Sunday, January 15, 2012

And in the best actor category, canine, that is...

One of BB Simon's crystal-encrusted leather collars.
I could rock that look.
Let's be practical: just what would I do with a globe, golden or otherwise? Plus, the only films I've ever starred in are those shaky old home videos. (Anyone interested in Hex Bug Horror, starring moi?) I mean, if the Blair Witch Project worked out, well...

Anyway, The Hollywood Reporter has the scoop on the Golden Collar Awards, to be designed by BB Simon of Newport Beach and given out next month by Dog News Daily. The categories:

  • Best Dog in a Theatrical Film 
  • Best Dog in a Foreign Film 
  • Best Dog in a Direct-to-DVD Film
  • Best Dog in a Reality Television Series 
  • Best Dog in a Television Series  
 Check out THR's Oscar Dog Showdown photo gallery for more scoop. Or, better, yet, Hex Bug Horror.
Nominees will be announced Wednesday. Look for a surprise entry.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Take me out to rink? And pass the poetry, please

Now here's an event to rival any "Take Your (son, daughter, pet) to Work Day": watch the Worcester Sharks with your humans! It's called Pucks and Paws, it raises funds for the Worcester Animal Rescue League, and it's happening Jan. 15 in Worcester (I would have called it Pucks and Pups, for the assonance, or better yet, Pups and Pucks, putting the more important part first, but no one asked me).

Not sure of the definition of assonance? Apparently, you haven't brushed up on your poetry lately. Assonance is when a vowel sound is repeated in a nearby word, enough to make you sit up and take notice. That's why Pucks and Pups rolls off the tongue much more easily than Pucks and Paws. Did you notice anything about the repeated first consonant in those two words? Yep, it's the p. So when consonants are repeated, that's called alliteration. Even though Pucks and Paws contains alliteration, it's just not as pleasing as Pucks and Pups. Alliteration and assonance=awesomeness.

Back to the game. It's at 3 p.m. against Syracuse and promises to be a riot!  Contact the Sharks office: or 508-929-0500. $15 for humans, $10 for dogs, with $5 of every dog ticket donated to the Worcester Animal Rescue League. It's sponsored by VCA Animal Hospitals (a shout out to Dr. Schettino in Springfield). You can even get a discount on a pet-friendly hotel. And read some poetry before bed. For the right active vibe, I recommend A Dazzling Display of Dogs by Betsy Franco. There's a whole bunch of alliteration for you. Test after the game.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Happy 99th, Great-Grandma!

Happy Birthday, dear Great-Grandma!
My Italian great-grandma is 99 years old today, and going so strong she could stop me in my tracks—and that's saying something, especially considering that she is extremely teeny.

Great Grandma has long been fond of dogs. For example, worried that I might catch cold here in the northern regions, she sent away for a splendid shearling coat in which I look downright fashionable. She wonders why I don't visit more often and worries that I'm not being fed properly. In short, she dotes on me.

What a woman!

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Wave a bright orange flag with HunterGuard

Scientists say that exercise helps squeeze the creative juices, and so it was that I had Brilliant Brainstorm #237 today after my woods tromp.

We smell (well, some of us do) and see lots of deer in the town forest, so we're familiar with the flags of their tails. So I got a bit spooked when I learned that a hunter mistook a woman and her dog for a deer, with disastrous results. I checked out my tail. It's long. It's white. And I hold it proudly high in the air. (Though, let's face it, not as high as a deer does. I mean, I'm tall, but...)

Mom wore her orange cap today, and later we ran into my friend's human, also sporting an orange hat, and I thought about my tail. I also thought about the snug knitted scarf that hugs a tree in my backyard, the result of my sister's yarn-bombing. Have you heard of this phenomenon? There's nothing violent about it; in fact, it's rather cozy.

A knitted cozy for a hemlock.
Here's the basic idea: knitted tail cozy.

Being fitted. Believe me, it took two...and more.

So here's my idea: cozies for dog tails, made up in hunting orange! They could be knitted, they could be fleece, they could be adjustable, etc. I'd call them HunterGuard. They keep you safe, warm, and make a fashion statement, all at the same time. But wait, there's more...
The finished product would 1. Be finished and
2. Not consist of Mom's cashmere scarf.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

I'm on Facebook—check it out!

Well, sort of. My photo is on Facebook, in Wellesley Books' compilation of dog photos from their newsletter. Once upon a time, I had the honor of being Dog of the Week, although I like to think of it as a more permanent title.
Anyway, take a look. I'm the handsome one. When you get to the album, click on my thumbnail for the full effect.

Saturday, December 31, 2011

Out with the old! In with the new!

With no New Year's Eve party to attend, I decided to perform the canine equivalent of cleaning out one's sock drawer. I took stock of all of my gear—my restraining gear, that is.

So that left out the costumes, the coats, the various shearling throws, the collection of beds, the toys, the bones, the various gates people futilely erect to restrain dogs in homes and cars: in short, all of the essential accoutrements of the modern pampered pup.

I've already cleaned out, mind you. But more had to go. The frayed green collar and leash that came in 1998 with Sparky went in the car, for emergencies such as our recent rescue of a lost lab. Ribbon-like leashes, fine for a picture-perfect dog like him, somehow don't work for me: off to my neighbor Elliott. Harnesses that I have Houdini-d out of went to those with lesser squirming abilities. I kept my party collar, optimistically purchased by Mom, worn once with its matching leash before I did a major chomp on it, perhaps 30 seconds into the party (see below).
My sister plans to make a belt out of this royally-destroyed leash.
Too bad. I could sport the collar, sans leash, at another party—perhaps next New Year's? Keep me in mind, and best wishes for a properly outfitted 2012.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Rockin' around—more like into—the Christmas tree

Thought I'd be writing this post from the cozy, friendly confines of Southboro Kennels, one of my go-to vacation spots, but Mom's sick: vacation cancelled. So instead, I'm sprawled in the sun, having bumped my sister from her bed onto the floor to get some precious VST: valuable sun time.
While I'm soaking in essential Vitamin D, let me entertain you with a recap of my holiday adventures:

1. Christmas morning madhouse: first, I grabbed some antlers, presumably donated by one of Santa's reindeer, from my Christmas stocking and ran upstairs with the contraband. Then, I raced back down to insinuate my nose into every package, attempted to untie the ribbon on a box containing a cashmere sweater for Mom and generally wreaked havoc as my face-plants resulted in several assaults on the Christmas tree with gift bags on my face. Hey, they should put some eyeholes into those things!

2. Morning madhouse, part II: In which I learn to protect the house from whizzing Hexbugs. My sister, much like Pandora, unleashed these horrid things and set them about on the floor, whenceupon I went into high-alert siren mode: Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! Ah-woooo-gah! I skittered away from them in a kind of hypnotized dance, and when it was clear that I might have a coronary, they were removed. However, I have learned their ways and have been stalking them. Next, I will pounce, with sure results. If only Pandora had a faithful hound, the world would have been rid of such horrible evils.

3. Speaking of creatures that I will not allow to coexist with moi, my sister has ensconced a gigantic shark in her room, which she periodically wakes, makes airborne, and attempts chase in true sister-brother tormenting fashion. Lucky for her I just had my nails clipped, because just one swipe from me is all it will take to bring it down, forever.

If you'd like a hound companion who's likely to be just as much fun (and smart) as I, check out Moose, at my old place, Buddy Dog Humane Society. He's super handsome and would bring extra life (and exercise) into your home, ensuring a very Happy New Year!

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Wellesley Books dog-shopping

Santa wouldn't leave me out, would he?

Handy for all those favors I've too often demanded.
For the Willy Loman-type pup.
Popped into Wellesley Books, hoping to catch a glimpse of my old pal Alison Morris, now of Scholastic Book Clubs, who had stopped by for a bit. Instead of pats and praises, then, I did some serious looking around for dog-themed gifts.

Mom liked the retro look of the Good Dog! Christmas stocking, but I already have a stocking, likely to be filled with coal, for good I am not. She picked up some thank-you notes engraved with a classy print of a foxhound and we both laughed at the tiny dog tie. We then paused before an impressive display of dog books, nicely faced out to feature their handsome covers. Someday, I'll be on one of those.

My photo here someday.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Born to run...and then to sleep

Proper rest is important during the busy holiday season.
'Tis the season to be racing around: twice in two weeks I've escaped from my handlers and taken off. It's something in the air, I guess. First time was a rainy night when I smartly took advantage of Mom and Dad, turned their supposed knowledge about me evading raindrops at all costs on its head, and scooted out into the drizzly dark, leading them on a wild Tucker chase. Second escape happened because of a wardrobe malfunction, but the result was the same: room to roam—in this case the hundred acres of the Hunnewell Woods.

Both me and my predecessor, Sparky, were born to run: he, the classic Dalmatian, to race alongside coaches and later, Mom; and moi, built to run over, under and through tangled underbrush, over downed trees, across creeks and wherever a scent takes me. Bottom line: once loosed upon the world, we're near impossible to catch. Come when called? Why?

This morning I dutifully walked on my walk. Then I came home, raced around, lifted two freshly-baked blueberry-raspberry buttermilk muffins from behind the mixer-cooling rack barricade, consumed them in the privacy of the living room, then claimed a sunny spot on Dad's favorite chair.