That Was Some Good Stuff, Man…

So yesterday, I had to go get a tooth pulled. I don’t know why Mom makes me get my teeth worked on when she avoids the dentist for herself like the plague, but whatever. She said my tooth was really, really bad, and that it could be infected, so out it comes. I was not happy when she dropped me off yesterday morning at the vet’s office – those guys are nice, but why did she leave me?

But it all turned out okay – they shot me up with something called Morphine, and wow, talk about a trip! I don’t think I came down from that until late last night…crazy stuff. I guess they had to cut one tooth into three parts, but it just fell out, and they pulled the one beside it for good measure. They were going to just toss those nasty teeth, but Mom saved them – for props for Halloween! Can you believe that? Humans are so weird…

The tech said I have weird teeth. I guess I’m supposed to have 6 teeth in front on the bottom, but I only have 4 (perfectly spaced, so they must have grown in that way). And I have a tooth that’s supposed to have two roots, but only has one. Huh. He said the ones he took out were really, really infected though, and said I would feel a lot better. That kinda scared Mom, since I wasn’t acting like I felt bad before. Just think of what I’ll get into while she’s at work now…

So now I have stitches in the back of my mouth, and painkillers and antibiotics twice a day. At least my food is already soft, but I can’t have ice cubes to chew on for a couple of days! That is so not cool - I need my ice fix!

Bah humbug…

No Fair!

Lucy’s gaining weight, and I’m on a diet! How is that fair? It all seems so wrong. Mom says I’ll be healthier though if I lose a few pounds, and since she controls the food, I don’t get a choice. Ugh.

The food is great though – that new food processor thingy is working out swell! Yummy ground meats, veggies, and some extras too…better than the home-cooked diet Mom started me on when she first adopted me! Lucy gets twice as much as me though, which isn’t fair either. Mom says she thinks I’m losing weight, so I guess that’s good. I guess.

She mentioned that when the weather gets warmer, we might try the walking thing again. I love going for walks, but Mom stopped taking us because of all the dogs that walk off lead around here. I love a good fight, and she was afraid I’d hurt someone, and get my neck hurt in the process since I don’t really like other dogs. She can’t understand why people can’t keep their dogs on a leash in town – seems like the polite thing to do, so they don’t run up to dogs like me and give mom a heart attack. It doesn’t help that there’s an unofficial dog park a block away that everyone is taking their dogs to, walking right in front of our house. Great for owners of dogs who are friendly, not so good for grumpy dogs like me.

I don’t understand why she doesn’t just let me “take care” of all those off-lead dogs. Then we wouldn’t have a problem. But she says we have to be polite even if they aren’t. And she doesn’t want me to hurt my neck. Bah humbug – she worries too much.

In any case, even if we could just walk a few blocks, that would be fun. Maybe she’ll figure something out this spring.

Happy New Year!

Woohoo! The weather is finally warm enough to go outside for longer than a few seconds, and Lucy and I have been taking full advantage of that. Sometimes we stay out so long that Mom has to come out and find us to make sure we’re not doing anything bad. I don’t know why she thinks we’d be doing anything bad…

Me ‘n Luce had to stay home New Year’s Eve while Mom and Dad went out. They were gone a looooong time – past time for our dinner, so we were really hungry by the time they got back. It was a bit weird eating dinner at 12:30am – more of an early breakfast really, but it was sure nice sleeping in the next day! Then they left us again, and we had to really give ‘em the sniff-down when they got back, because they clearly had cheated on us while they were out. What-EVER. We got food when they got back, so all was forgiven.

Mom’s headed out tonight to buy something called a “food processor”. I’m not sure what that is, but it has food in the name, so I’m good with that. The food quality has sure improved around here since Lucy got sick – no more of that boring kibble stuff, just real meat ‘n veggies all the way for us. Thanks, Sis!

I have to go to the doctor sometime soon, Mom says. She’s worried about all the lumps and bumps I’ve got. They’re probably just fatty tumors from getting old, but I guess she needs the vet to tell her that before she’ll believe it.

All for now – almost time for dinner!

I Am Not an Alarm Clock!

First, I have to say, it is *not* my job to get Mom out of bed if her alarm doesn’t go off in the morning. Last Friday she said I should have tried harder to get her up for breakfast when her alarm clock batteries died. Hey, I’m not a young dog anymore, and I like to sleep in too. Why should I have to be the backup alarm? Why can’t Lucy take over – she’s a youngster. Oh yeah, she’s lazy too (lazier than me, actually – she doesn’t really wake up before noon).

So Mom can get herself out of bed, thank you very much. Harrumph.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I left off just before Pandora came to live with us. My mom thought I needed a “nanny dog” – an older dog to stay with me while she was at work all day, and help me behave. I’ve never liked other guys…I’m a jealous dog, so mom picked out this older Collie with a seriously fuzzy fur coat, and had her hitch a ride all the way from Bozeman to meet us. I thought she was just an overgrown, animated stuffy, and tried my best to run her off, but she ended up staying with us, and we were best buddies then. She tried to steal my ball sometimes, but I always stared her down and got her to drop it. Even my nanny couldn’t come between me and my ball! Mom adopted another playmate for me after that – a Doberman who was so ugly she was cute named Vashti. She came to live with us for being too sassy and nipping at people. Mom never really had many people over, and no kids ever, so our house was safer for Vashti, at least after I showed her who was boss around here. She didn’t like balls – she liked softer stuffies instead, so we got along just fine.

We had about four good years with my mom in her first house, Pandora, Vashti & I. I took my ball everywhere with me back then, even brought it to bed back then when mom still let us sleep with her. Her boyfriend (now my Dad) used to wash it off all the time for me, and get in trouble for almost hitting the fish and lizard tanks Mom had at her house.

‘Dora and Vashti are both gone now. After Mom & Dad got married, and we moved to this nicer house & yard, Pandora died of some white blood cell disease (thrombocytopenia) that mystified the vets, and Vashti’s hips just finally gave out a couple years back. Mom adopted Lucy after Pandora died so I’d have someone younger to play with. Lucy steals my ball sometimes, but that’s okay. By the time Lucy came along, the doctors said I couldn’t chase balls anymore, ‘cause of the problem with my neck. I could get paralyzed if I kink my neck the wrong way. I was really sad for awhile, but now I just watch Lucy chase them, and sometimes I steal ‘em back from her when I’m feeling frisky.

So I’m not addicted to tennis balls anymore. But I am addicted to ice cubes. It’s my dad’s fault. Mom used to give me ice occasionally on warm days to cool off with, and then Dad started sharing them right out of his glass after he drank his water. Now whenever I hear those frosty cubes clinking in the glass, I come running, no matter who’s drinking! I’m not shy, I come right out and ask if he’s not sharing quickly enough. Vashti used to be bossy – I think I learned it from her.

Anyways, time for this ol’ codger to get another nap in. Merry Dogmas to all, and to all a good night!

The Beginning

My name is Gabriel. I’m 9 years old (despite what the page program says on my profile), and half Doberman, half Labrador. And I used to be a Tennis Ball Addict.

It all started when I was a young puppy. I’ve always had a lot of energy. On the day I was adopted by Jamie (Mama), I was put in time out from the play area with the other dogs because I was playing too rough. Those other dogs were just wimps, in my opinion. The people who owned me first gave me the oh-so-masculine name of “Bocephus”, and then humiliated me by calling me “BoBo” in public. Sheesh. Of course Mama calls me Goober now, or Gaby, but somehow, I don’t mind as much. It’s still better than being compared to a clown.

I was only 3 ½ months old back then, and when Mama brought me home, I couldn’t believe my luck. She still lived with her parents, and they had three cats for me to chase, and two other dogs to play with! One was very old, and he kind of ignored me until he died the next month, but it was fun having other animals around. Her parents adopted another puppy shortly, and Daisie and I became great friends. After work, Mama would take us out into the yard, and threw tennis balls for us to chase. That’s when my Tennis Ball Addiction began.

Mama worked full time, but she came home every day to walk me and work on training on her lunch break. She cooked special food for me, and was determined to raise me up “right”. I think she did a pretty good job, personally. I learned how to heel, sit, lay down, shake, and speak, and I roughhoused with Daisie a lot. But then Mama bought us a house, and we moved out. I was all alone during the day, with no one to play with, even though Mama still came home at lunch to walk me.

I was bored, so I had to find ways to amuse myself while Mama was at work. Her big chair was stuffed full of fun, fluffy white stuff, so I chewed off a corner and had great fun pulling the stuffing out one day. Another day I pulled up a nice, long piece of carpeting right in the middle of the living room. Mama really didn’t like the way I chose to amuse myself while she was gone, and she kept buying me more and more bones and toys. I always kept my tennis ball with me though. I carried it around everywhere, and wouldn’t go outside without it. Chasing it was my very favorite thing, and Mama played with me every day after work. She even threw it in the house for me, so I’d take it to her whenever I was bored. Even her boyfriend would come over and throw the ball for me! I got new tennis balls for Christmas, but I always had my favorite ball, and would look for it whenever it got lost. We were inseparable, my ball and I.

That’s what it was like in the beginning.