Synchronized Sleeping with Dad

I do not know how Dad could possible think that he is anything but loved and adored. Or simply used.

It is a well known fact that Dad does not like any Dog Parts to touch him while he sleeps on the Concrete Queen. The Concrete Queen Mattress is almost 20 years old -- it was one of the first purchases of Mom and Dad's marriage, but as the name "Concrete Queen" would suggest, the mattress is as firm as the day that Dad chose it for it's kinship to sleeping on, well, concrete. (The other first purchase was a dishwasher. Dad informed Mom prior to marriage that he did not "do dishes." This did not sit well with Mom, so in order to not remain a bachelor, Dad immediately purchased a convertible dishwasher; one that was on wheels that could later be installed into the cabinetry when the kitchen was remodeled and room was made for it.)

Anyhoodles, last night Dad was forced to suffer through dog parts touching him, but I think he must appreciate the coordination of the effort.

There was Me, Pennie, curled up at Dad's lower legs and feet.

There was Sophie curled up at Dad's bottom.

There was Mom, curled up at Dad's back and neck.

All three of us were in basically the same position, snuggled up against Dad, completely synchronized. He "should" have felt either loved, smothered, or used.

Where does a Pennie Dog Lay Her Head?

I don't know where I belong anymore. This weekend was a flurry of cleaning, sorting, hammering, and laundry. It is not over. It has just begun.

Middle Lad and Little Lad had two loft bed beds in what was supposed to be their room. Despite being the largest room in the house, the room with two lofts was not large enough to keep those bickering labs separated. With Oldest Lad moved off to Louisville, Middle Lad had taken to sleeping in Oldest Lad's room.

However, now Little Lad is back in his original room; the room that he started in as a baby (except when he was a baby he usually slept in the room with Mom and Dad.) But he started out having his own room, that he didn't sleep in, until he fed less frequently. Dad was able to take apart Little Lad's Loft Bed. When he built the Lofts Dad told Mom they were "never coming down," but but that was just another lie that Mom believed. Mom can be very gullible. In reality, one loft was disassembled and reassembled, for Little Lad's new locale.

Wee Lass moved over into Oldest Lad's room. Middle Lad moved back into the room that used to have two lofts, but now just has one loft.

Sophie's crate remains in the Big Room, now housing only Middle Lad, and of course Sophie, when she needs crating. Since this home is in a constant state of recycle of beds, furniture and clothes, Sophie's crate was originally Samson's crate. Samson was 80 pounds, so Sophie should not complain that her Royal Throne Crate is too small.

While Middle Lad was sleeping in Oldest Lad's room, on Oldest Lad's Twin XL bed, I frequently spent the night sleeping with Middle Lad. Sometimes Sophie joined us, or Sophie slept with Middle Lad and I slept with Mom and Dad.

I can no longer sleep with Oldest Lad because he moved away.

I can no longer sleep with Middle Lad because he moved UP. He moved UP back onto the Loft Bed he had been avoiding due to avoiding Middle Lad. I "could" climb the ladder, but I won't.

Where do I sleep? Obviously at night I shall sleep with Mom (and Dad, when Dad is "in town.")

Do I sleep with Wee Lass? I have never had a strong bond with Wee Lass. When she came home, no one asked Nannie Pennie if Nannie Pennie suddenly wanted to take on the care of a toddler. Wee Lass was just brought home from Guatemala and I was expected, without prior consultation, to rise up and care for another child. Mulligan, who was here at the time, was quite happy with Wee Lass. He just cared that Mom had room on her lap for him. She did. Mulligan on one side of her lap, and Wee Lass on the other side of her lap. Mulligan just thought of Wee Lass as a new Pack Member.

This thing is going to take a while to sort out. I begrudgingly napped on Wee Lass's bed today, sporting a nervous look on my face. Sophie had no problem napping on Wee Lass's bed. Sophie is too self-centered to think about anything but where her next soft spot is.

Sore Paw

I have a sore paw today. Unlike Sophathetic Queen Sophine, I have been aloof and stoic about my injury. Mom only realized I was injured because I was licking my paw obsessively, and she thought she would take her life into her hands and insist upon having a look. Before my Pennie Jaws snapped Mom's probing hands away, Mom was able to ascertain that on my right paw, the hindmost paw pad had a big chunk ripped and just hanging there. It is unclear how such an injury might have happened. Mom suspects that I may have been injured chasing something in the back yard. There have been far too many intruders in my yard, of late. Yesterday afternoon, I chased an antlered buck right out of my back yard! I thought perhaps he thought my 0.46 acres of Suburbia was a Polling Place. This morning the neighbor's cat was sitting all smug, fat and fluffy, right under my oak tree. The squirrels are busy gathering acorns from the oak tree.

Mom is trying to give me her love, attention and first aid. She is trying to attune to my feelings. I am rejecting her. Mom respects that. She understands my need to be stoic and non-vulnerable. My snarling jaws reinforce this message.

Unsatisfactory Humiloween

Humiloween this year was far from satisfactory. The last couple years I have been forced to dress as a Cheese Coney Dog. For those of you NOT from Cincinnati; a cheese coney is this: hotdog in a bun, plus chili, plus cheese, and then add on mustard and/or onion.

To make me a Cheese Coney Pennie, Mom added yellow yarn to the hot dog costume. It already had mustard. Mom did not add onions, because dogs should only have onions in limited quantities, such as the amount eaten when cleaning out the leftovers from a casserole.

This humiloween, it was cold and rainy, after several days of cold and rainy. Mom decided that I was NOT going to go trick or treating. Mom did not want to give me a bath at Eight O'Clock at night, when Trick or Treat was over. I admit that i was not overly fond of the Cheese Coney Pennie Costume, but I really enjoyed all the attention that I got while I was wearing it. It was fun to walk around and have ME, Pennie, be commented upon and adored.

I do NOT like ungrateful, costumed children knocking on my door. Sure, a lot of them say "thank you," but as a lot, they are ungrateful, I just know it, or they would not be bothering ME, Pennie, forcing ME to be banished to the basement. I did not behave in my basement banishment. The basement door suffered greatly from my clawing at it.

I don't care that I further damaged the basement door. It was an unsatisfactory end to an unsatisfactory Humiloween.

Not adjusted

Oldest Lad stopped by on Friday, for his first visit since moving away. I wiggled myself so hard that I am surprised that I did not turn myself inside out, or into a Pennie Knot. Then I settled into a funk. I was simply not fooled. I slept all night with Oldest Lad, snuggled close, but I just "knew" that this was just a visit. I knew this was NOT like when he lived at University and even though Oldest Lad seldom slept at home; MY HOME was still Oldest Lad's Home. No. I spent Saturday looking terrible, and Mom put my Thundershirt on me. Oldest Lad did buy me a giant pizzle, before he left to go back to Louisville. I appreciated the thought, but I am still depressed.

Sophie, on the other paw, acted very disturbing. Sophie has always been "obsessed" with Oldest Lad, as opposed to "loving" Oldest Lad, as I do. Sophie is NOT the type of dog who goes around licking people. She rarely gives kisses. All Friday night, she kept TASTING Oldest Lad on his head. There is no better description. Oldest Lad would get up to get something; he'd return and Sophie would TASTE him on his head. All night long, whenever Oldest Lad changed his sleep position; Sophie would TASTE him. Granted, Oldest Lad had given himself an incredibly bad, but highly affordable (he did it himself) buzz haircut, which DOES feel good on the canine tongue, but Sophie went beyond just enjoying the roughness upon her tongue. It made me thing of Gollum, and The Ring, "My Precious," from "The Lord of the Rings," by JRR Tolkien. It was just plain creepy to keep witnessing Sophie TASTE Oldest Lad, every few minutes.

Ungrateful Mothers!

A Secret Admirer left my Mom a wonderful gift in the front yard this morning: A Raccoon Corpse!

Mom was completely grossed out, appalled, upset, and in tears when she realized that there was a perfectly good dead raccoon body laying in the front yard. Human females are so difficult to understand.

Sophie and I both were outside this morning, before Mom discovered the dead raccoon. I am quite certain that the Secret Admirer would not want his/her cover blown, so I will NOT confess as to whether it was ME, Pennie, that brought this raccoon to it's fatal state. I will venture that I have been known to kill and/or consume: moles, rabbits, mice and rats. But I do not want to spoil Mom's surprise, so I'll just keep her guessing as to who the Secret Admirer is that left such a wonderful dead raccoon!

Once Mom got over her tears, she got to cleaning. Despite cleaning the bed linens just yesterday, she began to wash them all again. She washed off the couch and the recliner chair. Instead of thinking of how thoughtful it was of the Secret Admirer to think of Mom, all Mom is doing is think of Raccoon Corpse Germs being all over the house.

Humans just have no capacity to appreciate kind gestures.

Extreme Compression Therapy

Sophie, Mom and I have been working on Extreme Compression Therapy for each other. Oldest Lad moved away over the weekend, and I was picking up on the signals for weeks. It was obvious from all the boxes that he was going away, and I just knew that he wasn't just going off to University, this time. On Sunday morning, Mom realized that I looked "just terrible." She put on my Compression Therapy shirt, the Thundershirt, and she gave me a sedative, the sedative that I usually take only in July, for the Annual Blowing Up Suburbia Event. Sophie was doing her Rhythmic Shaking Routine: she vibrates her whole body every few seconds in a giant upset twitch. She usually reserves that for when she is sick or injured, but I think that her mind was feeling injured, so Mom popped a Benadryl into her mouth, to help her a little.

We had to stay home while Mom and Dad helped Oldest Lad move, but we were there for them when they came home. They took us for a very depressing walk, but said we "just needed to get out."

Then we have been trying to Compress Mom as much as we can. She needs her Head Compressed, and so do we. Mom could just feel how hard we were Compressing her -- it was like we were trying to compress all three of us at once, in a giant act of Extreme Compression Therapy.

I gave him the best years of my life only to be cast aside.

I never thought it would come to this. It was ME, Pennie that came into Oldest Lad's life as he began his senior year in Public High School. I tutored him through AP Physics, Calculus, and mentored him how to be the Alto Saxophone Section Leader. I was Nurse Pennie, day and night when he had his first ACL Knee Surgery. When Oldest Lad went off to University, I was still there for him. I nursed him through his second ACL Knee Surgery, even while the entire family was grieving the loss of Mulligan, I was wearing my Nurse Pennie Cap, keeping his leg healing while our hearts were breaking.

Now Oldest Lad is heading off to become Officer Oldest Lad. He is taking his car to have all traces of ME, Pennie out of his car. A standard at-home cleaning won't do; he is having the car detailed.

Oldest Lad claims that he "wants to have the insulating warmth of Pennie and Sophie hair surrounding him at all times," but he must remove all dog hair from his vehicle so that no stray hair may mar his uniform when he appears for daily inspections.

I know when I am being cast aside. Five Years. I gave Five Years of my life to get Oldest Lad to finish High School and achieve a University Degree. Now all traces of Pennie must be removed.

On the Subject of Counter Cruising

It has come to my attention that humans do not like dogs to "Counter Cruise." First off, I think it is ridiculous to call it a "Counter Cruise" or "Counter Cruising." Cars, particularly convertible cars, CRUISE. Dogs do not. Except Dad's convertibles, which are perpetually in pieces on the floor of the Second Garage/Workshop, or leaking toxic substances onto the driveway.

This is what I call "Counter Cruising:" Helping Myself.

I jump up onto the counter. My full Standard American Brown Dog body looks absolutely stunning on the backdrop of Mom's Quartz Countertop. It's as if she had ME, Pennie, in mind when she picked it out, coordinating the countertop to her future Standard American Brown Dog, as opposed to the usual matching ritual of countertop to floor and cabinets.

Sophie stretches herself up on her hind legs, stretches her Sophie neck out as far as it can go, and without getting a cramp in her tongue, is able to get to an amazing amount of food/and or non-food substances that are on the counter.

Mom encourages EVERYONE in the family to: "Help themselves."

Wee Lass is always asking for a "naggin," or napkin, and she is told to get her own napkin.
Little Lad is expected to get his own water, milk and other beverages.
There is an entire, yes entire cabinet devoted to snacks, that Little Lad, Middle Lad, and Oldest Lad, plus all their smelly friends, freely "help themselves."

Mulligan was capable of opening the cabinets, until Wee Lass arrived and Mulli/Wee Lass safety latches were placed upon the cabinets. He was a huge fan of Kellog's Pop Tarts, and would freely "help himself," to a silver bagged treat of two Pop Tarts, taking the bag into the Living Room to open with his opposable-thumbed paws.

Why then, am I facing constant criticism for trying to make Mom's life easier by "helping myself?" She is in constant disarray for the piles of dirty clothes, wet towels, dishes, and other items that the family leaves laying about because they do not help Mom out.

All I am trying to do is be a "Good Helper," by "Helping Myself."

Biscoff Pennie

As I am Dogster Diary Central Daily Pick, I decided to reward myself with a bit of counter cruising.

Biscoff Spread. As based on the evidence of teeth marks, it took me no time at all to open the red-lidded Biscoff Spread and slurp up most of the contents. I have to say that this new addition to the Biscoff product line most certainly lives up to it's name, and I highly recommend it! It needs no bagel or crackers to spread it upon, but is perfect served straight from the jar, in the living room, of course, as it is a bit on the fancy side.

Several powder sugar donuts. The Kroger brand powder sugar donuts may not be quite as tasty as the perennial favorite boxed brand, "Hostess," but for $1 for a box of 12, these sugary morsels slid right down my anxiously waiting lips. Do not think me a glutton, for I only ate five.

To finish off my counter cruise I consumed half a loaf of sliced bread. Plain, as I ate the Biscoff Spread straight from the jar.

Perhaps Mom will have updates at a further date on how the Biscoff Spread impacts the back yard.