Tag Archives: puppy play

Chloë Hits Double Figures

It’s hard to believe, I know, but I celebrated my 10th birthday this week. Ten years! It seems like only yesterday that I was rolling around with Frank, Stanley and the rest of my littermates up in Monroe, WA. I wonder what has become of them all. I never hear from anybody anymore; the rest of my Cousins’ Club must have marked me lousy.

Chloë (center) and two of her sisters, 4 weeks old.

So at 10, I’m still feeling—and often behaving—pretty puppy-like. I’m as stubborn as ever, and as apt to take off after a squirrel or scarf up mud from the ground as I’ve ever been. I’m spry enough to jump in and out of my camp chair several times a day and play fetch for 50 or more throws at a time—if I happen to be in the mood and there are no interesting distractions nearby, that is. My weight holds steady at a solid 20 pounds, which means Mike can’t cut my daily rations even though he’ like to. I have a few gray hairs, sure, but none around my muzzle yet. And that spot between my shoulders where I seem to be losing some hair? No problem; if it gets any worse, Mike will give me a combover when he grooms me before dinner.

Chloë at 10.

Although I received no birthday cake and nary a  card in the mail, I did enjoy a little recognition that day. Mike and Heather’s friend Kevin from Syracuse sent Mike an email: “I see on my calendar that Wednesday is Chloë’s birthday. When I mentioned it to my cat Tucker, he yawned, wondering why anyone would celebrate the birth of a dog. But tell her that I wish her a happy birthday.”  What a magnanimous guy! I might have to pay Tucker a visit this summer and give him a growl.

My Aunt Susie in Syracuse sent her regards via telephone, and contributed all the gourmet chewy treats I enjoyed all week. There was also a nice voice mail from Yankee, the doodle dog who belongs to my pal Juneau George. I want to get up to Alaska to visit him before I’m deemed “too old to travel” or some other nonsense.

Unwrapping her present.

Even Mike and “No Presents” Heather came through. They gave me extra treats all day, and after my cheese-laden dinner that evening they delivered the piece de resistance: a double-barrel gift of a Racket Raccoon Mushabelly AND a gourmet dog chew  stick made from 100 percent, open-pasture, grass-fed beefhide. The chewy treat was tempting, but there was no doubt which one I squealed for: There is nothing like a fresh Mushabelly.

Although this Racket Raccoon Mushabelly was hard to get out of his box, Heather finally helped me extricate him, and when we hit the floor together Mike started his stopwatch to see how long it would take me to break Mr. Racket Raccoon.

 

Beefhide tastes so good!

Luckily for you, my faithful readers, I won’t subject you to every second of my tussle with the aptly named Racket. Mike soon realized that Racket shut up whenever I wasn’t applying constant pressure to his belly, so he stuck the chewy stick in my mouth and earned a respite for the six minutes or so it took me to grind up and inhale the gourmet chew. I must admit I enjoyed it, and I would have gladly gobbled down a second and third, but when none was offered I turned my attention back to Racket and proceeded to throttle him but good.  It didn’t take long. By the 27 minute and 43 second mark on Mike’s stopwatch, I had Racket’s innards scattered around the living room rug, his infernal voice box silent by his side.

Throttling Racket Raccoon; Innards to the left of me, voice box on the right, stuck in the middle with Chlo,

Mike dutifully picked up Racket’s innards and stuffed them back inside his torso, and the next morning Heather sewed up him back together and gave him to me, alleviating much of my angst over his disappearance. I chased Racket around the house, just like I do with Lamby and Wiffie, but without his constant cackle his appeal to me will soon wear off, just like it did with all my previous Mushabellies after I silenced them. I never pull any of them out of my toy boxes anymore.

Oh well. I guess I’ll just have to wait until my buddy Penny returns from Florida in March. She always has some fresh Mushabellies at her house.

 

 

Chloë Romps with Schatzi

Schatzi lies down.

Since Frank and Stanley travel to Arizona for the winter and miss our birthday, it makes getting together with them difficult. Besides, the boys got so huge that chasing and rolling around with them wasn’t as much fun as it used to be. That may be why I was so excited when  we arrived for my second meeting with the puppy Schatzi. Based on our first encounter two weeks ago, I would finally get a chance to dominate. And dominate I  did.

Schatzi  was already bigger and less wrinkly than she was two weeks ago, but she was still perfectly content to follow me around and try to do everything I did.  She had a couple of nice forward rolls. Although she couldn’t get my ball into her mouth yet, I let her lick it and sniff it a few times, so she understood what a treasure it was. I think she got it.

Surprisingly, I didn’t lose interest in playing with Schatzi in the whole hour we were there (including rest periods, during which I let Schatzi drink from my water bowl after I was done). When we got up to go home, I resisted. I would have preferred staying longer.

Schatzi and Chloë rub noses.

So Schatzi and I have met once inside her house and once outside in a secluded park, where we could prance around untethered for a while. I think Caroline, Mike and Heather are building Schatzi and I up to an actual walk, when we are on leashes and expected to do whatever our owners tells us. I believe I’m a little further along on this concept than Schatzi is, although lately Heather might dispute that. She and I seem to be having increasing conflict on behavioral issues. I will  have to address that in my next thrilling installment.

Chloë Spreads Some Joy

Chloë and Kiki looking for trouble.

Chloë and Kiki

Last Saturday, my pal Lynn picked me up and took me over to Kiki’s house while Mike and Heather went downtown and froze their butts off at a Mariners game. Lynn called ahead and asked Heather to send some toys over there, because Kiki didn’t have any toys. I can’t relate, but I brought  a bag of toys with me.

In addition to some of my own, I brought along a brand-new autographed Wiffie to give to Kiki as a present.  Except when I got there, I was having so much fun playing Wiffie in the long, wooden-floor hallways of her house that I changed my mind. I wanted to keep this Wiffie for myself. Although she knocked it around while I was there to chase after, Kiki’s never going to pay any attention to Wiffie when I’m gone. Kiki can’t even get Wiffie in her mouth like I can. What kind of fun is that?

So by the time we had to leave, I was certain that it was wrong to leave Wiffie behind. Lynn had to convince me it was the right thing to do. So I left it there, reluctantly.

Kiki and Chloë square off.

Kiki and Chloë wrassle.

Otherwise, I had a good time. Kiki was really into wrestling this time – and I played along to a point. I’d wrestle with her for 15 to 20 minutes, but sooner or later I’d be tempted by the scent of something or other, and I’d walk off the playing field to forage. Kiki leaves food all over the place.

More than Wiffie, Kiki loved the colorful, squeaky hedge hog, Hedgie, which I had long ago relegated to the hall closet only to see it resurrected for travel duty. Kiki couldn’t get enough of making Hedgie squeak.  I finally had to put a stop to it; to my ears, that noise is worse than those Mushabellies toys, which I also feel compelled to silence. Too much damn squeaking for me.

Hedgy

Hedgie

In fact, I wish Lynn had left Hedgie with Kiki and let me take Wiffie home instead. Hedgie went back in the closet as soon as we got him home.  Maybe the next time I visit Kiki we can do a swap.