeping next to her. With Dad's Eastern European heritage, he is not just covered in hair; he is covered in a pelt. Mom has to feel around for a balding head. Poor Dad's pelt of hair has all migrated Southward. What makes it worse for Dad is that he began to shed head hair far later than all his friends. His father was not bald. Dad thought he was immune. He made fun of all his friends who were losing their hair, because he was certain that his thick course head hair was there to stay. Dad was wrong. When he began to lose head hair, it was so rapid, he had no chance to get used to the idea. (Mom says that Dad kind of deserves to lose his hair so rapidly, after making fun of his friends, without impunity, thinking that he was immune from this aging right of passage.)

Anyhoodles, I'd like to think that perhaps Mom just thought that it was Dad sleeping next to her; she had confused both my pelt and my snoring for Dad. Perhaps I was in so tight a Sophie Ball that she did not notice me.

No. I have to admit that Mom tried to do me in.

I was all curled up, snoring away. Mom moved her second pillow underneath her right arm, against her upper body. Problem: Mom placed the pillow completely over ME, Sophie! I was suffocating! It was like one of those horror movies where the perp grabs a pillow and holds it firmly over the victim! Mom's arm had that pillow pinned down over me! My poor, sad, Sophie Life flashed before my eyes. My first family that I thought loved me, but abandoned me to the shelter. The cold, hard days of Me, Queen Sophine, living in a chain-link enclosed kennel run, lonely and depressed. Meeting Oldest Lad and living the tenuous life as Rental Dog Sophie, wondering if I would ever be adopted and if the family would appreciated me and my need to be utterly adored. My adoption by Mom when I became Rent-to-Own Sophie.

After an eternity, Mom realized something was amiss; and she pulled the pillow away, leaving me gasping for air. She "said" she was sorry, but was she? I shall have to spend the day pondering if Mom had a sudden change of heart in her plan to do me in, or if she really just suddenly figured out there was a Sophie Ball underneath her pillow.

Bed Wars/Stealth Sophie

The weather has taken a dramatic turn to COLD! The nightly temperatures have dipped into the single digits, and with my short, although luxuriously gorgeous Brindle covering, I have been cold.

Dad does not wish to share the Concrete Queen Bed with anyone but Mom. I have made it my goal to sleep in the middle of the bed, curled up in a Sophie Ball, between Mom and Dad. I have grown into Stealth Sophie, just waiting until Dad is asleep, to sneak into that spot.

The other night I was laying upon Mom's head. Mom could not figure for all the world why she had my wee round Sophie Belly on top of her head, and my Brindle Legs with their white tipped paws hanging over the sides of her head. My head was nestled on her ear. Then she realized that I was staring at the space between Mom and Dad. As soon as Dad turned over and started to slumber, then I ever-so-slowly crept off of Mom's head. One paw at a time I stepped carefully into the bit of space between Mom and Dad. Like a Sophie Wedge, I slowly brought more of myself into that spot, until there I was curled into Stealth Sophie Ball, all warm and snuggly between Dad's back hair and Mom's abdomen.

I slept quite nicely until Dad started to snore, Mom woke him up, and then he made me move.

Trail Mix

Sunday afternoon, Oldest Lad was home and Pennie and I took Oldest Lad and Mom for a hike in the woods. Oldest Lad came home on Saturday. When he came home, I was out for a hike in the woods with Dad. Oldest Lad dropped his dirty laundry off in a big pile behind the couch, then he left! When Pennie and I returned home from our hike, we were most confused: there was overwhelming evidence of Oldest Lad. The house SMELLED like Oldest Lad. One might say that behind the couch it even REEKED of Oldest Lad. But where was Oldest Lad? Oldest Lad stopped home, but then went off to go drinking with his friends.

On Sunday, Oldest Lad returned home. Pennie and I were faced with a new challenge for Compression Therapy. Compression Therapy as a remedy for a Hangover. Pennie laid on Oldest Lad, and I tasted Oldest Lad's head all over, to try to evict the hangover. Mom was rather amused that out at dinner that evening, Oldest Lad ordered only Lemonade. Several of them.

Anyhoodles, when I am out in the woods, I become a different dog. Mom "almost" thinks that if she needed to find a JOB for me, that I "could" be a working dog, if I was working in the woods. In the woods I try to hike and run AHEAD of Pennie. I am normally content to let Pennie set the pace, but not in the woods. In the woods, I walk with my tail up and a big Sophie Smile. In the woods is the only time there is any evidence that I am a Cattle Dog, part of the Working Dog Class of Dogs.

In the woods, Mom had one end of the leash. Suddenly I dashed back along the trail. Mom was startled. I sniffed along the ground. I POUNCED under a pile of leaves! Trail Mix! I pulled out a tantalizing wad of brown goo! While Mom was still staring in horror at the brown goo clinging to the dead leaves, I gulped that Trail Mix down, with a big smile of Sophie Satisfaction. I can find a Sophie Sidewalk Sandwich, even when there is no sidewalk! Mom thinks that I could never survive in the wilderness without kibble, but I have proven her wrong.

Strangely, neither Mom nor Oldest Lad accepted any kisses from me all the rest of Sunday.

I was just being Sympathetic Sophathetic Sophie

Mom has been sick, AGAIN. Pawsonally, it does not bode well that Mom has now been ill, or recovering from ill for four weeks. She did not even get a chance to shop the post-Holiday sales, as she was recovering from pneumonia, before this latest illness struck. She did not want to be out in the germ-laden crowds during her pneumonia recovery period, but was hit by a new virus anyway.

This new virus caused Mom to have something called viral meningitis. It actually sounds much worse than what it was: basically a really bad headache caused by a virus. Mom was very sick with a headache and a lot of vomiting. Those were the same symptoms that actually signalled that Mom had the pneumonia, so Dad took Mom to the Dogtor, who said it was not pneumonia again, but that there was nothing to do but dope Mom up enough until the virus stopped causing the head pain that was causing all the vomiting.

This is what Pennie or I do when we have to vomit: We stand up or we sit up, quite rigidly. Then our bellies begin to heave in a most disturbing fashion. We may pace a bit. Our faces become quite frantic. If anyone is about, they try to corral whoever is going to vomit out the door. Mom then exams the vomitus for evidence. For example, she deduced that Mulligan had consumed a metal grill pan when she examined his vomitus and discovered shrapnel. She discovered that indeed it WAS Pennie who had eaten Little Lad's candy when she discovered all the wrappers in Pennie's vomit.

As it was my job as Nurse Sophie to provide Compression Therapy, I was anxious to care for Mom in all of her misery.

This is what Mom does when she has to vomit: this part has been edited out under threats that there will be a Brindle Cattle Dog Listed as "Available" at the local shelter if it is printed.

I followed Mom into the bathroom. Mom said that I was "too intrusive." I was only doing for Mom what she does for us! How was I supposed to provide a diagnosis or prognosis if I could not witness the entire event and the output?

Alas, Mom was febrile and no doubt was not thinking clearly. She is slowly recovering, and I shall have to explain to her why in the future I need to be so "intrusive," in order to care for her adequately.