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Mombie

A behavior happens a couple of times and you go about with life, never even noticing that you’ve done it. Then the behavior happens a few more times and still it goes unnoticed. Life is funny that way. The small, mundane, unimportant things get compartmentalized in this automatic part of the brain, and we don’t ever really have to or need to pay attention to it happening, think using turn signals in the car, or flushing the toilet after you go. The thing is, these unimportant, mundane, small things can become a norm, which is then considered a habit. Google defines a habit as a settled or regular tendency or practice, especially one that is hard to give up.

Science has proven that on average new behaviors take approximately sixty-six days to become automatic. A habit, can however, form in as little as eighteen days. Let’s take a look at the flip side of this science. It can also take as many as 254 days for a new habit to form. This means it can take that amount of time to break or reverse a habit.

I am potty trained and crate trained. We have a very stringent nighttime routine. Mom complains about being a super light sleeper, she hears everything. When Mom doesn’t get sleep she turns into a “mombie” and she will take down anything or anyone that crosses her path. One night Dad let us out before bed, which is normal. I discovered that my bunny neighbor left gifties, and right then was to very best time to forage for them, completely dismissing the fact that I was going to be locked up in bed for the next 8 hours. That night there was a problem. I had to go, really go! I barked to let Mom know I couldn’t hold it anymore. She woke up, came into our room, said some bad words, told me “no barking”, and then let me out. I did my business, then proceeded (unbeknownst to Mom) to find more of the tasty morsels the bunny left behind for me. She called me back in, “come Kevin… cookies…”. I ran back to the door, she grabbed a few cookies, gave me one, and put me back into my kennel with the remaining cookies.

Well, between late night bunny nuggets and midnight snacks I had to figuratively “let the dogs out”. I barked to let Mom know that she literally needed to let the dogs out. She repeated the process, cuss, out, poop, cookies, kennel, cookies, “NO BARKING”.

I tried this new behavior again the next night, and the next night, and the next. Mom came in every time. She wasn’t happy about it – remember that “mombie” I mentioned?!? I overheard her say that she couldn’t just let me bark, I would end up waking up Boy. It’s true, if she doesn’t answer my barking, I will bark more, and louder. I formed a new, bad habit, or I was certainly in the process of starting one. Mom is in the process of trying to break this newly formed habit. When Boy goes to his dad’s house, she lets me bark. She does not respond, which is unimaginable. Her only response these days is a booming voice from her room, “enough”,” no barking”.

My point… habits form before you even realize they are happening. They can be tough to break. Pay attention to your little, unimportant, and mundane, behaviors, so they don’t get stored in the automatic section of the brain. BE AWARE of the things you are doing. Live all parts of your life with blatant awareness and intention.

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Faster Than A Ferrari in A F1 Street Race

My mom loves to take pictures. She isn’t a professional, but she will pull out the camera, play with some buttons, choose a funny nose to put on the end of it, then put herself in all sorts of positions to get ” the perfect picture”.

The perfect picture

She takes pictures of all sorts of things. Nature is her favorite. Family is a close second. She struggles with nature photos because, if she leaves for a walk, we will all sit in the window or at the door and cry. She says she is NOT carrying her camera bag while hauling three dogs on a walk through the woods. As far as family photos go, lets be honest, getting three dogs, a cat, and some humans to sit nicely for any sort of photo is impossible. So, when Mom takes family photos, they usually just include one or two of us, and they are generally candid shots, moments of us, being us.

us being us

On a beautiful fall day, it was much nicer to be outside than it was inside. I chose to stay out back. I wanted to feel my first fall in all its glory. I like hot summer days, laying on the patio, but fall. I didn’t know fall. Fall came in overnight and showed just what it was made of. The temperature went from 90 to 65. I needed to enjoy all the time outside that I could. How long does this fall thing last anyway? Mom happened to be home for the majority of the day. So she decided since I didn’t want to come in, and she didn’t want to be in either, she would grab her camera and start taking some photos that friends had been asking her for. Apparently, I have fans!

I will not look at the camera

Mom let Boy take some pictures first. He likes to play photographer, with us as his muses. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree does it? After Boy finished up, she took the camera and lay on the patio across from where I was laying. I was busy eating the ants out of the cracks in the stones. I don’t have time to look at cameras when there are a plethora of ants to be destroyed.

ants are delicious

Let me pause for a second. Did I ever tell you that food is my favorite? Did I ever tell you that if you just say the word “cookie” it will light a fire in my behind, and I will be by your side faster than a Ferrari in a F1 street race. And my final side bar; bugs are food too.

Crunchy snacks

Okay, back to the story. I was was laying on the patio, Mom laying in front of me. She kept saying all the names “Schmoo, Lemmies, Lemmer Loo Loo, Kevin, Smootie Pootie”. I was busy, remember, ants, ants everywhere. I didn’t have time to take a break, I was breaking up an army. But then, then Mom got tricky. “I have cookies”, she said. That got my attention. Ants are good, but cookies are better. I looked at her, she had her fingers pinched together at the top of the camera, click. click. click click. She got her pictures. I did not get a cookie. She wasn’t being honest. She tricked me. She used my weakness against me.

you said cookies?

Well guess what. I took note that she never got up. She just stayed put. I wasn’t falling for that twice. If you are going to try to trick me, you better make it more convincing the second time around. She and that camera didn’t let up though. “Cookie! Lems I have cookies for you”. She is a lying, liar who lies, and I am not falling for it. I kept hearing the camera click, but I didn’t look at her. I avoided eye contact, made funny faces, and continued to fight off the invading army. I could actually eat the ants, she can save her fake cookies for someone else. She may have gotten a picture, but it wasn’t going to come easily. She was going to have to work for it.

you lied. Ah, to your pictures

Don’t fall for the same mistakes twice. That is your lesson. We are all going to be tricked or manipulated into something, at some point. That is reality, but you don’t need to let it continue to happen. You get to stand up for yourself and say “NO!”. It is self care to not let yourself be tricked. It is standing up for you. Stand up for yourself when you need to and maybe enjoy a special snack while you’re at it!

all self cared up

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Something From A Crime Scene

A picture is deceiving. You can ask anyone who is house hunting online, they’ll agree. Not only is a picture deceiving, but it doesn’t tell you the whole story. There are websites and memes dedicated to photos that make you ask yourself “what the…?”.

If you did not harm anyone, did not verbally abuse or assault anyone, if you weren’t demeaning anyone’s beliefs, if you, and you alone were involved, then the reaction is on the person having it. Their reaction is their problem. It is not yours to take on. Someone, somewhere, will find a reason to be offended, even from the most well meaning situations.

In our home, we are HUGE Halloween fans. We like to call it our Christmas. The decorations and costumes can’t come soon enough, and the treats and snack often resemble something from a crime scene. We love all things creepy, gruesome, grotesque, and spooky. It’s the one time of year you can be nearly whatever you want, and it doesn’t warrant judgement.

Our costumes are generally homemade, and on the undead, chilling, WTF, side. We like to save the cutesy costumes for toddlers. That said, we don’t have any toddlers living in our house, so let the bloody Halloween nightmare commence. Mom was shopping for my costume online. She found a head band that made it look like scissors were jutting out of my head. Cheap felt and plastic. She ordered it immediately. She was so excited to try it on me. She tucked my ears in, tied it around my chin, and then fed me lots and lots of treats, while she snapped pictures. I have to admit, looking at the pictures made it appear as though I was the victim of a grooming gone wrong, however, I was still being fed treats in all of the pictures.

We immediately were so excited to share our amazing Halloween find. We posted it to my social media feeds, then we put it on some Keeshond forums, for all the Kee lovers to see. We posted it with a caption that said something to the effect of, Happy Halloween, bring on all things creepy, gross, and spooky. On one forum in particular I was reported, apparently several times. The people reporting the photo said that it was offensive; it was particularly offensive to those who rescue dogs.

HELLO!!!! *paws in the air* I AM A RESCUE!!!! so are Scrappy and Frankie. And we are over here living one hell of a good life. And wouldn’t that make Mom a rescuer?

Mom was annoyed that they pulled the picture. She said pulling the picture feeds into the problematic behavior. If it was a person, no one would have been offended. Anyway, Mom says she also doesn’t want me to write about this, because it too feeds into it. It gives it power when you give it attention. But my opinion is this was a great lesson, one that needed to be shared. Sometimes people will be offended at the things you do. No one needs to be hurt, abused, assaulted physically or verbally, demeaned, or belittled for offense to be taken. Sometimes people just need to be mad about something, that day, it was me. No one was hurt or shamed in the making of the photo, so their offense is theirs and theirs alone. I don’t have to take that on as my own.

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An Old Man, A Prude, and A Cat

Today, I’d like to start with the lesson. Your lesson is, it takes two to have an argument. Let that sink in for a moment. I’ll wait. Okay, now that you’ve really absorbed it, I’ll follow up with a few short stories and some logic to back it up.

I live with an old man, a prude, and a cat. I really enjoy all of their company. I am a puppy and puppies are naturally rambunctious, curious, playful, still learning social cues, and pushing the limits. At home, I am in a sticky situation pretty much daily, simply because I am doing all those things that come naturally to a puppy. At least one, if not each, of my housemates is either smacking, growling, or snapping at me. Now, I could push harder for what I want when they let me know I’ve reached the limit. I could put my big boy voice on and respond with the same attitude. If I did that, what would the benefit be? Would I get what I want? Maybe. Does someone get hurt? Probably. If not physically, definitely emotionally. There is no benefit to arguing my point. I can sit back and wait. I’ll get what I want eventually. No one gets hurt and no relationships bruised.

At daycare they say I am “Mr. Happy Go Lucky, without a care in the world”. I like that. They told mom, a tiny puppy was poking at me all day and I let it happen. Don’t get me wrong. I am not allowing anyone to walk all over me. I just don’t care about it as much. I’ll remove myself when I feel the need to, but I won’t make a big stink over it. If I did, especially at daycare, I’d get a squirt from the water bottle, maybe a time out, maybe a call to mom, and maybe expulsion. That all sounds terrible.

Sometimes when Dad travels for work and Mom has a particularly long day my Gigi (that’s Mom’s mom) will come over to let us all go potty. The last time Gigi had to do this, she brought her dog Maisy. This was my first official meeting with her. I love everyone, and as I have said before, with each new person, there is potential for a friend. Gigi put Maisy out back then let us out too. Scrappy and Lola know Maisy. No one plays, but no one argues either. They just explore the yard separately, boring! I was excited to meet her. I ran straight to her. She showed me her pretty smile, she let me hear how deep her voice can get when she growls. I was impressed, so I pushed further. “PLAY WITH ME”!!! She was not impressed by my tenacity. She charged at me and gave me a piece of her mind, which was clearly saying “leave me alone you annoying little….”. Do you think I am going to take that from a tiny wiener looking dog? Heck yes! I simply sat down. I could have made a fuss, she was small enough that I could have powered over her. But, why? What would I have gained? Someone would have been hurt, Gigi would have left, which means I get locked back up in the kitchen, and that doesn’t sound fun, at all.

It takes two to argue. Side bar, can you picture someone arguing alone, that’s a hilarious visual. This is maybe, one of the best life lessons. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you, it changes your perspective, your attitude, and your well being. Arguing because you don’t agree, you’re annoyed, or someone won’t listen, will not change their perspective. It will lead to frustration, hostility, pain (physical and/or emotional), and maybe a bruised relationship, or worse. Arguing is pointless. It only makes the entire situation worse, when you are reacting in the heat of the moment. Let things simmer down. Consider approaching the situation when neither person is worked up about it, maybe just let it go if it is unimportant. Sure the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but remember, it is likely to be replaced if it continues to squeak.

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Labels Are For Ice Cream

I was read an article called “What is a Therapy Dog” by Thomas C. Weiss. Here is the link if you have any desire to read it: https://www.disabled-world.com/disability/…/therapy-dogs.php . In this article, a Therapy Dog has a very lengthy definition. I am going to highlight some of the most important parts. It says a Therapy Dog is “a dog trained to provide affection and comfort to people in hospitals, retirement homes, nursing homes, schools, people with learning difficulties, and stressful situations, such as disaster areas.” “The most important characteristic of a Therapy Dog is its temperament.” “Therapy Dogs must be on-leash obedience trained and remain under control while presenting excellent behavior.””A Therapy Dog is one with a temperament that is friendly, patient, and outstanding overall…has the desire to visit with people, loves children, and interacts with other animals well, also interacts with other dogs they encounter in positive ways.”

Ya’ know what?!? I meet all of these requirements. I provide affection and comfort. I have a leash, I know all sorts of commands. I am patient and really quite outstanding. I love people, kids, dogs, cats, and if I were allowed probably squirrels. Okay, Mr or Mrs. interviewer, I will delve into my extensive resume to show you just how I check all of the Therapy Dog requirement boxes.

I am amazing at providing affection. My mom rubs my back and I do a little back arch to tell her that it feels just right. I will roll over so Mom can rub my belly, during which all my toes spread apart and I flash my toothy grin. Check!

Comfort is a particularly strong attribute of mine. Mom has what Dad likes to call “road rage”, she calls it “driving slightly aggressive”. Since I have started daycare, and a car ride is included in this venture, I get to see what happens on the road. They are probably both a little right. On daycare days, Mom will plop me into the passenger seat and run her hands through my fluff. I overheard her tell Dad how calm I made one ride home and that she wasn’t even quite sure how she got from point A to point B. She doesn’t drive any slower, but she isn’t calling people names anymore either. She is eerily quiet and that is comforting to everyone! Check!

I have a leash. I have lots of leashes, red ones, grey ones, black ones, super hero ones… you want me to match your outfit? I’ve got a leash for that. Check!

I am obedience trained. I know sit, no, paw, no, down, no, potty, no, good boy, no bark, kennel, no bite, and no. Check!

I am the master of patience. I don’t bark at Scrappy or Lola anymore when I have finished my breakfast and they are still eating. I lie next to them and respectfully wait my turn to steal what they leave in the bowl. It takes a great deal of restraint but I have become quite proficient at it. Even when Mom is chopping veggies, I just lie right under her feet and patiently wait for her to A) give me something, B) drop something, or C) break her neck trying not to fall or step on me. Check!

I am acing this interview. I possess all the qualities of a good Therapy Dog.

And for the final requirement. I love everyone! I will only slightly pull on that aforementioned leash when I encounter someone. I am an extrovert, squirrel, dog, cat, kid, baby, adult, probably even a skunk… the who, what, where, or when are unimportant details to a meet and greet. I should probably be pretty forthcoming here, bugs might present a problem. The larger ones in particular. They are just so yummy. If this interview leads to a job that requires me to work with slugs, cicadas, or praying mantis, you should probably find another candidate. I would not be your ideal fit. Check-ish!

Ah, who am I kidding? Yes, I am an overall outstanding dog. Yes, I possess all the qualities that I am supposed to, in order to be deemed a Therapy Dog, yet I am not a Therapy Dog. I might be one day, but I am not. At the moment I am more accurately the opposite. I am a little too enthusiastic about everything, especially food, and maybe a little too nosey for my own good.

Labels are made for ice cream, not living things. you can check all the boxes and still not be the sum of all the parts. We aren’t math, and we certainly aren’t ice cream. we are who we are. We can be funny, fat, obedient, malicious, noisy, kind, pleasant, but these labels aren’t WHO we are. They are only parts of us. Little minute pieces of a whole, that cannot be labeled by one specific word or phrase. We are much too much to be summed up by one word or phrase.

Continue to be those words or phrases that feel good and right to you and your true self, but be those knowing that they are NOT WHO YOU ARE, that is something much deeper and bigger.

Citation: Journal: Disabled World. Language: English. Author: Thomas C. Weiss. Electronic Publication Date: 2011/04/18. Last Revised Date: 2019/01/12. Reference Title: “What is a Therapy Dog“, Source: What is a Therapy Dog. Abstract: These Dogs come from a variety of breeds there is no perfect breed or mix of breeds that make the best Therapy Dogs. Retrieved 2019-09-14, from https://www.disabled-world.com/disability/serviceanimals/therapy-dogs.php – Reference Category Number: DW#100-7456.

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Freedom

We live in a neighborhood that backs up to the Delaware Greenway. The Greenway is a scenic byway for walking, hiking, or biking with trails leading along areas abundant in culture and history. The Delaware portion of the Greenway, runs about 13 miles, the entirety of the Greenway runs the length of the east coast, from Maine to Florida. Because we live here, we have this incredibly beautiful walk available to us, and it is virtually in our back yard.

Scrappy and Lola used to run with Mom on these trails, that is, until The Doctor told Mom that Scrappy shouldn’t be running as his form of exercise anymore (Lola never liked to run). Now it’s just leisurely walks along the trails. They’ve seen deer, fox, snakes, frogs, turtles, racoon, and fish. Mom finds bones in the woods, she collects them, she is weird.

I enjoy walks, but not as much as I enjoy food. Lately I’ve been awarded the opportunity to go on “the walk” – a short version of it, with Scrap, Lola, and Mom. On warm days, I’ve learned that Mom will stop at the stream and let us play, if no one is around. The running water is very exhilarating and quite refreshing on a hot day. Scrappy and Lola run down the embankment, get a drink, take a dip, and go running back to Mom. So that’s what I did, the first time.

The second time, Mom didn’t just drop the leash. She actually unhooked me. Scrappy and Lola were already enjoying the water when I made it down. I like to play in the water for a minute, then I sit. The cool water just feels so nice on the backside! Scrappy and Lola completed their stream time, ran back to Mom, and prepared to finish the walk through the woods.

Me…

I ran up the embankment to Mom, then ran back down. Naturally I wanted her to think I wasn’t quite finished yet. But I had other plans brewing. I crossed the stream and went up the embankment on the opposite side. I looked at Mom and she looked at me. I think she knew what I was up to at that point. I could tell by the way she said my name in a low, slow manner. As soon as my name was done coming from her mouth, I darted off in the opposite direction, into the woods.

Let me paint the picture for you. I am disappearing further into the woods, gallivanting over, and under, and all around. Hello freedom! Mom in her ankle splint, climbing up the embankment with Scrappy and Lola, “running” (broken ankle, remember?) across the bridge to get to the side I ran to, and shouting “Kevin, come and get cookies”. LIAR! She is a liar, who lies. She didn’t have cookies, but i came back, because what if she did?

My stint in the woods was a blast, a true taste of freedom, unabashed, uncensored, dog being dog freedom. What’s the problem, you ask? For starters, my hip. My hip is a real problem sometimes. I ran so fast and so hard on those sticks, through those trees, over the boulders, that when I came back I was done. Sore and done. Once Mom hooked me back up, I lay down on the trail, and no amount of coercing, bribing, or dragging was going to get me back up. Mom was very annoyed at this point. She held onto my collar, took off the leash, hooked it to Scrappy, then wrapped the leash around her waist. She did the same thing with Lola’s leash. She then scooped me up in her arms and carried me the one mile back home. When we got home, she was exhausted. She said to Dad “imagine walking a mile with two dogs wrapped around your waist, and carrying a 25lb weight in front of you”. She then looked at me and said “no more off leash fun for you, Mr. Schmoo”, she calls me that sometimes.

Just to give you a glimpse into the future I required carrying one more time through the woods, to which Mom’s reply was “no more trail walks”. Then once more when we went around the block, to which she responded “you’re Dad’s responsibility now”. In general Mom has a three strike rule, I hit all three.

I am not a bad dog. I just do bad things sometimes. I think that’s true for everyone. We are all innately good, but sometimes we just need to test the limits and boundaries put upon us. Good dogs, as well as good people are going to do bad things. It’s okay to test those limits and boundaries. The thing is, being good doesn’t excuse me, or anyone else from the consequences of our actions. We have to be held accountable. We still have a price to pay. Walks with Mom, Scrap, and Lola are the price I am forced to pay. I am going to work really hard to earn that back, but for now… I am a good dog, who did a bad thing, and is suffering the consequences of his actions.

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And The Beat Goes On

I am different, at least that’s what Mom tells me. She says I am not like any other dog she’s ever had; she’s had a few. She also says that is not necessarily a bad thing. I am the best dog she’s ever had (okay, one of the best). I may not be the easiest, but I am definitely the coolest, definitely the fluffiest, definitely the smartest, and definitely the most stubborn. The smart ones: we’re always tough. I think that’s true for dogs and people. We require a little extra to quiet our overactive brains. I don’t fall in line with what is expected of me. I fit the mold of “dog”, but I am slightly offbeat.

I learn quickly, you might even say instantly. Did I ever tell you, food is the best thing in the world? Well, add a treat into the mix and you are speaking my language- hitting my sweet spot. I WILL WORK FOR FOOD!!! I learned “sit” on the second command. I learned “paw” by the fifth, I learned “down” on the third; even with Scrappy sending mixed signals about what it means.

Scrappy loves food too. He loves it so much he will just run through the whole gamut of commands. If Mom says “down”, Scrappy will “sit”, “paw”, “down”, and immediately “roll over”, just to jump up and give “paw” again. Holy moley Scrap, that is a lot of work for one tiny treat. And to top it off he usually doesn’t even get the treat cause he didn’t do it right.

I pick up habits, both good and bad, in a flash (maybe that’s why they bought me the flash collar and leash…). One middle of the night response to a bark and I will keep it up for a week. One treat for using the bathroom outside and I’ll keep that up too. That’s the good and the bad of being smart and a little different.

I love playing with new friends: new dogs, new kids, new people, and cats too. I am just a puppy still, so social cues aren’t necessarily my thing yet (I said I was smart, not brilliant). Daycare has been wonderful at fulfilling this need for friends. New friends everyday. The problem is that you have to get in a car to get there. YES! That. Is. A. Problem. I don’t love the car. It is tolerable, but only because without it I am stuck here, with all the old friends, who don’t particularly like to play. Scrappy and Lola LOVE car rides, they can’t sit still and will squeal with excitement, level of love for car rides. If friends weren’t waiting at the other end of a car ride, I’d be out, and fast.

We have a reasonably sized wooden box filled with toys: tennis balls, field hockey balls, bones, rubber balls, rope, crunchy, squeaky, stuffed, all sorts of toys. Frankie has probably seven toys. Let me remind you, Frankie is a cat. He has his own room where he has water, a litter box, treats, a heating pad, pillows, couches, a climby thing, and his seven toys that he hasn’t lost yet (YET!!! I won’t tell you if they are under the couches or someone, I mean something else happened). Those toys, they are the toys that I want. The jingle bell rope balls, the feathery, shiny fish, the mouse with the rope tail. Frankie gets the best toys. Ours just don’t compare. So I go into Frankie’s room, put my front feet on his chair, and steal them. Every now and then I will try to steal one right from his mouth. He gets so mad at me he starts to growl. Growling with a toy in his mouth, how does that even happen??? Mom intervenes or Frankie runs with his toy, oooooorrrrrr, I win! I love cat toys. They are just so much better than bland old (or new) dog toys.

I am picky about my water source. I know I am a barge dog, but hey. Mom bought a bright blue, plastic pool for me. She filled the pool with water from the hose. I didn’t like the hose or the pool, or even a bath, which led Mom to believe that I didn’t like water. Well, guess what!?! After a decent walk with Scrappy and Lola through the woods, Mom stopped at the creek and let them go. WHAT!?!?! She never unhooks or drops leashes. I was shocked, and frankly a little annoyed that I hadn’t been unhooked. Scrappy and Lola came back to Mom, she hooked them up, then she let my leash go. Creeks! A creek is fun. Cool, running water with stones, sand, nature, and frogs, and fish all around. After so much excitement and exploration I just sat. I was so overwhelmed by all this wonderful, that I just had to sit my butt right in that cool, running water.

Have I mentioned that I love food? Mom didn’t want me to have people food. Do you remember when I said habits form easily with us smarties? She didn’t want that. What mom does allow: fruits and vegetables. Lola is picky. she love bananas, broccoli, and cauliflower, not much else. Scraps likes a lot, but not everything. I love it all. All except celery. Celery is NOT good. But give me a strawberry, blueberry, apple, banana… okay, I know these are pretty popular and usually crowd favorites; do you need to hear the other things? broccoli, cauliflower, sweet peppers (I LOVE sweet peppers), snap peas, asparagus, raw sweet potatoes, spinach, dragon fruit, and lemons. Much like myself, lemons take some getting used to, but once you get past the first three licks, and barks, and growls, it is actually tasty.

I march to the beat of my own drum. I don’t conform to who or what I am “supposed” to be, like, do, or think. I listen to what my body, brain, and heart tell me are right. I am authentic to my true self. It’s not hard to do. It does require a certain amount of not caring what others think. What they think, is unimportant to me, others that is. I am the only one that gets to live my life for me. That means I need to live my life in accordance with my wants, and needs, and desires, and happiness. When you start to worry what others think, you begin to lose that beat you were dancing to. The drummer is silenced. The beat will slowly turn to background noise, and then all together disappear. The beat comes from within. So, figure out what brings you that beat (the things that bring you joy). For me, it’s fruits and veggies, being smart, but remaining stubborn, making noise, running in streams or creeks, making friends, and cat toys. These are some of the things in life that make my beat, beat loudest. The louder the beat plays, the more authentic you are being to your true self. Find those things and rock the hell out; don’t let the beat fade to silence. Trust me on this one!

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Lie Down and Die Because All Your Dreams Are Coming True

I love others. I love dogs, I love people, I love kids, heck, I even love cats. EVERYONE! I haven’t met a face (or tail) that I didn’t want to know better. Mom took note of this very early on. There’s this process, or maybe a better word would be a display, to how I attempt to greet a new friend. I sort of arch my back, wag my tail profusely, my ears fall flat to my head to the extent that they are lost in a pile of fluff, and sometimes, just sometimes, I shout in excitement. This is my reaction to anyone and mostly everyone, consistently. Whether they want to be my friend or not; I want to be theirs.

Now that I am all healed up from surgery, I am allowed to go on walks around the neighborhood to meet new friends. Mom said daycare was a good idea too. This is mostly because everyone at home works and schools during the day. Even though Scrappy and Lola are home, it doesn’t mean they want to be “pestered” by me. Mom kept telling me I was going to meet a whole slew of new friends both the furry and peoply type when I went to daycare. How exciting! She said I had to take a test. She also said she knew I’d do well, she just knew it.

Then came testing day…

Mom and I were locked in a room with a window. Mom filled out some papers, then lifted me to see what was on the other side of the window. There were all sorts of big dogs running after balls, lying in front of fans, and tugging at each other. This is daycare?!? Why don’t they just call it “Lie Down and Die Because All Your Dreams Are Coming True”? A woman walked in, they talked for a long time (they clearly knew each other). Then the woman grabbed my leash and escorted me through another door. I was hesitant. I put on the breaks and mom tucked my fluffy tail under my body and gave me a push. The lady picked me up and the door closed. Where was I heading? I didn’t like it. The lady carried me the entire way, but once she put me down, I was in a new room with a menagerie of dogs and puppies. They were my size and there were also human friends – two of them.

HOLY COW!!! I was overjoyed! I checked out every dog in the place. Some barked a lot, some were sleeping, some were playing, and a person girl was carrying one. I introduced myself to everyone with a sniff to the face or rear, in my usual “how you doin” posture. I met some interesting individuals. One guy snapped at me, Meany! One guy sniffed me back, another watched me, and then….

I found her. I think she might be my new best friend. Her name is Charlie. She is also five months old, she is black and white all over, and a pittie mix. The only sad part about that is that if she gets too big or too rough she will be sent to the big dog room and we won’t be able to be buddies anymore. Too sad to think about, back to today.

I sniffed her, she sniffed me back, I pranced, she followed, I stopped, she stopped. When Charlie took a break to scratch an itch, I helped her, she didn’t mind the help. This is going to be the beginning of something wonderful. I can feel it!

I gave everyone a chance today. Every. Single. Dog. They were all given the same opportunity to accept or decline my friendship. I certainly wasn’t well received by everyone, remember the guy I told you about? Meany? I learned quite a few lessons today.

  1. Not everyone will like you. That’s OK. I am going to repeat this simply because it needs to be understood. Not everyone will like you and that’s OK! I am authentically me and that might not be everyone’s strip of rawhide. This guy in class not being my friend didn’t affect the fact that I had a great experience. It also didn’t affect the fact that I still made a friend. He didn’t like me, so what?!?
  2. You have to give everyone and I mean everyone a chance. If I stopped at Meany, I wouldn’t have met Charlie or anyone else for that matter.
  3. Once someone shows you who they are, believe them. Meany is clearly a good guy, he passed the same temperament test I did. There was something about me that he just didn’t like. His nip was a warning; if there is something I know, it’s you only get so many warnings before the explosion. So I believed him. I believed that he would be aggressive, he told me, and I listened. He showed me exactly who he was and where I stood with him. Listen to that warning, or red flag, or whatever you call it.

Today, well, it wasn’t a bust. I walked away with a new place to play, a few new friends, some freedom from home, and some pretty incredible lessons. Oh, and after daycare, the naps are amazing. Who could ask for more?!? I can’t wait to go back!

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I Laugh in the Face of Fear

Fear is an illusion! If you have the courage, the drive, the chutzpah to face what you fear, head on, you’ll realize that you were the only thing holding you back. You may also realize that conquering that fear may just open a door to a world you never knew existed.

For me, that fear was the steps. I’ve told the story before, but I will tell it again. The steps were terrifying. I’d watch everyone climb up and down effortlessly, while I sat at the bottom crying. I wanted to know what was going on up there…

With a whole lot of patience and a little assistance, I triumphed the treacherous task of scaling the steps (the up part at least). A new world awaited me once I got up there. New toys, new smells, carpet (which I rapidly found a corner to rip apart), new experiences. It was glorious! Now there was this new world, but I was panic-stricken to get back to the old world I was comfortable in, because that meant going back down those steep steps. Down is so much scarier then up. I had to make it back down though, that’s where the food is. Did I mention that food is my favorite thing?

Treats were the magic trick, and time, and a little push from Mom. Treats and courage mostly!

You have to be kind to yourself when you are moving out of your comfort zone. Be patient. Allow others to push you forward. Reward yourself for taking baby steps (pun intended), and keep rewarding yourself with each step you take toward conquering that fear. You deserve to experience the world that exists beyond your fear. You also have the right to say that conquering that fear didn’t get you where you wanted to be, and you can go right back to your comfortable place. Fear is an illusion. We have the capability to move, and play, and work, and explore in all the directions, even the scary forward ones and the scary backward ones.

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The Smiling Dutchman

The Keeshond breed dates back to 16th century Holland. That is a very long time ago, when we were referred to as a Wolfspitz. The name Keeshond, or more accurately, “kayz-hawnd” came later in the 18th century. Our name sake is Dutch patriot Cornelis de Gijzelaar. Kee is the nickname for Cornelis, that makes us Kee’s hond, or Kee’s dog. We have two interesting nicknames and one that is appalling; the smiling Dutchmen, Velcro dogs, and overweight Pomeranian- I am not overweight, and I am not a Pomeranian.

They called my great-great-and many more greats- grandparents “The Smiling Dutchman”, because they were boat dogs. They guarded barges in the 17th and 18th centuries. They were alarm dogs, used to assert their shrill voices as an alarm to the captain and crew if something was amiss or if there were intruders. I don’t do this, Lola and Scrappy alert the captain and crew. I only assert my voice at 3:30 in the morning, and when my belly tells me to. My great-great-and many more greats-grandparents were also companions to the captain and crew. They liked people, they relied on each other for camaraderie, hence Velcro, we stick with our people. They were lively, animated, happy, and extremely intelligent dogs. Keeshonden are so smart that they rank as the 16th smartest dog breed according to Stanley Coren’s book “Intelligence of Dogs”.

Interesting right?!?

We make great companions, and adore being with our people. Say goodbye to private bathroom time, all time is meant to be spent TOGETHER! We are supposed to be noisy. I have that one covered! Mom is fed up with my rock-star lifestyle; party all night and sleep all day! Despite Mom’s best efforts to reprogram this habit, I like to wake everyone up at what I’ve heard referred to as the witching hour. I like to sound the alarm, I just do, and so did my great-great-and many more greats grandparents, it’s in my blood. Today Mom asked me if I had ever heard of an evil sea witch named Ursula. She said Ursula would give me anything I want in exchange for my voice. Because I am a Keeshond, I am pretty stinking smart, and I am not falling for this sea witch nonsense. Being really intelligent also means I get really bored. I have to find ways to entertain myself and work this brain full of smarts. I mean, since Mom broke her ankle, walks don’t happen anymore, and she can’t drive, so no daycare or puppy classes yet. It’s fine by me! I can find lots of things to do. I like barking, I like naps, I like digging holes between the cracks in the patio stones, I like stealing socks, I like stealing things from Mom’s pile of projects (she can’t chase me right now, it’s great!), I like following Scrappy around the house and yard, and I like tussles with Frankie and Lola.

My point….

Sometimes the way we are and the things we do are part of our makeup. The good parts and the bad parts of us are often times parts of us that years and years of DNA and genetics mixing and swirling together, turn us into. Don’t misunderstand, there are absolutely learned habits and coping mechanisms that take some work to reverse, but the thing that makes you, say, more anxious than someone else, that is bred into you. Those parts are a genuine, natural , part of being exactly you. Own them. Accept them. Understand them. Embrace them. Sometimes those same things that seem like a poor quality can actually be seen a different way. Sure, you might be anxious, but your anxious great-great-and many more greats grandparents stayed alive because they were anxious. You can harness that and use it to your benefit. We are a perfectly imperfect version of years of creation in the flesh. That is pretty incredible!