That wasn't so bad

Pupsters, I just got to The Bridge, and I gotta tell ya, Heaven is, well, HEAVEN! My Izzy's Pongo and JR Angel, Puter, and little Sweet Tweak Louise all met me as I crossed.

I will write more later, but I have to go to Orientation, followed by the Welcome Banquet. I hear Chicken is on the menu, and for once at these sort of things, it won't be the rubber variety.

Thank you to all my friends who have kept me in their thoughts and prayers, especially my pal Sully.

And always and forever, my Izzy.

That'll perk ya right up!

I'm one of today's Dogster Diary picks! WOW - I thought I was pretty much under the radar. Very very KEWL. Thank you Dogster - I'm honored AND energized. It just goes to show you that life is always full of little surprises.

Sam's inner dialogue:

*Ew. Hope it wasn't a MERCY PICK!?!*

*Oh, who cares?!? Enjoy it, Sammy! Revel in it!*

*I know, I know - "stop snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory", yada, yada. You've mentioned that, once or thirty gazillion times.*

*That's RIGHT! I'm always right, you need to listen to me more. Then I wouldn't have to nag.*

*umm, er [mumble] [mutter] [mumble]*

*What was that? I didn't quite catch it.*

*[mumble] [mutter] I said, You're Right...[mumble]*

*What?*

*RIGHT! You're RIGHT!*

*That's better. Thank you. Have a nice day, Mister One-out-of-5 Diary of the Day Picks.*

*[mumble] [mulls]*

Hmmmm.

HEY! Betcha Izzy is gonna be impressed!

And Charlie is gonna be soooooooo pissed! BOL!

Yes, indeedy, Pupsters, life is worth living. Thanks, again, Dogster!

Holding my own, but I'd rather be holding a Frosty Paws

My beloved Izzy, dominatrix of my heart and eventually the world, barks and I obey. Uh-oh - apparently my diary non-posting has caused some worry/consternation with Her Izzyness. I was afraid of that.

So - to relieve your minds, I'm hanging in there, as they say (although where exactly there is, I've never quite understood). I still like to go on walks, and I'm still my strong buff self. I've heard the humans say I have a strong Life Force - that's some of that California new-agey speak the Mother comes up with-BOL. What that really means is, if I want to go in a particular direction while on those walks and the humans aren't cooperating, I plant my feet and pull. And voila, I get my way. Heh-heh, maybe Life Force means stubborn.

I still have an appetite, and I'm continuing to get treats AND what Mom thinks is lesser quality dog food, you know, the yummy stuff with bacon flavorings. Hey, if it's good enough for Mulder, it's good enough for me. However, it's sort of hard for me to bend my neck, eat and swallow so I'm getting fed by hand. By the Mother. I think hand feeding me makes the Mother feel better (when the Dad feeds me, I eat as usual. He doesn't do the hand feeding).

She's still doing the watching me bit, especially when I cough and do that gagging thing - which I admit, I'm doing more. And my breathing is loud and sometimes sounds like I'm snoring. A lot. LOUDLY.

I'm not sure how much longer I have. Sometimes I think I'll make the trip to the Bridge pretty soon. I know Pongo is there and Elvis, JR Angel and Putter, Bonnie Blue, and now that little Harvey Wallbanger are all there and they're all pals. But I think I need to stay a bit, for a little while anyway. Besides, I'm not ready to let Kirby or other suitors make moves on My Izzy. Maybe I AM stubborn. Let's hear it for Life Force: ARR-rooooooo!

Look Who's Here

Interesting doings chez Samster.

Last Thursday, Mom and Charlie (AKA The Brat) took some supplies up to Pike County Humane Society as sort of a 'thank you for Sammy' - PCHS being the locale of my sojourn after The Unfortunate Porcupine Incident.

Well, Pupsters, it looks like lightening struck twice (you'll pardon the expression-BOL). Mom was no more than one foot inside the gates than she clapped eyes on a matted, stinky (but in a good doggy way), uncared for Labradoodle. She's five and has already been DUMPED TWICE by her STOOPID former people. For non-issues - basically for being a dog. Honestly, these idiots who get designer dogs and then leave them alone for 8+ hours, neglect them, give them no exercise, no walks, no regular schedule, and then throw them away if an accident occurs! What did they expect? They must think pups are toys or accessories and don't need to pee after being cooped up all day. But I digress.

Anyway, Mom was smitten - she knew this was one great dog. Mom does have this sixth sense about these things. And how's this for coincidence - the dog showed up at the shelter the same day we got word about my cancer. Spooky, no?

So, a quick bit of paperwork later, Mom and now 2 dogs drove off. First to the vets; next to the groomers; then to her favorite doggy boutique for the necessary collar and lead in a becoming color and then home. Dad was away on bidness but she knew it would be no problemo.

I have to say, the sister pup is great. She's QUIET, she knows her place, and she knows how to play. Oh yeah, her name is LouLou - named after a famous muse of someone named Eve San Lor Aunt. Why Eve needed to be amused I have no idea.

On the other hand

I gotta say, I'm milking this C-thang for all it's worth-BOL. Used to be I was on this BLA-BLA-BLAnd Hills Science Diet k/d for a little kidney prob that developed as I aged. And when that got too spicy (BOL) white rice (boiled almost to disintegration) mixed with boiled chicken breast would appear in the food bowl. WOMAN! you call this FOOD?!?

ahem.

However, obliging and most perfect pup that I am, I would eat the above but dream of the fare she used to give me. Not all the time, mind you, but as treats. And treats they were, pupsters. Roast chicken drippy with lemony thyme-scented juices, bits of boeuf braised in an amusing bourguignon, bites of succulent rosy lamb - WHOA! I'm sssalivating myssself sssilly here.

So here's the good part. I get all those treats again. Bits of tasty cheese, and not that rubber American stuff either but delicioso Parmigiano-Reggiano nuggets, muy bueno Machego, goat cheese, sheep cheese, cow cheese, I'm not fussy. And more! Cookies! Pupcakes! Frosty Paws Ice Cream! In moderation of course, but still !!!I GET TREATS!!!

I tell ya, pups, I think I've gone to heaven. Already. BOL!

Freaky Friday

Don't worry, Pupsters, Lindsay Lohan doesn't figure in this post. But personality switches do, and it's happening right now, right here, and IT'S FREAKIN ME OUT, PUPSTERS!

*Whew. That felt good.*

OK, so what's happening chez Sammy, you ask. The Guardians have switched personalities. She is normally (if normal can indeed ever be used with the SG) demonstrative, emotional, passionate. Histrionic might be too harsh, but overly-dramatic? Oh yeah. She's a Celt (half Welsh, half French) from San Francisco. She laughs, she cries, she sings, she rants, she sets her hair on fire.

So what's she like lately? Quiet. Contained. Stoic.

Then there's the HG. A Highland Scot/Swedish hybrid from Minnesota, he's uber-normal, laconic, quiet, contained, stoic. So subdued that pulse checks are sometimes required.

However, he returned home last week from one of his travels and Hugged Me! Murmured endearments! Crooned in my ear. Hugged me again! SANG to me!

Even Charlie the Brat is being less, um, Charlie. Too weird. Ever since the C word reared its ugly head. Coincidence? I think not.

STOP THE INSANITY! Charlie! Go pee on the carpet. Dad! Take a nap. Mom! Here's a blowtorch - knock yourself out.

TAGGED: I'm It.

I got tagged by Sully. However, I'm not tagging in return, just in case there is Tagging/Chain Letter Karma and I'll have to pay when I'm at The Bridge. Can't be too careful these days. So 7 Random Facts about the Samster:

1. I once ate half of the keys of my mom's laptop.

2. I don't quite understand playing games. It took me years to learn to run after something thrown. I don't return it, though. Why? They'll only throw it again.

3. I hate thunderstorms. Not fond of walking in the rain. I do love snow, however. To play in, to eat, to pee on - all purpose weather event.

4. Not a big fan of riding in the car. I shiver, pant for the first 15 minutes. Then I relax. I've traveled by car to Montreal and Quebec (eh, oui), Virginia (sho'nuff) and Minnesota (you betcha). Globe-trotting Sammy.

5. I didn't bark for over three years. Pawrents thought I didn't know how. There just wasn't anything I felt needed vehement expression.

6. I've been known to bury doggy treats outside, like other dogs bury bones. Note: cookies don't hold up well in snow and wet.

7. I've dispatched three groundhogs in presence of pawrents. Wild Kingdom in the front garden. Based on her reaction, not telling them of other rodents I've taken care of. Why'd she hafta get all girly on me?

If a dog barks in the Forest does anyone hear?

Apparently so if you've got wireless and Dogster!

Pupsters, I'm amazed. And gratified. And humbled. But mostly just very thankful for you and for the time this old dog has left.

I've gotten zealies and pawmails and PPRs and I'll thank you all individually cuz it means that much. But I want to mention two very special friends.

First, is the lovely dominatrix of my dreams, Izzy. For me, it all started with her Diary, that face and of course, that attitude. I was smitten and made one of my Sam stealth moves - I sent her some champagne. We began to tease each other with zealies. Tingle tingle. Through Bella Izzy I learned of other dogs, other diaries. Pups, I was a new dog.

And then Dexter. Dog of Letters, diarist nonpareil (not to be confused with those forbidden yummy chocolate treats of the same name), Dexter of the Golden Ones is wise, pups, very wise. First responder to my "announcement", he gave me a fun ball, commiserated that the news sucked, reminded me I'd had a good run, and told me to Go Fetch. Truer words were never spoken.

Take the ball and run with it.

My last Spring, I guess.

I have cancer. Wasn't counting on that.

I've been having some breathing problems the past month. I go to the vet regularly. Actually, more often than most dogs I know. The Maternal Guardian worries about things and always tries to nip things in the bud. I have to admit these last six years I've been well cared for. Cosseted, even. OK, spoiled.

So, as I was saying, had some shortness of breath, and then started this gagging thing. Nothing came up but I would gag. Sounded retch-ed. BOL. The frequency of these episodes was increasing and Mother (ok, I admit it, she's Mom - irony and sangfroid humor seem to have left me for the moment) took me in today to be rechecked. At my last visit in early March, I was given some meds for possible reflux-type probs. Nada. So today I was x-rayed and there it was. All over.

So there ya go. Not sure how long I have. I plan on enjoying every minute. Now if Mom would only stop with the crying. It's creeping me out.

Grumpy Old Dogs

The She-Guardian (SG for future reference) is on a new regimen whilst the He-Guardian (HG as above) is on another business trip doing whatever it is he does all over the world. The Regimen: up at dawn (more accurately when fuzz-ball Charlie starts licking her face), out for wees, in for brekkies, then a L-O-N-G brisk walk. We'll see how long this lasts.

Me, I like the walk, the brisk part isn't that appealing. The Samster likes to take his time and smell the roses. As well as the Irish Setter 2 blocks over, those little Yorkie rats from up the street, the deer who come in to eat the roses. The brisk part is really about Charlie. It's ALWAYS All. About. Charlie: Charlie has issues, Charlie needs a minimum of 30 minutes aerobic activity twice a day, Charlie is fearful, Charlie needs socialization. Hmmph. Charlie needs a new home.

Just sayin'.