Flying dog: all paws off the ground

It was Edward Muybridge who, in the 1880s, took the first photographs that demonstrated the science of locomotion. His photographs of a galloping horse proved that horses leave the ground at a particular point in the gait.

Mom is no photographer, but she caught me with all fours off the ground. You can tell because that's two feet of soft snow I'm levitating over, and with good reason. Were I actually touching anything, I'd be sunk in up to my elbows. That would mean disaster: should I get a flake of snow on my body, I might go into cardiac arrest. It's worth it to fly.

Muybridge's photographs inspired the famous scandal at the 1913 Armory show of European and American art in New York, when Marcel Duchamp showed his Nude Descending a Staircase [No. 2]. Viewers compared the painting to saddlebags, a Navajo rug, and a nightmare.

My nightmare would be that this snow won't ever melt. Because you can't go on forever with all of your paws off the ground.

Mall walking for dogs: the next new thing?

In the Land of the Dog and the Home of the Mall,
mall walking should be a canine right.

Around this time of year, I get to wondering just why it is that I moved north. My paws are cold, my ears are cold, I'm a shivering mess.

And that's while I'm snuggled deep into one of the living room chairs.

Last week my bunny brother, Licorice, came inside: too cold for him, so it's way too cold for me.
At first, I enjoyed lazing around. Now, I'm bored. And that's dangerous.

So here's my plan: find a big, big mall somewhere and run wild. Or at least walk wild.

Any good idea requires research. I started at the most obvious point: The Mall of America.
A major plus: it's always 70 degrees inside.
Double plus: each level of the mall is .57 miles.
Minus: the mall only seems to allow dog walking during special events, which seem to be few and far between.
Double minus: it's in Minnesota, which is even colder than here.

If you're unfortunate enough to live in Chicago, you could head to The Shops at North Bridge Mall on Michigan Avenue, which kindly invites dogs to walk inside. It even has a pet comfort station, providing  "tasty treats, fresh water and waste baggies."

Closer to home, you could take a 1.7 mile walk around the Wrentham outlets, but unfortunately, that would be outside, not in.

The Natick Mall would be perfect, but unfortunately does not allow "running, horseplay or disorderly conduct of any nature." That would count me out. Plus, now that Mom has toted up my yearly expenses, she's vowed not to buy me a single thing.

Just wait until the spring thaw. I'll be dragging her to Petco Unleashed every afternoon, where I most certainly am welcome. If it ever does thaw.

Heartwarming dog rescue (another! involving firefighters!)

A grateful Mack thanks his
rescuer. Photo: Robert Kirkham,
Buffalo News

First of all, given the number of dog rescue stories I've heard lately, not the least being that accomplished by our fabulous group of Wellesley firefighters,  a cautious pup would do well to stay in bed. Take me, for example. Mom went on a cleaning binge this weekend and moved my chair. I simply staked out another, after first jumping on and rearranging all of the beds, Goldilocks style.

And now, news of another rescue brings these important reminders. One, never go out before daylight or after dark, or if the sun is shining on a prime sleeping spot. Two, if the temperature is less than 20 degrees, is there any reason to go out at all? I'm kind of like a camel, but in reverse, if you know what I mean.

Here's what happened: a conscientious dog owner is out at 4:30 a.m. walking her German Shepherd (I know, I'm usually averse to this breed, but trust me: it's a good story). She gets caught in a sinkhole and crawls out, and then the dog falls in. Ten feet down.

Here's the question: How brave do you have to be to lower yourself into a sinkhole? And how brave to you have to be to do so with a hundred pounds of terrified German Shepherd at the bottom of said hole?

Plenty, that's all I can say. To learn more about Buffalo, NY firefighter Michael Paveljack's rescue of three-year-old Mack, check out this news story. I'm heading back to bed.

Puppy bowl action: add a pet to your life

Find this beautiful hound, Penny,
at buddydoghs.org

How about Ben? He
could be my twin. Visit
necoonhoundrescue.org

This adorable hound, Poet, also is
at buddydoghs.org

Even though two-thirds of my family is from New Jersey, I won't be focusing on tomorrow's Super Bowl. Instead, I'll tune in for tomorrow's pregame Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet.

Handsome Cote is almost as
handsome as I. Find
out more at 
necoonhoundrescue.org

A bunch of adorable dogs who need homes will be toughing it out on the field, but many who won't make prime time are waiting in shelters, just for you. The game doesn't start until late; head over to a shelter near you and make someone very, very happy.

For more on letting a hound into your life, be sure to check out coonhound companions.com.

Seat belts for dogs?

Sparky, though loud, never dreamed of traveling in the
drivers' seat.

Did anyone else wonder whether the doggie daycare van that crashed in Wellesley last week had some measure for restraining dogs? Whether it's smart to secure your pup in case of some unexpected event?

My predecessor, Sparky, made numerous road trips to the Jersey shore properly belted, although my sister was the only one who could figure out how to buckle and unbuckle him. New Jersey actually has a law prohibiting dogs from occupying the front seat, so cover up your  Dog is My Co-Pilot bumper sticker next time you take the Garden State Parkway. Turns out, the Jersey shore is one place officials check to be sure pets are restrained. So Sparky was good there, but around town, he simply stayed in the way back, never dreaming of breaching the back seat. Still, that wouldn't have helped in a crash.

I consulted Cesar Millan, who eschews airplane flights for his pets in favor of driving. Sure enough, this post on his site shows he's a seat belt proponent.

With me, it was immediately clear that more restraints were needed. After I overcame my fear of the car, I soon decided the driver had the most comfortable seat. Dad was giving a lecture and the whole family came. I did, too, because I was new and rather unpredictable when left at home alone. But it was raining, I wasn't allowed in the lecture hall, and I decided to take a nap. Lecture over, the hosts asked to meet me. Mom ran back to the car and could not find me. Frantic, the whole family searched. Finally, they looked in the driver's seat. For a big guy, I curl up pretty small.

Give Mom a challenge, and she'll go to town. She tried the net, which I immediately breached; next up the price point,  the adjustable steel barrier, also highly breachable. Like the time my toddler sister squiggled out of her car seat on Rte. 9, all you had to do was jiggle, squirm, and sklathe yourself between the bars. Usually, I behaved, but only usually. Sometimes, too, the barrier would fall on me. Not good.

My new authentic Volvo barrier (several more notches up the price point, but certainly more secure) doesn't give me such leeway. Mom does lock the doors every time we get in, but I'm curious as to what else she might try. She's already thinking about making me a faux fur jacket and matching mukluks to keep me toasty on my walks, so I'm a teensy bit concerned.

Is it time to revisit Wellesley's leash law? A dog's perspective

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. I'd love to race through them
but I'd probably get eaten by coyotes/stuck in icy ooze/run out the other
side and get hit by a car. Safe might be boring, but it's safe.

Would I be asking the question if I didn't think so? I do think it's time. But then again, maybe not.

Here's the reason: a dog's going to do what a dog wants to do. And so are humans.

Take it from me. I know perfectly well what I'm supposed to do. I know how to get home from just about anywhere.

The question is: do I want to?

The answer: not until I've thoroughly explored everything I'd like to explore.

My personal experience is, that's what almost any dog would tell you.

Come when called? Sure, when I'm good and ready.

Right after I run at/scare to death/ jump on someone's grandma or toddler first. Or after I plunge into in Lake Waban to chase a goose/knock over someone trying to navigate an ice patch/sink my teeth into an incredibly handsome Walker hound (that would be me, and I still have the scars).

Be right there, after I tear across the road after that squirrel/runner/other dog.

News flash: Not every dog wants to meet your dog. Not every person enjoys paw prints on their clothing, wants a scratch that leaves a scar (poor Mom), or a heart-pumping scare experience (Mom again). Worse yet, not every driver can stop in time.

I've heard the other side: my dog's better with other dogs off-leash. My dog's friendly. My dog never does that!

I get that. Truly. I'd love to ditch that leash and run, run, run like a wild man. But would I be safe? I have to admit: No.

Answer honestly: Does your dog always listen? Every time? Come when called before checking out that interesting thing? Super. Then the town's bylaw works for you, and please, share your training secrets with everyone else.

The thing is, even if Wellesley had a law requiring dogs to be on leashes at all times, like Natick does, people still would let their dogs go. My sister took on a full body blow last week in Natick's ice-covered Hunnewell forest. "He's friendly!" shouted the owner from way back. Well, good thing, because it's always better to be knocked over by a friendly dog.

Same thing happened to Dad when the lady--with three purple leashes and just one dog on them-- fruitlessly called after her two other beasts as they charged over to me on an icy trail. She didn't say whether they were friendly, though.

Guess Dad should have let me go? That would have been very, very risky.

Because I don't come when called.

My own personal police detail: in other words, DOG is GO

My equestrian sister always calls her zoomy steeds
"go-ey." That's me: DOG is GO.

Just received my new license in the mail. I was hoping for a heart, or even a circle, to replace this very pointy dog head-shaped license I currently have. I mean, I appreciate the homage, but honestly, a curved tag is much more comfortable. Town officials, please note.

In any case, I was a bit disappointed when I saw my new tag is just as pointy as the old, but then I got the idea: it's an officer's shield! I like the idea of being a canine part of the force. So let me relate how I buddied up this year to not only Wellesley firefighters, but Wellesley police, too.

First off, Mom has both Wellesley and Natick animal control on speed dial, because not only is she completely terrified that she might be knocked over or I might yet again be chewed to bits by some off-leash creature, she always has an eye out for animals in need. Of course, I am often one of them.

Go-ey though I am, I tend to be rather law-abiding. I'm a big crosswalk user. I mean, it's the law, right, to stop for pedestrians in the crosswalk? One would think, but outside of Wellesley Square, it rarely happens. You're lucky if drivers stop for a stop sign, or a red light.

Anyway,  a few months ago, I'm waiting in a  Washington Street crosswalk. And waiting. For once, I'm not in a hurry. Black SUV after black SUV goes by. One, however, stops in the crosswalk on the opposite side of the street. It happens to be coming out of the police station driveway.

I keep waiting and so does the other car. More black SUVs go by with many people in them drinking coffee while on the phone. Finally, the other car has had enough and BOOM! switches on its blue lights and siren.

An unmarked car! Now everyone stops. For me! Mom waves to the officer and we parade across in my own personal Make Way for Ducklings moment.

In the police lot, another officer is coming in for a shift. I go over to thank him and his colleagues for their protection. He sees I'm thirsty and gives me my very own, ice-cold Poland Spring water. It's the kind with the squirt top, so I guzzle down the whole thing.

They're there when you need them: thank you, Wellesley Police! Go, dog, go!