I got together with the boys a few weeks ago for a pre-birthday romp. All of us were otherwise engaged on our birthday proper, so we took advantage of this opportunity to marvel at how grown up we’re getting and how much Stan and I are starting to look like twins.
Stanley and Tiffany
Frank, on the other hand, takes after the other half of the family. That Frank, he’s his own guy.
Frank and Tiffany
It’s easy to see which one I take after.
Our heroine.
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:
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.
I hadn’t seen my brothers Frank and Stanley in a couple of months when we got together in the park last week. Turns out Frank had some kind of wart on his mouth and wasn’t allowed to socialize with other dogs (except Stan, of course) until he got rid of it. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to have him gumming my head and swapping spit if I could get warts from it. Yuck.
But it was great to see them after such a long time and do a little running around and wrestling with the guys. Stanley was into it; Frank also greeted me warmly, but he soon became preoccupied with sniffing the fields for mice and rabbits. I can do that any old day, so rolling around with The Big Man (Stan) was No. 1 on my agenda. In the video below, you can see how excited Frank is about wrestling when we haul our butts right past his nose. I can tell Frankie will be the deliberate, studious brother, while Stan is always cruisin’ for a bruisin’.
Don’t get me wrong. I love ’em both to death. And I admit that nobody’s ever going to accuse me of passing up a donut or a hamburger, either. But let’s call a load a load: Frank and Stan are downright huge. I weigh about 18 pounds, maybe. Frank weighs in around 30, and Stan is pushing 33! If the Green Bay Packers are short a linebacker for the NFL playoffs, Stan could fill the hole. And then some.
But c’mon guys, maybe it’s time to cut down on the rations. Even Groucho Marx took the cigar out of his mouth once in a while.
Chloë goes down to the sea in ships.
Heather and Chloë at Fishermen’s Terminal.
Chloë checks the horseflesh before laying down a bet at Emerald Downs.
Heather introduces Blue to Chloë.
Chloë practices sky diving in Discovery Park.
Chloë, swinging in the rain.
Chloë auditions for the Flying Wallendas.
Chloë vaults her brother Stanley (Andrew McGehee Photo).
Chloë and brother Frank audition for Dancing with the Stars and American Gladiators at the same time.
Chloë and Frank in a standoff (Andrew McGehee Photo).
Enough for today. I’m getting tired just thinking about these adventures again. Time for some treats and a nap.
Three puppies on a stick.
My third visit with my brothers Frank and Stanley went about like the first two: nonstop mayhem.
I have puppy play time at my puppy classes, but trust me: It’s nothing like this. Not only am I tired for two days afterwards, but black and blue. Those full-speed head butts and the chest-to-chest bumping does take something out of me. I haven’t heard the boys complaining, but, hey, they’ve got a little more padding than I have. Together, Frank and Stan outweigh me almost 30 pounds to 10, but those porkers can’t match my speed or stamina. And don’t forget: I can be a feisty little bitch.
Full-speed head butting.
So Mike tells me he tried out the movie button on his camera for the first time. I checked out his inaugural video before authorizing its distribution on the Internet; I had to make sure I was being shown from my good side. I let it go–not too bad for a first effort, but now I’d like to see him pay more attention to utilizing the full capabilities of the medium. Since Mike has recently read practically every dog-raising book in print, maybe now he can bone up on cinematography and develop my talents as a movie star. Then he can be a wizard, a true auteur. Meanwhile, click here to link to his maiden effort: a scant minute of the guys and I in action at an unspecified location in Magnolia (that must be kept secret lest Seattle Animal Control find out and put the secret spot under surveillance). Take this, Animal Control.
Flying tigers.
Brother Stanley tries to bite Chloë’s head off.
All new cars come with that new car smell. In fact, you can buy deodorizer things that hang from rear-view mirrors that smell like new car smell. (Those things are yucky, way too strong, if you ask me.)
Well, when I arrived in Seattle I had New Puppy Smell. At first blush, you’d think it would be pretty rank: an 8-week compendium of poop, saliva, urine, and uneaten bits of kibble. Au contraire; new puppy smell is a pleasant, gentle scent, non unlike a human baby (after a bath, of course).
No rubber ducky, just a lousy SU cup.
Unfortunately, as Heather noted upon returning from her business meeting last week, New Puppy Smell doesn’t last forever. And I have yet to see it in any auto supply store.
Apparently my NPS ended sometime while Heather was away. (Mike, needless to say, failed to notice.)
Thus I had my first bath. I started out in an empty bathtub, and then she filled it gradually with warm water. Wasn’t bad, as long as it stayed low. Then this big plastic cup splashes in; for some reason, I am not allowed to chew it. What fun is that? And what’s with this sudsy stuff?
Low-suds doggie shampoo won’t hurt delicate eyes!
I started to squirm. Heather had to call in Mike for distraction–i.e., treats. Once again, I have played my cards just right.
Soon enough, it was over. And I had to admit, Heather was right: I did smell a hell of a lot better. Until my brothers Frank and Stanley and I got together again, that is. Wait ’til you see that one; I’m editing it now. Suffice it to say that another bath may be in the offing.
Chloë: “I liked my bath, Heath!”
(L to R) Frank, Stanley and Chloë stake out their territory.
Finally got together with my bros Frank and Stanley. As regular readers may recall, the boys and I found out we share the same animal hospital (Elliott Bay), although under the new Obama health care plan we have different primary care physicians. The guys live with Tiffany and Andrew over on Queen Anne Hill, the next neighorhood to our east.
Dachshunds unleashed somewhere in Seattle.
We met in the middle, at Magnolia Park on the south side of Magnolia, overlooking Elliott Bay. Typically hoity-toity Magnolia, it’s a very old school kind of park (after all, it’s part of the original Olmsted park plan for Seattle), with defined paths and lots of green lawn. It was a great spot for resuming my wrasslin’ matches with the guys. We didn’t even need to sniff each other’s butts to recognize each other immediately, and then the guys and ran around like banshees (that’s Mom’s name, after all!).
Frank pins Chloë on the tarmac.
We must have caused quite a noisy ruckus, however, because after we had been there about 45 minutes one of the park neighbors blew us in to 911. At least that’s what I assumed happened when a truck from Seattle Animal Control (the kind that looks like a small tank and is used to pick up road kill) quietly pulled up on the path nearby. The two officials inside promptly reminded us that even three wild and crazy, 11-week-old dachshund puppies are required to be on leashes. Since none of us has yet learned a damn thing about correct leash walking, it took us about 30 seconds or so to get wound up into one tangled mess. Those Animal Controllers stuck around for a while, just to make sure we were going to remain in 100 percent compliance, so what had already been a fun party broke up early. I didn’t even have a chance to share any biscuits with the boys, let alone a libation or two.
Chloë turns the tables on Frank.
Until those killjoys spoiled it, however, my homeys and I were having one hell of a time. Clearly, I have some long-held (well, from four weeks ago) issues with Frank (remember F for furry) and Stan (remember S for smooth) that have yet to be fully resolved. Just typical brother-sister things–who’s going to be the boss. Each of the guys already outweighs me by more than two pounds, but I’m a lot quicker than they are. In fact, it’s still pretty easy for me to kick Frank around the block (not only does Frankie look the most like Mom, but he’s a sensitive mama’s boy in more ways than one). But that Stash, well, he shoulda been a bulldog. Once he fully grows into those paws, he’ll be smashing me around like an NFL defensive end sacking a quarterback. That’s why I had to sneak up and bite his ass a few times, just so he gets the message that I can sting when I need to. He better not forget it, that’s all I’m saying.
Frank: It’s not my fault!
Chloë goes airborne to get Stanley’s nose.
It was great to see them again. I’m sure we’ll be getting together again…certainly at the graduation ceremony for our upcoming puppy kindergarten classes, if not before. No doubt who the valedictorian will be.
Posted in A Dog's Life, Chloë's Excellent Adventures, Frank and Stanley
Tagged Chloë's Brothers, Frank and Stanley
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