Monday, May 28, 2012

A memorable Memorial Day

The weekend began with a bang—literally, as I crashed into the back door at about 6:30 Saturday a.m. I'll never be qualified to protect my country, but I certainly know how to protect my property and its occupants, inside and out.

Our fish were under attack from a marauding cat, and it fell to me to respond.

Finding the glass door to the garden closed did not deter me. I proceeded to bay in alarm, waking up everyone within at least a quarter of a mile. Mom skidded downstairs, opened the door (it was locked, or I could have opened it myself) and out I tore. Said cat escaped through a hole in the fence behind the bunny cage, while I sustained a battle injury from twisting my considerable bulk in the small space betwixt cage and fence.

As I rested on my cat-free lawn and baked in the sun, I observed several moments of silence as I reflected, as one should, on the sacrifices that have made our country great. I am humbled and grateful.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Stopping by dealerships on Memorial Day weekend

Which car we’ll buy I do not know
Mom only wants our old Volvo.
Dad says the time has come, past time,
To give that car the old heave-ho.

You’d not but think I’d try to rhyme
In verses noble and sublime
For one so steady, true and dear
Who’s stood the test of twelve years’ time.

Because she goes in just one gear
Old Bessie’s like a souvenir.
She helps me get my beauty sleep
As, chugging on, she perseveres.

A new car’s cost is much too steep.
My bank account’s not small or deep
With miles to go before she sleeps
More miles in her, I think she’ll keep.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Tucker to the rescue on a wonderful Wellesley weekend

Except for the fireworks capping off Wellesley's Wonderful Weekend, which went off as planned and forced me to seek shelter in the cavernous regions of my sister's closet, the weekend was glorious. Among my escapades:

  1. Helped round up my neighbor Ellie, a fetching Portuguese Water Dog. She wasn't missing, but wouldn't come in–for hours. Ironically, this same behavior earned me probation at a certain dog hotel. In this case, however, I was the bait. Ellie came to the fence to greet me. Wild-eyed at my traitorous behavior, she was dragged inside by her mother.
  2. Hopped in a 2009 Volvo wagon, and it was quite a hop. Fortunately, I'm nimble. But I nearly bumped my noble head—the headroom is a full two inches shorter than in old Bessie. Given that I've only an inch to spare in the Bessie mobile, this presents a problem. My test drive was courtesy of Robert at Wellesley Volvo, who earlier in the day had offered to stop by my domicile and pick me up. I adore being driven around, and it seems like Robert gets the idea.
  3. Had a splendid spring walk around Lake Waban, the cannon from the 18th century encampment booming in the background.
  4. Tried to hop into my sister's kayak, the sit on top kind, while Mom was in it. Together, not only would we have exceeded the weight limit of this ordinarily seaworthy craft, we would also have had occasion for a lovely swim in Morses Pond. Well, why not?
  5. Missed the annual dog contest, again, out of modesty. It would be too embarrassing to win every category.
  6. Chased a baby bunny. Helped Mom dig in the garden. Slept in the sun. Spring!
A baby bunny has taken up residence under the playhouse.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

What a (sales) woman!

What kind of salesperson would offer to drive a new car to your home, pick up your dog, and take him for a test drive?

Wendy, that's who! Even when Mom showed up glummer than glum at the Honda dealer, having pinky-sworn an open mind to Dad before they left (her fingers on the other hand were crossed) and was unbelievably impolite, Wendy tried like crazy to please. She thought of every possible car that would fit our family's needs (as we know, those needs are tri-colored, XL, and awfully demanding). When it looked like one might do, she made the offer, with enthusiasm.

Unfortunately for her, though, this time it was Dad who wasn't interested. "Too small," was his only comment.

Why don't they make openings on the insides of pockets?
Because I was stuck at home, with nothing to do, I chewed on the car situation. Then I chewed on Mom's running jacket. She had left it, well within reach, on the coat rack, its pocket full of treats. What was she thinking?  Perhaps when she comes to, she'll realize there's really only one car for me.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Car shopping headaches—literally

Taking Mom car shopping is simply asking for it. She loves the old Volvo, and that's that. Take me car shopping, however, and you've got a partner for life.

So last week Dad and I hit the Wellesley VW dealer, with Mom slinking along. All of our hopes were up, sort of:
  • Dad's, because he liked the mileage of the diesel Jetta Sportwagen—and the sticker price.
  • Mom's, because she read that the wagon would appeal to the die-hard traditionalist. That's her, all right.
  • Mine, because I heard it was a great car for large dogs. I already had hopped into my friend Freckles' wagon one day, and found it charming.
  • My sister's, had she been there, because the car comes in a couple of good colors.
Kind salesperson finds a car for me to test drive—from the rear, of course. I hop in the cargo area just fine. Then Dad shuts the lid. I try to turn around, and, because the wayback clearance for a tall guy like me is pretty wimpy—BUMP—my head hits the window. I nearly was concussed.
Ye Olde Wagon outside our summer rental in Maine.
Note the wayback headroom. And the waterview.
So that was that. And even Dad, who keeps complaining that Mom is like Goldilocks, had to agree that the car was too small.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Hounds don't take baths and other lessons from picture books

Had a sleepover with some great pups over at Southboro Kennels this weekend while my folks went to visit my sister at college. She'll be home soon, claiming her bed and therefore reducing my sleeping options, so it was good practice for me to try something different.
Who says pigs are so smart?

Brought my big green bed so I'd be comfy, my own food, and my big self and Mary gave me an enthusiastic greeting. Like all great hoteliers, she recognized me, even though it's been awhile.

Spent some time sunning, with drinks provided by the attentive staff.

The only hitch came during the spa treatment, which I'm pretty sure I didn't schedule. That might have come from leaving the arrangements to Mom. Anyway, I checked out the tub, which while perfectly clean, would have meant that I would have had to become perfectly clean. So I pulled a No, David! (remember that scene in the David Shannon book where the boy takes off, without a stitch on?) and skedaddled out of there.

Mom reminded me of another picture book, Pirates Don't Take Baths, in which a reluctant pig finally is persuaded by his mother to come clean. He imagines he's searching for underwater treasure, but it would take some treasure for me to plunge in. Instead, I'll go the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's Won't-Take-a-Bath Cure route (remember, the girl grows radishes on her dirty skin?). Conveniently, it's planting time.