Senior year has not been easy for us. Between homework, cross-country practice, and college applications, Charlie is really overloaded.
Naturally, that puts a lot of pressure on me. As a co-dependent dog, I feel that I am the one keeping it all together.
So I stay vigilant, but subtly so.
Subtly, because I need to prepare Charlie to handle college without me.
Kerry and I have a special relationship. We are both quiet individuals who enjoy getting together at the bench and observing the world. Still waters run deep, that sort of thing.
Sometimes Kerry brings treats to the bluffs with him.
And of course that's quite exciting. But even when he forgets to bring treats, I do enjoy spending quality time together with him.
We appreciate one another.
I have not yet reported on a recent social event I had the pleasure of attending: the party to celebrate Dolce's second birthday.
As a birthday party habitué (having attended Dolce's previous birthday party), I knew the ropes, and quickly took up my preferred position under the refreshments table.
Soon the Frosty Paws were served. The birthday girl ricocheted between two dishes' worth.
The other guests also partook heartily.
After the singing and Frosty Paws, I stationed myself by the goodie bags. This being L.A., I had a feeling that that there might be a run on the gifting suite.
And, in fact, other guests had the same idea.
Luckily, there was more than enough swag to go around. Our thoughtful hosts even gave me an extra gift bag to bring to my friend Willy.
The party also afforded me an opportunity to muse about my personal growth. Whereas at last year's more raucous party I'd been by any measure a shrinking violet, this year I felt myself to be more of a dapper sophisticate. Perhaps this is the confidence that is said to come with age.
I have a new exercise program that optimally requires two attendants working with me.
The first one holds me stationary, while the second one walks down the block away from me. When the second one has gotten a distance away, he or she calls me and the other person releases me. I run like a piston, like a Champion of Fire, and I am very happy.
It's a great program because it works at any time of day. When we do the program at night I focus on my hamstrings. In the morning I like to work on my quads.
If you want to try it, feel free. In fact, I have a feeling that this may sweep the land. Just give me credit.
The Wall Street Journal recently ran a story about a new resort for dogs, Spa Paws Hotel, in Fort Worth, Texas. Spa Paws' offerings include flat-screen TVs, turn-down service at night, and an atrium with robotic squirrels as the floor show. The resort will be anchored by a wellness center where pets can heal their bodies and minds via Eastern medicine.
While I applaud dog owners who like to pamper their canines, this level of luxury does seem a bit indulgent in the current economic climate. Maybe Spa Paws could offer an option to forego the facial and give the money instead to an organization like No Paws Left Behind, which assists dogs whose families face foreclosure.
When I got to the bluffs the other morning, I could tell immediately that something was not right.
The day had begun like any other. I had crossed the wide expanse of Asilomar Boulevard towards the bluff, prepared to take on whatever the day might throw at me.
(Because, let's be honest, you never know what you're going to encounter. Admirers, construction trucks, dead squirrels, little children, dogs wearing muzzles who attack you and knock you over so that you're humiliatingly rolling through the dirt to get away from their cruel jaws and unkempt visages while visions of your demise roll past your eyes and you think, I may never get to lick my family again, and you think, oh god another bath looms because I've gotten dirty through no fault of my own, and you think, maybe I should reinvent myself as an attack dog....) But I digress.
In this case, it was something about the air, or maybe something in the stillness of the bluff, that put me on the alert and told me, "Lambie, be careful!"
So I investigated.
I stopped in my tracks when I realized that the Anna Walker Steere bench had been defaced.
Nosing around, I noticed a clue.
It was a cigarette butt.
Only a few days earlier, I had noticed this very brand of cigarette thrown behind some bushes.
Were the smoker and the defacer one and the same?
Was I assertive enough to do the right thing and ask the hard, probing questions?
Sometimes it feels like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I'm just one poodle mix trying to stand up to evil.
I can't say that they were very friendly when I approached them.
People are always chiding me for my preference for being picked up and held, as if there's something wrong with wanting to be close to the ones I love.
Well, today I met a guy named Murphy who feels the same way about his owner and is not shy about showing it.
After I sniffed him for a little while, he indicated that he wanted to be picked up.
His owner complied without embarrassment.
I love a dog who is not afraid to express his feelings.
Bruno and I were having a nice time playing.
Noticing that he is rather more sleek than me, I sought to normalize the situation by casually alluding to my epilepsy, and to the pheno barbitol that has caused me to gain weight.
I should have pulled out another excuse.
It turned out that Bruno too has epilepsy, and that he is also on pheno barbitol.
Obviously he has an exceptional metabolism.
