My friend Victor took this photo last night on a walk with his Weimaraner, Roscoe at Congressional Cemetery, (6/23/08) as rainbow formed behind him. His original caption was “Roscoe Ponders the Passing Storm” but we have since decided he was watching Abby cross the Rainbow Bridge — he was her witness.

<

p style=”margin-bottom: 100px;”>Thanks Roscoe and Victor!

It is with the heaviest and saddest heart that I write that my adventures in Abbyism have now come to an end. At approximately 3:45pm, Saturday, June 21st my little one experienced a stroke that left her neck twisted and her right side paralyzed — leaving her unable to walk or even stand on her own.

I always promised her that when her illness made it impossible for her to go on with a quality life, that we would seek a quiet and peaceful end. And even though she did not know what had happened to her and why her body would not respond how it always had, she still fought to be with us, it ultimately proved to be too much for her to overcome. With the aid of our kindly emergency vet, Abby crossed the rainbow bridge around 5:30pm.

She weathered the many storms of my life, and still greeted each day with a stretch and a wag of her tail. She was my rock, without my dear, dear Abby, I would not have made it through moving so far from home — just the two of us, the loss of my father, the breakup of my marriage, finally graduating from college and owning our first home – complete with her own fenced backyard and doggy door. There are a million other little events that she happily shared; picnics and parties, walks, runs, trips across country in planes, cars and trucks. She’s been in every state on the eastern seaboard, from New York south to Florida, she’s attended the Orlando International Fringe Festival, was in a short movie and had her own blog category since 2003.

I will miss her not so quiet snoring and sleeping squeaks, her voracious appetite for McDonalds cheese burgers, milk bones, and pretty much all food prior to January. I miss her trying to wake me up an hour earlier just so she could eat her breakfast on her schedule and not mine. I will miss her willfulness, her diva-ness and her out and out love of life, and of us. I will miss the way she turned her head when you said “Milkbones” as if to say ” did you just say my favorite word… didja? didja? didja? You DID say my favorite word – gimme! GImme! GIMMEEEEEEE! ” I will miss her fancy Beagle attitude, and even the cold shoulder she gave me when picking her up from the kennel after a week’s vacation that she could not go on. I had to work to get back in her good graces with Milkbones, and lots of them.

But most of all, I will miss the crazy, energetic “I’m so happy you’re home” race track/zippidity dance through the house she performed when I came home – whether I was gone all day or just a half hour. She let me know in no uncertain terms that I was special to her. How could one have a bad day with a greeting like that? No matter how bad my day had been, it brightened when I came home and she greeted me. She let me know that I was special to her.

Yesterday morning, when I awoke I went looking for her. I was halfway down the stairs when I realized I would not find her. I imagine we will both continue to do this until it sinks in that she is gone. Her beds are still in their places – in the den, in the basement and in our bedroom, next to my side of the bed. These will have to move, put away. But not just yet, I’m not ready for that final acknowledgment. Perhaps, in a few weeks, when we get her ashes back, it will be time to put her things away for good. Right now, I’m just missing her.

Its been several months since Abby’s diagnosis of liver and pancreatic cancer. And several months since we made the tough decision to not treat the disease with chemotherapy as it would not cure it, only prolong her life a few months at best. Since the end of March, Abby’s been on a daily medical cocktail of prednisone, mirtazapine and metroconizole (sp?) to stimulate her appetite, combat nausea and vomiting.  Unfortunately, the nature of cancer is to steal food from the body, to feed the tumor. This means our girl has gone from a healthy and sleek 28 pounds down to a skeletal 18 pounds. I won’t share photos because its just too sad. Abby should be remembered as the glorious and beautiful girl that she has been for last 14 years.

Thus far, the drugs have been working, along with a liquid vitamin that she can’t seem to get enough of. In the last few weeks, Tim and I have seen a return of the beagle of old — when certain foods are around she just goes into wild over drive – nothing will stand in her way of getting . that . food . Foods such as Panera Bread’s upside down pineapple muffin, blueberry muffins, strawberry shortcake with whipped cream, banana pudding, Chipoltle chicken, Vietnamese grilled chicken, beef tenderloin have all spurred the Beaglette to go wide eyed in anticipation and dive head first into whatever container holds the nirvana she smells. You could say that, she’s a dessert queen after my own heart.

So while she’s skinny, and she’s still with us. These days she sleeps a lot more than before, but that could be due to being 14, and she’s still has a happy little wag for everyone she meets. In the last few weeks, she’s lost some of her listfulness that plagued her early on and with that the return of some of her diva like behavior. That tells me, she’s still with us and still wants to be here. Its all we can ask for.

We’ve been home invaded. Not just once, but everyday for the last three days! I don’t know what we’re going to do…

The first time was Sunday afternoon, I was getting ready to go to a birthday party for our neighbors twin’s when I noticed the uninvited guest boldly coming towards me up the basement stairs. He quickly turned tail and ran under the basement staircase where I could not reach him, but I could hear him fumbling around in the underbelly of the house. This was not a good thing. Thanks to my friend Nancy, who was able to get him to vacate the premises.

My second invasion took place Monday evening as I was watching the Showtime series Dexter. I kept hearing a noise that was not consistent with the action on the TV. It was a steady “Meow, meow, meow.” It took three instances of the meows to actually alert me to the home invader’s presence. Abby, who was snuggling with me on the couch, was completely unaware that there was an uninvited guest in the house. Some watch dog she’s turned out to be! Furthermore, she stayed snuggled under the blanket we shared, making me the one to chase said “guest” through the house and down the basement to get him finally leave.

Last night, I thought I was being smart by keeping the door to the basement closed, as this has been our invader’s entry point for each incident. However, this did not work for Abby, who uses the doggy door in the basement to come and go into the backyard. So about 8:30pm, I relented and opened the basement door so she could come and go at will. About a half hour later, I heard the same sound from Monday night, lo and behold, my intruder was back. Abby this time had the presence of mind to stop snuggling and glare at the intruder. She didn’t actually get up or do anything, that was my job, AGAIN, it seems.

So now what? Well, when we bought the doggy door a few years ago, we got one that was pretty high tech that came with a sensor for Abby’s collar and one for the door. The sensor would only open the door for any critter wearing the matching sensor on their collar, this keeping intruders out and  Abby’s been pretty good at managing the cats and squirrels in the yard, so we never replaced the battery on the collar sensor when it died. So then we thought, well if she’s managing the cats and squirrels in the yard, then does she really need to have that dead battery sensor around her neck? No? Okay, so we removed that from her collar.

You would think the solution would be simple, right? Just replace the battery in the collar sensor, put the sensor back on Abby’s collar and our home invasion problems should be solved. Right?

Now we just need to find the #@$!&%* collar sensor.

Abby’s latest adventure is going to work as a junior, junior, junior engineer on Tim’s design team. OK, so she’s really not a junior engineer, however, she does go to work with him several days a week. This is especially wonderful because:

• Tim’s office is VERY dog friendly
• It keeps her engaged and among people
• Allows her to eat at several different intervals during the day instead of once or twice a day
• Gives her time with her best buddy (Tim)
• She and Tim also get a bit of exercise as they walk Goose Poop Lake (their name, not the real one) at least once a day.
• Lastly, it makes me feel better, because I know she’s not alone — someone is watching out for her.

So far she’s relearned that she loved tomatoes and today, she’s discovered an interest in Tuna Salad.

So the prednisone worked yesterday and we were able to get Abby to eat!

Her tally for the day:

• 4 Beggin Strips – 2 at Tim’s office, 2 at home
• 6 Milkbones — 2 at Tim’s office, 4 at home *
• 2 T. Ground beef from our lasagna dinner
• 1/2 a cup of actual dog food (the expensive stuff)*

* denotes that the little Bon-Bon Queen requires us to put the food in the palm of our hands and allow her to dine from that, rather than stick her head into the food bowl.

Yes, that’s right, she’s just too good to eat from a bowl like any common canine!

A Beagle that won’t eat?

Until recently, neither had I. I’d heard the lack of appetite was a primary trait of canine cancer, but I did not want to believe this was something that could happen to her. You know, Abby, the glutton that has lived with me for 14 years. Abby ever not want to eat – pshaw — not in my lifetime…

Since January, Abby has gone from eating her twice a day meals with gusto, to leaving entire food bowls completely ignored. Initially, we thought she might be bored with the senior formula she’d been eating for the last few years. So we tried another fancy, expensive brand. And then another and another and finally canned dog food. Each time with each brand, it was the same thing: First day– she loved it; the second day: she wouldn’t touch the stuff. And then, she skipped eating for a day and a half. Something was not right in Beagleville. It was then we began the odyssey of discovering that she indeed had cancer.

Last week the vet prescribed an appetite stimulant and said Abby could eat anything and everything, up to and including Mickey D’s hamburgers! You’d think the Beagle would be over the moon – a pure milk bone diet? All the human food she wanted? To the old Abby, this would have been a dream come true, to the Abby of here and now, it interested her very little. Each day we deal with a very finicky dog that requires hand feeding.

We visited the vet today and happily learned she had not lost any weight during the last 2 weeks, even though it’s been a struggle to find things that she will eat. Today, the vet prescribed Prednisone and Tim says she ate a pretty hearty mid day snack. Crossing our fingers that this new medication helps.

Even though I have evidence in front of me daily, I’m still hard pressed to believe I have a beagle that won’t eat.

Almost 14 years ago I was eagerly awaiting April 1, 1994 — it would be the day I brought home my child — the one that picked me when she was just 2 weeks old, the one that would truly make me an April’s fool.
I remember reading all the how to manuals, all the books on bringing home your new puppy – what to do, what not to do. I remember blowing a fortune at Petsmart on a dog crate, puppy training pads, toys, a comb, puppy shampoo and puppy chow. All in preparation for my little one’s homecoming. As the weeks went by, my anticipation grew. Would I be a good mom? I couldn’t wait to find out. And then the day came. It was a Saturday and my girl friend Jamie drove me to the breeder’s house to pick up my new bundle of joy.
I hadn’t had a dog since 6th grade – 1976 — that was almost 20 years ago. Would I even know how to care for her, train her, love her? Amid the daily, sometimes hourly power struggles we had over who really was the alpha female in the pack, I might have gotten mad and frustrated with her, but I always loved her. And then, after a mere 7 years, she settled into being a good dog.
So its been 14 good years for us. We’ve been through a lot together – we’ve moved 7 times in 14 years and lived in 4 states. She truly has been my Dear Abby – without her, I don’t know that I would have gotten through my father’s death, my divorce and finishing my degree. She’s been the only real constant for over a 1/3 of my life. She’s taught me so much about life and love – I can only hope that what she got from me was half as good.

Abby, the diva beagle

And now… she has… come close so I don’t have to say it out loud, she has pancreatic and liver cancer. Its been several weeks of back and forth to 3 different vets, medications, x-rays, blood tests, ultrasound and needle biopsies. Abby’s worn out, I’m heartbroken. Seems the joke’s on us — now that we know exactly what it is — there is no cure. There are only treatments to give her a few “good, quality months”, but no cure.
I’ve been struggling with what to do — do I put her needs first or my own? Putting her through the treatment of pills, injections and chemotherapy for a few more months of quality life are not for her — they would be for me. So I could have a precious few more moments with the one I love. With Tim’s help, i’ve decided to not be selfish and do the kind and gentle thing. To forgo treatment and let her be in hospice. Her vet will make sure we have the meds so that she’ll be comfortable. There will come a time when I will have to do the responsible thing, and let her go. When her quality of life is no longer good, when I can see the pain in her face and hear her wimper as she tries to move — I will have to love her the most right then and let her have the eternal sleep.
Until then, I will cherish my time with her.

For Christmas, Abby decided to sport a new look – a Brazilian. Women who wax will immediately know what I am talking about. We discovered this new fashion statement shortly before the holidays as Tim was playing with Abby, when she went into her submissive routine and flopped on her back… and there it was, Abby’s latest “hot spot” project – bald, bald, bald.

Dog owners know that a “hot spot” is an area on a dog’s body where (for reasons not understood by me) they feel compelled to chew their fur off down to the skin. (Some say its nerves.) For the past 6 months or so, it was a single spot on her tail. That has now seemingly grown back in and looks normal.

Her new hot spot “down there” has completely grossed Tim out. While I’m not pleased that Abby feels compelled to create hot spots, I do find her choice of location rather funny. Most people are familiar with the conversation fodder she has engendered over the years, but recently, this turn of events has been most amusing. Mark this as one more adventure in Abbyism.

I won’t go into great detail, but let’s just say that recently Abby chomped down on my right hand and punctured (with one of her canine teeth) the very fleshy and tender region on my palm that connects to my thumb.
Here are the pertinent facts:
Yes, it is painful and the affected part is swollen to 1.5 times its normal size.
Yes, I am right handed.
Yes, I did go to the doctors.
Yes, I am on antibiotics.
Yes, I got a new tetanus shot.
Yes, the spot where the needle went in is very sore.
Yes, I look like dork wearing the sling the doctor so nicely provided.
No, they do not have the sling in basic black. (I asked)
Yes, I’ll be fine, if slightly less able for a few more days.
And yes, I am reminded why opposable thumbs are such a big deal, having lost the use of my right one for a few days.

A dear friend passed this morning at 1 am, he was young, by everybody’s standards
– he’d just celebrated his 5^th birthday (his 35^th in dog
years) on November 17^th. He came into this world with a little less
than most – missing some toes on his hind paws and only one testicle, but all
in all, he was a big (130 lbs.!) sweet boy, golden haired and golden eyed, with a warm, trusting, mischievous personality that endeared people and animals alike to him. He loved to play ball and tug ‘o war with his rope toy, he loved strawberry ice cream, hot dogs and pancakes — all the things that just aren’t good for a dog. He was the apple of his “father’s” eye, and the best “little brother” a guy could have. His reluctant girlfriend will miss his attempts to make him notice her.

It was discovered very late yesterday that Buddy had cancer, and had less than a 10% chance of surviving, and so in loving kindness, he was allowed to seek his eternal sleep. So I say a sad farewell to Buddy, the yellow Lab. You will be missed.

In a world where change happens at the speed of light, and people reel from what has been coined “Future Shock,” there is that strange peace of mind that comes from knowing that one of your life companions will always do what is expected of them, or at least, what is in their nature to do.

For example: Abby has always been a garbage picker – she started her life of crime at the tender age of 4 months by knocking over her first trash can. She was no mere thrill seeker, there was a purpose to her crimes – the search for extra food. Soon, it did not matter how tightly the lid was attached, or how sturdy the plastic, she became the master trash can lid cracker. I can image the glorious bounty of old food, and wrappers that she felt just awaited her within those trash cans in my kitchen. In my various attempts to foil her I have installed doors where there weren’t any (and in most cases, shouldn’t need to be), placed the trash behind pantry doors, and finally employed the godsend of all kitchen appliances (for me at least)- a garbage disposal. The more food that went down the drain, the less that went in the trash, therefore, ipso facto, the less temptation of the dog to engage her trash tipping ways.

Abby’s been my faithful (if piggy) companion for 10 years, so you would think I had learned my lesson all those years ago, uh huh, sure I know how to Abby-proof a house. So it was with great surprise this morning when I was getting ready to leave for work when I spied Abby greedily tearing and licking at the paper towel and muffin wrapper that had held the crummy remains of my blueberry muffin breakfast that she oh-so-carefully and oh-so-sneakily retrieved from the trash.

As I yelled “Aaaaabbbbyyyy! Nooooooo!” she tucked her tail between her hind legs and then with the most pitiful “what did I do wrong” expression I’ve seen on her little face, she ran away from me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You see, she was only doing what is in her nature to do. I was the one who failed. While I may not have learned all the ways to foil her food thieving nature, it is rather comforting to know, that she remains the same dog that adopted me all those years ago.

Its no surprise to anyone who has known me for a while that I color my hair. In the past year, its been blonde, light brown and now strawberry blond with highlights. I’ve been coloring my hair in one way or another since I was 14 … 10 if you count my days as a guinea pig for my mother’s cosmetology license.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve looked at Abby with some new eyes, pondering: if I can color my hair, and some men color their hair, and we’ve all seen at least one pink poodle in our lives, why can’t the Pigger do color? Now, I’m not talking about wild pink, purple or even blue, just an enhancement in a very small and targeted area — her face. And its not like I’m the first person to think about coloring my dog’s hair (See: What You Always Wanted to Know About Coloring Dogs…But Didn’t Know Whom to Ask!). You see, the little miss is turning 10 years old next month and she’s starting to go white in the face, mostly her eyebrows and the area directly below her eyes and her cheeks, (See the "before" pix) all of which used to be a lovely light golden brown color. (See the "after" pix) For anyone who has seen her lately, she certainly doesn’t act like a 10 year old (fat and sluggish) but she is starting to look like an older dog.

I’ve seen women on makeover shows or in magazines, go from gray haired and haggard to vibrant and younger looking with just a little bit of help from Miss Clairol, wouldn’t the same hold true for Abby? I can just imagine the new bounce in her step, or the swagger in her stride as she strolls through the neighborhood, sans the white facial fur, with a new luxuriously colored and conditioned face of tawny brown fur. Oh the compliments she would receive, she would be queen of the world – until of course, the color either grew out, faded or do what she does oh so well… shed – all over the darn place. Then we’re back to square one, and color maintenance. Ugh! The line of demarcation, the hair color splatters, the scalp tingling. Oy, I don’t know if she can take it.

Before	After recolorization

Heck, if TNT can recolorize old movies, why can’t I recolorize my dog?

On second thought, the application process would probably be a nightmare, especially in delicate areas such as above and below the eyes. She barely sits still to be petted, hardly tolerates getting a bath and is an absolute beast about doggie manicures and pedicures. Perhaps this is a disaster in the making. Guess this is one dog who is going to have to deal with her white hair, er, fur… or rather, her owner will.

The most important aspect of Abby really is not how she looks (although, most folks think she looks MUCH younger than 10) but that she is still very active, healthy and happy. And she is.

For many years there has been the ongoing debate about whether it’s a good idea to allow your dog to sleep with you. This most recently surfaced when Cybersane, Delegatrix and I read and cracked up over an online article on this very topic. This is a behavior question I’ve struggled with since I brought my little Beagle buddy home 9+ years ago. I’ve heard that allowing your dog to sleep with you is a sign of weakness, that it discourages her independence
and that my role as her alpha leader will be eroded if I allow her to sleep in my bed .

Let me set the record straight, my alpha leader status is constantly shifting, depending on the following 4 prevailing conditions:

1. If I have goodies on me
2. Whether or not she is wearing her gentle leader
3. If she is wearing her bark collar
4. If she feels like obeying me or not

If all these conditions are met, then, yes, I am the alpha leader of her 2-person pack. Miss any one of these aforementioned conditions, especially #1, and my status is iffy at best. Which means at different times of her life, Abby has alternately slept with me, and not slept with me. (Aside: During my 4 years of marriage I was forced to choose between her and my ex as
my sleeping partner. Obviously, Abby won the longevity test.)

These days, she’s a regular bed guest, happily burrowing under the covers to curl up behind my knees. She may not always start out in my bed, but at some undetermined point in the night, she decides its more comfortable/warmer/snugglier where I am and joins me. On certain nights, for what I’m sure she views as minor infractions, she has been unceremoniously kicked out of bed. (e.g. snoring/squeeking

– yes, I SAID “Squeeking” –

loud enough to wake the dead, REM cycle rabbit chasing) Speaking of snoring, just like those with spouses whose snores have become too unbearably loud, I occasionally have to shake Abby awake to get her to stop. The great thing about a dog though is while she may give me a dirty look for waking her up, she’s fast asleep in a matter of seconds, not minutes.

So, is it right or wrong that she sleeps in the same bed that I do? I don’t think I really care all that much, anymore — for cripes sake, she’s almost 10, I think she’s earned some slack and comfort. And it is nice to have her snugglies on a cold winters night. My only compliant, is that she’s recently begun shedding her summer wardrobe for a winter coat all over my new flannel sheets!

You know there’s something terribly wrong when you, who have a voracious appetite, only finish half your dinner, and then turn your nose up at breakfast. And then to placate someone who cares for you, you attempt to eat a little something only to have it double whammy you. Such is what I am going through right now; just not quite in the manner you might think. A pattern is slowly beginning to emerge. In recent years, it seems that each time I go out of town and leave Abby at a kennel, she comes home with tummy troubles, usually within 3 -7 days of coming home.

It all started last week when she refused to eat some spilled blueberries. I make mention of this, because as most know, Abby rarely refuses any sort of food. I thought it odd, but she is getting up there in age, and I wondered if she wasn’t becoming a more responsible eater, less of a glutton (ha!) Then someone suggested that it just might be sympathetic anorexia for Mary Kate (Olsen) and Abby is putting her little paw down her throat so she can keep her girlish figure. But Abby doesn’t even know Mary Kate, so that’s not it. Besides she just doesn’t give up food, eaten or already eaten just because of sympathy, for anybody.

So now, the little miss is spending the day at the very expensive Vet’s. Let’s hope its nothing more than a stomach virus or some such malady. Lets also hope the bill doesn’t top $300.

Most folks who have met Abby will tell you she’s a friendly little dog. Okay, she’s a really, really friendly, attention seeking, gotta be the ‘center of attention’ pain in the a@! sometimes, but that is one of the things about her breed that I was attracted to: Beagles are friendly dogs.

I unwittingly did a major “disservice” to her as a puppy as I did not do my job as alpha pack leader when it came to teaching her the social graces whileamongst other dogs. (To those who don’t have dogs, that’s proper socialization with other dogs and creatures of that ilk.) Some might say I didn’t do a very good job of socializing her with humans as well, as she can be a bit over bearing in her quest for attention. I admit it, I didn’t do much of anything to socialize her with other dogs — Hence:

• She didn’t know the joys of a Doggie Park until well into middle age
• Its hit or miss when she has had forced “play dates” meaning, we were going to someone’s house who also had a dog
• Abby gets along with neutered male dogs better than female dogs (spayed or not) but not by much
• She loves to stay in our backyard, we are not afraid of her hanging outside since the house has a fence from I love dog friendly all around

Oh the horror, and the embarrassment for the both of us. So the outcome of this lack of social skills is that as we are out for our daily constitutional and come upon another dog, Abby displays poor doggie manners.

• She becomes very excited as we approach other dogs (i.e. it’s not “cool” to show too much emotion) by jumping and straining her leash to get to the other dog
• Yips and howls at other dogs as we approach from behind. I guess this
  can be construed in some doggie circles as “catcalling” and is a no-no in
  upper class circles.
• Goes right for the old “butt-sniff” in effect saying “Wazzzz up?”
  skipping the more proper “face-sniff” first introduction
• Once she has “sniffed” her hello, she has the temerity to then ignore
  the “sniffee” and lavish all her cuteness and attention to the other dog’s
  human.
• Inappropriately sniff’s the other dog’s human for potential snacks –
  remember she’s a food hound

So it should come as no surprise that after almost a year in our neighborhood,
her reputation as a poorly mannered, low class dog has become established, and
now she is being snubbed by other dogs as we go for our walks.  Just this
morning a Chow “cut” her, meaning she gave her the “persona-non-grata”
look away as our paths crossed.  Her owner could not have been more embarrassed
and apologized profusely.  Later in the walk, a little Pomeranian walked
right by without so much as look in poor Abby’s direction. What was Abby’s
response to this lack of attention?  Did she retreat to her bed when we
got back and sulk?  Well, yes and no — she is Queen Abby after all, so
she did go and flop first on my bed, and then reluctantly, when yelled at, go
to her own bed.  But, sulk or get depressed?  Hardly –  she’s
one of those dog’s that knows what ever happened, it’s not her fault or her
problem.

Guess she’s okay with being a low class dog. But I have to wonder, does all this make me a low class human?

Let’s face it, Abby does have it pretty darn good when it comes to living the life of Riley, except for the recent under feeding incident that she won’t let me forget [it’s another story for another time] this dog has it pretty good. Let me count the ways:

•  Her own fleece lined bed
•  My undivided attention (no kids to compete with)
•  Sofa and bed privileges
•  Takes
  frequent car trips to exotic locations (well, exotic to her is anyplace that’s not home)
•  Her own personal manicurist and hairstylist (ok, so she and I both hate this role I play, but necessary if she’s to be the well groomed dog about town…)
•  Annual Birthday Pig Out (see Abby Turned 9)
•  Lots of “Aunts & Uncles” to tell her how cute she is
•  She has me and I have her

Ok, so Abby doesn’t talk (although if she did, life would be so much easier…) but this is just another good Friday morning snicker…

A guy sees a sign in front of a house: “Talking Dog for Sale.”He rings the bell and the owner tells him the dog is in the backyard. The guy goes into the backyard and sees a black mutt just sitting there.

“You talk?” he asks.

“Sure do.” The dog replies.

“So, what’s your story?”

The dog looks up and says, “Well, I discovered my gift of talking pretty young and I wanted to help the government, so I told the CIA about my gift, and in no time they had me jetting from country to country, sitting
in rooms with spies and world leaders, because no one figured a dog would be eavesdropping. I was one of their most valuable spies eight years running. The jetting around really tired me out, and I knew I wasn’t getting any younger and I wanted to settle down! So I signed up for a job at the airport to do some undercover security work, mostly wandering near suspicious characters and listening in. I uncovered some incredible dealings there and was awarded a batch of medals.”Had a wife, a mess of puppies, and now I’m just retired.”

The guy is amazed. He goes back in and asks the owner what he wants for the dog. The owner says, “Ten dollars.”

The guy says, “This dog is amazing. Why on earth are you selling him so cheap?”

“Cause he’s a liar. He didn’t do any of that shit.”

Few things in life bother Abby so much that her normally ebullient wagging tail is lowered, much less tucked tightly underneath her. This morning we discovered something that can take the “wag out of her tail.”

Each morning Abby gets a walk, and it is her “time” to take care of personal business. Normally, we will start the walk behind our building, go along near the condos and out to the main drag for a 2-mile loop. This morning started no differently, but Abby’s nose got wind of something, and so we went a little further into the condos than we normally would. This detour took us past a parked SUV. I didn’t think much of it, but as we passed by it on the way back, some how we triggered the SUV’s motion sensor and it’s alarm system went off – very loudly and repeatedly. So unexpected was this (and AT an ungodly 6 AM ) – we reacted accordingly– Abby managed a leap of about 3 feet in the air and her tail promptly went from full mast straight up, to cowering underneath her belly, and looking nervously around. Me, I dutifully performed the “glued to the spot for a second startled look thingy” and then moved on.

So as we walked, poor Abby, her little tail remained docked tightly beneath her tummy. No amount of coaxing, petting and reassuring on my part gave her the desire to raise her tail to its upright and locked “happy” position until we got to our front door again. I know it’s not really all that funny, but it was funny to see this little dog walking with her tail tucked under her for an entire 2 – mile walk. Its an image that is burned into my mind, and I’m still snickering over it.

Ah, the abuse she has to put up with from me!

Tonight I walked in the door at 7 pm. Abby’s ready and rarin’ to go — she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to go outside first or eat. Not wanting to go out later, I drag her out then.

That accomplished, its time to bound up the stairs to go do her favorite thing in the whole wide world– E-A-T. Back inside, I get her food, and on command she lays down, (its the ONLY time she ever obeys me) all the while she’s slobbering wildly in anticipation, and I get her to do this “tremors” thingy that is probably more like torture to her, but heck, I takes my fun where I finds it. In less than the time it takes me to walk out of the kitchen, she has scarfed her dinner and is looking for more. Not so unusual for Abby, right? Right.

So I go to change out of my work clothes, and while I’m only 20 feet away, I hear this sound, that can only be described as the pantry door being nudged open by a beagle nose, and the MilkBone box being dragged off the shelf. Then the sound of a little beagle eatting Milk Bones as fast as she can, because she knows I can hear her and she has very limited gobble time left. You should have seen the “Who me, what was I doing?” look on her face when I came back into the kitchen and caught her red “pawed” in the Milkbones box… Yeah, right… Guilty- Schmilty

So, most people who have ever met Abby, know the one true truth about her — her favorite 1st, 2nd and 3rd things in the world are food, food and more food. I have warned people that Abby can, will, and most definately get to food if you leave it within paw’s reach. She will get to it even if it’s just out of paw’s reach, but perhaps within standing on her hind legs or jumping reach.

So for Thanksgiving I made it a priority to tell everyone, little kids included:

1. Do not feed Abby human food, its not good for her

AND

2. Do not place food close to the edge of the table or counter- place it as far away from the edge as possible.

to no avail…

Offense #1: “Someone” left a full plate of crab dip on a chair seat. Boy, oh boy did she go to town on that one. She loves the rich, creamy, crabby, cheesy stuff. Sadly, it doesn’t love her…and we smelt how it doesn’t love her the next day– all day long…

The most heinous of crimes: Ever see the commercial where a guy is entertaining and he sets a WHOLE ham out on the dining room table? Then see the host’s Jack Russell Terrier chowing down on said ham — cut to the host in the kitchen washing off the parts of the ham that had dog lips and slobber on it… You get the picture– now just replace “ham” with turkey and stuffing… 1/3 of the plate that was set at the edge of the table went M.I.A.

You could hear my scream of “Aaaaaaaaabbbbbbyyyyy! Nooooooooooooooooo!!” throughout the neighborhood.

What am I most thankful for? These people were my friends before the turkey swiping incident, and are still my friends, post-turkey swiping incident. I just don’t know if I can ever forgive the person who left the crab dip for her — that was a stinky Friday indoors!

Last night I started my holiday (Thanksgiving) cooking. Going to a friend’s house for Thanksgiving and making my specialities which are sweet potato casserole, (no marshmallows allowed!) cranberry/apple relish, and that old dinner standby– salad.

After having made vat after vat of cranberry relish, I really don’t want to see anymore exploding cranberries for a while. I have several lovely blisters on my right wrist to show for my battle with the berries. Glad that’s over with for now…until Christmas.

This afternoon it will be time to play w/ the sweet potatoes. After slicing them to manageable and boilable size (I got the monster sized ones this year) they have to boil for 45 minutes. I’m amazed each year as I see just how dense those suckers really are. No wonder they need to boil that long.

Meanwhile, during the boiling phase, I’ll multi-task and take on an unplanned but necessary activity: give Abby a bath to remove the remnants of splattered cranberry relish from her neck. She took her “honorary” title of sous chef to heart, I guess. Perhaps I should wait until after the sweet potato casserole has been put into the baking dishes, as it has been an Abby tradition to lick the mixing bowl…

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving ya’ll!