Lambiedog

A simple rubric

There's a group of men and their dogs who regularly walk along the bluffs together on Saturday mornings. As I approached one of those dogs last weekend, his owner warned, "He doesn't like to be sniffed."

Such a simple articulation;  such a profound truth:  Some of us like to be sniffed, and some of us don't. 

Respect those differences, and world peace will be within our ambit.  

Can't we all just get along?

Terra's amazing eyes

Ablutions

Bathing is such a pain.  Talk about stressful and undignified.

First the whole stand-in-the-sink-and-get-sprayed thing.  

As soon as I can get away, I run over to the sofa and perform calisthenics to try to get dry, while being on the lookout to make sure no one tries to get at me with a hairdryer.

Then I go hide under a towel and wonder what other indignities may come my way.

Formal portrait with Scout

Zachary was almost in the photo too, but something came up and he had to run out of the frame.

My body is a temple

I try to perform my rituals in harmonic convergence with earth, sea and sky.

Monday afternoon we all tried to act unworried about the potential pandemic

It was another gorgeous afternoon out at the bluffs.

I met a new guy, by the name of Prince.

He seemed carefree and brave in the face of the swine flu hoopla, but I noticed he brought a glass of wine with him, perhaps to fortify his nerves. 

Is it a dog park?

    Some people call my bluff a dog park, but it isn't really.  It's a place that old people like to come and sit, and young people like to come and make out, and middle aged people like to come and stand around and talk and watch the sun set while their dogs have a good time.

Where everybody knows your name

    Late each afternoon, I head out to the bluffs near my home to socialize and do some sniffing. There are some regulars that I can always look forward to seeing:   Winnie and Trudie, Zachary and Scout, Dolce, Wonka, Teddy, Buddy, CeeCee, Max, Molly, Harry and Sadie, Sparkly, Rosie, Bo and Luna.

Some of these dogs really go wild playing with each other, especially the puppies.

Occasionally I get involved; maybe run along for a bit.

But usually I prefer to go sniff around for ground squirrels,

or perhaps to stand around and think important thoughts.

Lambie: The early days

I think I'll start today by giving some background as to my earlier life.

My recorded history begins when I was approximately seven months old.  Some office workers downtown called Billy Criswell at Best Friends Rescue, to report that I and another dog  had been living under a dumpster in an alley for the past three or four months.  They knew, because they had been feeding us.  Billy cooked up some ground turkey, because he says that has the most appealing smell for dogs, and came downtown to lure us out.  Here's the picture he snapped of me and Seymour as we came toward him for the first time.  (I'm the one on the left.)

Billy took us back to his house.  Here's a photo of me in the car on the way.  I was a mess.  I looked like a cross between a Rastafarian and a bunny rabbit.  Along with other maladies, I had mange.  

I ended up spending several months boarding with a vet while I recovered.  By then my hair, which had had to be shaved, had grown out.

Billy posted a soulful photo of me on Petfinder.com, the dog adoption website, along with a flattering writeup that stated, "....Unbelievably and against all odds, [Lambie] turned out to be sweet, loving, affectionate, trusting and good with people and other dogs.  [He is an] all around perfect dog."  

Although he'd been calling me Chauncy, he made a strategic marketing decision to change my name in the Petfinders listing to Lambert, Lambie for short.  I think that suits me better, anyway.

Billy got a lot of interest from that Petfinders posting.  When he interviewed prospective families, I came too.    We soon found the right family for me.  This is a photo that Billy took of me leaving for my new home.