Pennie Paw Gnaw

On Sunday night I galavanted with reckless abandon at Calbert's house. The night was hot and humid, but it was NOT raining, a miracle for the Ohio Valley of late, and Calbert and I put our tails up in the wind and played! Queen Sophine sat elegantly in Dad's lap, keeping her bottom firmly away from any advances from Calbert Domination.

On Monday night Mom realized that I was licking and gnawing at my right front paw. I licked and gnawed most of the night, leaving a large wet saliva spot on the bed, and incurring the wrath of Dad constantly telling me to stop licking.

Tuesday morning, Mom attempted to exam the Gnawed Paw. I attempted to Gnaw Mom. No, I did not attempt to Gnaw Mom -- I attempted to Bite Mom.

Mom enlisted Dad's help to hold me down while Mom pried apart my Paw. On the top of my right paw, between the toes, I have some Boo Boos. Mom applied antibacterial ointment, and I was set free.

All the rest of Tuesday, I was leery of Mom, for as soon as I settled down for a nap, she insisted on peeking at my paw! As soon as I would get a good Paw Gnaw going, I was yelled at! Honestly, that Woman needs more to do in her life than just annoy me!

By Tuesday night, anytime Mom came anywhere close to me, I curled my lips into a Pennie Smile. Of course, Mom would have none of that. She is one of those "if I brought you into my home, I can take you out," types, so she insisted on making me sit on her lap for a cuddle. Then she put more ointment onto my paw.

I am glaring at her right now.

The Reality of Dog versus Cat Drinking.

Our very own Dogster Website recently posted an article comparing the difference between how dogs and cats hydrate themselves, as in drink water.

The following is an excerpt from the Dogster article:

"A study in the journal Science last year explored the science behind the cat lap. Using high-speed video, researchers were able to dramatically slow down footage of a cat drinking. They found that when the tip of a cat’s tongue barely touched the water’s surface, the water stuck to it. When the cat pulled her tongue back in, the movement created a water column on the back of her tongue, and the cat snapped her jaws around it after every lap before it could fall out."

The article goes on to explain that Dogs use much the same method, only dogs are Slobs.

I, Pennie, take offense at the explanation that Dogs are Slobs.

Here is MY explanation:

1. Cats are stingy, self-serving creatures. They do not want any water to fall out and make a mess because they do not want to SHARE. A dog, on the other paw, is happy to share his/her water, and any over-spray while he/she drinks is simply watering plants, hydrating ants or mice, or even cleaning a spot on the kitchen floor.

2. Cats are not thankful. They do not want the water to in any way feel that they are "thankful" for it. Dogs drink exuberantly to express to the water their thanks that it is hydrating them, that it is giving of itself to provide them life.

3. Dogs appreciate Science. Cats don't care that the miracle of Science creates that column of water that move the water up the tongue, nor do they even care about the miracle of hydrogen and oxygen. Dogs, in their exuberance, are proclaiming to the world that Science is Cool! and cats just can't think anything is cool except themselves.

and that's Pennie's Opinion.

Professor Pennie

I fully expect an increase in my Kibble Ration or some other reward commensurate with working my Paws to the bone as Professor Pennie!

Yesterday, Mom left, with The Wee Lass, and I was In Charge of Middle Lad and Little Lad from the time they came home from school, until Mom finally returned, stinking of Five Guys Hamburgers and Fries, and bringing none home for me.

While Mom was gone, I had to oversee Middle Lad work on his homework, including his Frog Dissection Lab! I was unaware such graphic pictures were allowed posted on the Internet. I was forced to help Little Lad study for his States and Capitals Test. Yes, I, Pennie, know that Phoenix, Arizona, has an "O" in Phoenix, but I was beginning to threaten Little Lad with my teeth after seventeen times of him spelling Phoenix, "Phenix."

Mom was off galavanting with Oldest Lad as he received a Major Award. I suppose I should be proud of Oldest Lad, and I am, but shouldn't it have been Me, Pennie, that sat at Oldest Lad's side during the award ceremony? After all, I have spent far more hours studying with Oldest Lad than Mom has. Hours laying under his desk. Hours laying on his bed. Hours laying in great heaps of dirty laundry. Snoring, I mean Murmuring my encouragement into Oldest Lad's ears.

Anyhoodles, Oldest Lad received an award from the Criminal Justice Department, which is in the same College as the Department of Education, at University. It was quite striking to note that all the Criminal Justice Majors, who were receiving awards, had a certain "look." Clean cut. Short hair. Shiny shoes. The few women looked almost the same, only in dresses and maybe not the crew cut. The "Education Majors," looked, well, "less intense." Perhaps "more friendly."

Dogsters, what have I wrought?

Sleep-Deprived Pennie

I have not been able to get my requisite amount of sleep. The weather has been tumultuous. In the brief respites between storms, the family has made attempts at getting yard work done. Of course I must supervise yard work. On Saturday, my over-grown Sasquatch of a friend, Calbert, came over to play. We paused while the families ate dinner, then I went to his house for more play.

Last night, no sooner had the family left for their respective activities, the Tornado and Thunderstorm Sirens went off. Little Lad, The Wee Lass, and Dad returned home from the rained-out, tornado-warninged-out game. Mom and Middle Lad spent a inordinate amount of time at Middle Lad's Band Concert/Band Awards night due to being forced to evacuate to the high school basement for some 30 to 45 minutes.

This is how bad it has become: I did not even clean the egg off of Mom's plate of eggs last night, nor finish The Wee Lass' cinnamon toast. Not only am I sleep-deprived, but these storms shall cause me to whither away to nothing.

Sub-species or Super-species?

Last night was a LATE night! For days now Middle Lad has been working on a Taxonomic Classification Project. For those who have forgotten their high school biology: Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus, Species.

Middle Lad tracing the history and taxonomy of the Gray Wolf. At first I was quite alarmed as Middle Lad does mumble so, and I thought he said "taxidermy." I gave Sophie a firm shove in Middle Lad's direction, but then he repeated the word as "taxonomy."

I helped Middle Lad, as usual, as Tutor Pennie, spending hours laying under his desk. I learned quite a bit about wolves (and dogs) during this endless project.

Wolves are Canus lupus. Dogs are considered by some scientists to be a separate species, but by others to be a SUB-species of the wolf. Some scientists classify dogs as Canus familiaris, but others classify dogs as Canus lupus familiaris, which would make dogs actually part of the Wolf Pack, or Species, not separate at all. (Separate, but Equal? That is a whole 'nuther debate.)

Pawsonally, I do not think that Dogs are a SUB Species of the Wolf, but a SUPER Species! Which Canus is on the endangered list? The dog or the wolf? Which Canus must hunt for it's food while the other gets it's kibble portioned out in shiny bowls? Which Canus sleeps outside while the other sleeps on a bed? I think that makes the Dog the Super Species, not the Sub-species!

After spending all that time growling and herding to focus ADD Middle Lad, when it came time to put the final Poster together: Banished! He did not want me in the room while he cut, glued, and assembled. Truly, I never get any thanks for all the work that I put into that Middle Lad.

I managed to put my Poster Paw in at the very end! I was not going be banished from the final poster after being Tutor Pennie during all the research: I leaped over that gate, like a Standard American Brown Dog in a Steeplechase! My paws did not even graze the wood of the gates, but landed smack in the center of the poster! Since I had just been outside, one can just detect the faint imprint of a Pennie Paw upon the Poster, and perhaps a few Standard American Brown Dog Wolf Hairs stuck to the drying glue.

Piano Blues Battle

Yesterday dawned cloudy and rainy, as the Ohio Valley has been for months on end. Oldest Lad stopped by around noon with Daisy (his house-mate's Dog) and with Camille, Oldest Lad's latest Rental Dog. Oldest Lad was home to watch The Wee Lass while Mom attended a Piano Recital in which Middle Lad was playing.

Middle Lad performed quite well, with no small thanks to ME, Pennie. His first piece included some stumbling, but his second piece was played with confidence and power, and thundered it's way amongst the halls of the local hospital. The local hospital has a Baby Grand Piano in it's foyer and is thus a favored spot for Piano Recitals. Cheap entertainment for the hospital staff and patients, and a great chance for piano students to play on a quality instrument.

In time honored tradition, the piano teacher's Mother baked cookies for the students to take home with them as a Recital Treat. Now who has sat through years of plinking key strokes? Who has sat through years of Mom's endless nagging to practice, practice, practice, and the endless ringing and resetting of that cursed timer? House-guest Daisy? Rental Dog Camille? NO! Me. Pennie. (Okay, and Sophie has suffered the Piano Practice Blues as well, since she has been here, I must allow credit where credit is due.)

Upon Mom and Middle Lad's return from The Recital, Camille was exiled to the clam-shell crate, Daisy, Sophie and I were left loose, and Mom, The Wee Lass, Oldest Lad, and Middle Lad went off to Target.

When the humans came home, Mom entered the house and came upon a Crime Scene: Two heavy wood kitchen chairs were laying on the floor. The low gate to the Boy's office was turned over. There were blood spots on the walls. Blood spots on the floor. The kitchen counter had items knocked all over.

Mom was in a panic. At first she could not find Sophie. Mom was certain that Sophie was Dead. Then it was discovered that Sophie had run out of the house to talk to Oldest Lad as soon as Mom came home, and Mom had not seen her. (That little Sophie Tattle Tail!)

Sophie was un-injured. It was Me, Pennie, and Daisy who had obviously been "up to something." We spent three days together last weekend while Mom dog-sat Daisy, but that did not involve COOKIES!

Those Cookies were MY Cookies! My Piano Practice Blues Cookies! I was not even invited to attend the recital -- my only reward for all those long hours of practice and the twitching of my ears to the strike of a sour note was those COOKIES!

Mom took Me, Pennie, and wiped me down and checked me over, while Oldest Lad took Daisy and wiped her down and checked her over. I was scraped up in several spots, and my back lags appeared a bit sore (perhaps from a chair falling on them?) but that was the extent of my injuries.

Daisy had several small puncture wounds to her right ear, as well as some nicks near her left eye. Ears bleed quite a bit, so that probably accounted for most of the blood spatter, as well as my paw that had a small injury.

It was determined that Daisy needed to go to the Emergency Vet. Mom and Oldest Lad were there for several hours, as two "true emergencies" came in while they were there. Daisy's puncture wounds were cleaned and glued, (yes, glued!) She was given antibiotics, for the Vet said that dog bites tend to become infected.

The Emergency Vet was not overly "upset" by the incident: she seemed to think that with all the stormy weather the area has had, that something just set Daisy and Me, Pennie, Off, and we were not in a "Major" scuffle, more of a warning shot. (Mom did not know of the Cookie involvement until she had a chance to sift through the forensic evidence.)

Meantime, it has been decided that perhaps Daisy and Me, Pennie, should not spend any time together for a while.

Tooth Grudge.

Last night Mom and Dad were watching Boring TV and as usual, expected me, Pennie, to join them for a snuggle on the couch. I refused. I was begged. I was implored, pleaded, and finally physically picked up and placed on the couch. I got down and laid behind a chair.

I am holding a Tooth Grudge.

(If wondering where Queen Sophine was during all this, she was exiled to the Crate. Her Royal Highness Sophie would like to say she was Exiled to Siberia for Civil Disobedience or some such nonsense, but in reality she was put in the plastic clam-shell crate after she had diarrhea on the Boy's Office carpet. Crate Exile for Body Fluids, nothing "royal" about that.)

Anyhoodles, every since a certain Dogster Pal, who shall remain nameless, because I am NOT one to air troubles in the court of public opinion, but I digress . . .
Every since this certain Dogster Pal had some teeth removed, Mom decided that I, Pennie, needed to have MY teeth addressed. I have a broken Canine Tooth and a bit of tarter build up.

Mom purchased some minty-fresh gel that is "guaranteed" to aid in the removal of tartar and/or plaque build up simply by rubbing some on the teeth, daily at first, then every few days. Mulligan used to allow Mom to actually brush his teeth with Poultry-flavored toothpaste, but Mom never had any luck getting me to submit to a teeth brushing.

Sophie, although she clearly is not thrilled about the minty fresh plaque removing gel, does allow Mom to apply it to her teeth, and then have a snuggle. Sophie's teeth really didn't have much plaque on them anyway, and she probably feels that as a Queen she must flash a whitened smile.

Me? I have not tried to remove Mom's hand as I did when she attempted to brush my teeth with the poultry-flavored toothpaste, but I have been "less than cooperative." Mom, unfortunately, has been quite persistent.

In response, I am holding a Grudge against Mom. I have even gone so far as to sleep on the FLOOR the last two nights, next to Mom's side of the bed, but not IN bed with Mom. Thunderstorms are predicted again, so I fear that I may succumb to sleeping with Mom again, but I intend to continue my Tooth Grudge.

Need a bigger bed!

Last night simply proves that either Dad must move out to His Garage, or we need a replacement for the Concrete Queen. Dad has been muttering on about replacing the Concrete Queen for years. When he first bought it; he insisted that he must have the firmest mattress made. Mom is certain she has slept on bricks that have softened more over the years than the Concrete Queen; thus the nickname, Concrete Queen.

Anyhoodles, with Daisy as our houseguest, Dad spent Friday night sleeping downstairs after snoring away to late night TV. On Saturday night he insisted on coming up to bed with Mom, Sophie, Daisy, and ME.

Mom, Dad, Sophie, and I all assumed our customary positions on the Concrete Queen: Dad taking up his entire half, and Mom, Sophie and I sharing the other half. After a few minutes a thunderstorm began. Daisy was heard getting up from her spot laying on the floor next to Mom. Next thing, Daisy was up too! Daisy snuggled in next to Mom, making a Mom-sandwich, with Me and Sophie and Mom's feet. I am certain Mom was very comfortable! Mom has had to learn to make a Mom-ball, sort of like a Pennie-ball or a Sophie-ball. Until Dad become less selfish, that is just how it has to be.

Unfortunately, several hours later Mom turned over and Daisy fell out of bed! Daisy then jumped back up, and not wanting to sleep on the edge again, joined Sophie and I at the foot of the bed.

Dad had the gall to complain this morning that Dogs had entered his half of the bed! Just wait, Dad, just wait, some night Dad will find himself sleeping in one of his non-working convertibles!

Workin' for a livin'

This weekend there has been a house-guest, Daisy, who belongs to a housemate of Oldest Lad. While Oldest Lad and his pals are engaging in licentious behavior at the Kentucky Derby, Daisy has been safely ensconced with us. Even so, Daisy misses her Own Man. Last night Daisy even hopped into bed! Poor Dad: he came upstairs and there I lay, upon Dad's pillows, Sophie was laying on Mom's legs, and DAISY was laying at the bottom of Dad's side of the bed. Dad ended up sleeping downstairs. He "could" have asked Daisy or Sophie to move, but I suppose he wanted to play martyr and keep his snores to himself.

I do recall that just recently, Rent-to-Own Sophie was only supposed to be a "Temporary Houseguest." She didn't even live here, but foster lived with Oldest Lad, and then one day she went from Rental (Foster) to Living Here Permanently. I was never consulted if I needed help, although I do work my paws to the bone for this family!

Now, I do get along fine with Daisy. It's just that THREE Dogs? Mom has made it clear that she has a limit of "Two dogs." What if Mom (shudder, shudder) decides that I am not pulling my weight?

I have been working very hard since Daisy got here. Pennie-on-the-spot! Yes, I want to make sure that Mom doesn't think I am a Slacker, and give any thought to replacing me! As soon as lunch was over, there I was, standing on the kitchen table, cleaning the lunch plates. I have snuggled with Dad, even insisting on sitting on his lap! Crumbs? Mom won't need to run a vacuum on the kitchen floor, either, as I am making sure she knows that I, Pennie, am her number ONE DOG and here to stay!

Trouble on Easter

Apparently, sometime in the 1970s, my Mom's first childhood dog, a German Shepherd named Duchess, rolled in a dead turtle to celebrate Easter Sunday. Mom's Mother, known for her Irish temper, (which she passed on down to Mom,) was NOT pleased to scrub dead turtle off Duchess before preparing the Easter Dinner. Mom's Father was never truly forgiven for the incident as he "should have known better" than to take Duchess walking next to a pond on Easter Sunday.

This afternoon I was visited by one of my favorite overgrown pals: Calbert! We romped and played in the 0.46 acres of swampland that used to be my yard. At only April 24, Southwestern Ohio is already 8 inches over it's normal April rainfall, with at least two more inches due by Wednesday.

When Mom exited the house to go to the grocery store to collect a few items for Easter Dinner, she was greeted by a Standard American Brown MUD Dog.

Paying absolutely no heed to my condition, Dad let me in the house while Mom was gone, where I proceeded to clean myself off, on Mom's favorite chair.

I am not sure who is in the Dog House, but I am thinking that some Easter traditions are continuing.