Chloë Goes a Step Too Far

My rabbit-chasing escapades finally got me into real trouble. Mike and I were almost home after an hour’s walk and ball-chasing, but I convinced Mike to take the ball out of his pocket for one more throw near our Adopt-an-Area. Mike wanted to get home and watch the end of the Mariners game. I wanted to fetch. I won. The Mariners, alas, did not.

The edge of the park’s thickest thicket.

But Mike never saw the game, even when it went into extra innings. Because when he threw the ball, I chased it at full speed down the gravel path – until I saw a black bunny out of the corner of my eye. It scooted up the wooded hill to my right. I veered and was gone.

In seconds, I was up the hill, into the thickest thicket in the park, chasing rabbits of many colors in a labyrinth of blackberry vines as hard and wide as silver dollars. Mike sighed, knowing he was in for a long haul.

His cellphone had enough juice for about two calls. After about 45 minutes, he dialed Heather at her office and headed home for loppers and gloves. He was not happy, and I could have cared less. I was hunting.

Chloë returns to the scene of the crime.

After he came back, there were a couple of times that Mike could see me, but there was no way he was getting close to me without chain saws and machetes. I had a blast until my harness got caught on a blackberry spike, and then I had to wiggle my way out of it and leave it behind.  That must have happened while Mike got his tools, because I did yelp a few times and made some racket while I was squirming. When he came back, though, I was stealth. I really didn’t reveal my whereabouts until Heather showed up. I heard her immediately, and I did not like her tone of voice. She was fuming. Strangely, not at Mike, but at me! (Maybe she was saving Mike for later, when I wasn’t around.)

By the way she was ordering me and Mike around, I knew I was in trouble. So I whimpered a couple of times, and she was finally on me, directing Mike on where to lop next to give her an opening and some leverage so she could grab me. I felt like I was in a hostage rescue on The Unit (I watch a lot of reruns with Heather).

Because I had no leash or harness anymore, and we were still in Rabbit Central, Heather carried me all the way down to the parking lot. She was quiet in the car, and that’s why I really didn’t comprehend how much trouble I was in until we got home, and this not talking to me or looking at me continued. She must have made Mike do it, too, because it’s not something he would have done on his own.  Mike silently gave me dinner (thank god!) and then sent me to the bedroom while they ate. When I whimpered, they ignored me.

Uh-oh.

When I got sent to bed without a biscuit, I realized the severity of my crime.

Chloë models her new harness.

For the next few days, there was no rabbit chasing. There was no ball chasing. There was a lot of “Chloë, walk with me.” There was a whole lot of command tone thrown around. (Poor Mike, he’s just not very good at it. Ms. Grim, on the other hand, is a pro.)

After a few days, however, things started to loosen up a little. I got a brand-new harness and leash, both newer, sportier versions of what I had. Mike and I have had a few fetch sessions in carefully designated, bunny-free areas. We’ve even done a few short dropped-leash segments. But whenever we pass remotely close to a thicket, my leash was on and shortened. Until the other day, when he was trying to get me to play with this other dachshund named Beamer, who I’ve met several times. When Mike dropped my leash, I briefly pretended to be running around with Beamer and then made a beeline across the parking lot and into my favorite maze.

Frankly, I didn’t think Mike could run that fast anymore, with that leg pain he’s been suffering. I think it was the shock of seeing him streak across the parking lot, and not his command tone (“Chloë, No!” that actually made me stop right on the fringe of the blackberry thicket. Mike, for once, could breathe a sigh of relief.

So have I learned any lesson? Heather thinks I’m smart enough to be trained to obey, always. Mike thinks I’m smart enough to act like a dachshund.

Sure, I’ll pay attention to Mike – for a while. Until one day when he’s listening to a Mariners game on the radio, and he takes his eyes off me for a few seconds. And then I’m gone, on the road again.

What can I say? There are bunnies and squirrels and birds out there, and it’s spring. What do you expect, Rin Tin Tin?

Chloë carries her new Visi-Ball in a bunny-free area.

Chloë and Her Brothers Reach the Terrible Twos

Chloë, Frank and Stanley with friend.

When we met  my bros Frank and Stanley in the park a few weeks after our second birthday, it seemed to me the guys were already slowing down. They’ll tussle for a while, and then go their own way. They don’t want to mix it up nonstop anymore.  Especially furry Frank, who is definitely the artistic one.

No slowing down for me. I still enjoy being just a little bundle of energy, chasing after anything that isn’t nailed down. That day, for example, after we walked in the park for an hour and I tussled with Frank and Stan, I was just getting warmed up for my daily tackle of Mike. Just watch. A day without a tackle is like a day without sunshine.

After we said goodbye to the boys, we went home for 15 or 20 minutes of chasing Wiffie around before dinner. And maybe some tug for dessert.

Sure, I’m better behaved and more mature all the time. But to demonstrate that I’m still a puppy in many respects, let me recount some recent events:

• I jumped out the open door of Mike’sparked car to chase a rabbit.
• I took off several times after the Bartons’ cat, Beau.
• I swiped a piece of pizza out of the hand of an unsuspecting child. 
• I took off after a rabbit in an undeveloped part of the park and took off for more than an hour.

And really, to a large extent I managed to get away with all of that: Lots of bluster, little repercussion, if you ask me.

So clear the decks, people. I’m just warming up.

Chloë Becomes a Media Celebrity for Real

First I thought that this would be a really big deal for my career development, having my videos on the website for the Visi-Ball. They are the first videos on the site, and thus are certain to set the standard for all others that follow.  In no time at all, I’m sure, my videos will go viral, and I’ll become an Internet sensation.

Chloë relaxes at home.

Then I remembered: I’m already an Internet sensation. And a published author to boot.

Meanwhile, the new Visi-Balls arrived and I started using them. These are the ones the company so graciously promised after the one I had mysteriously popped open. There were two new balls, so Mike finally trashed the broken one. A good thing, too: Although we haven’t been using the broken ball for fetch, I couldn’t help noticing it was sitting on top of the TV cabinet, and I haven’t lost my jones for gnawing on it (particularly that small inner ball).  Now it’s out of sight, out of mind. I’ve moved on.

The Visi-Ball

I’ve decided to retire the two other Visi-Balls that I’ve been using and chase my  new ones exclusively until they are either lost or destroyed, so I can report back to the company about their quality and durability. I have a feeling that if I give these new balls my personal seal of approval, it can only be a matter of time before the debut of the Chloë Autograph Model, to be followed by my first national tour. Hey, when you sleep as much as I do, it’s good to dream big.

Chloë in blue bed with bone

Chloë Has a Great Good Friday

When I got up that morning, it didn’t feel so special. On the other hand, it didn’t seem like a particularly bad Friday, and I knew Friday the 13th was still a whole week away. But I failed to see anything particularly good about it, either. My breakfast and morning walk were uneventful. Heather had to go to work early, so I had to get by with a morning walk with Mike, who in the morning is always in a big rush to get back home and eat his Cheerios. Later, though, after Mike had finished his cereal and a couple of cups of coffee, my day started getting better. How? Let me count the ways:

Kongs hold more!

1. Mike gave me a rubber Kong overstuffed with peanut butter, fruit and yogurt, not one of those lower-calorie stuffed marrow bones. Those are OK, but let’s face it: Kong rules.
2. Perhaps guilty from short-changing me on the morning walk,  Mike took me on a extra-long afternoon walk and played lots of fetch along the way as he listened to the Seattle Mariners’ pregame show on the radio. No doubt inspired by the advent of a new baseball season, I made several excellent catches and throws of my purple-and-white ball, earning extra praise and treats from Mike. But we were barely getting warmed up on “goodness.”
   

   Chloë's favorite delivery service.

3. When we were coming back down our street, I spied none other than my favorite UPS driver pulling up to the Bartons’ house down the block. I yanked Mike all the way down there, and not only did my #1 guy throw me one of his trademark large biscuits, but he also said that he had a package for us, too! And when he handed it to Mike, he slipped me another of the biscuits that he keeps inside that huge brown truck of his. If I could only get in!
4. And wait, there’s more: That UPS package was for me! It was from the company that makes Visi-Ball, and inside were two brand-new Visi-Balls in their spiffy new packaging. I wonder if I’ll get to chase both of them at the same time. To be continued.
   

   Chloë's new Visi-Balls arrive.

5. Almost tuckered out by all of the afternoon activities and surprises, I might have appeared a bit slow on my feet when Heather came home and wanted to play some tug of war with me. Next thing I know, she’s pulled the new toy box out of the hall closet, and she’s urging me to stick my head in and pull out any new toy I like! Yikes! All I could do was wonder what it was that made this night different from all other nights.
   

   Tiger

   Rather than dwell on it, however, I chose a squeaking tug toy that seemed to be a cross between a leopard, a koala bear and a cheetah. So far I’m calling him Tiger and paying a lot of attention to him, carrying him around and tossing him at Heather’s feet when I want to see Tiger hurled across the room. We’ll see how long he lasts in my favor after he hits the big pillow in the living room with Wiffie, Foxy, Sharkie, Squeaky and the rest of my crew.

All in all, I’d have to call this a great Good Friday, my best one ever, and pretty damn good for any other day of the week.

Chloë Has a Few Hiccups at the Vet

Dr. Kimmel

Don’t take that headline too literally! I didn’t actually hiccup at my annual physical last week. It was just that a few minor issues arose on this visit. I got a bit nervous while I was there, frankly, from the moment I stepped on the scales. Everyone was watching me, and touching me, and I didn’t know any of them. But I weighed in at a svelte 17.5 pounds, once I settled down enough to make the electronic scale register correctly. That’s 1.3 pounds less than I weighed there last September! I knew Mike should be giving me more to eat, and now I can prove it. Unfortunately, Dr.  Kimmel, my personal physician, advised against it. “Keep her thin,” I clearly heard her tell Mike. “Her weight is perfect.” Dammit.

When we got in the examination room, I sat nervously in Mike’s lap until one of the new assistants took my temperature. You know where, too, right up the old Hershey Highway. This must be what Mike feels when he gets his annual prostate exam, because when I put my front paws up around his neck and glommed tightly onto him while this foul procedure was happening, I could tell that he could feel my pain. We bonded.

Dr. Kimmel Examines Chloë

And having my temperature taken wasn’t even the worst of it. Dr. Kimmel also told Mike that I had too much waxy gunk deep inside my left ear, so now Heather’s going to have to clean my ears more often for at least a couple of weeks, and I hate it, treats or no treats. And then the doctor showed Mike that he’s missing spots on my rear upper teeth when he brushes them. A small section of plaque buildup is forming,  marring my otherwise spotless choppers. Again, this likely means more agony for me from the fingertip toothbrush of that Mean Mr. Mike.

On the plus side, Dr. Kimmel pointed out that I have avoided anal sac draining and the recurring skin problems that brothers Frank and Stanley endure. Maybe that’s the result of all of those diet extras (veggies, eggs and broth) that Mike adds to all  my meals. Of course, my easy-going disposition also has a lot to do with maintaining my excellent physical health.

Chloë warns: "Get your shit outta here, bub!"

When my lab results came back the next day, however, we found out something was amiss: Despite my preventive medication, I’ve contracted a worm, an internal parasite. Disgusting, isn’t it? Even worse, I caught it from sniffing the poop of those asshole raccoons who live in the trees in back of the unoccupied white house next door. The heck with PETA; I hope somebody shoots those foul critters, if I can’t first get to them first myself. They have supplanted the Bartons’ cat as No. 1 on my enemies list.

Anyway, Heather got a prescription from the vet and Mike had to sprinkle some white powder on my dinner for three consecutive days (I don’t think it was cocaine, either) and repeat the same dosage in two weeks.  Then he has to bring another stool sample to the vet, and hopefully that new poop will restore my clean bill of health.

Chloë looks for raccoon through kitchen door.

In the meantime, I’m feeling fine, but somehow violated. I survey the trees behind the house every morning before my breakfast, looking for those damn raccoons. Just wait until the next time I see them. Nobody’s going to hold me back.

Chloë Destructs the Indestructible Ball

Chloë's purple and white ball.

First I used tennis balls. Then I moved on to the blue balls, which are much bouncier. Until I gnaw them into pieces, that is. And then came the hard, bouncy, purple-and-white balls, specially made for dogs to see better, and indestructible as well. Not un-loseable, unfortunately; Mike and Heather have managed to deposit several into various holes, drains and blackberry patches, so Heather keeps buying more of them. (I, on the other hand, have never lost one.) Or destroyed one, either, until now.

The ball inside.

I’m still not sure exactly how it happened. Heather and Mike were tossing the ball for me above the park parade ground, and next thing I knew I was chasing two balls, the usual purple and white one, and a smaller one of an indeterminate color definitely NOT on any dog vision color charts. The ball that popped out of the first ball was smaller — hard, fast and exciting. The old one just sat there, spent. I chased the smaller ball, and when I got it in my mouth I liked it so much I didn’t want to let go.

Mike was afraid I’d bust it up, so he finally made me give it up, trumping the ball with a frozen PBB. But I saw where he hid it on the kitchen counter, and whenever I want to bug Mike I just sit beneath it and stare upward.

Mike, of course, saw this as an opportunity, and he sent an email to the company that makes the ball: “We’ve had several purple-and-white Visi-Balls over the past year or so. Our puppy (that would be me, Chloë ) loves it, and whenever we needed a new one, it was because we lost it, not because she destroyed it, like she had other balls. But her newest ball split open when it hit the ground.”

Chloë eyes the inside ball.

Mike was trying to be polite, so let me translate for you: Hey, don’t you guys think you should send Chloë another ball?

Mike got an email back right away: “Glad to hear your dog enjoys our Visi-Ball,” it said. ”We would like to send a new complimentary ball.  I am expecting a new shipment of Visi-Balls within the next week or so and will send one for Chloë to try as soon as they arrive.”

Excellent! And were that not enough, here’s the kicker:  The email went on to ask: “Do you have any pictures of Chloë with the Visi-Ball you would like to share on our website?” Are you kidding? If Mike doesn’t already have any good ones, I’ll have him snap some more as soon as the sun comes out. Meanwhile, check out my latest video:

 

I already smell an endorsement deal, maybe even a Chloë autograph model Visi-Ball. Sweet.

Chloë Takes a Week in the Country

Chloë romps in the snow.

As soon as we passed the shopping centers in Issaquah, Mike lowered the car window next to my seat, and my nose immediately told me we were near my getaway. This time we got to stay out here for a whole week, so I got to really unwind and appreciate it.

The first few days, I had to reacclimate myself to unfamiliar surroundings, so I made sure I kept Mike in my sight at all times. Whenever we took a walk, I made it a point to look back every 10 seconds and make sure he was still behind me.

Chloë tosses Rattling Santa.

If we were inside the house, I always made sure I was in the same room as Mike, whether it was sleeping near his feet on the floor in the office or dropping one of Tara’s many toys at his feet to force him into playing tug of war or fetch while he was trying to watch basketball on the television. Rattling Santa has definitely become my favorite of Tara’s toys; it is both a tug toy and a fetch toy, and it makes a neat noise. But I also still get a charge from just picking toy after toy from Tara’s pile and leaving them all around the house for Heather to pick up when she comes home from work.

Speaking of fetch, the other day I fetched and returned my new purple-and-white ball 26 consecutive times along one of the forest roads out back. Mike announced proudly that this is a new world’s record for any dachshund anywhere. Personally, I’m willing to accept his authority on this, and if anyone wants to do an Internet search to refute it, be my guest. My comments page is always open.

Chloë helps Tara on the trail.

A couple of days of snowy weather and my record-setting fetch performance were clearly the highlights of my week. Tara was even grumpier than usual, possibly because she had an upset stomach and her usual leg pains. I actually felt sorry for her a few times; when we took a walk together, I made Mike go slow so we wouldn’t get too far ahead of her, and when she wanted to go home, I made Mike turn around right away.

There were a couple of lowlights that bear mention: Mike scared the heck out of  Tara and me during Syracuse’s NCAA Tournament games, which he was watching all by himself instead of with his regular viewing buddies. All that cursing and screaming and yelling,”YES!” every once in a while. For such a quiet guy, Mike was making quite the ruckus. It must have turned out OK,, though, because Mike seemed very happy afterwards.

Besides, those March Madness noises Mike made weren’t nearly as scary as when he started singing along with Bruce Springsteen while we were driving around the countryside in his car. Even more disconcerting: It happened more than once, and, trust me, it was not pretty, not pretty at all. I was quite shaken up by it each time.

So I tried to blot it out of my mind, relax on the carpet and commune with nature.

Chloë guards the stairs.

Chloë looks over Snoqualmie River Valley.