Dog of the Day!

Wow! Many of my Rainbow Angel friends barked me awake this morning to the news that I am Dog of the Day!

Despite my passage to the Bridge in June, 2005, my family still talks of me frequently!

I was known as Mother Tyler, for my nurturing qualities and the Stealth Dog, for my ability to steal food from a victim's plate without the person noticing.

As some sort of Mixed Breed, probably shepherd, I had a double coat. This was one of Mom's favorite things to do:

I was quite the shedder, sending off great billowing clouds of white all over the house, or preferable outside.

Mom would brush me while she was waiting for the bus to pick Middle Lad up for school. She would stand in the driveway, brushing me, and great clouds of white would fill the air. When the bus passed, the children on the bus would see me and all that fur flying about and laugh hysterically. At the time, our street was a cul de sac, so the bus would turn back around, and the children would laugh again as they got their second chance to see the great fur clouds.

One Spring, Mom was trimming bushes in front of the house and discovered two bird nests, left from the summer before. Each bird nest was lined white with Tyler fur insulation! (So I nurtured others as well as my family.)

After I was gone, Mom went on to have Mulligan (who has joined me at the bridge) and now has Sophie and Pennie, both of whom actively update their Dogster pages.

ADOPT 2010 CONTEST

It's a long time ago since I was adopted! I went to the Bridge in June 2005.

Let me see, it was almost 10 years ago!

I was abandoned at a Boarding Kennel of all places. Sheesh, my First Mother dropped me off one day and then she moved all the way out West somewhere! The kind Kennel owners found a Rescue Lady who paid a portion of my Kennel fees and came and walked me a couple times a week. The Rescue Lady had quite a few dogs already (over 10, but under 20) and I think if she added me, that would have put her over the edge from "Rescuer" to "Hoarder" so I stayed at the Kennel.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad were "between dogs." Mom was 7 months pregnant and dog was she huge! (Little Lad was a big baby, who knew he'd turn out to be such a weenie little runt considering his birth size.) Mom was insistent that she did not want a dog until "after the baby was born."

Boy was I lucky! Mom was out at the Zoo with Middle Lad and Dad happened to come home from work early. DAD answered the phone when a friend called and said he had heard about ME, Tyler, at the Kennel, and how much I was like Mom and Dad's Old Dog. Mom came home from the Zoo and Dad just piled everyone back in the car to go look at me!

Once at the Kennel, Dad walked back, and came out with Me on a leash to meet Mom and Middle Lad. I looked nothing like Samson. Samson was a grey and white wolf hybrid and I was some kind of white/brown Shepherd. I guess Dad decided he was over-ruling Mom's "wait until after the baby is born" command because next thing I knew I was being loaded into the Family Car. Barely Five Minutes passed between the time the Subaru pulled into the parking lot and the time it left with ME, Tyler. On the way home Mom and Dad stopped at the Pet store to get supplies.

Meanwhile, Oldest Lad was away for about two weeks. Mom and Dad said NOTHING to him in their phone calls and never let Middle Lad talk to him for fear of giving away the secret. On the day Oldest Lad was set to come home, everyone went to the Airport, including Me. Middle Lad and Mom went inside to meet Oldest Lad. Dad and I stayed in the car as it was too hot to leave me in the car with the car shut up. Then when Mom, Middle Lad and Oldest Lad came out of the Airport, Dad drove up to pick everyone up.

Oldest Lad got into the car and there I was! He was shocked! We were instant friends.

When I was adopted my family was told I was about 3 to 5 years old. In reality I was probably well over 8 years old. Mom said I was such a great dog that she never regretted adopting me as a "Senior" and only having just under 5 years with me.

The Odor

When I came upon the scene at the "Pre Mulligan Compound." Wait a minute. For Dog's sake, how big WAS Mulligan's ego? Samson, the Great Wall of Wolf Hybrid lived here. I lived here. And Mulligan names this 0.6 Acres of Suburbia after Mulligan?

Samson raised Oldest Lad. I, Tyler, raised Middle Lad, and got Little Lad well on his way. Hmmph.

Anyhoo, when I, Tyler, came upon the scene, the home was in much disarray. Mom was quite rotund with Little Lad in her belly. After years of "trying," and several surgeries to fix her (not fix her like female dogs are fixed, but fix her so she, well whatever,) Dad had managed to Do His Part (he was never at fault) just in time before he fell apart and was "out of commission in that department" for several months due to serious back injury and surgery. Mom vomited her way through most of the first half of her pregnancy, yet Little Lad grew HUGE; one would never suspect that since he now is in less than the Tenth Percentile. The TYLER Compound was OVER-Run by MICE and MOLES. Dad could not even bend to load the dishwasher. Mom used to threaten that if Dad was not nice to her she would put the shampoo and soap on the shower floor, since then he would not be able to wash.

As soon as I got here I began to dispense with the MOLES. Oh, yeah, those Moles that I did not dig up and eat, quickly left their tunnels and moved to adjacent yards.

The MICE? Well, Mom and Dad had to have an Exterminator come into the house to treat for mice. The mice began to die off. In the walls. In the Duct Work. It was summer. Every time the Air Conditioning came on, the smell of decaying flesh filled the house. Mom called the Exterminator. He said: "Oh that is great! If the mice are dying in the Ducts, then their bodies will dry out quickly!" Mom and Dad did not think it so great.

No visitors were invited to the house for fear the AC would come on and the house would be filled with the smell of decaying mice.

At that time, Middle Lad was undergoing intensive Speech Therapy. Mom was sitting in the Observation Room, watching Middle Lad having Speech Therapy via a TV monitor and head phones. Middle Lad was, in his speech that was about 10% Intelligible, animatedly trying to talk to the Speech Therapist about "The Odor." He kept pointing at the Walls. The Ceiling. Then talking about "The Odor."

Mom was in absolute stitches in the Observation Room, with no way to explain to the poor Speech Therapist what Middle Lad was trying to express, knowing that Middle Lad was talking about The Odor in the walls and Air Ducts. After his session, Mom met up with Middle Lad and the Speech Therapist and had to explain all about "The Odor." Fortunately this Speech Therapist had a daughter on the same swim team as Oldest Lad, so she already knew Mom was an absolute Nut Case.

I, Tyler, could get rid of the Moles. I could teach Little Lad to Read. I could not dig the Mice out of the Walls and Air Ducts. OK, I could have been like Pennie or Mulli and Dug the Mice out of the walls, but I HAD MANNERS.

Must Check into this Foul Odor

I must check into this Foul Odor that is causing all these Febreze Collars to come my way. My Mom was assured that my Ashes are quite Inert and Incable of any Odor.

Back Again

Oldest Lad opened up a Time Capsule today from 4 years ago. In it was a bag of Tyler Fur! I was also listed as Oldest Lad's Best Friend. I live on.

What a fun day!

Boy it sure was fun being Diary Pick of the Day. Mom and the gang shared lots of memories of me, as well as all the fun warm regards of dogster pals. When I was just here a short time Mom went to the hospital to have Little Lad. Ever mindful of her priorities, while she was away, she kept asking Dad if I missed her. Of course I missed her! If she could have, Mom would have had me come to the hospital to see her. I had only been in the house for a couple months so Mom just wasn't sure how I was going to react. Fortunately I was always known as "Mother Tyler" because I was always caring for all the family members and making sure where every one was. I arrived just in time to care for the family in Mom's absence, but boy was I glad she came back to restore a little order.

As soon as Mom arrived home with Little Lad he started wailing to be fed. Mom went straight upstairs to her bed and sat up in the bed and began to nurse. I ran straight up the stairs after her and jumped up on the bed and lay next to Mom to keep her company. (Oh, and of course to offer my advise; I may be a male dog, but instincts are instincts.)

Once Little Lad moved on to Solid Food he and I had a great deal going. Little Lad fed me little bits of food from his high chair. In return, I did not eat Little Lad. It worked a long way in allowing me to forgive him pulling on me, although Mom and Dad never tolerated much of Little Lad pulling on me.

Wow, stealth dog noticed

I am Diary Pick of the Day!
I don't often write in my diary due to being over the bridge and all; that Upstart Mulligan who came after me is much more verbose, but that doesn't mean that I don't still have a voice in the family life. Hardly a day goes by that I am not mentioned especially in the context of how much better behaved I was and how much sweeter I was than Mulligan.

Samson, my predecessor, the half-wolf, raised Oldest Lad. After Samson lived a healthy long life, I arrived on the scene while Mom was quite rotund with Little Lad in her belly. I therefore raised Little Lad, although I was only with the family for just under 5 years.

After I was gone, Mom had to go and retrieve me from the Vet. Coincidentally, the Vet office was within walking distance from Middle Lad's piano lesson studio. Mom dropped off Middle Lad and took Little Lad by the hand. Little Lad was four. Together they walked to the vet office. I was handed over, in a basket to Mom. Mom didn't say much at the Vet Office as she was feeling rather blue.

Mom and Little Lad, and Me, in the basket, commenced the walk back to the Piano Studio.

Little Lad suddendly turned to Mom: "Mommy, Is that Tyler in the basket?"

Mommy said: "Yes."

Perceptive little devil! And we simply enjoyed the walk.

Dental Fraud

I have discovered that Vets have a deep seated fear of Dogs. Yes. I am sure it is true.
Mom went to the Dentist today. Now hear this: She ATE breakfast first. No fasting. Then she was awake for the entire procedure. In fact, she carried on pleasant conversation with the hygeinist during those moments when there were no tools or hands in her mouth. Then she drove herself home and was able to eat and drink immediately.

Why then is it that we dogs must be tortured so when we have our teeth cleaned? What dog wouldn't enjoy carrying on pleasant conversation with a good-looking hygeinist, while sitting in a comfortable chair, listening to soothing music, while his/her teeth were cleaned with either cherry or mint dentifrice?

No, instead, we are forced to forgo food or water, put to sleep, unsure if it is our "last injection" so to speak, and then wake up with bloody and sore mouths with our bodies ensconsced in a cage. Our humans drive us home, and have to carry us, or at least direct us, into the house, where we must fast for the rest of the day despite our hunger pangs and our abject humility over our entire situation.

Middle Lad BIT Little Lad just the day after Christmas so surely there is no less fear of being bit by a human than from a canine.

Tyler Cloud

Mom was out yesterday brushing the current dog, that Upstart, Mulligan, which brought back fond memories of brushing me, Tyler.

I, Tyler, was a double-coated dog. I had a thick, luxurious coat of white and brown hair, with just a few highlights of black if one looked closely. Mom usually brushed me OUTSIDE, for I shed amounts of hair in such quantities that Mom still worries about all that Tyler DNA wandering around the neighborhood. Mom wonders what great Mutant Dog could have been created from those massive mounds of fur that were distributed after I had a good brushing.

One day Mom decided to start brushing me as she waited for the Middle Lad's school bus to arrive in the morning. Our driveway is at a stop-sign and is therefore a designated Bus Stop. By the time the bus came down the street I was laying in the driveway and Mom was going at my fur with a passion. She and I were surrounded by a virtual fog of white hair. The driveway was covered in hair, the yard was speckled in white, and the air was thick with my hair. The students on the bus were amazed. They were entertained. They were pointing their pudgy fingers at the sight.

It soon became a ritual that when Mom would brush me, she would do it in the morning, waiting for the bus, to provide entertainment for the elementary bus-riders. Who needs Nintendo when you have a double-coated dog in the peak of shedding?

I'm sorry, but I'm just not sorry!

Mom hasn't seen Tigger the Cat hanging around our house lately and asked Tigger's Mom about it. Tigger's Mom replied that poor Tigger was just not feeling as spry these days and was not roaming the neighborhood anymore.

Yes, I suppose that I should feel bad that poor Tigger is feeling the aches and pains of growing old, but to put it bluntly: I do not feel the least bit sorry.

When I had but been at my Forever Home for a few days, I met Tigger, who was hanging out on MY back porch. I offered Tigger a friendly welcome to my porch, offered him a beer, and he replied by swatting me across the face and giving me an eye infection that had to be treated by a nasty antibiotic ointment.

Thus began a lifetime of animosity. Unlike Tigger, I was not allowed free roam of the neighborhood. No, I knew where I belonged, protecting my own domicile from invaders, including of the feline variety.

Tigger began to spend his days resting upon the very front porch of my own home. In my house the living room faces the front on one side of the front hallway and the family room faces the front on the opposite side. Each of the rooms has two windows that are very tall and the window sills are barely a foot from the floor. Those two rooms offer the perfect canine perches to view all neighborhood activity and monitor any terrorists coming into the yard or treading upon the front sidewalk.

Tigger decided that the ideal place to sit and take in the sun and to torment me was sitting outside on the porch, just underneath the windows. In fact, when he sat on the outside of the window and I sat on the inside of the window, we were nose to nose. And there was nothing I could do about it. Oh, to see him smugly sitting within my very grasp, but yet out of reach, drove me to distraction.

It was MY PORCH. Tigger had his own porch at his house to sit upon, but what better activity for a feline than to spend his day torturing a canine who dare not break through that glass barrier?

No, I am NOT SORRY that Tigger is ailing, I only wish that I could have lived to see it. I would have Mom take me for a walk and park me right in front of Tigger's front window.