Tag Archives: Chewy.com

Chloë Uncovers Further Rewards

Recent birthday girl.

When you’ve been around the game as long as I have, you learn that you win some, you lose some. And thus my favorite new fetch ball, discovered in front of the house barely three weeks ago, just as suddenly vanished, the victim of an apparent miscommunication between Heather and me about who would be carrying it. But no sooner did that happen that another, more mysterious and desirable ball dropped into my life.

Here’s what it looks like.

Restore Ultimate Foot Massager

Gnarly ball.

Mike got it so he could massage the bottom of his feet. He tried to use it while watching TV, taking his shoes off and rolling this ball under and between his feet. I was having none of that. I immediately decided it  was my ball, and I’ll do what I want with it. For example, I can chew on it, I can knock it around, I can push it under the coffee table and whine until somebody gets it for me. I can sit on the floor beneath the basket where I know it’s sitting and stare up at it. Lots of neat stuff.

Water trap.

Heather acknowledged it was my ball, and she advised Mike to get himself a second massage ball. Mike’s too cheap for that, however, so he and I now share the ball. He rolls it around under his foot, and I watch intently until he flicks it across the floor and I pounce. Mike’s not allowed to throw it, because this ball is so bouncy and hard that it will break something. That’s what Heather said, anyway. We try to comply by just rolling the ball along the floor, but even then, it takes some funny bounces, like into my water bowl.

So we’ll see how long this ball-sharing arrangement lasts. While this new ball has currently pushed all other balls, including the two that were Christmas presents from my Syracuse aunts, into the surplus toy bins, this tends to be cyclical. Only Wiffie has real staying power. Besides, Mike will no doubt lose interest, too, once he admits that, despite rolling the massage ball under his arches and the ball of his right foot twice a day, it still hurts.

Birthday munchies.

A bigger surprise this week was a belated and unexpected birthday present from my Syracuse aunts Susie and Debby. Inside a big box from my new favorite online store, Chewy.com, were two bags of Charlee Bears, including a new cheesy flavor, and one bag of premium jerky. These Charlees came not a moment too soon, too: The last time Mike went to Trader Joe’s, he saw no Charlees on the shelf. Meanwhile, our favored brand has redesigned it’s packaging, making it slicker, and added to its product line. I fear the days of cheap Charlees at TJ’s may be over. I’m glad to have a good supply, just in case.

Chloë Finds Eleven Heaven

Celebrating birthday #11 in her chair with Lamby, Ranger and Foxy.

Tampa Tom

I turned 11 years old this week. But like a fine wine (and with some fine whine), my life only gets better with age. Think of me as the Tom Brady of wirehair dachshunds, older but wiser, retaining legendary  athletic skills and getting better looking every day. My energy is constant and my coat is shiny.  I have but a few gray hairs here and there, and even that little spot between my shoulders has gotten thicker. It must be the cheese Heather has been doling out to lure me into my detested teeth-brushing every day.

Wiffie: Chloë Official Autograph Model

My routines remain the same. I still sprint after the ball whenever and wherever Heather throws it, deft at plucking it midair off the pavement or sniffing it out in the underbrush. I may stop after 15 or 20 throws instead of 100, but I’ve got other stuff to do on a walk. Sniffing out rabbits and squirrels, eating dirt, signing the guest book–important stuff! And when I get back home, I still goad Mike or Heather into tossing Wiffie around or tugging with me and Lamby, and I still leap into my camp chair with ease, albeit more of a head start. I still like to run downstairs just to roll around on the throw rug in the guest bedroom, and I still pull old toys out of their corner holding bin and strew them all over the floor just because I can. If I get the chance to do that with another dog’s toys, even better.

Awaiting bedtime snacks.

There’s no evidence of diminished brain function, either. My spirit remains as strong and stubborn as ever, and my internal clock still ticks accurately. Any time Mike or Heather forget any treat (downstairs bickie at 8:30 a.m., breakfast Greenie at 9, the 10 a.m. PBB, the 2 p.m. jerky, the post-walk, harness-off Charlee Bears or the two-part bedtime snack, my internal alarm goes off and I loudly call attention to it with a whine or two. No sundowning to worry about: Every night, when Mike says, “Let’s go to bed, Chloë!” I always know where to go, rushing right into my bedroom crate. Nobody has to draw me a map.

A last treat from Donna.

Oh, regrets? I’ve had a few, but then again–well, I’ll mention them  any time I want to! The only downside of my birthday week was finding out that Donna, my favorite UPS driver, will be leaving her delivery route to take an inside job and save her hurting knees. I respect that decision, although this will be my second heart-breaking separation from a Brown hero. Hopefully Donna’s eventual permanent replacement will be another dog lover who won’t need too much breaking in, although in this day and age I wonder how many more UPS drivers I’ll have to train. Continuity is out the window.

I know the mailman already visited on my birthday (I barked when the metal mail slot flapped, as I usually do to Heather’s chagrin)), and no birthday cards arrived with my name on them.  In fact, the only card I received came from Chewy.com. So my legions of fans will no doubt ask, Chloë, didn’t you do anything special to celebrate your birthday? No, not a thing. When you’re as young at heart as I am, every new day is its own celebration.

Chloë Cleans Lamby’s Clock

Groom gloom.

Not much is happening around here. Although Mike is getting steadily more mobile after his surgery, Heather is still doing most of the stuff Mike usually does, like the cooking, wiping down the tiles after a shower and taking care of me. Generally speaking, Heather’s doing a great job, although sometimes she goes a bit overboard on the grooming part, clipping my beard and turning me over onto her lap to brush my belly. That’s above and beyond, if you ask me. I never thought you’d hear me say this, but when is Mike coming back, anyway?

Still, I have managed to retain my good humor and jaunty countenance throughout, and if I ever get a little blue, I can always take it out on Lamby.

Resting with Lamby.

Look, I am not normally violent. In fact, whenever I encounter a new and larger dog on our walks, I am much more likely to cower behind Mike’s or Heather’s legs than I am to challenge the opposition. Small dogs, too, for that matter.

But when it comes to Lamby, well, that’s another story.

I like Lamby, I really do. Whenever there’s a choice of toys scattered around the room, I always go for Lamby. Sometimes I’d even prefer a good tug of Lamby with Mike even to knocking Wiffie around the kitchen and living room. As long as I get to latch my teeth onto Lamby’s smirky smile, I’m happy. And when Mike finally relinquishes his hold on the squeaky handle located below Lamby’s butt, I like to grab tighter on Lamby’s muzzle, shake her body up and down and smash her to the floor repeatedly, like a matador cracking a bullwhip back and forth. Whap, Lamby! Whap! Whap!

After early surgery.

My frequent mistreatment of Lamby is the main reason why, many times since my pal Lynn graciously bestowed Lamby upon me oh so many years ago, that Heather has had to wash Lamby in futile attempts to restore her original skin color, if not its luster. Sadly, it was not to be. The same could be said, alas, of Mike’s attempts at plastic surgery on Lamby’s scarred face with only a needle and thread, on neither of which has he achieved any degree of mastery. Lamby’s wounds were always easily reopened, and her stuffing began oozing out all over the living room rug.

Lamby II (left) & Lamby I: Who’s smiling now?.

It may have been this housekeeping aspect that prioritized the project, but I suspect it was really Mike’s aim of getting over the $49 level for free shipping on Chewy.com that finally sparked their action. In any event, one day a second Lamby arrived on my doorstep, hidden away in a box under an array of dog food, vitamins and treats. At first, Heather put both Lambys in my bed; to ease the transition, I supposed. But she needn’t have bothered. The new Lamby and its clean, soft, unpockmarked face were too strong a temptation; virgin territory, so to speak. I couldn’t wait to get my teeth around her nose and throttle her until the smile was wiped off her face and she squeaked in submission.

My original Lamby has been temporarily retired, perhaps to be sent to a spa in Florida for some rest, rehabilitation and Botox treatments, to return again with a bit less grit and stronger stitches around her nose, mouth and forehead. You can never tell if one day she might again be the fairest Lamby in all the land.