Changing my mind about Cousins

I have officially changed my Cousin Number Five Policy. Cousin Number Five had never met ME, Pennie, and I have made it clear that I was NOT interested in meeting HER. She is majoring in Animal Medicine at University. This is what she has done: Dock Piggy Tails and Ears. Dock Lamby parts. Neuter Animals.

I did NOT want Cousin Number Five ever, ever, coming to visit.

Alas, last night, Cousin Number Five and Cousin Number Seven, sisters, came to visit, and spend the night so that they could go watch their Dad, Mom's brother, run in the "Flying Pig Marathon."

This weekend I have had to play Hostess Pennie with Daisy, while Oldest Lad and his Apartment-Mates were busy making fools of themselves at the Kentucky Derby. There is simply not enough attention to spread between Sophie, Daisy, and of course ME, Pennie.

As soon as Cousin Number Five and Cousin Number Seven arrived, Sophie, Daisy, and I, attacked! I do not believe that either Cousin spent more than 60 seconds without a dog attached to them until it was time for bed. At bedtime, Mom insisted that all us dogs go upstairs with her, leaving the Cousins to sleep with zero dogs, just their sleeping bags.

I officially put Cousin Number Five onto the "Welcome" list, along with Cousin Number Seven, as they both spent hours fawning over my loveliness, and stroking my fur, and gushing over the warmth of my Pennie Personality. Sophie was in love as well, for she went from Cousin Five's Lap, to Cousin Seven's Lap, to Mom's Lap, and back and forth all over again. Daisy got more than her share of attention as well.

Chair Grief

I have received some grief of late for taking over chairs in the living room. When Dad's Grandmother passed away, two of her chairs appeared at my 0.46 acres of Suburbia. To be precise, at that time it was Tyler's 0.46 acres of Suburbia. The chairs were upholstered in 1960s orange floral print fabric, still perfect, as Grandmother was a perfect housekeeper. In fact, when she passed away, the police had to inspect her apartment (due to the sudden nature of her death, it was simply to determine that indeed she died of natural causes, and there was no need to open an investigation.) The police commented that they had seldom seen an apartment kept in such perfect order.

Anyhoodles, the perfect 1960s orange floral fabric had to go and be replaced with a fabric that was more in keeping with the style and color that match my family -- navy, burgundy, clutter and dog hair.

No one usually uses the living room, other than for piano and saxophone practice. The floor is used for tents, train tracks, Duplo layouts, and projects that need to be spread out -- such as when Middle Lad and Little Lad decide to fling each other's piano and saxophone music all over the room, because obviously that is a much finer solution to moving each other's music than to simply remove it from the music stand (s) and placing it on an adjoining end table.

But again, I digress.

A few weeks ago, I realized that Grandma Bessie's chairs fit ME, Pennie, perfectly! I can wedge my self in a Perfect Pennie Ball, with back support, butt support, and head support, and the fabric perfectly compliments my Standard American Brown Dog FUR.

Mom has given in to Me, Pennie, and put blankets down upon the chairs, for in the scheme of life, I think she is far less annoyed by ME, Pennie, curled up on the best chairs in the house, than she is by the flung piano and saxophone music.

Blacklisted by FedEx

My 0.46 acres of Suburbia has been Blacklisted by FedEx.

On Monday, Sophie had a look of "urgency" about herself. As Sophie has now become a Weapon of Terror, with all the humans fearing Exploding Sophie will go off at any moment; Sophie was whisked out the closest exit of the house, which was the front door. I followed.

Normally if Mom "expects" a package, she makes certain that Sophie and I are either inside the house, or in the backyard if we have to be out at all. Our yard has two electronic fence zones: Front yard and back yard. We get zapped if we try to cross the No-Dogs-Land in between the two zones.

On Monday, Mom was NOT expecting a package. Soon after letting Sophie (and Me, Pennie) out, however, Mom heard a ruckus. She looked out the front door.

I was jumping all over a FedEx man. First off: This FedEx man did not drive up in a FedEx Truck. No. He drove up in an un-marked mini-van AND he parked facing the wrong direction on the street. My Regular FedEx Man drives a FedEx truck, parks facing the correct direction, AND brings ME, Pennie, TREATS!

The Pseudo-FedEx-Man obviously did NOT like dogs and was NOT a dog person. He should just not have come into the yard. However, once he was in the yard, instead of just stopping, or leaving the yard, he kept approaching. I of course kept jumping because I was certain of either a treat, or at least I was going to inspect the package, to make sure it did not contain any weapons of mass destruction or improvised explosive devises. That's just my dog-ly duty.

When Mom heard, then saw all the ruckus, she called out to the FedEx man to just "drop the package." He dropped the package in the grass, and then I ran over to Mom as she kept calling me, and I was getting tired of her nagging voice.

Once Mom corralled me back into the house, she checked to make sure the Pseudo-FedEx Man was OK, as he was still parked in his non FedEx truck, parked the wrong way, in front of my 0.46 acres of Suburbia. He was OKAY.

Then on Friday, Mom was indeed expecting a package. She made certain that no dogs from MY 0.46 acres of Suburbia were outside. Mom could not account for any random stray dogs lurking about. When Mom got home from errands, she found a package -- placed on the tree lawn, out by the mailbox by the curb. Normally if no one is home, packages are left near the front door, where it is not easy to see them or to steal them.

Apparently it is Me, Pennie, that has brought this black-listing down upon my 0.46 acres of Suburbia. All I was trying to do was either get a treat or protect my turf.

Stepford Dogs

The last couple of mornings I have been very regular about forcing Mom out for her walk. I don't think she gets enough exercise, and of course it is a perfect job for Me, Pennie to take on.

We like to walk in the BIG subdivision that is behind our house. Since it is a new subdivision, not only are the houses BIG, but there are sidewalks. There is only a sidewalk on MY section of MY street in MY neighborhood. Of course since there is so little sidewalk on MY street, I have to protect it with all the more vengeance, in case the humans on the rest of the neighborhood decide they want to take MY sidewalk.

Anyhoodles, I am not sure that the folks in the BIG subdivision really want us regular folks walking in their neighborhood, but since they are always driving through MY neighborhood and breezing right on through MY STOP SIGN, with nary a touch on the brake pedal, I think that I have full rights and privileges to traipse into the BIG subdivision.

I have noticed something very disconcerting about the dogs in the BIG subdivision. The little dogs seem normal -- the little dogs all seem to have small dog syndrome and bark excessively at all who walk by. It's the larger dogs I worry about. Almost all of the larger dogs just sit on their perfectly manicured lawns and stare at ME and Sophie as we pass. If I am outside and a dog passes on MY Sidewalk, in front of MY house; I storm the sidewalk (as close as my electronic fence allows,) raise my hair, and fully protect my 0.46 acres of Suburbia!

What is wrong with these passive dogs? Are they Stepford Dogs? By all rights those dogs have much MORE to protect than I do, yet they barely give a bark, bark, if they say anything, and rarely move from their place. It's just not normal! Is it part of the BIG Subdivisions Covenant and Restrictions that all dogs over Little Dog Size must be Stepford Dogs? I shudder to think that, but it has to be the explanation -- all the dogs on MY street behave just as I do, storming passers-by and letting them know who is in charge.

Complete Affrontage

My so-called sister, Queen Sophine, wrote this in her regal diary
"This is what my Mom likes to do:
She takes my head in her hands, cupping my jowls in her hands. Then she puts her lips on my forehead, right between my eyes, and gives me a kiss.
She calls this Breathing in Sophie Essence."

Guess What? Mom kisses Me, Pennie, also! She doesn't doesn't linger as long, breathing in my so-called "essence," for fear of a malingering odor of deer droppings or something else that I have rolled in.

But why? Because it is ME, Pennie!! that works my PAWS to the bone, taking care of the family, while Queen Sophine, her Royal Laziness, finds the closest Sun-spots, and spends the day expecting to be waited on paw and paw, fed juicy morsels of snacks, and soak up all Mom's attention!

Shall I LIST just a few of my titles? Nannie Pennie. Nurse Pennie. Tutor Pennie. Huntress Pennie.

So what if I have a "lingering odor" of deer droppings -- I keep my 0.46 acres of Suburbia safe for the family!

Mutant Mythical Rodents

I normally like Rabbits. A rabbit of Suburbia will spy me, and sit completely still, with just a wee twitch of it's hasenpfeffer whiskers. Then when it realizes that it is Huntress Pennie on the prowl, off the hasenpfeffer goes, FLASH, across the yard. I have even caught a few hasenpfeffer, crunch, munch, burp.

The Mutant Mythical Rodents of Easter are wrong. Just plain wrong.

"Normal" rabbits do not grow to the size of an Easter Bunny. The Easter Bunny is obviously a mutant from the dark era of the Manhattan Project Research, migrated to the MidWest from the Nevada Nuclear Test Grounds, the Oak Ridge Research Facility, or perhaps the Hanford Site.

Yet, I am supposed to welcome these Mutant Radioactive Rabbits into MY 0.46 acres of Suburbia, and eagerly accept their proffered chocolates, with no fear for the life of my family.

I am a genuine proponent of Family Dinners. Especially dinners that involve steaks, hamburgers, and bread. I simply see no reason why I must invite a Mutant Mythical Rodent into my home in order to get a few bits of beef and a side of bread.

This won't do.

I finally met "Bella," the new German Shepherd Pup that lives across the street. Bella, or Schmella Bella, is about 4 months old and as an "only pup" to pawrents whose human children are grown, thinks that she is "it."

Schmella Bella has an over-inflated EGO.

I am Alpha Pennie. Houseguest Dog Daisy knows that I am Alpha Pennie. Rent-to-Own Sophie, now Queen Sophine, knows that I am Alpha Pennie. All of Oldest Lad's Rental Dogs knew immediately upon meeting me that I was Alpha Pennie.

Schmella Bella did NOT act submissive to me at all. Bella needs to learn to respect her elders. She did not try to lick my teeth; in fact she jump upon my back and refused to back down when I arched up into Alpha Pennie Position.

This will not do. Bella is NOT going to pull an Alpha on me.

Suburbia Surfing

I should have been suspicious when Dad loaded Sophie and Me into Dad's car. We are NOT allowed in Dad's car. Dad's car is even more off limits than Dad's side of the Concrete Queen Bed. Pawsonally I have always blamed poor breeding. Dad grew up with only one sister, and never had to share anything. Mom, on the other paw, as one of a litter of SIX, always had to share. And much like dogs, Mom is willing to share most things, but Do Not Ever, Ever, Touch Mom's Food.

Anyhoodles, Dad is NOT willing to share his car with Dogs. He "claims" that as a "Professional" he cannot go into meetings covered in Dog Hair.

On Monday, Mom needed her Van to transport Middle Lad to the Vet, I mean Doctor. Dad was forced to load Sophie and Me into his car. I have never been in Dad's car. It was a beautiful day, and Dad's car has a Sun Roof! Dad opened up the Sun Roof.

In a few minutes I discovered that there was an open window at the TOP of the car, so I stood on the back seat, put my front paws up on the top of the car and stuck my head out the sun roof!

It's called City Surfing, but of course, being in Suburbia, it was ME, Pennie, Suburbia Surfing!

The problem was that I happen to live in one of the curviest, hilliest parts of Cincinnati. I Suburbia Surfed for all of a few seconds before Dad rounded a curve and I was flung off my Surf onto Dad's lap. Fortunately Dad is a seasoned driver and he was able to maneuver the curves while having the sudden shock of a 48 pound Pennie flung onto his lap.

Then I discovered that Dad was taking Sophie and I to Camp Kennel. I LIKE Camp Kennel. As Alpha Pennie, I immediately put myself in charge and thoroughly enjoy all the Camp Kennel activities. Sophie, on the other paw, clung to Dad pathetically until the Camp Kennel Counselor had to peel her off Dad and take her back to her Kennel Run.

Furniture moving again

Mom and Dad moved the family room furniture back around Thanksgiving. The whole family liked the new furniture arrangement, but Mom was not happy. I was not happy with the new arrangement, either, but no one seemed to care. With the Original Arrangement, I could lay upon the end of the couch and still look out the corner front window.

Mom was not happy because her favorite chair no longer had a lamp next to it, and so she could not read or crochet knots unless she sat on the couch. Mom is not overly fond of the couch because Mom is short and unless she wedges her head in a spot between the three back cushions, her neck gets a crick. She does like to LAY upon the couch, however.

This morning, Mom just decided that she frankly did not care if the rest of the family liked the new furniture arrangement; she was moving it all back. And apparently when a human female decides to move furniture . . . furniture gets moved. Dad came home mid-day, and looked a bit shocked.

Mom decided that after all the furniture moving and of course vacuuming everything, that she would rest a bit. I climbed right up into her lap, wedged my butt on the left side of her hips, and laid my head across her lap, just like I used to do with the "Original Arrangement." Sophie eventually climbed up and curled up on Mom's middle lap. Sophie and I are obviously "fine" with the original arrangement, and so who cares about the rest of the family.

Vet Visit, Lumpy but fine

I visited the vet this morning to check out my lumps. The vet pronounced a healthy Pennie, and now I shall re-adjust to a quiet life in Suburbia without Daisy here any longer. I was down two pounds, probably due to the increase in walking of late. Todays agenda: napping in the sun.