Archive for the ‘lifestyle’ Category
actor, eye drops, kardashians
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/11/2012 at 8:45 pm
“Is that the WHITE bottle I see?”
It’s just a small white plastic vial. About 2 inches from tip to seat. But to Olive, it’s as big as a Kenmore refrigerator. It’s her eye drops and she’s not happy to see them approaching. How do I know this? Because both ears, in perfect unison, rise at their base and pull slightly away from her head. It is a perfect display of surprise and something close to revulsion at the same time. “OH NO, NOT THOSE AGAIN!” says Olive. “OH YES,” I reply. And then the dance begins. She rises from her fetal-like position on the master bed where she’s been napping like a Kardashian and makes a half-hearted attempt to hide on the bed. I reach out with one hand and grasp her collar. She tries to wiggle out of it. I now get her head in a gentle arm lock. She closes her eyes. All I see are taupe-colored eyelashes that look like they are sewn together. I spread the first eyelid apart. She leaves me an opening no wider than a needle. Two drops. “MY GOD OLIVE. WAS THAT SO BAD?” And then it starts all over again. It never ceases to amaze me just how much emotion some dogs are able to convey with just their ears. Human actors primarily use their face as a canvas for their emotions. Dogs use their ears and their tails in much the same way. Except what dogs convey is much more authentic. “HEY, HELEN MIRREN, GET OVER HERE. IT’S TIME FOR BREAKFAST. BE GLAD I’M NOT GIVING YOU A COLONIC.”
Lost in Space, security systems
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/07/2012 at 11:00 am
“Is someone making an UNAUTHORIZED entrance?
I bit the bullet and purchased a home security system. As a back-up to Olive. That’s right, my baritoned barker is my primary alarm system. And she’s damn good. If any human, rodent, transportation vehicle or other form of nature comes even close to our home, I hear a very comforting “WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF.” That’s the “There’s something approaching the perimeter of our house and you need to come take a look” bark. If the object is very close to our house or if it’s something out of the ordinary like a truck parked in the front or a bear walking out back, the bark becomes louder, more sustained and close to a siren-like howl. “WOOFWOOFWOOFWOOF.” This is Olive’s version of the goofy robot in the old sci-fi TV comedy “Lost in Space,” who routinely warned “Danger. Will Robinson. Danger.” To a stranger, I imagine Olive’s bark would sound quite intimidating. When I approach Olive to see what she’s observing, she runs toward me like a three-year old as if to say, “SEE. SEE MOMMY. I TOLD YOU SOMETHING WAS THERE.” And then once I observe the situation and confirm there is no danger, I calmly walk away and Olive, who has usually stopped barking by this time, looks up at me with an expression that says. “THAT’S IT? ARE YOU SURE?” So actually, the new expensive home security system is to protect Olive. The funny thing is, the system has accidently “trained” Olive. At night now, when I set the alarm before going to bed and it beeps multiple times before the Stepford-wife voice announces “Alarm Set, Stay,” Olive immediately goes into her crate in the bedroom to go to sleep. I kid you not. It has also trained her to recognize an authorized vs. an unauthorized entry into the house. For example, prior to having the security system, Olive would walk into her crate downstairs, I’d shut the door and leave. No drama upon my leaving or re-entering the house. Now, it’s different. I notice that when I’ve set the alarm and return to the house and de-activate it before entering, she’s fine. No barking. However (and it’s happened a few times now), when I don’t set the alarm because I’m only out for 15-20 minutes, upon my return, as I pull the car into the garage, I can hear her barking her head off. Because she doesn’t hear the beeping and robo-voice upon my entering the garage, somehow she recognizes it as an unauthorized entry. It makes my head hurt just trying to figure this out. Geez, this dog is too smart for her own good. Now, if only I could get her to take the garbage out. Without eating it.
Coldstone Creamery, hot dog buns
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/05/2012 at 7:46 pm
“Look at all those BUNS!”
Olive loves going to my cousin’s home for the holidays. Especially holidays that are celebrated outdoors, where the food is more accessible and the humans more distractible. As the humans clustered together on the deck in search of any slivers of shade on this oppressively hot and humid day, the three dogs – Olive, Hunter and Oliver – who usually race around the yard like Lamborghinis – mostly stood around like dog mannequins, panting non-stop. Even this did not stop my little cur from trying to score some human food. “DON’T WORRY, ALL SHE GOT WAS A HOT DOG BUN,” said MaryAnn. “Yeah, great,” I say to myself. I think that’s her fifth one. Thank God it’s just bread. This is the same dog I gave 1 (as in not two; as in single, solo and 3 minus 2 equals) potato chip to the other day and she had Montezuma’s Revenge for the rest of the day. Some people don’t believe me when I say that Olive has a digestive system that’s as delicate as a Fabergé egg. I did laugh though when someone else told me that Olive actually “nosed” the hot dog out of the bun before streaking away with said bun gently nestled inside her mouth perpendicular to her snout. (Wow. I don’t think I‘ve ever used the phrase “perpendicular to her snout” before.) Now, what does this mean? Is this proof that Olive knows that hot dogs are not exactly “health food?” Did she turn her nose up at it because it was not the natural and organic food she was raised on? Does she prefer them ungrilled? Maybe she just doesn’t like hot dogs? Or, maybe it was bad and she knew it. I can’t possibly police my foodie pooch while I eat, so I take my plate of food and my dog and go into the nice, arctic cold kitchen to eat and keep Olive from diving headfirst into all the bowls and plates of food outside. She’s not happy. She watches me eat and stands there and barks at me. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? YOU HAD FIVE HOT DOG BUNS…OR MORE… AND IT’S NOT NEAR YOUR DINNER TIME YET. KEEP YOUR FUR ON.” Now that I’ve stolen some of the coolness in the house for as long as I can without being rude, I take Olive and we go back outside to join the other guests. Soon, dessert is served and the table loads up with homemade blueberry pie, peach pie, devil’s food cake with whipped cream and fresh strawberries and the strawberry graham cracker ice cream cake I brought from Coldstone Creamery. I can actually feel the energy expelled by the salivary glands dancing inside Olive’s mouth. I turn my head for just a brief second to respond to someone’s question and immediately I hear the familiar shriek, “OLIVE. NO!” And then the sound of feet racing over to the table to extricate Olive’s extremely pink tongue from the side of the Coldstone’s ice cream cake. This dog is a smarty pants. At least she picked the right dessert to molest today.
dog boarding, four paws playground
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/04/2012 at 10:16 am
“But will I have my OWN bed?”
Last weekend, Olive and I took a ride out to Four Paws Playground to tour the facility and meet the owners. One of the “Dog Moms” at the local dog park recommended Four Paws as a great place to board your dog. Since I’ve had Olive, I have never left her for more than a day or two and always in the hands of her trainer or friend. I performed some cursory research on local “kennels” and was largely unimpressed. Most seem like nothing more than “dog warehouses,” and little attention seems to be given to dog behavior. I was pleasantly surprised with Four Paws. It’s run by a husband and wife team who live on premises and who clearly understand the needs and behaviors of dogs and their breeds. The wife trains the staff who, while young caretakers, seemed to go about their business with a maturity unusual for their age. Dogs that are boarded sleep in small horse-like stalls with beds, not crates. They are given free run outdoors in fenced-in areas according to their size. And most impressively, their day is structured so that they are inside for an hour, outside for an hour, etc. throughout the day. A great way to allow the dog to rest, and minimize the opportunity for anything from heatstroke to fights. While the owner says they run it like a daycare center, it actually seems like it’s run more thoughtfully than your average daycare center. In order to bring Olive on the tour, I had to present proof of vaccinations and a negative Giardia test. If I ever want to board Olive there I have to fill out a lengthy application and then prior to her boarding, take her there for a day so they can observe Olive’s behavior and get to know her. Brilliant. The dogs are treated as individuals not just as a species. It’s hot as hell as Olive and I walk into the front door. We are greeted by the wife and both Olive and I hear what sounds like many dogs barking behind a door. They obviously smell a new guest. The tour begins as we walk through the door and into a sea of dogs barking. Barking so loudly that the caretakers wear the sort of sound mufflers that the jet jockeys on airport tarmacs wear when guiding planes into and away from gates. There must be 50 crates full of dogs barking. Most seem to be large breeds. These are the daycare dogs who are inside during their “hour in.” It is a bit intimidating for me and more so probably for Olive, who is now both viewed by the crated dogs as fresh meat and fresh meat off leash. Olive tries to make herself small, by slinking low as we wind our way through this maze of canines. I ask if they have experience with Weimaraners and am told “yes,” as the owner points to a large crate occupied by both a grey and blue Weimaraner. Unbelievably they are not barking, just observing the intruders with laser-like intensity. We emerge on the other side where we see more dogs running around the fenced in areas and splashing around in the wading pools. Olive seems to feel much more comfortable out here and approaches the fence to greet the dogs outside. The owner and I chat a little more and then it’s time for Olive and I to make our way back through “Dog Hall,” and out the front door. I am very impressed with how the owners operate their business. They seem to have created something very unique and special. Olive’s had enough stimulation for the day though. As she usually does, she signals that she’s ready to leave by starting to bark insistently. Very subtle this dog. About as subtle as a fart.
bazooka joe, mad magazine, mushrooms
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/04/2012 at 9:23 am
The Sun Worshipper.
Another hot, steamy day. The kind of day that makes you fantasize about skiing. Snow skiing. The central air conditioning unit kicks on and off, then on again moments later. If it were human, you’d hear it sighing and groaning throughout the day. The ceiling fan blades slice through the air in every room at high speed. I’m surprised the house doesn’t take off like an Airbus A380. All the lights are off and the blinds are drawn. Olive and I have been living like mushrooms deep inside a tropical forest. I am surprised that we have not encountered the Mad Hatter or Alice herself. I have changed my name to Shiitake. Olive has changed hers to Portobello. It is one of those days that remains eerily quiet because everything and everyone has been stilled by the heat. I remember well these Summer days as a child. No one was outside, nothing moved. The sun seemed to rest on the nape of your neck. The song of the cicadas continued unbroken throughout the day. It was one of the rare days where we stayed inside to watch baseball games with my Grandfather. We might venture out to the corner candy store to stock up on Bazooka Joe bubblegum, MAD magazine, Devil Dogs and baseball cards and walk home quickly. On these days, it was about the candy, not the walk. Usually, it was the walk itself that was the most fun. As I write this, I hear Olive downstairs sloppily drinking out of her shiny metal water bowl. I love when she lifts her head and the water just drips from all sides of her mouth like Niagara Falls. This beautiful, flawless animal stands there looking like a child whose face has just emerged from a basin of water filled with bobbing apples. As I crank the thermostat down to 68 degrees, I look out the window and can see Olive happily roasting on the deck outside like a pig on a spit.
dogs laughing, friends, hyenas
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 07/04/2012 at 8:17 am
“Do we look like a couple of HYENAS or what?”
Olive and her friend Luna, a blue Weimaraner who visited recently. After chasing each other around the yard, drinking out of the wading pool they walked into and out of and repeatedly knocking over the bottled water and iced tea the humans placed on the side table, they shared a laugh.
dogs and mice, shipwreck
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/27/2012 at 9:30 pm
“What the HELL is The Bermuda Triangle?”
Olive, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re shipwrecked. Your ship has run aground. In the middle of the woods atop a mountain in Northern New Jersey. Tell me the truth. You were distracted from your duties as Captain weren’t you? I’ll bet there are no rodents of any size – regular or unusual – left on that ship. Look, you have mouse fur stuck to the corner of your lip. Say something. “IT’S NOT MOUSE FUR. IT’S, IT’S, I THINK IT’S RAT FUR.” Not about the fur, and if that’s true, that’s disgusting. What do you have to say for yourself? “I HATE FISH?” Tune in again next time for another of Patti and Olive’s ridiculous half-act plays.
birds, weimaraners and birds
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/27/2012 at 9:09 pm
“Is this a candy bush?”
H-o-w m-u-c-h l-o-n-g-e-r d-o I h-a-v-e t-o s-i-t h-e-r-e l-i-k-e t-h-i-s? LOOK AT ALL THIS CANDY. This must be candy. It smells like candy. It looks like candy. I didn’t realize that candy grew on bushes. Can I have some candy? Oh look, a bird. Please can I have some candy? I promise I won’t eat all of them. Hey, are there any birds in there? Wait a minute. Is this how birds are born? Do they start out as bush candy?
gingerbread castle, ice cream
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/27/2012 at 8:53 pm
“A Blue Jay soft serve with Squirrel sprinkles, please!”
Since I can’t take Olive to The Gingerbread Castle (which actually exists in New Jersey), because she would eat it, I took her to the “Neighborhood Ice Cream House.” The store’s proprietors, Julia and Lizzie, served real ice cream to guests from the 20-square foot store. Alas, Olive walked away empty-pawed. And with her digestive system still intact.
akc, cgc program, citizenship
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/17/2012 at 9:13 am
“Yeah, I passed.”
LAFAYETTE, NJ, JUNE 16, 2012 – Olive Pimento Soldavini successfully passed the requirements to earn her AKC-recognized Canine Good Citizenship, it was announced today by her owner. The AKC’s Canine Good Citizen Program is comprised of 10 tests for canines and a pledge for their owners. These tests include: 1. Accepting a friendly stranger. (Olive accepted the evaluator, even asking her out to lunch.) 2. Sitting politely for petting. (Olive sat politely but almost passed out from not being able to lick the evaluator repeatedly while being petted.) 3. Appearance and Grooming. (Olive’s ears were as pink as a baby’s bottom; her nails expertly manicured like a French tart’s and her coat so shiny, you would have thought I bathed her in Turtle Wax.) 4. Out for a walk/Walking on a loose lead. (Since Olive is so used to walking through street fairs and parades, this was a cake walk.) 5. Walking through a crowd. (Ditto.) 6. Sit and Down command and Staying in Place. (Olive is a pro at “sit,” needed some encouragement to “down,” which was shocking since we must have practiced it 60 times in the past week. I can only attribute this to the weimaraner’s classic stubborness. And, believe it or not, she’s pretty much a pro at “Stay” too.) 7. Coming When Called. (She was a little slower on the uptake than she usually is, but she came.) 8. Reaction to another dog. (This was touch and go but she managed to contain her pathological friendliness.) 9. Reaction to distraction. (Olive was alerted to the noise of the chair being dropped, but was non-plussed. You would be too if when you were less than a year old, you’d walk on Main Street and hear the 16-wheelers thunder by and the train come to a screeching halt in front of you on many mornings.) 10. Supervised separation. (As I left Olive with the evaluator and walked outside, out of sight, with a 3-minute timer in my hands, my little pooch just calmly waited for me. It may have been the longest three minutes of my life.) And so when Olive awoke this morning, I poked my head inside her crate and said “Good morning my little canine good citizen. Would you like chicken or turkey for breakfast this morning?”
dogs digging holes
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/13/2012 at 10:04 pm
“So THAT’S what the South Pole Looks Like!”
In answer to the question, how fast can a weimaraner dig a hole the size of its head? In less than 10 seconds. There are so many jokes running through my mind right now, I think I’ll just stop here.
akc, canine good citizen
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/09/2012 at 8:49 pm
“WHAT?? I have a TEST next week???”
Olive has been in training the past few days for her AKC Good Canine Citizen Test next weekend. Which means that I’ve spent what seems like hours (and it’s only minutes) each day putting Olive (and myself) though a series of repetitive tasks. For someone like myself who detests routine, this is absolutely mind-numbing. I’d rather set my hair on fire. But I don’t want to fail Olive and if she doesn’t pass, it won’t be her fault, it will be mine. She is very well-behaved, but remains highly spirited. I feel pretty good about her ability to pass most of the requirements. Except for one. Since she is uber-friendly and wears her heart on her sleeve, greeting a stranger while remaining in a “sit” is going to be challenging for her. Weimaraners adore people. To Olive, the world is full of friends whose crotch she hasn’t sniffed yet. Because weimaraners are such complex personalities, I find myself constantly intellectually challenged by her idiosyncrasies. I ask myself, “Should I take her for a walk or run before the test so she’s a bit calmer? Like a Category 2 hurricane instead of a Category 5? Or will that make her too tired and cranky?” I also have to make sure she eats before we leave so she’s not hungry and cranky like an infant awaiting its next warm bottle of milk. But then I also have to make sure I leave enough time so she drops her lawn cigars before we leave. This requires military precision timing. And God forbid she’s thirsty during the test. Because she will bark insistently until she’s given a sparkling clean bowl of filtered water. So I have to make sure the Princess has had a drink with enough time to pee before the test. This is what life is like with a weimaraner. I don’t know who’s more OCD, me or Olive. Maybe that’s why a weimaraner ended up being the perfect dog for me. All I know is that sometimes when I look at her, I can’t believe how lucky I am to have her. Keep your paws crossed Olive. If I can make it through training for the rest of the week, you have a good chance of passing.
bird watching, hawks, ufos
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/09/2012 at 7:59 pm
“Look. Dinner flying overhead.”
While it may look like Olive is communicating telepathically with a UFO overhead, she’s actually bird watching. More precisely, this is what she looks like seconds before she leaps into the air like a trapeze artist in an effort to snatch a hawk flying about 20 feet above her. Goofball dog.
dog park, mount olive dog park, signs
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/09/2012 at 7:43 pm
What does Olive think of this sign? Find out here.
goldilocks, hide 'n seek, powerwasher
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/08/2012 at 7:09 am
“But it’s MY deck and I like to sleep on it.”
“OLIVE? WHERE ARE YOU? OLIVE?” Where was my pooch to be found when the deck was being powerwashed on Saturday? As the powerful spray of soapy water soaked the sliding glass door, she flew out of the kitchen, legs sliding all over the tile floor like it was her first time on ice skates. A few minutes later, I call out to my goofy pooch: “OLIVE? WHERE ARE YOU?” I walk back and forth through the house checking all the beds, couches and overstuffed chairs. As I do this, somehow, I feel like Goldilocks. As I pass the darkened bathroom, there is Olive, standing in the corner, like a refugee from a third world country. The only thing missing is a babushka on her head. I notice a mild look of apprehension on her face, accentuated by her ever present pinpoint pupils. It is the same place that Idgy, my previous dog, used to retreat to whenever it started to thunder. A small room, in the center of the house with no windows. I’ll have to check with Olive, but this is probably the best place to go to in the event of a hurricane. After all, two out of two dogs used it as a “safe room.” I’ll trust their instinct over my book knowledge any day. I coax Olive out of the bathroom and lead her to the living room couch, where she immediately curls up and closes her eyes. They’ve stopped powerwashing. The noisy engines have been stilled. Peace has been restored, allowing Olive to get back to the business of dreaming about dog things. She looks so sweet when she’s sleeping, my heart grows two sizes larger as I quietly stare at her.
chasing squirrels, squirrels
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/08/2012 at 7:03 am
“Hey Rodent, here I come!”
Olive had squirrel for breakfast this morning. Well, almost. She came within a fur’s breadth of enjoying a nice gamey meal. As I opened the sliding glass door to let her out of the house, she shot over the threshold and across her pen with the speed of a rocket-propelled torpedo. The lazy, arrogant, stupid, or just careless rodent almost didn’t make it out of Olive’s pen. It frantically zig zagged across the lawn and scurried up the chain link fence. Olive was racing behind the squirrel, kicking up mud while she tracked it to the end of the fence and then opened her mouth and snapped at its quite furry grey tail just as it crested the top rail. Olive was so close, that I was simultaneously stunned and grateful that she did not turn around with it dangling from her mouth by its tail like a bowling trophy. I wasn’t in the mood to beat it to death with a miniature steel shovel because it bit Olive. As Olive trots back empty mouthed, I do feel badly for her. I wonder if this makes her feel unfulfilled. In my ignorant home sapien manner, I try to ease her disappointment by praising her: “GOOD GIRL OLIVE. YOU CHASED THE STUPID RODENT AWAY. I THINK THAT ONE WAS PAST ITS EXPIRATION DATE. GOOD THING YOU LET IT GO.”
autograph hounds, socializing dogs
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/05/2012 at 9:55 pm
“No more autographs. I’m EXHAUSTED.”
It is an extremely surreal experience to walk down the street, through the neighborhood and be greeted by passerbys in this manner: “HI OLIVE. HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?” It’s not that I am bothered at being dismissed as the biological parasite attached to Olive by a three-foot leather leash. It’s that I don’t even know this person. It seems like everyone in town knows who Olive is. I’m sure I must have met this person during one of our daily walks, but we meet so many people—and their dogs—that I’d be hard pressed to remember. Oh, and the biological matter who greeted Olive? She was tethered to a cute if slightly rotund Jack Russell. Olive and the Jack Russell re-acquaint themselves via a simultaneous butt sniffing, forming a circle that spins ‘round and ‘round while their tails dance with joy. When I see dog’s tails behave this way, it reminds me of the fourth of July sparklers we used to wave around as kids. Crackling with energy and excitement and just the tiniest bit of fear. I stand there rather disconnectedly, trying to recall either the woman’s or Jack Russell’s name. No dice. Neither is surfacing to my prefrontal cortex. After the dogs have completed their biological shakedown, the four of us disengage and move on. Olive prances along like a drum majorette, experiencing all that this beautiful morning has to offer through her amazingly facile nose. I half expect paparazzi to jump out from behind a bush and thrust a pen and an autograph book into Olive’s face. “NOT YET, OLIVE. NOT QUITE YET. FIRST I HAVE TO WRITE THE BOOK. THEN YOU’LL GET TO AUTOGRAPH THEM.” I notice two other dog walkers up ahead, approaching us from opposite sides of the street. As we get closer, I chuckle as I hear, “HI OLIVE. HOW ARE YOU THIS MORNING?” Déja Vu.
dogs that read, outtakes, pet photos
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 06/01/2012 at 8:27 am
What could Olive possibly be doing? You’ll have to ask her.
dog tricks, meaning of dog barks
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/31/2012 at 8:36 pm
‘READ. MY. LIPS. MY. CHAIR.”
I’m telling you, the ghosts of the German S.S. must be visiting Olive while she’s sleeping. Yesterday for the first time, I heard a new bark from her. Two quick barks. Distinctly very sharp in tone. I hear this as I’m sitting in the oversized pony print chair in the corner of my dining room. I had just settled my giant pin cushion of an ass into the chair to relax for a minute. “FOR GOD’S SAKE, DO YOU HAVE TO GO OUT AGAIN, OLIVE?” I whined. As I rise from the chair and walk toward the stairs, I feel a breeze slap across my behind as Olive races past me and jumps up into the chair I just climbed out of. “YOU LITTLE SNOT,” I say to Olive who sits in the chair looking quite contented with herself. Now I know what the dual bark signifies. It clearly states “OFF MY CHAIR. NOW.” And lest you think I’m just imagining all this, she just did it to me again tonight.
classic cars, philosophy, shapes
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/31/2012 at 8:09 pm
“Wanna’ see me race this thing?”
As Olive and I walked past the local body shop this sun-drenched morning, we watched a beautiful classic old car park across the street. I couldn’t take my eyes of the wide whitewalls. When do you ever see those? A mechanic walks over to it and starts futzing with the door. “HEY, DO YOU MIND IF I USE THE CAR AS A BACKDROP FOR MY DOG?” I ask. I position Olive in front of the bright shiny automobile, and take a few steps backward to get more of the car into frame. I tell Olive to “STAY” and even drop her leash so I can move back even further. I figure it’s part of her off leash training. The sun is bright and it’s early morning so the lighting is going to be harsh; not great for taking pictures so I take just a few. Neither my skill or my iphone camera is going to outwit the sun. Olive gets up once and I put her back into a “stay.” “GOOD GIRL, OLIVE. WE’RE DONE. LET’S GO.” As we walk further down the street and cars pass us by, I am reminded by how “boxy” automobiles look today, so devoid of the style, grace and beauty of cars from the ‘40s, ‘50s and ‘60s. Now everything looks like a box. Whether it’s a Mercedes or a Ford. Zero personality. We drive fiberglass and steel cubes. Not beautifully styled pieces of art like our parents drove. And then a more troubling thought occurs to me. Our homes are like boxes. So is the property they sit on; carved up like squares. We go to work in boxes that are either long and flat or so tall and narrow that they almost touch the sky. So much of the food we eat comes in boxes, like cereal and pasta. If you start to think about all the man made objects present on our planet, you’ll find mostly boxes. Is it just our desire for a static sense of order? Is it a symbol of a hyper sense of pragmatism? ‘WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Olive interjects. “JUST GET ME HOME. I’M SO HUNGRY I’M GOING TO DEVOUR THAT FAKE CANADIAN TOURIST OF A GOOSE STANDING OVER THERE LIKE A LAWN ORNAMENT.” As we continue our walk, I can’t help but think. “CHRIST, NO WONDER SO FEW PEOPLE IN OUR SOCIETY CAN “THINK OUTSIDE THE PROVERBIAL BOX.” It’s not so easy when most of the shapes you encounter every day are boxes and squares. Long live the circle.
humor, outtakes, talking dogs
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/30/2012 at 9:47 pm
What’s Olive got to say about today’s outtake? It’s right here.
dogs behaving badly, vampires
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/26/2012 at 7:27 am
“Just call me COUNT Dogula.”
Last night was the first time I saw Olive turn into a Vampire. Really, the only thing missing was blood. As I sat around the dining room table with family enjoying a dinner that included bruschetta, Caesar salad, steamed carrots and snap peas, risotto and chicken marsala, my dog kept running into the kitchen wondering where hers was. Mind you, this was after she had eaten her bowl of Eukanuba Lamb and Brown Rice. And as hard as we tried to keep the food at paw’s length from her, I caught her standing over the kitchen sink, craning her long graceful neck deep into its stainless steel well, curling her tongue around the labyrinth of pots and pans, greedily lapping up the chicken marsala gravy swimming in the corner of the glass roasting pan. “OH THIS IS GREAT,” I exclaim. “TONIGHT I’M GOING TO HAVE TO DEAL WITH FECAL FIREWORKS. THIS DOG’S DIGESTIVE SYSTEM IS AS FRAGILE AS A BUTTERFLY’S WINGS.” As I drag Olive away from the sink, I notice a crazed look in her eyes, which actually seem to be glowing a fire engine red. The look is unmistakable. This is the look that Vampires get when they have tasted their first blood. This happens a few times throughout dinner. The next time, I catch her standing over the kitchen table licking a dirty dish that sits in its center. It has been licked clean. So clean, it sparkles like a freshly waxed floor. “OLIVE! OFF!” I command her. She ignores me and she begins licking even more frantically. I feel like I am watching a drug addict who has just stumbled into the pharmaceutical version of CandyLand. I grab her collar and pull her down and back into the dining room. She is now leashed and sitting next to me. Not happily. Just as I am about to swallow a forkful of risotto, Olive starts barking. I look at my watch. Yup. It’s 7:45pm. That means it’s time to leave. Olive is done for the day and wants nothing more than to lie down on some soft object and go to sleep. Sigh. Some days I feel like her schedule, is my schedule. “C’MON OLIVE. LET’S GO HOME. I’M GOING TO PLACE A PEA UNDER YOUR MATTRESS TONIGHT.”
dog training, off leash training
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/24/2012 at 7:53 pm
“Tired yet?”
Two years ago, when I brought this insanely exuberant puppy home, if you had told me that one day she would indeed learn to sit, stay, down stay, come and stay with me, I probably would have cocked my head and looked at you as though you were speaking in tongues. It seemed inconceivable. Olive seemed to epitomize ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). The only thing she could focus on for more than one seemingly eternal nanosecond was a bird. Everything else in her life was a momentary distraction. And there were indications of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). The digging and digging and digging and digging and digging. I felt like I had just purchased a backhoe, not a dog. I will frankly admit, and I have before, that in the first few months I had her, I had fleeting feelings of insecurity and intrusive thoughts that maybe I wouldn’t be able to handle this dog. After all, I wasn’t a spring chicken anymore and keeping up with weimaraners is not for the faint of heart. It’s made me understand why there are so many rescues. They are beautiful, graceful athletic-looking dogs, but if you do not allow this breed to get the exercise it needs, it’s like living with Curious George and his demented twin on speed. But I’m no quitter. Besides, Olive was also supernaturally intelligent, laugh-out-loud goofy and extremely loving. I ensured that she got plenty of exercise each day and I socialized her to near exhaustion. We’d go to neighborhood street fairs and parades crowded with people, strollers and sticky-handed toddlers; to soccer games and parks bursting with hyperactive children and colorful frisbees. Even to my friend’s pool and the local pet stores where she was constantly fawned over. I was committed to ensuring that she learned to be friendly, confident and obedient even if it made me mental. During most of this time, Olive also attended obedience training classes. And last night, my incredibly amazing pooch completed her off leash training class. Now the real work begins. I have to make the behaviors a consistent part of her life everyday. The progress she made by last night’s class was very rewarding. Especially since last week’s class was a train wreck. Once she learned she could get away from me because I have only two legs, not four and I’m about 25 times older than her, it was hard to get her back on track. Shelley, her trainer, had to have a “Come to Jesus” meeting with Olive and for the last 15 minutes of class, She kept getting her leash “popped,” and kept looking in my direction until she wised up and obeyed Shelley’s commands. It was not pretty to watch. But it worked. I am truly amazed at how attuned Shelley is to dogs’ behaviors. It’s like watching two people assuredly conversing in a foreign language and I stand by like the idiot American abroad who understands nothing more of the native language than “Can you please tell me where the ladies room is?” I also admire Shelley’s unfathomable well of patience with both the dogs and their owners. It is all extraordinary to me. Both Olive and I are very thankful and feel incredibly lucky to have found Shelley.
air horn, dog fights, unicorns
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/20/2012 at 7:52 pm
“WHAT the heck is THAT?”
I am very pleased with myself for accidently discovering a foolproof way to break up dog fights safely. And instantly. You can distract the dogs immediately and with such impact that they will forget what they were doing before this unique distraction. You can save your dog from being bitten or you from losing a finger or two by instinctively rushing to your dog’s aid and unwittingly becoming a third participant. You can also avoid the crippling fear and high-octane stress that comes with watching your dog getting attacked. And you can pre-empt a possible lawsuit if it’s your dog that’s being overly aggressive. How? It’s called an Air Horn. I now carry a pocket-sized air horn with me when Olive and I are around other dogs. I came across this trinket when I was cleaning my basement a few weeks ago. I vaguely recall buying it at a party goods store. Not sure why I bought it or how I intended to use it. Not sure what I’m going to do with it now, but apparently I still find it intriguing. I stuff it into the pocket of my hoodie and resume tidying up. The next day, I’m at the dog park and two dogs start to get into each other’s grille. The interaction is escalating quickly and it seems very, very close to turning ugly and dangerous. I reach into my pocket, pull out the air horn and give it a quick burst. The high pitched, skull-piercing sound instantly stills the dogs who now stare in my direction like they have just witnessed a unicorn streaking across the sky. Done. Fight over. They each go their own ways. Granted, I’m sure it’s not great for their ears, but a second or two of minor ear pain seems better than the excruciating pain of getting an ear torn off in a fight. And if you own a weimaraner, you have to be especially careful because large veins criss-cross their ears like a road map, and if punctured, these veins will start gushing blood like a geyser. “DON’T WORRY OLIVE. THERE’S NO WAY I’M EVER LETTING ANYTHING LIKE THAT HAPPEN TO YOU.”
colonoscopy, dog toys, dog tunnel
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/20/2012 at 7:09 pm
Read what Olive has to say about this snapshot.
dog park, dogs, pepper spray
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/20/2012 at 6:56 pm
“Hahahahahahahahahaha.”
Have you even been pepper-sprayed? I have. Sort of. Standing in a group at the dog park Saturday morning, I was telling the other human companions why I carry a vial of pepper spray with me whenever I’m out with Olive. As I’m explaining that it makes me feel safer when Olive and I walk past some very aggressive-sounding dogs on our walks, I take out the vial and say “Maybe I should test this thing. It’s over two years old and I’ve never used it.” With that, I turn away from the group and into the gentle wind and spray. A tightly-focused dark orange stream shoots 20 feet through the air. The equivalent of a line drive. “Wow. This thing shoots far,” I remark. “Much farther than I imagined.” Of course, that could be good or bad depending on my aim. Now that my product demonstration is over, I pocket the vial. I glance around to confirm Olive’s whereabouts and listen to the conversation around me. I reach up to scratch an itch on my face. Then my neck. Now I feel like my lips are tingling…and not in a good way. Finally, it dawns on me that tiny particles of pepper spray must have blown back onto me courtesy of the wind. My face gets itchier. My lips are now burning moderately like a Girl Scout campfire. “Christ, I can’t believe I was that stupid,” I think. Apparently my head and face remain their normal size and I’ve not broken out in screaming red welts. In fact no one seems to notice. Olive’s using her nose to tunnel up a new dog’s behind. I think she’s looking for daylight. Me? I’m hoping the itching and burning does not get worse. In fact, I’m hoping it goes away before I have to go to my genealogy seminar in a couple of hours. I have no one to blame but myself. My impulsive nature has gotten the best of me again. “GEE OLIVE, YOU’D BETTER HOPE I NEVER REALLY NEED TO USE THIS. BECAUSE WHO KNOWS WHERE IT WILL END UP.”
dog park, dog poop bags, giant ants
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/14/2012 at 7:39 pm
“HEY! I think I found a ghost!”
Picture me standing in front of the poop bag dispenser at the dog park early Friday evening. Of course, the last clown that used it must have ripped the bag from the roll hanging inside the forest green plastic dispenser so fast that it went spinning into oblivion, leaving no trail protruding from the box. These are the same people that do this in public bathrooms. They yank on the toilet tissue so hard that after they tear off a mile or two, the rest of the roll gets sucked up into the dispenser never to be seen again. What do they think they are, Canadian lumberjacks at a log-rolling competition? I use both hands to pull the bottom tray of the dispenser out so I can thread the roll of plastic bags through the outlet so I and others can access a turd tote when we need one. As the tray detaches from the top of this contraption, I stare in horror at my hands which are now covered with so many black ants that it looks like I’m wearing winter mittens. The bottom drops onto the grass while I watch the ants begin crawling up my wrists. “HOLY SHIT!” I exclaim, as I begin frantically wiping them off me. Olive’s nose seems to be fully engrossed (and I use that term literally and figuratively) in some other environmental rot halfway across the park. She has no idea that I am being attacked by ants. This idea immediately reminds me of the old sci-fi movie, “Them,” in which an atomic explosion created monster-sized ants that crawled around the desert, snacking on tiny pint-sized humans. “GOD THAT’S REVOLTING,” I say to myself, but out loud. Olive trots back over to me either to make sure I’m still here or because she wonders if there’s something more interesting to investigate. Little does she know. Had she witnessed this, she would have been distracted for hours. “HEY OLIVE. GO CRAP WHEREVER YOU WANT. I’M NOT PICKING IT UP TONIGHT. I THINK I DESERVE A FREEBIE.”
dog humor, funny weimaraners
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/13/2012 at 8:09 am
What’s Olive got to say about this photo? See for yourself.
outtakes, weimaraner photos
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/12/2012 at 8:19 pm
Tonight, Olive launches yet another page on this blog: Olive’s Outtakes. I have no idea where she gets all this time, but it makes me think that maybe I would like to be part Weimaraner. Since it’s not possible for me to steal anyone else’s youth, I’ll take the next best thing: the compressed energy of a Weimaraner released in bursts of unrestrained exuberance and unexpected literacy. Olive tells me that her outtakes will be a critical examination of my less than stellar photographs of her. And that she should have plenty of material. And that if I don’t move my ass and start shooting more frequently, she’ll start commenting on other photographs I take that are not of her and why do I waste my time on less worthy subjects? See for yourself.
gary larson, grammar, housefly
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/07/2012 at 7:20 pm
“Go ahead. Come CLOSER.”
It’s true. I can smell a fly fart 50 miles away. 60, if he had cheese for dinner. And as intelligent as I am, I still have difficulty understanding the difference between “scent” and “sent.” The human language often baffles me. You do realize that Gary Larson was correct in what we hear when you are speaking to us, don’t you? “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, OLIVE? “OLIVE? Blah, blah, blah, blah BISCUIT?” “Blah, blah, blah DOG PARK?” Actually, I’m always paying attention to your body language anyway. It’s a much more accurate read of what you are doing or about to do, or what you’re feeling. Question. Doesn’t that make dogs smarter than people then? Just because I may not understand the “hard” things like calculus or engineering just means I haven’t been taught. But the “soft” stuff like body language, instinct, intuition? That’s actually more difficult. Just because it’s not scientific, doesn’t mean it’s not intelligent. It just means science hasn’t figured out a way to explain it yet. Am I making any sense right now? Because I feel incredibly bright and articulate at this moment. Oh look, a stink bug.
agility games, james bond films
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/05/2012 at 7:18 pm
“GUESS who I am?”
My dog, bored beyond tears today, re-enacts the opening title sequence to the 1964 movie “Goldfinger.”
dirty dogs, dogs digging dirt
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/04/2012 at 7:43 pm
“WHAT dirt on my nose?”
I love dirt. Stinky dirt. Dirty dirt. Dirt that’s old, dirt that’s new, dirt on me, dirt sprayed on you. Wet dirt, dry dirt. Black dirt, brown dirt. Dirt with bugs. Dirt on rugs. Here dirt, there dirt, everywhere some dirt dirt. Dirt on Jill’s nice yellow shirt. Dirt on some guy named Burt. Dirt on glass doors, dirt on tile floors. I love the dirt life, I like to boogie. In fact, I think I’ll make myself a dirt shake right now. Want one?
dog training, rube goldberg
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/03/2012 at 7:42 pm
“MUST. Sleep. Now.”
Olive has just started her off-leash training class. If you want to see a dog actually sweat, you should see Olive in class where she is required to summon the mental discipline of a Tibetan monk. And for a dog that is hyper-alert like my two-year old weimaraner, it’s like asking a two-year old child to close their eyes when they enter a candy store. The class starts at 7pm and I realize that I’m going to have to contend with “Princess Whiner” when the clock strikes 8pm. This is typically when Olive begins to wind down…all the way down. As in “I WANT TO GO TO BED RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW.” She will start to bark and kvetch until we leave. The odds are very good that this little dramatic display will occur prior to 8 tonight because Olive had me up at 5am today with digestive agita. Out in her pen she began repeating cycles of eating grass and then launching what looked like undried tobacco leaves out her poop chute. It is at this moment that I recall that my Great Grandmother worked as a cigar-roller back in prehistoric times. “NONA WOULD HAVE LOVED YOU OLIVE. ESPECIALLY BECAUSE YOU ARE GERMAN AND SHE WAS FROM LUXEMBOURG.” Shelley begins the lesson and as always, Olive catches on faster than I do. Shelley is tremendously in tune with dogs and can elicit the behavior she wants from them in seconds. It is all completely rational when she explains how to train a dog, but for some reason, it is all counter-intuitive to most of the rest of us. I, on the other hand, listen very attentively to the instructions being given and can’t help but feel like I’m trying to absorb how to invent a Rube Goldberg machine. Olive is so focused, that you can see steam wafting out of her ears. I can feel her body temperature rise. She is working so hard to do well that I’m hoping she won’t pass out from mental exhaustion. Tiny cheese treats are being tossed at her from all directions like machine gun spray and she knows she must stay seated and not go after them. It’s like waiting for a balloon to burst. The suspense is nerve-rattling. “OK. OLIVE. GOOD GIRL. THEY’RE ALL YOURS NOW.” After 40 minutes worth of one-on-one instruction, Shelley and I are talking and Olive is now laying on the floor like a beautiful little sphinx. It’s about 7:50pm. Shelley notes, “Look at her, she can’t even keep her eyes open. She’s done for tonight.” I look at Olive, obediently in the same position, her head starting to nod. She’s not even barking. Not yet. In fact, I think she’s so exhausted, she’d sleep here if I let her. “C’MON OLIVE. YOU DID GREAT. WE’RE GOING HOME.” We get in the car, Olive stretches out on the back seat and is asleep in seconds. One class down, three more to go Olive. If she weren’t sleeping, I’m sure she’d roll her eyes at me.
carpenter ant, pinocchio
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 05/03/2012 at 6:54 pm
“At your service.”
Olive deserves a bright, shiny medal today. I caught her intently tracking something on the kitchen floor this morning so I walk over, peer under the kitchen table and see a gigantic Queen carpenter ant, complete with slender translucent wings, making her way toward the bare wooden floor in the dining room. “HOLY SHIT OLIVE. QUICK, HIDE YOUR PINOCCHIO TOY. IT’S A QUEEN ANT,” I exclaim as the toe of my loafer comes crushing down on the crunchy jet-black insect. Olive runs over to inspect the mangled corpse, her big brown nose sniffing at it so closely that if she sniffs just a little too vigorously, I’m sure the ant carcass will find its way on a log flume ride up through Olive’s sinus cavity. Disgusted, but very pleased with Olive’s discovery, I delicately pluck the dead Queen from the tile floor in a paper towel and flip it in the garbage. As usual, Olive observes all my movements like a prison matron, waiting for any opportunity that has even the tiniest prayer of exposing food vulnerable to one of her “snatch and run” maneuvers. I try to explain the difference between Carpenter Ants and Carpenter Bees to Olive. “YES, THEY ARE BOTH WOODWORKERS, OLIVE.” A little like you, now that I think about it. In fact, you might want to think about hiding your sticks from them. Because they are in our airspace and our ground space. You have no idea, Olive, but you just destroyed an entire militia of ants so I award you the highest medal of canine honor. Now what are you going to do about the bees?
cafe au lait, crop circles, weimaraners
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/24/2012 at 8:45 pm
"I wonder what's down THERE?"
In the pre-dawn hours the other morning, when my cognitive abilities were just starting to awaken from their collective nighttime synapse, I hear a distinct KERPLUNK. This accelerates the firing of neurons in my sleep-addled brain. Olive Bo Peep has tumbled off the queen sized master bed like a 2-year old child who was confined to a crib the night before. I reach across the bed to turn on the table lamp and the flood of incandescent light reveals my sweet little pooch lying on the floor. She’s on her back sandwiched between the bed and her giant blanket-covered crate. All four paws are in the air. She looks up at me as if to say “HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN?” I get her right-side up and she hops back on the bed. As is customary for Olive, she begins her ritual of creating not 3 or 4 but more like 14 circles both clockwise and counter clockwise before she’s finally satisfied and plops back down. “HEY OLIVE, HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLOW SOME CROP CIRCLES IN THE CORN FIELD ACROSS THE STREET TOMORROW NIGHT?” She looks deeply into my eyes for a moment, sighs, closes her eyes and tucks her snout so closely to her tail that she looks likes a café au lait donut.
Howie Mandel, OCD, q-tips
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/23/2012 at 8:30 pm
"What was THAT all about?"
A few days ago, nearing the end of our morning walk, Olive and I encounter an old, scraggly man wobbling down the street. And when I say scraggly, I mean his snow white hair looks like an unspun Q-tip head. It announces his presence about four blocks before the rest of his body. And it’s quite a contrast to his seal brown leathery skin. I think he may be muttering to himself. His limbs seem to have separate lives of their own, each moving out of synchronization with the other. I tighten my grip on Olive’s leash, unsure of what to expect as we get closer. Suddenly, the geriatric scarecrow sneezes into a handkerchief. In a loud, slobbery sort of way. At least I hope that’s what I saw. Because if it’s not, then the alternative is that he sneezed into his hands and because of what comes next, I choose not to believe that. As Olive and I are about to pass the man, he reaches out while asking in painfully fractured English something like “Is the dog nice?” I am now torn between allowing a harmless old man to pet Olive with his potentially snot-stained hands and exposing her to Christ-knows-what while I silently gag many times over or being sort of rude and pulling Olive away from him. He’s so excited about petting Olive that I can’t bear to deprive him of this interaction. My eyes grow wide as he rubs his hands over the top of her head, her ears, snout and the sides of her mouth. As usual, my dog stands there enjoying the molestation. As he natters on energetically in his non-native language, I can no longer focus on anything but this: MUST GET OLIVE HOME IMMEDIATELY AND WIPE DOWN HER HEAD AND FACE. Yes, like Howie Mandel’s obsessive-compulsive fear of germs, I am now fixated on this thought. I gently start to pull Olive away as a means of signaling the end of the interaction. The cocooned old bean ambles away like a wind-up toy trying to move in at least four different directions at once. I turn to Olive and say, “OLIVE. DO NOT PUT YOUR PAWS ANYWHERE NEAR YOUR FACE UNTIL WE GET HOME.” I race home, wondering exactly how I would explain the need to go 50 miles per hour in a 35 mph zone to a Police Officer. I run into the kitchen, soak a paper towel and wipe down her head and face. I’ve never done this to Olive before so while she’s very obedient and allows me to do this, I can hear what she’s thinking. “IS THIS BECAUSE I LICKED MY ASS?”
ornament, scarecrows, weimaraners
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/23/2012 at 7:51 pm
"Is this for ME?"
What the hell is this? It smells pretty good. A slightly musky fragrance. I like the texture too. I could probably use this to floss my digestive track, not my teeth. Although I don’t want to end up with a “dangler.” I’ll look like a Christmas ornament at the end of a hook. This doesn’t make Patti happy. Tastes pretty good. A strong woody flavor with a delicate vegetable note. I may be over thinking this, but why do I feel compelled to make a nest out of it? And yet, there’s something a little disquieting about its presentation. “OH MY GOD, DO YOU THINK IT COULD BE A BUNCH OF GROUND UP SCARECROWS?” Holy agricide, I’m ‘outta here.
carpenter bees, ticks, weimaraners
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/20/2012 at 5:19 pm
"I think I see a BEE."
The insects have begun their seasonal invasion. The ticks are back. I’ve picked a tick off Olive’s daintily veined ear and pink undercarriage twice this week. I’ve also picked one off the back of my head. Gross. The carpenter bees are also back, buzzing back and forth across the deck, occasionally hovering in one spot like a helicopter above a rescue target at sea. Olive has taken notice of these plump, fuzzy, wood-chomping bees. She jumps up, opens her mouth, and tries to snatch them in mid-air. Because the male carpenter bees are stingerless (ouch!), they don’t present any danger to Olive so I happily just watch her eyeball them and lunge after one when it strafes her. She hasn’t caught one yet, but I’m betting she will soon. Then it will be interesting to see what she does with it. Will she spit it out when she feels it bouncing off her molars? Will she just swallow it whole like a velvet kibble? Or will she let it drop from her mouth and then start inquisitively pawing at it until it’s lying there dismembered and covered in spittle? I’m betting it’s going to be number one or number three. “LOOK OLIVE, HERE COMES A WHOLE BATTALION OF CARPENTER BEES!”
birthday, fairy tales, sleeping beauty
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 04/17/2012 at 8:10 pm
"It's my BIRTHDAY?"
As the spoiled Princess of Weim napped peacefully this morning on her queen-sized bed with memory foam topper, I, her loyal and dutiful subject, leaned over and gently sang “Happy Birthday” to her. She was largely unmoved by this display of affection. Perhaps she was expecting an orchestral arrangement. Maybe she just had gas. Sweet little Olive turned two today. It’s been an incredibly joyful two years with you Olive. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.
Life With Olive 