Chloë Vacations by the Shore

Along the Thornton-Cookstown Trail, Innisfil, ON

The last legs of our cross-Canada trip came at a slower pace. After skirting the northern shores of Lakes Superior and Huron (lots of trees) in a series of one-night stops, we landed for two nights in one place and four nights in the next. We had a whole apartment near Heather’s sister Alison’s house. The place was OK, since the wooden stairs to the bedroom was so slippery that Heather  had to  carry me up and down like I was Queen Nefertiti. (Heather slipped once, though, which wasn’t so funny.) One day many people from Heather’s family came over, which was cool with me because there were a lot of leftovers and more plates to lick, not to mention random chips falling on the floor.

Lakeside fetching, Cobourg, ON

My visit to meet Alison’s new puppy Sadie didn’t go nearly as well. She was only six months old and not very socialized to other dogs, so she was all over me and didn’t know how to set limits. After we rolled around for a minute and she wouldn’t back off, cooler heads decided to keep us apart on this trip; Sadie was in the yard and I was in the house, or vice-versa. That worked a lot better. It was pretty hot while we were there, too, so we took our daily walks mostly around the neighborhood in the early morning, but we did get to complete another leg of the Thornton-Cookstown Trans-Canada Trail before we left. We still have a ways to go.

With Aunt Robin

Our final stop before reaching Syracuse rated No. 1 on my list of favorite places on this journey to the East. We stayed at a house being rented by Heather’s sister, my Aunt Robin, and her partner Barry in Cobourg, Ontario, about an hour east of Toronto on the shore of Lake Ontario. Thankfully, there was a fence and tall hedge between their back yard and the beach, so I wasn’t constantly subjected to the sight and sound of waves lapping up the shoreline. Ever since Heather took me down to the beach on Puget Sound during a storm many years ago, just the thought of  water rushing toward me gives me the creeps. Rivers and boats are OK, but not lakes and oceans.

Heather throws, Chloë fetches.

Other than that big lake in front of it, this house had everything I’m looking for in a quality back yard It was totally fenced in, mostly flat and full of lush, green lawn and pockmarked with the dens of squirrels and chipmunks. For me, this was like going to a relaxing health spa with unlimited buffets dining and top-line entertainment. I got to chase my ball  for the first time since we left Seattle, and I was allowed off leash to explore the yard and flop anywhere I wanted to — at least until I dug a hole in the middle of the lawn while in pursuit of a burrowing chipmunk. Aunt Robin wasn’t smiling when she took a shovelful of dirt from a garden and filled in the hole I dug. I was on a strict “no dig” policy after that.

Frozen PBB, side view

Frankly, I could have stayed there in that back yard for the rest of the summer, but duty called: We had to get back to the good ol’ U.S.A. Each one of us had discovered something we missed. For Mike, it was ESPN. For Heather, it was a good cup of coffee and NCIS marathons. And for me, Peanut Butter Boneys that are frozen in a hollow marrow bone instead of the tiny plastic cups I’ve been getting on the road. I want my PBB!

Chloë Reviews Her Positions

Schatzi and Chloë tussle over stock options.

With spring comes my annual strategy session with my personal financial advisor and sometime hotelier, Caroline. As a senior dog well-versed in the intricacies of investing, I’ve been trying to impart some of my seasoned understanding to Caroline’s Schatzi, so I encouraged the young Schatz to tag along with Caroline that morning and attend my session. Mike and Heather were allowed to come, too, but just for backup and in case I needed to take notes.

Naptime on Wall Street.

While Caroline and her associate Rory discussed my investment positions and streamed impressive graphs and tables onto a large TV on the wall, Schatzi and I tussled, sniffed each other’s butts and eventually retired to opposite ends of the conference table for a well-earned nap. And why not? Obviously, no snacks would be falling on the floor during this session. I’ll have to remember to return for the next open house with catered hors d’oeuvres.

When everyone finally got up to leave, Caroline transferred her computer to the floor, so Schatzi and I could take a closer look at the changes and projections for my portfolio in the short- and long-term. Fortunately, I find this financial stuff easier to understand than the NFL salary cap.

Schatzi and Chloë gain valuable financial insight.

It was a productive meeting. Everything Caroline went over reinforced the analysis I had previously imparted to Schatzi: Don’t worry, stay the course. I certainly realize no one is immune from rampant inflation. Believe me, when every visit to the vet costs more than it used to, and a box of  Vita Bones  at Fred Meyer zooms from $2.39 to $4.29, I hear about it!

I resist panicking, however. I advised Schatzi to adhere to one of Warren Buffett’s favorite theories: “Be fearful when others are greedy and greedy when others are fearful.” Schatzi seemed to grasp the concept.

Chloë on Guard

Chloë shows off her protective sock

The pain from my recent injury didn’t last long. As you can see from the video above, within a couple of days I ditched the protective sock (shown in the photo) and got back to running around as usual, even romping in the cemetery with my little buddy Schatzi.

Chloë hogs Schatzi’s toys.

Just a few days later, Mike and Heather went away again (!), so I went over to Schatzi’s house for another staycation. Just like last time, I took over all of her toys (hers are much better than mine), and we played a lot of Bed Bingo, when Schatzi occupies my bed and I take over hers. Observing proper social distancing, we did not sleep in the same bed together, and for the most part we dined separately, although there was one night when Schatzi tried to get at my food, and I had to growl at her.

Something was different about this visit, however. Schatzi, who just turned one year old, went into heat for the first time a few days before I got there. Since I had been spayed when I was just six months old (Heather being a  staunch supporter of Planned Parenthood), I wasn’t able to offer my young pal any first-dog advice on what to expect or how to deal with it, but I was able to perform a crucial function nonetheless: Guarding her against any slobbering male dogs who might be hanging around the property, drooling over my fruitful friend. Marley from across the street seemed to be sniffing around more than usual, but after I gave him a hard stare, he kept his distance. I must have done a good job while I was there, because when I left the premises, Schatzi’s virginity was intact. Not on my watch, boys!

Schatzi contemplates her life in her idol’s bed.

Listening intently on the trading floor.

The other highlight of my stay was going to Caroline’s financial adviser office in Magnolia Village. Everyone there is always so nice to Schatzi and me, even at this difficult, frenzied time when the stock market was crashing all around them!  Still, just by sitting in her office for a little while, I was able to pick up some valuable insight about what to do with my portfolio. Unlike certain members of the U.S. Senate,  however, I have resisted the urge to cash in on my inside knowledge. But Schatzi, with her reckless youth and feelings of  invincibility, may not be so inclined. As our illustrious president likes to say, we’ll see what happens.

Schatzi soaks in the financial news.

 

 

 

 

Chloë Reviews Her Portfolio

Chloë and Caroline track stock prices online.

My personal financial planner (and sometime hotelier) Caroline changed firms and Magnolia offices last month, and Mike and Heather finally got around to taking me to inspect her new digs. As far as I’m concerned, the new location could not possibly be better: It’s in the heart of Magnolia Village, in the same parking lot as Bartell Drugs and conveniently next door to Pet Pros, where I frequently stock up on mini cheese and salmon hearts at the help-yourself treat bar. Caroline gave us a short tour of the new layout and introduced us to everybody who was working there, which gave me the opportunity to give a good sniff-over to each and every office and conference room. It was not until I got into Caroline’s private office that I found the specific cabinet I was looking for. And let me tell you: While the name of the brokerage may have changed, the quality and quantity of the treats Caroline keeps for her doggie clients has not diminished.

Chloë joins the powerhouse financial round table.

Caroline then went over my retirement portfolio with me and Heather (Mike, unfortunately, is not financially astute enough to participate), suggesting how I might re-balance my holdings to achieve greater security and long-term growth. Made sense to me! As long as I was allowed to stay close to the treat cabinet, I was all ears. When Caroline talks, I listen, especially when I’m staying at her house and she controls the treats. The only “insider” information I really need is how to open that special cabinet that pays great dividends.

Chloë Has a Red-Letter Day

Stealth attack.

The day started off with an unexpected treat. Mike was doing his morning stretches on the living room floor and concentrating intently on counting “one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand,” so I was able to sneak up behind his head and lick his nose for several seconds before he figured out what was going on. Call me the real downward dog.

My day got even better in the early afternoon when Heather took me on a field trip to the Village, where we walked around a little and visited the office of Caroline, my personal financial adviser and sometime hotelier. My portfolio may be down these days, but Caroline always keeps lots of treats in her desk, anyway. I picked up my shares.

Biscuit delivery

Then, just after Heather and I got home from the Village, what came rolling down our street? A big brown truck and my favorite UPS delivery person, Donna. More treats ensued, even though the delivery was not for us. I must remind Heather to give Donna another big box of biscuits before Christmas to keep priming the pump.

My late-afternoon walk with Heather and Mike was shorter than normal because Heather was hustling us home to greet an expected visitor. I figured it would be Charlie, so I was surprised and thrilled to see it was Lynn, my other pal and favorite dog sitter of all time (that is, most generous with the treats and cuddles). I was so happy to see Lynn that she could barely make it into the house because of my jumping. When she finally managed to sit down on the couch, I leaped onto her lap and showered her with kisses. After my initial excitement subsided,  we had a nice, long cuddle while she was talking to Heather and Mike. It was great to see her again, because nobody understands me and speaks my language like Lynn does. Oh, and she always comes with a whole bag of treats, too. High-quality treats.

Heather’s shepherd’s pie.

I suspected that Mike cut my dinner ration that evening because of the many extra treats I scarfed up all day, but I did not complain. My nose told me Heather had prepared her specialty dish, shepherd’s pie, and I would likely be getting several plates, pots and bowls to lick after their dinner. Yes, it was a red-letter day, morn ’til  night.

 

Chloë Enters the Condo Market

Officers’ Row

With more mulching and planting around my trail and more water lines along side it, we have feared potential development on Chloe’s Lane for some time. But with all of the houses on Officers’ Row in the park behind it sold for millions, a more affordable alternative has sprouted right at the elbow of my favorite fetch route.

Hut 1, Hut 2

 

Neither Mike, Heather nor my good pal Charlie had a clear explanation of what it was exactly, or who was responsible for it. Whether the work of kids, illegal campers or beer-drinking teens, we’ll probably never know. All I know for certain is that the thing is in my way, and I want it gone by the time I come back from vacation.

 

 

 

Chloë Gets Ready for a Sleepover

Exchanging financial secrets.

I thought it was a bit odd that I was spending a lot of time lately with my friend Caroline, who is of course doubles as the only financial adviser I have ever known. Caroline has handled all my business affairs since I was a tiny pup, and was also the person who gave me my very first toy, Sharkey. I don’t pay much attention to Sharkey anymore, but I keep him around on my toy pillow because he’s special to me.

I remember going for walks with Caroline when I was still a puppy and she had two dachshunds of her own. The only times I’ve seen her more recently have been on visits to her office, where there are always lots of treats. About a month ago, however, I started seeing her more often. First Heather and I went over to her house, which is not far away from ours, and we all took a walk together. Then we went inside her house, and I sniffed all around inside and in the back yard.  Caroline gave me the tour and pointed out where she kept important things like dog treats and toys. Can’t hurt to know, I figured, but I didn’t think much more about it.

Wylie and Chloë face off in the park.

A few days later, Mike drove me over to Caroline’s house again. I knew immediately where I was, and  I started my “can’t wait” whine as soon as the car pulled in the driveway. I ran inside and dashed for the same crinkly-sounding toy I had played with briefly on my previous visit.  When Mike left, I wasn’t even aware he was gone, so engrossed was I in chomping on that crinkly toy. Mike must have been gone a while, though, because before he returned I managed to chew through part of it, and believe me, this was some tough plastic.

A few days later, we met again. Heather, Mike and I joined Caroline and her friend David at my regular park for another walk. This time Caroline brought Wylie, a 2-year-old miniature dachshund she was taking care of while his owners were away. I’m usually not too interested in meeting other dogs, especially young ones, but Wylie seemed OK, for some reason. He kind of reminded me of my brothers Frank and Stanley, without their heft. Wylie and I even danced around a little in the South Meadow in some chase-and-tackle games, like I used to do with my bros. I know better than to tangle with them now, but Wylie was more my size. I could dominate.

It was about halfway through this walk when I noticed that David was holding onto Wylie’s leash, and Caroline was holding onto mine. It was like she was getting used to it, and getting used to how I behaved on a walk in comparison to her own Pinot and Ida. That’s when I started putting two and two together.

Putting two and two together.

If any doubt remained in my mind, events of the next week erased it. On Friday afternoon, Mike and Heather bundled up my travel crate and packed up my food, treats, pillows and camp chair into the car, just like we did every night when we drove to Syracuse last summer. This time we only got as far as Caroline’s house, where they brought all that stuff inside and said a quick goodbye, leaving me there with Caroline, David and a recently scalped Wheaton terrier named Marley, who lives across the street. I ignored them all and crawled into my bed, comfortably situated near the front door and beside a heating vent, and started gnawing on the crinkly toy again.  And I was gnawing on it again when Mike and Heather picked me up the next day. At least I think it was the next day; I was having so much fun that it really didn’t matter. It was just like going to sleep-away camp!

Keeping all that training in mind, I suspect I will be heading back to Caroline’s house again soon, probably for a longer stay this time, days or perhaps even weeks. Heather had told Mike she was waking up at night, worrying about leaving me with anyone except my good pal and usual sitter Lynn. Truthfully, all of the separation anxiety is hers, and hers alone. I know I’ll be happy with Caroline and, frankly, with anyone willing to provide a warm bed, fresh toys and plenty of high-grade treats. Don’t cry for me, Argentina—or you either, Heather.

 

Chloë Searches for a Brown Christmas

Training my new UPS driver is not going so well. When first I met the new guy, Craig, he seemed friendly enough, but he gave me only one bickie, no matter how many times I chased his truck down the block and stared at him. Plus, since our meeting occurred down the block in front of Merrie’s house, I’m not sure that he knows in which house I live. In fact, since that day, we’ve had at least two UPS deliveries to our front door, both apparently coming when Mike wasn’t home, since he did not personally witnessed any of my trademark obsessive-berserk UPS truck reaction, sometimes referred to as “Chloë’s going brown on us again.” Multiple deliveries with no bickies left on top of the package can’t be totally chalked up to wind gusts. Clearly, this new guy doesn’t get it yet. I resolved to do something about that.

On the Boulevard

At least every other day, when Mike and I went out for our afternoon walk, I steered Mike away from the park and southward through the streets of Magnolia, tracking the scent of brown trucks. One day along Magnolia Boulevard I spied one, driven not by my new friend Craig but another driver, one who I’ve met and received treats from. On this day, she had a helper, and she sent him to our side of the street with a package, so I dragged Mike back several houses to the spot where he would cross the sidewalk. He saw me and smiled—and he was still smiling when he climbed back into the brown truck alongside the driver. She checked behind her for oncoming cars, released the brake, merged into the traffic lane and pulled around the corner, never making eye contact with a dumbfounded dachshund on the sidewalk across from her.

Dravus tower

When I sense brown trucks are in the neighborhood, I usually try to steer Mike up to the water tower on Dravus, where a couple of UPS routes seem to cross. The brown truck fumes linger around there, for some reason, because we’ve had multiple visits lately without actually seeing a brown truck in the vicinity. The last time I plowed right past the water tower without stopping, descending the hill on the other side and hustling pasts the play fields in the valley. Unfortunately, at that point we got caught in a sudden, heavy downpour of rain, freezing rain and sleet. Mike and I were drenched, and a long way from home.

That’s when my instincts kicked in. Before we reached Magnolia Village, I guided us on a serpentine course through the Pop Mounger Pool, Catherine Blaine School, the Magnolia Community Center and the Magnolia Playfields, and then past the Chase bank, the fire station, the automobile repair garage, the bus stop and the dry cleaner, right to the door of my Edward Jones broker Caroline. It made sense: It was a familiar place where it was dry and where I am always treated like a queen (meaning lots of high-quality treats). Only then did I find out the real reason I had been lured so strongly over the mountains (well, over the big hill where the water tower is) and through a fierce storm to this particular place: Caroline told Mike that Kevin, my recently retired UPS Guy, had actually been in her office recently as her client, and that he looked great. Good for him, I thought, but what about me and other Magnolia dogs, the ones he left behind with no bickies?

So close and yet so far…

But as the dark days of December wore on, I began to accept my fate. Brown trucks drove up our street, stopped right outside our door, and I slept right through. On walks, I saw brown trucks turning left and let Mike steer me to the right. Finally, on the day before Christmas Eve, I saw that same brown truck on Magnolia Boulevard. For two blocks, I pulled Mike toward it, and then directly into the paths of both the driver and her assistant as they hurried to make deliveries, neither making any contact with my pleading eyes. They must received a directive from headquarters, I figured, pressure from above to speed deliveries along, with no time for socializing. Amazon and other mega-clients demand it, or they might decide to buy some planes and trucks and deliver the boxes themselves.

But I digress. After I failed to get noticed in two more passes of the brown truck, I sat down on the sidewalk and stared back at it forlornly, waiting helplessly for a driver to provide some hint of recognition, disappointed when nothing came my way. When Mike told me to “leave it” and to follow him away from the truck, I didn’t argue. I realized that my  puppy-hood was really over. I didn’t believe in my own personal Santa Claus anymore, and I worried it would be a blue Christmas without him.

 

 

Chloë Makes Sense of Investing

Chloë soaks up advice from her broker.

When we drive to Magnolia Village on a Saturday morning, it’s usually to walk through the farmers’ market,  which is not my favorite thing to do (too crowded for my taste). But last week Mike and Heather had a different market to deal with, something they called the stock market. They had an appointment with my friend Caroline, who has two dachshunds of her own. She was going to give them information about retirement, which as I understand is something that happens in the distant future that allows Heather to stay home every day. This sounds good to me; I hate to see Heather spending time on weekends pouring over patient report forms when the two of us should be napping or throwing my ball around.

At the Edward Jones office, Caroline’s dog Ida greeted me with a bark and a growl, so we retreated to separate corners while Caroline explained things to Heather and got her feedback. Mike just nodded once in a while. As best as I could decode their conversation, Caroline told them they will definitely be able to afford to buy me gourmet-level biscuits exclusively for the rest of my life and then some. (Apparently it’s the calories, not the price, that keep Mike from giving me gourmet treats already. Yeah, right.)

Reaping the early rewards of financial planning.

When the meeting ended, Caroline gave treats to Ida and me, and Ida didn’t growl at me once.  That made everything fall into place in my mind: This investing business has its ups and downs, but if you stay calm and patient, you’ll be rewarded at the end. Makes perfect sense to me.

Chloë Has Her Coming-Out Parties

Puppy playtime at Ahimsa.

My life is all about socialization these days. There are so many things that I need to be exposed to before I’m six months old. Such as cats and dogs and rabbits and trains and boats and people of all kinds. Last week I met a cop (who was covering a suicide in Discovery Park, no less), college girls in weird costumes, a teenager with spiked hair, a garbage truck, a bus with a loud air horn and several motorcyles. And those are just a few of the ones I remember.

Memorial Day weekend was big for that kind of stuff. First off, Heather was around a lot; that was different. Normally I can count on more nap time when that happens, but on that weekend there was so much socializing that there wasn’t enough time for napping. (Maybe that’s why I’ve been a little grumpy all week.)

Chloë herds Tsavo, a Rhodesian Ridgeback.

First we went to my weekly Puppy Kindergarten class. It’s called a “class,” but they’re really not teaching me much there. Mostly it’s the teacher telling Mike and Heather and the other owners what they’re doing wrong at home, and the puppies playing.  I always get to play in the group with the puppies who are larger and more rambunctious, but it really doesn’t matter who they are, I am always the puppy in charge. I’m a benevolent despot, however, and so I allow all the puppies to receive lots of the little treats they use (the teacher gives out pieces of real chicken!). If the other pups are anything like me after one of those classes, there’s a lot of pooping going on all afternoon.

Then we went back home, where Mike and Heather had invited 10 of their SU sports-watching friends over to meet me. Well, to meet me and eat some of that slow-cooked pork that Mike was cooking. The aroma drove me crazy for the past two days.

Logan and Chloë share a quiet moment at her Pork and Puppy party.

I had never seen so many people crowd into this little house before, but everybody said that I handled it fine. Even when those kids Logan and Leah were all over me, I maintained my composure. I’m hoping to cultivate close, personal relationships that will pay off down the line in future walks and treats in sizes much larger than those tiny training bits.

The sun finally peeked out for a while on Memorial Day afternoon, and we drove to our secret playfield to meet my personal stock broker Caroline and her two dachshunds, Pinot and Ida.

Pinot

Pinot, a longtime admirer and fan of the blog, was the more fun of the two, but she’s still recovering from serious health issues, and she just can’t mix it up with me like my homeys Frank and Stan. Hey, I may be just a puppy, but I understand when to turn it down a notch. That’s the point of all this socialization stuff, right?

 Ida, though–that poor girl has some issues to work out. Caroline recently adopted her from another Magnolia family that couldn’t keep her anymore after a new baby changed their pack dynamic (I’m not dishing out  any more poop on that situation). Ida, who is about 4 years old, seems nice enough, and she’s a redhaired beauty to look at, but she’s obviously lacking in confidence and has limited social skills.

The lady Ida

I guess it’s just going to be up to me to help bring Ida out of her shell. I’m going to start slowly, but eventually I’ll have her out there butting heads with Frank and Stanley, no problem.

Not right now, though. I think I’ d rather wiggle around in my bed with the gifts I got at my Pork and Puppy party. Let’s just chill, and tackle the heavy stuff later.

Chloë shows off her party swag.