Great dog book spreads tons of Christmas cheer

Boy, do I look malnourished in this photo!

Good thing my cousin Olivia picked up the board book version of Ho, Ho, Ho, Tucker! by Leslie McGuirk, because I've been one hungry dude.

Not that a mere board book could withstand the crunch of my capacious jaws (and, let's not forget, beautiful teeth). Anyway, the Tucker book (it's a series—how did I overlook this?) features a sweet little white terrier-type who ends up helping Santa on his rounds. He even gets his own pair of antlers. I'm certainly slim enough to shimmy down chimneys, and I actually do have a pair of antlers, somewhere among the holiday decorations that Mom's been too lazy to dig through.

My buddy Olivia—she's crazy about me—is hoping for a bunny for Christmas, but if that doesn't happen, I'll ask Santa for some rabbit ears. Anything to make that little girl happy.

Putting on those holiday pounds

When your head is bigger than your body, it's
time to put on a few lbs.

Got a clean bill of health (and what a bill!) yesterday from my new vet, Dr. Dalamangas, at VCA Westboro. She hadn't met me before, so it was a chance for me to start fresh and make a good impression. I trotted right into the exam room (after flinging myself onto the glass outer door so hard that it opened, but Dr. D didn't witness that) and waited patiently, because that's what I was. A patient. Who also flung himself on the door from the exam room into the lobby. Unfortunately for me, it opened the other way.

Dr. D examined me carefully and was extremely complimentary of of my teeth, of which I am quite proud—if not of their condition, their size. Therefore, in a flourish of generosity, I agreed to hop onto the scale. It was reported that I was 80 pounds. "Eighty?" Mom asked, apparently astonished at this low figure. "Are you sure that all of him was on there?"

Reader, I was alarmed. I acted immediately to restore my reputation, and bulk, and go into gonzo mode. I dashed from the vet to Especially for Pets, knocking over countless toys and upending baskets full of antlers and bones.

I wanted the catnip toys Mom was buying for some cats, but she selected a Himalayan Dog Chew, thinking it would amuse me during the long ride home. Au contraire! But that is another story. As the one involving the pizza I later tried to snag.

Still hungry today, I dug deep into the Milk-Bone bin at Wellesley Books (back counter), then trotted over to Petco Unleashed, where I was chased by a tiny white beast with what looked like a hair extension, but turned out to be its tail, dyed green for the holidays. Yikes.

I scored a pig ear there, trotted back to Wellesley Square, and again dug deep into a giant bowl full o' Milk Bones, this time at Lux, Bond and Green. After being dragged away, I refused to return to my vehicle. Instead, I trotted back into Wellesley Books, where Lorna snagged another treat for me and escorted me to my car. Because I'd do anything for her,  I leaped inside. Besides, I had just gobbled something beside a Boloco trash can that made me feel a little queasy, and I needed a rest.

A very extraordinary afternoon

My very extraordinary contraband.

No one could possibly be more upbeat than Boston College's James A. Woods, S.J. No matter when you meet him, and you say hello, how are you, he responds the same way: "Extraordinary. Very extraordinary."

 Literally.

I was thinking of Father Woods today as I romped around Natick Center. In order, here are the extraordinary things that occurred:

1. An amazingly substantial slice of pizza lay at the foot of the Henry Wilson plaque commemorating a tree he planted on Natick Common (Wilson, 18th vp of the US of A under Ulysses S. Grant, lived in Natick, where he was a shoemaker). It was so large that it wouldn't totally fit in my extraordinarily-sized jaws. Nevertheless, I consumed most of it.

2. In a very extraordinary coincidence, I ran into (literally) my neighbor Olivia and her mom Carol outside of Olivia's martial arts studio. Probably not a good idea, because she's nearly a junior black belt and might have tried some complicated move on me.
Then I ran into (again literally) an extraordinarily tall, thin and elegant woman who no doubt did not appreciate my dirty, bulky body ramming into her cashmere wrap. Indeed, I nearly knocked her over.

3. I continued to make Mom extraordinarily annoyed by cantering (literally) through the rest of the busy square. Like it was my fault she didn't wear her running shoes?

4. Back at the town common, to which I dragged my slowpoke mother, I rooted around for more pizza. Instead, I found a bone-shaped tag belonging to a pup named Rafe. Then, the jackpot: a squeaky ball. An immediate attack followed, during which I practically impaled the thing on my canines. Yet  it did not suffer instantaneous destruction. And that is very extraordinary indeed.

Spooky Cookies: best Halloween treats around!

I did my best beast imitation, sans costume, last week at Petco Unleashed on Linden Street—not only did I sample the free cookies at the counter, I demolished practically the entire contents of the bowl.

How long does she really expect me to sit  here?

I tried them, I liked them. I loved them. So when it came down to which cookies to choose at the bountiful treat bar, I went right for the bats, pumpkins and ghosts  (inside: a delectable peanut-molasses combo, plus some food coloring to make the pumpkins orange and the bats purple).  I'm so crazy about these things, I'm even coming when called. As long as there's a treat when I get there.

Way past time to take matters into my own jaws.

That is, if there are any left.

The bones of a good story...

Ah, the bounty of a snowless winter! Chicken bones. Spareribs. Hot dogs. And once, the grand prize—juicy remnants of beef tenderloin, snagged from behind a top restaurant. Quite a different scenario from last year, when I dutifully dug in a frozen snowbank for a bagel. This being New England, it wasn't even that good.

So when Mom presented me with a bona fide bone that I didn't have to scrounge for myself, I was mystified. It was kind of like being at a fancy dinner and having more tableware than usual. Just what does one do with that fourth fork?

Turns out that Mom's generosity had something to do with teeth cleaning. Not happy with the toothbrush results, she tried the old-fashioned thing, and my canines are gleaming. Kind of like whitening strips, but for dogs. Except much, much tastier.

Make the punishment fit the crime? As in smaller bowl? No way!

Hilarious, no? No.

While Mom must think so (thanks to the super creative Heather Kelly, for the terrific wanted poster idea), my caloric intake is no laughing matter. A dog must eat, and eat well. Often, too.

Exhibits A and B. While the evidence seems irrefutable,

I believe it to be circumstantial. I'd never eat from a plastic receptacle.

The penultimate* time I destroyed the cup my folks use to retrieve my food, my portions became noticeably smaller. While that was good news to the people at VCA Westboro (after they airlifted me onto the scale) to me, it fell into the criminal realm. Last time someone manhandled me like that, I made sure their back hurt, and good. However, that episode ended up with me being placed on lifetime probation from those particular canine accommodations.

Obviously, a jury should consider mitigating circumstances: in this case, hunger. However, said good man and woman seem to be unmoved.

Therefore, I'll simply have to eat right out of the bin. Case closed.

*Bonus intangible reward to those who do not need to look up the definition of penultimate. I'm far too ravenous to be your dictionary today.

Seven swans a-swimming, and a nice juicy Christmas bone

A juicy bone thrills my soul right to the marrow.

Don't know exactly which day of Christmas it is, but I saw seven swans swimming in Morses Pond yesterday, and for once they didn't try to attack me.  When I arrived home, I received another early Christmas gift: a delicious, juicy bone from Castor and Pollux, which Mom obtained at Tilly's, her favorite store on earth. Tilly's is located at the crest of the aptly-named Bacon Street, which I often traverse, and while I've never found bacon, I have often discovered chicken bones and other delectable treats deemed dangerous by my family. The ban on such foodstuffs seems to necessitate opening my capacious jaws, peering inside the deep recesses and retrieving said foodstuffs.

However, if one goes the legitimate way and purchases said juicy bone, one cannot expect one's canine to wait until Christmas.

X-rays show I swallowed something I shouldn't have

I'm now feeling well enough to go on regular walks.

You know things aren't good when the vet opens up a discussion of your physical health by saying, "If you have unlimited funds..."

What Dr. Wolfus was suggesting was that me and Mom head up to Tufts Veterinary Medical Center, get me an emergency ultrasound, and find out just what that lumpy thing is in my belly. Or, we could wait and see if it's merely an upset tum.

Because it was bad enough getting wrestled onto the table to have a couple of x-rays, plus being made to have my weight checked (a svelte 84 lbs, in case you were wondering), we decided to wait. Plus, it was our first time seeing Dr. Wolfus, who in spite of his scary name, is exceedingly kind, gentle, and needless to say, given that I can't imagine a more difficult patient, patient.

I thought back to see which delicacy might be causing such distress. People do toss the most delicious, yet inappropriate, foodstuffs on the ground. On Sunday, I was trotting about in Wellesley Square and snuffled something under some leaves. It smelled so great that I didn't even look to see what it was. Mom immediately opened my alligator-like toothed hinges, one jaw in each hand, and looked deep inside. Nothing—already gone.

So neither of us knows what exactly I consumed. We're waiting for the radiology report. Keep your paws crossed that it's nothing too serious.

Update: All is well, and I am heading back toward full beastliness. Thanks goodness!

Partying it up at the Wellesley College Club

Longest nose (and legs) brings new meaning
to "first come, first served."

Two dog birthday parties in Swellesley last night, and because it looked like there were No Dogs Allowed at the Wellesley Free Library (besides Mariah, the famous pet therapy dog and guest of honor), I pointed myself toward the Wellesley College Club.

Sandwich cookies = yum!

Thursday night soirees at the club have become a habit with the top dogs in town. Last night, Suzy celebrated her 15th birthday, and boy, was there a great spread, which was a good thing given that I had to share treats with so many folks. One human guest was going for the Oreo-type cookies when she was warned they were for dogs, only.

Happy Birthday to Suzy!

I tried to give Suzy my pickup line, but she took me literally—no, she didn't come here often. In fact, it was her first visit to Canines and Cocktails (Thursdays, 4-7).  Still, she looked fetching in her birthday hat.

I helped myself to oodles of treats, and was thrilled when my friend Lucy showed up. Fashionably late, I might add. I didn't mind—it just added to her irresistible charm.

See how attentive Lucy looks? That's because she listens to her folks—most of the time. I'm saving the other photo of me being attentive and her zoning out, so I can use it on just the right occasion.

Enjoying a private moment with Lucy.

Help! I swallowed plastic wrap!

This body packs a heap o' potential energy.

So, right up there with queries on whether dogs can eat edamame (you would not believe how many people have found my blog by asking that question) are queries on consuming plastic wrap.

Considering how smart we canines are, let us assume that most of us have mistakenly consumed said wrap. Presumably while it was covering something delicious.

In my case, the wrap covered a perfectly good turkey and cheese submarine sandwich that someone carelessly tossed away. It was, unlike many food items I have snagged, actually in the trash. (That Upper Crust pizza crust I found on a rock wall in Wellesley Square last week—mmm!)

Here's what happened. My head went in. Mom pulled it out. My head went in again. This time, before we got too Hokey-Pokey-ish, I came up with the goods. That Mom, though, she's fearless, even in the face of the Jaws of Death.

Like the rest of me, my teeth are large. And I am famous for my stubbornness. I clamped. She attempted to unclamp. Then, finding a bit of sandwich and wrap outside of the Jaws of Death, she pulled. I dug in my heels. She dug in hers. Plastic wrap stretches! I witnessed precious bits of sandwich being torn away, but I dared not open the Jaws for fear of losing more.

When this peculiar tug-o-sandwich finally ended, I got to keep half the sandwich and Mom had half. Very luckily for me, she ended up with most of the plastic wrap.

Plenty of canines and cocktails at College Club

Perfect evening at the club last week. The Wellesley College Club, that is. Checked out the treats, as well as the company, and both were fab. Big jars chock full o' special goodies there for the taking!

Mom said no to the giant bone, as well as the licorice-like twists, but indulged me in some organic kind of baked bone that turned out to be delicious.

Lots of dogs played on the terrace while their moms sipped fruity-looking drinks in tall glasses, nicely served by Charlene.

Among the guests: Wally, a big, shaggy griffon; Kelly, a miniature beagle; a cockapoo that danced very prettily around the treat table; and several others whom I'd love to meet again.

Be there: every Thursday in August, 5-7 p.m.

Diet secrets revealed!

It's been a while since I've visited the esteemed Dr. Schettino at VCA Westboro, so on a spare Sunday I hopped into the car and made Mom drive me over. Thought it would be the typical weigh-in, followed by my also-typical reward at Especially for Pets—conveniently located next door.

Tip: Always stand sideways, right foot forward,
for optimal slimness in photos.

They really should put in some kind of massage place or something, because Mom's always exhausted after taking me. She's the one who needs to calm down.

All seemed to go according to plan, but I got tipped off in the waiting area that something more was happening. There was no way I was going in. I plopped. "That's right," said the vet tech, whom I had not met before. "I heard he was a lot like a donkey!"

As I was deciding whether this comment was critical or complimentary,  Dr. S. came out. "He has a waist!" he exclaimed, and everyone gathered 'round to admire my new silhouette. Unfortunately, everyone also had a certain uncomfortable procedure in mind. My focus point was on how quickly I could wrestle two people to the ground.

Now onto my diet secrets:
Tucker's Diet Secret #1: Destroy the temptation to eat more than you should. I unwittingly stumbled onto this gem after mistakenly annihilating the cup used to measure my food. It was replaced with a slightly smaller cup; therefore, I've been eating less.

Tucker's Diet Secret #2: Follow your nose and get some exercise. You know how when you're enjoying yourself, you don't even realize you're doing something healthy? In search of the source of some tantalizing scents, and in part to help poor Mom relax, I've traversed mile after mile.

Tucker's Diet Secret #3: Nap when you get tired. You actually burn calories when you sleep, so napping isn't lazy—it's work toward your goal of gaining and maintaining a svelte figure. After all, it's supposed to be bathing suit season, and I for one am ready.

Help for hounds, and treats, too

Today's an open house (12-5 p.m.—be there) and the dedication of the isolation unit at Greyhound Friends in Hopkinton, the venerable rescue and adoption shelter that has been finding homes for my fleeter relatives since 1983.

So, run, don't walk—the unit's important because pets from southern climes have been bringing in all sorts of diseases that vets don't ordinarily see here in Massachusetts. The open house is also a chance for greyhound owners to get together for a fun meetup. 

Fortunately, though I'm from South Carolina, I headed up here disease-free. Stubborn as all get-out, but healthy.

My nifty new treat jar from Second Chances in Natick.

If you can't get there, at least make it to Greyhound Friends' thrift shop, Second Chances, in downtown Natick, on West Central right near Main. We donated a bunch of dog-related goodies, and couldn't resist picking up a treat jar. It's fab. Also, we found a super feeder that puts all I need at just the right height. All I need, one must emphasize, not all I want.

In return for our donations, I was offered a bottle of glucosamine, but declined on account of my callow youth. More on age when you hear about my big Plop O'Doom yesterday. That's another story.

Happy Easter, Swellesley style

Two sets of bunny ears?

Swellesley's so civilized, a bunny can run right under the nose of a hunting dog and be perfectly safe (I love bunnies!). It's so civilized, that foxhounds consent to wearing bunny ears. It's so civilized, that foxhounds try to leap up on small girls to steal their bunny ears (sorry, Olivia!) but are prevented by their hawk-like parents.

I did not participate in the usual Easter morning hunt, my parents being disappointed in my behavior. I stole a gigantic something (it was delicious) from the street during my walk, and Mom felt that I had exceeded my extra-caloric limit. To make up for it, I tried to act a bit Sparky-like by donning this ridiculous outfit. Not only was he delighted to dress up, he also was a very successful plastic egg hunter and deft opener of said eggs. Our Easter bunny sets out eggs with Charlee Bear treats inside, but this year,  the E.B. must have anticipated my gluttonous behavior, for I received a big goose egg instead: exactly zero.

Thanks to C.H. for the Easter portrait. Next year, I'm going egg-hunting at your house.

Attention please: can dogs eat edamame?

Ok, I have to be honest with myself: did I really want to try the edamame, or was I merely engaging in attention-seeking behavior?

Never to take the simplest path, and feeling a little Willy Loman-esque, of course I wanted attention. Attention must be paid to this dog!

Mom was packing up to take my sister to a college overnight, and I didn't like the look of things at all. I am not a fan of travel, especially when I am not included. I didn't see anyone gathering up my travel bowls, beds, accessories, toys—all the essentials. Instead, my folks had stacked up a few treats on the kitchen island. Yeah, I knew they weren't for me. I didn't even try them—simply carried the container to my lair, artfully scattered the edamame on the rug, and delayed departure by at least a few minutes.

And when everyone came home, I knocked them over, just to show how much I missed them.

To the question of whether dogs can eat edamame, of course we can! We can eat anything—it's the results that are questionable, and according to my research, humans don't tend to appreciate the gastrointestinal consequences.

Tucker's first full supermoon

Last night's supermoon reminded me of nothing less than an empty food bowl. While one might have expected me to have bayed at the stunning sight, the only yowls I let out were ones of hunger, after being woken from my early bedtime and dragged outside.

I couldn't help but be reminded of that sweet little kitten in Kevin Henkes' Kitten's First Full Moon, who sees the moon and wants it, then thinks its reflection in the water is a bowl of milk (hey, wasn't that a dog story to start with—remember, in Aesop's Fables, the dog sees the reflection of his bone in the water and is so greedy that as he opens his mouth to scoop up the supposed second bone, the real one falls into the drink). Anyway, Henkes' kitten finally laps up a real bowl of milk. I guess I can forgive Mr. Henkes for turning the dog into a kitten, him having won the Caldecott Medal for it and all.

A satisfying tale, perfectly done. But I digress.

I stumbled along the edge of the pond, bleary-eyed. Mom, always eager to see a natural event, woke practically everybody in the neighborhood, so I didn't have to do anything, voice-wise. However, when she tore our friends Carol and Don away from their pasta to see the trumpeted supermoon, I tried to insist they return to their dinner. They are so good-natured that they were not even deterred by my jumping on them, my paws over Don's shoulders in a weird kind of dance. So we all took in the supermoon, and then, properly awed, and after more than a decent interval, went home. In retribution for the interrupted sleep,  I demanded several treats and a peanut butter bone.

Pi day, or is it pie day?

I was so excited when my math-focused sister told me today was pie day—I'm crazy about it! Then, when I noticed she was knitting mittens with three stripes, then one stripe, then four stripes, in this nutty pattern that had no pattern at all, I nudged her several times with my oversized nose. Where, after all, was the pie?

An empty bowl is a sad thing. Dirty, too. Where's that maid?

I suffered through her explanation. But look, the one circle I care about is my bowl. Whether it's full or not is the only thing I'd even dream of calculating at suppertime.

But in honor of Pi Day, and looking ahead to National Canine Poetry Fortnight, I herewith present my Pi poem. The syllables represent the first few digits of pi, which, I learned, is 3.141592653...and since pi is infinite, food is the optimal subject of my poem. Just don't try to measure my diameter. Paws off!


For the Love of Pi (e)
by Tucker

Tell you true.
I
love pie, pie, pie.

Pie:
Apple, cherry, plum
All make scrumptious pickings for my tum.

If one
Should even try to take
Precious pie away—
Hear me bay.

Awooooooooo ad infinitum

Carb loading: it's a good thing

You know how I've been salivating for a bagel, and how my dad ruthlessly threw away my precious bagel find.

So, my sister was home for the snowday, and Mom was in charge of lunch. Opportunity #1. (Mom is a rather lackluster lunchmaker, as opposed to Short-Order Dad, who's a genius.

My sister takes out a couple of bagels, Mom goes to do some icicle destroying. Opportunity #2. (I set this one up by refusing to go out the back door underneath dripping icicles. After all, wouldn't want to suffer from the elements.)

I sneak and take a bagel, very, very quietly. And I just take one, because two definitely would be noticed.

After my snack, I take a nap, conveniently timed to coincide with Mom's lunch.

Just to top it off, the next day, while Dad's heating up some chicken parm with pasta, I swipe my share. (Opportunity #3.)

What does it take to get a decent bagel around here?

Ok, so I'm from the South, and don't know a bagel from a bialy. In theory.

Truth is, I've been salivating for a bagel for two whole days, and I knew exactly where to find one: deep inside a snowbank next to Morses Pond.

I first sniffed it out when I was down there with Dad, who grew wise to my game. Then this morning, during the storm, I tried to drag Mom down the steep hill to the pond. Steep for her, that is.

"Tucker," she said as I weathervaned myself in the right direction. "I'm not going down there. It's too icy." When she tempted me with a treat, I lost my willpower and gave in.

Tried again tonight. I moped around until someone noticed. Once again dragging Mom in my wake, I faked like I wanted to go for a neighborhood stroll, then homed in on my pondside treat. That bagel was sending out a signal like a semaphore, even though the night was pitch black. I dove into the snowbank and came up victorious.  Then zoomed home, with the frozen delicacy well ensconced in my capacious jaws, while Mom flailed behind.

My plan worked perfectly, until I dropped the dear, cold bagel on the living room rug and prepared my attack. Ignoring my bared teeth, Dad picked up said bagel, and dropped it, sorry to say, into the—gulp—trash.

Dear Tucker, yes, there is a Santa Claus

And he's squeaky! Santa knew just what I'd like for Christmas, so besides this fun replica to remind my parents that the spirit of Christmas lives on, and that presents shouldn't be limited to just one day, I received a treat ball. It's designed to improve my dexterity and, just in case I use up too many calories batting it around, provides refreshment as well.

I had a big workout yesterday, bounding through the snow and dragging Mom behind me. I was kind of like an Alaskan husky, but without the sled.

To replace all those calories, I took advantage of a friend (she owns cats, so what does she know about the swiftness of a canine). She put down our order of Chinese food to take off her coat. I quickly opened a carton, grabbed a Crab Rangoon, and hightailed it.

Question: my Harry Barker Santa toy has a tag on it that says, "This is not a toy." Really? I ignored it and kept chewing.