Biggie -- In Memoriam

On Tuesday, December 24, 2024.  Christmas Eve, Biggie made his final trip to the vet.  On Monday, December 23^rd, Biggie suffered a stroke, paralyzing one side of his body.  He could no longer eat, drink, or walk.  We received a phone call early Monday morning from Biggie’s mom letting us know the situation with Biggie, and Rachael, my wife was able to go over to her home to hold and comfort him while Sara, Biggie’s mom, went to her job for a few hours.  Tuesday my wife returned to Sara’s home and, along with other members of Sara’s family, they were able to take Biggie on his final ride.  Biggie is now permanently in our back yard in a place selected for him some time ago.  Biggie was just a few weeks short of his 19^th birthday. We were blessed to have had him for most of those years.  

I realize it has been many months since I last posted anything, and that is entirely my fault.  As many already know, I am not well.  Chronic back pain, vertigo, and a constant shaking due to essential tremors and/or Parkinson’s form the basis of my many problems.  Add to that a few other old man problems, and…well, you get the idea.  Then when we lost Biggie, I just descended into a depression the like of which I  have not experienced in about 50 years.  To top it off, both of my laptop computers, just quit on me.  Needless to say, the last 6 months have been zero fun.  But that is now behind me.  I hope to do better with my postings, at least for a while.

The Feed is just a few long months away now.  This year is will be, once again, the third Friday in September.  The date is September 19, 2025, and it looks like it will be bigger and better than ever.  I can’t wait.  I just hope to be well enough to get there once again.  Ticket sales will be here very soon (the date and time has not been announced, although I suspect it will be similar to last year), so I hope you have set your dollars aside, because the tickets will sell out in just hours. 

It feels good to be back at the computer once again.  Hopefully these posts will be made without so much time/space between them.

See you at the Feed!

Meat and Beer!

Biggie – Year Thirteen

Recently I came across some information that places Biggie’s birthdate in February, 2006.  That makes him EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD!!!  And, at least for the most part, he still acts like a puppy.  Yes, he is almost completely deaf, he is losing his eyesight, he still has a few teeth, and he can't jump.  He is white after all.  But his health is good, and he still likes to go for walks and spend time outdoors. 

I haven’t had much opportunity to spend time with him this past year, and I'm not certain how to correct that.  Biggie's mom does not have a car, and neither do I.  Also, even if I owned a car, I am no longer able to drive due to my own health problems.  Still, I am not entirely without getting my “Biggie fix" from time to time.  Occasionally someone is able to bring him over for a visit.

Recently I saw a video his mom took of him outdoors and off leash.  Biggie was having fun running and playing just like a young pup.  It made me very happy to see him like this.  I hope he remains this way for many more years.

Catching Up

From time to time I get a little behind on my writings and postings, and, needless to say, right now I am Waaaayyyyyyy behind.  However, this time I do not apologize.  This past year has been a beast.  Those of you who know me personally know I have been battling a number of illnesses for many years, and for anyone who didn’t know this, well, now you do.  Today I feel as well as I have felt in the last fifteen years, which is rare anymore.  This is not offered as an apology for not posting, nor am I looking for any sympathy.  Simply put, I somehow got old, ill, and forgetful.  This post is to catch up on a few things some of my readers have asked me about. 

Biggie – Year Twelve and a Half

Biggie is now seventeen years old and his strength and stamina is still strong.  In my previous post about him, I wrote about how he had slowed down some and needed help with a couple of things, but he remains a very active doggie.

Stanley -- Year Three Quarters

Stanley is also a part time dog.  Does two part time dogs make one full time dog?  No, it adds up to a full time job, but I love it.  Stanley is part Great Pyrenees, part Bernese Mountain Dog, part labradoodle, and a sprinkling of fence jumper.  Although he is still a puppy, at ten months old, he has become a sixty pound lap dog.  More about Stanley in a few months.

Annual Wild Game Feed 2023

The Annual Wild Game Feed at Irvine Lake is just a little less than nine weeks away.  September 15, 2023 is coming up quickly, and I am hoping to see everyone again this year, along with some new faces.  I hope to continue attending this event many years into the future; however, as I mentioned in the opening paragraph, I am not well, so every year I am able to attend may well be my last one.  I realize that sounds as though I am about to be planted in the ground. Sorry. I have had Parkinson’s for about 18 years now, and I am finding my energy levels are not what they used to be.   I tire easily, and I may not have the ability to attend, but that will not stop me from promoting the best and biggest Wild Game Feed anywhere.  Unless something improves in my health condition, I must prepare for the year that will be my last Feed.  So for now…

(I hope to) See You At The Feed!!

Biggie—Year Eleven—The Nose Bump

Right now Biggie is asleep at my feet.  There is something wonderful far beyond words having a little doggie whose trust is so great as to sleep at (or on) your feet.  The only problem is this: if I so much as wiggle a toe, it will disturb him.  That is something I simply don't want to do.

Biggie’s favorite form of getting my attention is a nose bump.  He will just touch the end of his nose to my leg, step back, and look up at me.  He always starts with this, but if I don’t respond in a timely manner, he will resort to other methods.  I may receive two or even three nose bumps before foot scraping begins.  Foot scraping will turn into agitated twirling or bouncing, and as a last resort, woofing and barking.  Usually it doesn’t get that far before I figure out what he wants, although sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I just can’t figure out what he wants.  However, overall he is a good communicator. 

Even though he has been in my life for eleven years, Biggie is almost sixteen years old, yet he still acts like a puppy much of the time.  Yes he is slowing down some, and he can no longer jump onto the sofa without some assistance, but he still likes to go for long walks, runs in the park, and trips to the beach (unless it is too hot).  He also loves to ride in the car.  It starts with a nose bump, two steps back, tail wagging, and a hopeful stare.  If I don’t respond in about two seconds, the foot scraping begins and quickly escalates into agitated twirling, bouncing, woofing, and barking.

Biggie is still my part-time dog.  His mom is moving a few blocks from their current home into a better place, so he is visiting for a few days.  Each time he come over, it seem his routine has changed a bit.  Different wake-up time, different feeding schedule, different walking schedule.  But one thing has always remained the same.  The nose bump.

Biggie—Year Ten—FaceTime Dog

What a year, huh?  Biggie had just returned home to his mom after nearly a year of living with my wife and me when the quarantines arrived due to the pandemic.   His mom finally found a real job, so he went home to be with her.  Literally the next morning the announcements of quarantine hit us like a lightening bolt.  Since that time we have seen him only four or five times.  Once when I had to deliver something to his mom, and several times when his mom had to go out of town for a few days for her job. 

This social separation from my part-time dog is difficult for me, so the best thing I can do is call his mom for some FaceTime with Biggie.  (Biggie doesn't have his own phone yet.)  Somehow it’s just not the same as being with him, and honestly, I don’t think he really understands it.  When I talk to him, he seems more interested is sleeping, or some toy, or just sniffing of something.  Once I thought he barked for me, but then I realized the mail was being delivered to his home.  Oh, well.

Biggie is now fourteen years old, and in a few months he will add another year.  He has slowed down a little, and he is missing a few teeth, but he is in good health overall.  Last year, just before the virus reared its ugly head, Biggie developed a growth in his left ear.  At first I thought the growth was just a skin tag, but in just a few weeks it was larger than a marble.  The first vet he visited to said he would need to remove the entire ear in order to biopsy the growth.  NO!  The second vet took one look and said no problem.  This is an easy removal and Biggie should be perfectly fine in a few days.  Out patient surgery.  No hospital time.  And a couple of thousand dollars less than that first vet.  I really don’t think Biggie even realized the surgery took place.  He was a happy dog before the surgery, and he was a happy dog afterwards.  Then he went home to his mom.  Very happy dog.

As I was writing the above paragraphs I got a call from Biggie’s mom.  She is going out of town for a week.  Could I pick him up tonight?  Before we ended the phone call, I was in the car and on my way. 

Biggie is now home with me.  Yea!  I’m a happy dog, uh, guy right now.  Just as I walked in the door to my home, Biggie’s mom called to FaceTime with MY dog, and Biggie responded to her voice for a moment.  Only a moment.  He then ran into the kitchen and woofed at the cabinet where I store his treats.  Yes, he has his priorities.  Snacks are more important than anything else, and I agree.

Now FaceTime with Biggie has a new meaning, or at least for a few days.  This is the real thing.  His face and my face with no phone in between.  I’m a happy, uh, guy.

Biggie—Year Nine—The Granddog

Biggie has been in my life for nine years now, and for this entire time he has been my part-time dog.  His mom is a friend who currently lives in a different city from my wife and me, but Biggie gets to come for regular visits for a few days at a time.  However, his current visit has lasted for over nine months, and I am beginning to forget he belongs to someone else.

Biggie’s mom is having trouble finding quality work and an affordable place to live.  While this is something most of us have experienced in our lives (past and/or present), it is making it difficult for her to keep Biggie at home and care for him properly.  Therefore, “Grandpa" and “Grandma" stepped in. 

We love this little doggie.  A lot.  But we never expected to have him for nine months and counting.  It’s like having a 2-year old with bad habits (or maybe it’s Grandpa with the bad habits), but still we love this little doggie.  A lot. 

Biggie brings us a lot of joy, fun, and laughter.  Everyday he does something fun to watch.  Lately he is starting out each day with a back scratch by crawling under my feet and moving back and forth so my feet do the scratching.  Needless to say, it wakes me up.  So does crawling up on me and licking my ear.  This, along with a series of doggie dances, ultimately gets me up.  As soon as I am vertical, he starts nudging me toward the kitchen for his breakfast. 

As he begins eating I start making breakfast for me, but Biggie considers it his second breakfast and does not allow me to walk away from the stove for any reason.  If I try to step over to the refrigerator, for instance, he will begin barking non-stop until I return to the stove.  He will allow me to leave the stove only if I am about to plate my (his second) breakfast.  He will even allow me a few bites of it before becoming worried I will eat all of it.  Ultimately he wins, and my plate gets a Biggie licking.

About two hours before sunset every day Biggie begins announcing he wants to go out.  Not outside, but out, as in “out to a park."  A walk around the neighborhood will sometimes be acceptable, but a park is always preferable, if not demanded.  So about 5 to 6 times each week, Biggie visits a local park where he gets the same exercise as when he takes a walk around the block.  In our back yard he can run free if he wants to do so, but everywhere else a leash is required.  But Biggie still prefers a park.

We have made several dog beds for him to sleep in and placed them around the house.  There is one in my workroom/office.  One is located under the bed in the bedroom, and one is located in front of our living room television, and he knows these are for him.  Just try to move one, and he will let you know to whom it belongs.  But that doesn’t mean he is confined to sleeping there.  Biggie will sleep where Biggie will sleep.  Last night my wife was working on a craft item and a large square of paper fell to the floor.  Biggie immediately claimed it as a bed.  He stepped onto it, scratched it a few times, circled around for a bit, then laid himself down and took a nap.  Later he abandoned it for a drink of water, and my wife picked it up.  When Biggie returned, he looked around for it, let out a low growl, and went over to a space between a lounge chair and the wall to lie down and stare at me for a while as though I had something to do with removing his new bed.

Biggie also has a number of small soft toys to play with.  For the most part he just lets them clutter up the floor around his beds, and he will rarely play with any of them.  And for Biggie, play never lasts more than just a couple of minutes at best, but Biggie knows what is his, and what is not.  When we bring home a new toy, he seems to know instinctly it is his.  Biggie likes to inspect the contents of every bag we bring into the house.  Groceries, clothes, hair care products, etc., it doesn’t matter, he just wants to look at and/or sniff everything entering our home.  Sometimes we will buy a toy for our neighbor’s toddler or newborn, and Biggie gives these a pass.  But if it is for him, he always knows it.

Recently we purchased a small toy for Biggie, but we didn’t give it to him immediately.  Somehow we got it past his inspection and hid it away for another time.  My wife put together a small box of kid's toys for the neighbor’s children to play with when they come to visit and included this small (unused) toy we had purchased for Biggie.  A few days went by, and the toddler came over for a visit, so his new toy box was brought out for him to go through.  Of course Biggie wanted to inspect the contents of this box.  As usual, Biggie examined the toys as each one was taken out of the box, and as usual, Biggie gave each one a pass, that is until his own toy was brought out.  Even though he had never seen it before, Biggie grabbed it and carried it over to his bed and sat there guarding it the remainder of the day.  How did he know?

Oh, how we spoil our “granddog.”  The only problem right now is that we can spoil him, but can't send him home.  We have to live with the results, but I’ll keep on spoiling him as long as I can.  He is worth it.

Biggie—Year Eight

I’ve received several inquiries as to when I’m going to post again, and I apologize for waiting so long.  I’ve been rather busy with a little white doggie and simply forgot about my writings.  Sorry.  But Biggie is just too much fun.

To me it is simply amazing that Biggie has been in my life for eight years.  He may be my part-time dog, but he is still a large part of my life.  There has been much to overcome for both of us, but it keeps getting better.  Eight years ago, I wanted nothing to do with him simply because I didn’t want to get attached, as I knew I would.  That quickly changed, and now I find it difficult to think of letting him go.  Hopefully that is still many years away.  Biggie is twelve years old now, and this summer he will turn thirteen, but I’m counting on many more years.

A couple of weeks ago Biggie came for a visit.  He stayed until last night before returning home to his mom, but during his stay with my wife and me he expected to be highly entertained.  Actually he provided most of the entertainment.

Biggie demands breakfast be served at exactly 6am every morning, and he understands it takes me about 15 minutes to wake up and prepare his breakfast.  Therefore, at 5:45 I get the wake-up call.  It starts with a simple hand lick.  Apparently I sleep with one hand over the edge.  At first I’m just hoping it was a dream, and I try to go back to sleep, but Biggie isn’t fooled.  The hand licks now include a few hind leg scuffs.  Then comes the front leg pawing.  When that doesn’t work, I get the dancing. 

By now my eyes are open, and he sees me watching him.  Every dance is different.  My favorite is the twist where he quickly turns back on himself (first right, then left) a few times.  This is followed by the dogtrot where he prances back and forth across the room. Then there is the dog hop where he literally hops around the room.  Biggie has his own versions of the funky chicken (funky dog), the jitterbug (jitterdog), and the boogie-woogie (doggie-woggie).  And the list goes on.

Since I’m enjoying the dancing more that getting up, Biggie now resorts to force.  My hand now gets a set of teeth attached to it (not hard, but he won’t let loose either), and Biggie will start to pull me out of bed.  The moment my feet touch the floor, he lets loose of my hand and starts to nip at my heels to herd me into the kitchen.  Once I’m in the kitchen he backs off as breakfast is prepared.  But if I try to leave the kitchen before he eats, he will block the door and not let me through. 

I usually go straight to my computer while he is eating, so as soon as he is finished, he finds me and stares at me until I pet him.  And pet him.  And pet him.  Now it’s time for him to take a walk.  I get dressed, I put his walking harness and leash on him, I take him to the door, I open the door, he looks outside, he turns around and runs under the bed.  I go back to the computer.  I know Biggie needs a walk.  Biggie knows he needs a walk.  Biggie wants my wife to take him.  My wife is still asleep, so Biggie decides to wait.  Apparently his walks with my wife are more fun than his walks with me.

Afternoon rides in the car are not just expected, they are demanded.  There was a time when I could put him in the car and take him around the block.  He would be a happy dog with just a short ride, but those days are over.  Long over.  Now he isn’t happy until we run out of gas.  Either that or I take him to a park where he can explore for a couple of hours.  And I had better not take him to the same park twice in a row.  Thank goodness there are more than twenty parks within a few miles of home.

His favorite park is the beach at White Point less than 5 easy miles from home.  It isn’t the classic sandy beach, but a rocky shoreline with old broken up concrete slabs and retaining walls from a 1920’s bathhouse resort.  It is filled with tide pools and shallow flat areas with almost no wave action.  Perfect for Biggie. 

Biggie has always had a fear of water.  When he first came our direction we had a small children’s plastic wading pool.  We put about 4 inches of water in it, and tried to place Biggie in the water.  I’ve never known a dog to exhibit such fear.  I won’t go into details, but we realized there was a big problem.  It took years to get him to trust us when just giving him a bath.  We could take him to a nearby dog beach, and he enjoyed playing in the sand and with the other dogs, but he would not go near the water.  However, at White Point Biggie won’t stay out of the water.  Go figure.  And he still hides at bath time.  And he will not step in a water puddle on his walks. 

The past two weeks were filled with Biggie Adventures, and I found myself quite occupied with being entertained by entertaining Biggie.  I’ll do my best to keep writing, but if there is another lapse in my postings, somehow Biggie will be responsible.

Two Dog Nights

Biggie and Sir are BFF’s.  They enjoy being neighbors, taking walks together, and playing together.  But until this week they have never had an overnighter.  Although they are still best friends, a few jealousies have crept into their relationship.

As I have written before, Biggie is my part-time dog.  My wife and I have looked after him on a part-time basis for many years now.  At first it was everyday while his mom was at work, and then after we both moved, it has been visits for a few days to a couple of weeks at a time. 

Sir belongs to one of Biggie’s mom's new neighbors.  Sir is a little white poodle, and Biggie not only likes Sir, but he enjoys being with Sir.  This is the only time Biggie has ever wanted to be with another dog.  But Sir seems to feel the same way about Biggie.

Sir’s mom became ill and had to be hospitalized for over a week, and Biggie's mom took up the reins to oversee the recovery of her neighbor.  Both Sir and Biggie needed a place to stay during this time, so my wife and I turned our home into a two-dog kennel.  I thought keeping up with Biggie was tough enough.  Oh, was I in for a surprise.  Overall it was a good experience, and we were very happy to provide these two doggies a safe haven while their worlds were in turmoil.  But there was a learning curve for all parties involved. 

What we did for one dog had to be done for the other dog.  If one of us picked up Biggie, Sir needed to be picked up.  If one dog went for a walk, both dogs had to go for a walk.  If one got a treat, both had to have a treat.  If one dog got a bath, the other dog disappeared completely.  Baths are the only thing they did not wish to share.

I was surprised to discover they ate the same amounts of the same food each day.  This was purely coincidence, but it made my life a bit easier.  I placed their food in separate dishes and showed them which one was theirs, and they had no problem with this.  They didn’t try to eat each other’s food, but they did check out what and how much the other was getting. 

Biggie is not exactly a snuggly, cuddly, or playful dog, but Sir is.  However, anytime Sir found a lap to snuggle in, Biggie would go into non-stop barking mode.  He still didn’t want to snuggle, Biggie just didn’t like it that Sir was getting something he wasn’t getting.

Everywhere we went, we had two dogs with us.  Everything we did, we had two dogs with us.  Every meal involved two dogs.  Every conversation included two dogs.  Every time mail was delivered, again, two dogs.  Well, for about ten days, my wife and I got absolutely nothing done that didn’t relate to “two dogs.”  We are very busy people, and getting behind in projects creates havoc for us, but I would do this again in a heartbeat--although, I hope it's a long time before it happens again.

A Biggie Adventure

Biggie is a very attentive dog.  He knows what is going on around him at all times, even if he appears to be sleeping.  For instance, I was in the kitchen doing some dishes and other kitchen maintenances while Biggie was asleep in the living room.  At one point I was wiping down the outside of the refrigerator, rinsing out the cleaning cloth, and continuing to wipe down the refrigerator.  Biggie did nothing.  But the moment I touched the refrigerator door handle, Biggie was under my feet waiting for me to open it.  Somehow he knew when I touched that handle, and he knew I was about to open it.  It didn’t matter that I had been grabbing that handle for the last ten minutes during the cleaning process.  The big difference was that I was about to use that handle to open the refrigerator.  Biggie is like that, and if you have a dog, you know exactly what I mean.

Biggie’s adventures are usually rather benign, but occasionally there is something to write home about.  If I were to tell you that an average day’s adventure consists of sniffing every blade of grass on a walk around the block, or standing in one place sniffing a single spot for fifteen minutes, it would be somewhat boring since this is what all dogs do.  It might be a bit more interesting if we went to the park and he chased a squirrel or two, but again, this is what all dogs do.  Just about anything I could come up with to talk about concerning Biggie is what all dogs do, including his brief encounter with a skunk.  Almost all dogs encounter a skunk at one time or another, but unlike chasing a squirrel up a tree, some of these encounters can be rather memorable.

Last night Biggie walked over to the front door and scraped his back foot.  Then he walked over to where I was sitting and placed his nose against my leg for a moment before walking back to the door.  This is a signal to me he wants to go for a walk, so I decided to take him out (believe me when I say it’s better than deciding not to take him out).  When I opened the door Biggie ran over to my wife signaling he wanted her to join us.  Okay.  So all of us stepped outside together.

Now, usually when Biggie goes outside, he is wearing a harness and leash, but this time I decided to forego the hassle, since he doesn’t run away except to inspect something nearby.  Even then he will come back the moment we call him.  Besides, I was going to make this a quick whiz in the yard.  As we stepped onto the porch, there was a rustling in the bushes along side of the house, and Biggie ran over to inspect.  I saw a flash of something black and white, and my first thought was of the neighbor’s cat that Biggie wanted for a friend, but then I saw it turn around and the tail raise high into the air.  Biggie had just come face to tail with his first skunk.  Biggie froze, the skunk ran away around the corner of the house, and there was no doubt that skunk left something behind.

Although Biggie took the full force of the blast, my wife and I were peripheral casualties.  My wife immediately picked Biggie up and carried him into the house for a bath, and now the entire house has been transformed into a skunk’s den.  Oh well.  I mixed up a batch of anti-skunk-odor dog wash and Biggie got a bath.  My wife got a bath.  I got a bath.  Our clothes are hanging outside in the fresh air, although they may need to be burned.  And our house…  Our house has every window open and every fan on.  And the smell outside the house will insure no solicitor comes to our front door for a while. 

This morning Biggie altered his morning walk to include the infected area around the house where he thoroughly marked his territory.  Again on a second walk, he double marked his territory.  This is Biggie’s house, and skunks aren’t welcome.

What is it about dogs and skunks?  Growing up in farm country, every dog I knew had managed to spend some time in a tomato juice bath in a futile attempt to diminish the effects of the encounter with a skunk.  I have never known a dog to win the battle.  My friend Frank’s dog once thought he had managed to become victorious, but in the end he was the biggest loser of all, along with the entire neighborhood.

Chunk was a solid dog, much like a pit bull, and he was very curious, as many dogs are.  About three or four blocks away from the block where Frank and I lived across the street from each other was a small area of scrub oak trees on a piece of land not yet cleared for new housing.  This was a great place for my friends and I to go and pretend we were hunters or something.  Usually one of the guy's dogs would join us, and on one fateful day it was Chunk who was the chosen one.

Chunk was doing Chunk things when I heard Rick or Mike or someone shout something.  About that time I saw Chunk running down the street towards home holding some object in his mouth.  Behind Chunk were several skunks giving chase.  Behind the skunks was Frank frantically chasing after his dog. 

I know once a skunk releases his stuff, there is very little left for a second shot, although very little goes a long ways.  And the skunk in Chunks mouth had reinforcements not far behind.  I’ve never experienced anything quite like this before or since.  People were coming out of their houses for several blocks and fanning the air as they looked around for the source of the problem.

Chunk ran for several blocks before releasing his captive, and then he went into hiding not fully realizing his location was easy to sniff out.  As quickly as he would find a good spot, someone would chase him away.  The problem was he would leave behind strong evidence that he had been there.  For a couple of days Chunk broadcast his adventure around the neighborhood before returning home.  As for the skunks themselves, it seems they informed the neighborhood for several weeks they were not to be disturbed in the future. 

Well, Biggie’s encounter with the skunk hasn’t really taught him anything, and I do not believe for one second the skunk thinks it is over.  I just hope the house airs out in the near future.  And Biggie will definitely be on a leash from now on.

Biggie—Year Seven—Through Thick and Thin

Biggie and I have something in common—we both have white hair.  In the first photograph you can see the old white-haired man (me) holding the little white doggie (Biggie) near my home at a place known as White Point (White Point).  You can also see Biggie and I both could use a haircut.

This brings up something I’ve been pondering for a few years.  In the second photograph Biggie has had a haircut and appears much thinner.  In fact when he needs a haircut people always comment to me about how I’m overfeeding him.  He appears to be about 10 to 15 pounds overweight until the haircut happens.  Then people comment to me that I need to feed him because he is too thin.  Why does an extra inch of hair add so much weight to his appearance?  The reality is he has weighed about 18 to 19 pounds all of his adult life.  I’ve been taking note of this for years, and now I’m wondering if I were to get a haircut, would I look too thin as well?  Well that’s probably not going to happen (the haircut, that is), so I may never know the answer to my question. 

Biggie is almost twelve years old now, and we have been through many adventures together.  I can’t say our adventures are anything out of the ordinary, but he seems to be having fun, and that’s what counts as far as I am concerned.  Today’s adventure was a drive over to the groomer’s to get his toenails clipped.  He hates this with a passion, but it is always followed with a treat of some kind.  After the joy of toenail clipping we went to the drive-thru at one of those burger places with the two golden humps out front.  I bought a double hump-burger and took one of the patties out for Biggie (I got the rest of course).  Then we went to a nearby park to eat and go for a walk.  That was it.  But to Biggie it was an adventure.  Oh, and a guy walking by commented that my dog was too fat and needed to go on a diet.  (Tomorrow he gets a haircut.)

I don’t get to see Biggie as much as I desire, and when I do get to keep him for a few days my wife and I end up doing a bunch of his maintenance.  The toenails are just one thing.  Then there are anal glands to be expressed (such fun for both of us), haircuts (for him—not me), and baths (my wife does this for him).  Removing endless burrs is always a pleasure, and face cleanings are perpetual.  But it’s worth it. 

We’ve also had our ups and downs with staying connected.  Biggie belongs to a former neighbor, and we have both moved.  Now his mom is moving again, but she hasn’t figured out where.  However, once again we will work this out.  Biggie is my part time dog, and I will see to it we remain connected.  No matter what it takes.

When Is Santa Coming?

Biggie and his best friend Sir.

Follow up:  Well Biggie and Sir did have a nice Christmas.  Santa came by for a visit and left some great doggie gifts for the boys, and they were very happy about what they received.  Santa tried to take some photos of their noses in the packages and of them playing with their new toys, but Santa isn't very good with a camera.  Oh well.  But at least the doggies weren't disappointed.

Biggie—Year Six—Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

This has been an interesting year.  In a couple of previous posts I’ve talked about moving away from my home of 20 years, as well as Biggie’s mom also moving away.  It meant at the time the probability of never seeing Biggie again.  However, a few last moment changes in moving plans left us only 12 miles apart, and I get to have Biggie over for visits on a regular basis. 

Right now Biggie is doing one of his favorite things—he is asleep on our sofa, and I’ll let him stay there as long as he desires.  He used to take over my chair, so I gave up and started sitting on the sofa.  Now he is taking over the sofa, and I’ve been relegated back to my old chair.  This little guy is 10 years old now, and in a few months he will be 11.  His age is beginning to show, but then again, so is my age.  But this doesn’t stop us from having fun.

My wife and I live just a short drive from a coffee shop overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and it is a peaceful location where one can relax and enjoy getting hyper on caffeine spiked with sugar.  The outdoor patio is a perfect place to bring a dog, and the coffee shop will serve dogs a cup of whipped cream if requested.  Biggie knows this.  And there is more.  They know Biggie and will often bring him his whipped cream BEFORE it is requested. 

We had Biggie in the car with us one day, and I mentioned getting a cup of coffee.  Biggie went crazy.  He was jumping all over us with excitement.  My idea was to go to another place closer to where we were driving, but Biggie had his own thoughts on the matter.

As I drove past the turn that would take us to the coffee shop by the ocean, Biggie started barking uncontrollably at me.  At first I didn’t understand he was telling me I missed the turn.  I pulled into the nearby place I had in mind, but Biggie was whining and refused to get out of the car.  We decided to drive around a bit more to calm him down, and as I again drove past the turn to the coffee shop by the ocean, Biggie started barking once more.  That’s when I decided to just drive on over to the coffee shop at the overlook.  Biggie’s barking stopped, but he stood on my wife’s lap with his tail wagging out of control.

When we pulled into the parking lot, Biggie was again wild with excitement.  We hooked up his leash, and he almost dragged my wife over to the patio while I made our coffee purchase and requested a cup of whipped cream for Biggie.  I looked towards the back door of the shop exiting onto the patio, and there stood Biggie with his two front paws on the door’s glass looking in at me (tail wagging, of course).  Oh, what a happy dog!  All of this was a result of simply mentioning to my wife that I wanted a cup of coffee.

Also, near where we live, and well within Biggie walking distance, is a take-out restaurant specializing in chicken wings.  The first time we brought Biggie over to our new home, we drove by this restaurant, and Biggie’s nose went into overtime sniffing.  He couldn’t see it, but he managed to calculate its location and distance from our home.  When I took him for his first walk from our home, Biggie walked straight to the restaurant.  Even though it was closed at the time, Biggie placed his paws on the door glass and started barking for them to open.

This chicken wing restaurant is a chain with many locations.  I asked his mom if he had ever been to one in the past, but she assured me he had never been to one.  Still, on each and every walk, Biggie wanted chicken wings. 

One afternoon we drove to a nearby outdoor shopping center, and while my wife was shopping, I gave Biggie a walk.  He seemed to be determined to walk the length of the mall without stopping, and when we reached the last storefront, I realized it was another of these chicken wing restaurants.  It was everything I could do to prevent him from dragging me in there.  His nose knows.

I actually would love to treat Biggie to chicken wings (sans bones of course), but he is allergic to chicken.  Bummer.  Maybe the big attraction is the desire for forbidden delicacies.  I understand this.  I love peanut butter, but I can’t have it even in small quantities.  So I guess I understand Biggie on this point.

Well, in spite of moving away, Biggie continues to be a large part of my life.  We recently had him over for a visit of several weeks, and I was glad to return him to his mom.  (The advantages of having a part-time dog.)  The problem is though, as soon as he goes home, I start to miss him.  At least he is still a part of my life.

Biggie--Transitioning

Recently my wife and I moved away from our home of over 20 years.  Our neighbor (Biggie’s ‘Mom’) also moved away a few weeks later.  I didn’t think we would have Biggie in our lives any more, and I was absolutely heartbroken over that thought; however, things are not as bad as I originally thought they would be. 

Since moving we have had Biggie here several times for a few days at a time.  He has easily transitioned to being transported between the two homes for extended stays at each.  I’m not fond of his absence for several weeks at a time, but this is better than not having him at all.  I’ll take it.

A few days ago his mom sent us a short video of Biggie in his new digs, and it made me very happy to see him having fun.  I wish I were there, although this is the next best thing.

Biggie--Year Five

Biggie is now nine years old, and sometime this summer he will turn ten.  His actual birthday is unknown, but we renew his shots each year on or about June 6, so that is his unofficial birthday. 

Biggie's age is starting to show, and I hate to admit it, but I have many of the same symptoms.  We're both slowing down.  We both sleep late in the morning and take naps in the afternoon.  But we both find it difficult to sleep at night.  Both of us are having dental problems in spite of dental care.  We've both gained weight.  We are having vision problems.  We both have white hair.

Anytime my wife opens the refrigerator, Biggie and I have a race to the kitchen.  Both of us hate to go outside for a walk, but once we are outside, we don't want to come back in.  We both like rides in the car with stops at almost any park we pass by.  Wait!  Are these symptoms?  Sometimes its difficult to separate symptoms from actions, but I've noticed on the days I have allergies, he has watering eyes and a runny nose.

I cherish my time with Biggie, and I know it is limited and will ultimately come to an end.  He is not my dog, and there is always the possibility his mom will move away, or my wife and I will move away.  Also, we are all getting older and time may gather its reward.

Meanwhile, he is a happy dog, and that makes me happy.

*******

I wrote this a few weeks ago not knowing just how short my time with Biggie really was.  Today his mom let me know she is moving away in a few weeks, just as my wife and I had also decided it was time to move.  Biggie will have to adjust to a new home with his mom, and Rachael and I will have to adjust to a life without Biggie.  Not an easy thing to do, but once again I must rely upon past resolve to never again own another dog.  The pain of losing them is too much for me to carry.

How Long is a Dog’s Memory?

I was reading an article about “scientific research” on dogs, and I wondered if such “research” was carried out by actual scientists.  The article was about a dog’s memory retention, not the things learned such as ‘fetch,’ ‘roll over,’ and ‘the sound of a can opener.’  It explored whether or not a dog could remember what happened yesterday, or last week, or last year.  The conclusion was “No,” a dog has no memory of events of the past.

I’ve shared this before, but it bears repeating.  I was walking Biggie across the street near the taco stand when a lady dropped her taco.  Biggie broke free from me and devoured that taco in just moments.  Since that day Biggie has deliberately taken me to the taco stand almost every time we go for a walk.  He hasn’t forgotten that chance taco nearly three years ago.

Biggie’s groomer was telling me today about her little dog and a forgotten hamburger in the back seat of her car.  She and her mother-in-law had stopped for burgers at a local joint and had purchased an extra to take home for her husband.  They set it in the back seat of the car, drove home, and promptly forgot all about the burger.  The next morning she got back into her car with her dog, which immediately jumped into the back seat.  The dog had never been in the back seat before, nor had it ever shown any inclination to do so.  She turned around to see what was going on just as the dog was swallowing the last bite of the forgotten burger.  Since then, the dog immediately jumps into the back seat upon entering the car.  He didn’t forget.

Not all dog memories are about food.  Over forty years ago a friend gave me his hunting dog Hubie.  My friend had purchased a lime-green and white 1956 Chevrolet Belair two or three days before moving out of town and leaving Hubie with me.  Hubie saw the car only once or twice, but he would always look closely at any 1956 Belair he saw.  If the color wasn’t right, he would quickly turn away, but if the color was correct, Hubie would go in for a closer look.  Hubie remembered. 

Geoffrey was an eight-week-old puppy when he came my way.  I had him less than a year before having to let him go to another owner, but just before his departure, I took him back to visit the people who had given him to me.  He immediately ran over to a corner of their store and tried to push aside a barrel to get behind it.  We moved the barrel and there was a dog toy, which made Geoffrey very happy.  The thing is, Geoffrey was in this store only once for an hour or so on the day I received him.  He had been given this toy on the morning of the day I received him.  His association with this toy and this store were very minimal and had occurred some ten months earlier when he was a puppy.  But he hadn’t forgotten the toy or where he had lost it.

I was discussing hunting dogs with a friend at the fishing club.  (Some fishermen are also hunters.)  He told me one of his dogs couldn’t find a downed bird on a dove hunt, but the next year they returned to the same place, and the dog immediately began to search the field for the missing bird.  It bothered the dog that he had failed to find the missing bird a year earlier.

Anyone with a dog will have at least one similar story.  I believe it is not possible to own a dog and not be aware of the mind of the dog.  Dogs (and in fact all animals) are amazing creatures.  Often I hear the phrase ‘dumb animal,’ but I am convinced all animals possess enough intelligence to survive.  And memory plays an important roll.

Can a dog remember the events of August 22, 2014, or that next Tuesday at 10am he is scheduled to visit the vet?  Probably not.  But I do question if the “scientists” who did the “research” ever owned a dog.

Biggie—Year Four

There is nothing like owning a dog, except maybe taking care of someone else’s dog.  Nothing in life prepared me for having a part-time dog, or for the bonding I could have with an animal that isn’t mine to keep.  But there he is.  Right now he is asleep on his bed just beside my chair.  I’m looking down at him and thinking, “He needs a haircut.”

Oh, boy.  When it comes time to groom Biggie, it always begins with a major struggle and ends with a happy dog.  I believe many dog owners know what I am talking about.  For Biggie there is a fear of water, and consequently a fear of a bath.  Somehow, someway, he knows when he is going to get a bath, and he immediately bolts under the bed at the very center near the headboard where he can’t be reached from either side.  And almost nothing will coax him out from there.

For a long time trickery was our greatest asset.  Biggie likes to get treats, and he responds to the rustle of a bag in the kitchen instantly.  Just open the refrigerator door and he is there.  Open a pantry door and he appears underfoot as if by magic.  All of these were used effectively to lure him from under the bed at bath time, until recently.  Now if he suspects a bath is in order, not even a meaty beef rib bone will draw him out.  

Once he is in the bath, he enjoys getting attention and a massage.  And afterward he loves the blowdryer.  When everything is done, he runs up to anyone around to show off how fluffy and soft he is.  And soft he is.  Like a cloud.  Needless to say, this gets him a lot of petting, and he is one very happy dog.

The haircut is a different story.  He just doesn’t like a haircut no matter how you slice it.  It takes both Rachael and me to control most of him during the process.  The rest is done by use of a muzzle.  I really don’t like muzzling Biggie, but I really don’t like getting bit either.  Little dog, big bite.  He will tolerate trimming his body hair to some degree, but legs are a different story—and paws are a book of their own.  (We’re not even going into the art and science of nail trimming.)  When it comes to trimming his face, the muzzle has to come off, and then only my wife can get the job done.  Let me tell you, I hate giving him a haircut more than he hates receiving it.  When it comes to haircut time, I want to crawl under the bed.  If I could manage that, not even a meaty beef rib bone could draw me out.

I like having a dog, and having a part-time dog is perfect for me.  Sometimes I feel as though he is over here a bit too much, but when he is with his owner, I miss him—usually.  The advantage to sharing a dog is being able to go somewhere without worrying if he is okay—usually.

I just looked back down at Biggie sleeping beside me, and again I thought, “He needs a haircut.”  Maybe we will go for a ride in the car instead.

Nose in the Wind—Biggie—Year Three

Biggie is now seven years old.  I know.  Last year he was just five, but new information has come to my attention about his origins.  It was thought he was born in late 2007 or early 2008, but it happens that his appearance was at least one year earlier.

He is still my neighbor’s dog, and my wife and I still watch after him during the days while my neighbor is working.  At one point this past year my neighbor thought she was going to move away, and my first thought was about a custody battle.  Biggie is not my dog.  I must keep telling myself this.  Biggie is not my dog.  I said over thirty years ago I would never again own a dog, but I find myself longing to keep this one.

 

Biggie likes small adventures.  He has never met a park he didn’t like.  And Dog Beach near our home is a place he would visit every day if he could.  On our walks each day, he likes to explore wherever his nose is pointed, and that could mean alleys, porches, under bushes, the taco stand across the street, or just about anywhere.  One of his favorite adventures is a car ride.

 

When Biggie and I are alone in the car, he will stand beside me and rest his chin on my right arm as I grip the steering wheel.  Sometimes he will lie down in the floorboard and sleep, but whenever we drive by a fast food restaurant, he will instantly come up to let me know we should be stopping there.  Somehow he knows every time we drive by one.

 

When my wife Rachael is with us, Biggie will lie down in her lap for most of the journey (except when we drive by a fast food restaurant) expecting to be petted continuously and endlessly.  But sometimes, if we are moving slowly through a back street, she will roll down her window and hold on tightly as he sticks his head outside to feel the wind on his nose.  It is at these times I can see him in the passenger side-view mirror with his eyes squinted and his ears flopping in the breeze.  I don’t use the word “cute” very often, but there is no word more appropriate than “cute” in this scenario.

 

As I write this Biggie is asleep in my easy chair.  Or should I say His easy chair.  Somehow, some way he has taken ownership of that chair, and I am unable to convince him it is mine and not his.  He has more toys than me.  He has more snacks in the pantry than me.  He has his own bed.  He even has his own blanket.  This is a Part-Time Dog!  How did he take over??  If he had opposable thumbs, I believe he would control the world!  He already controls me.  At least he is a good dog, although I’ve had reason to question his motives lately.  I think he is trying to get me to open the refrigerator door for him.

 

Maybe I will.

Biggie—Year Two

Biggie is now five years old, and he has been in my life for two years.  As I explained before in “Biggie”, he is my neighbor’s dog, but my wife and I take care of him on a part time basis.  We walk him every day while his ‘Mom’ is at work, and he ends up staying with us until she gets home in the evening.

 

There are days when he just lays around the house, but they are quite rare.  Laying around is not high on Biggie’s priorities.  He is not a hyper dog, but he is a curious dog.  He also wants to be held for hours on end.  And all socks in the house belong to him, whether or not they are on one’s feet.

 

A few months ago he gave us a scare.  My wife gives him a bath about once a week, and she noticed a large lump had developed under his chin in just a few short days since his last bath.  His “Mom” couldn’t afford to take him to the vet so I footed the bill.  The big bill.  Ouch!  I said before I would not pay his vet bills, but that resolve quickly disappeared when his life was on the line.  Biggie was slowly choking due to pressure on his windpipe, and I was NOT going to lose another dog, even if he wasn’t my dog.  A biopsy, many shots, and an oral medicine brought the problem under control, but for about two weeks, there was more than a small amount of doubt that it would work.  But it did.

 

Lately I’ve been the one walking him almost every weekday, and he knows exactly where he wants to go.  A few weeks ago I made the mistake of walking him by the taco stand across the street at the exact moment a lady dropped her taco.  Biggie was all over it like a, um, uh, dog on a taco.  And his memory is very long.  Now his walks have become a battle of wills, but so far I’ve been winning.

 

Each day Biggie has hopes of another taco, and he knows the shortest route to the taco stand.  The stress on his harness and leash is enormous as he pulls one direction, and I’m pulling another.  My biggest fear is that should I give in, walk him by the taco stand, and someone will drop another taco.  If that happens there will be no winning in the future.

 

I must admit though, I’m planning on a special trip there in a few days.  The stand has an outdoor patio where dogs are welcomed, and I’m willing to drop a few bites of taco, maybe a chunk or two of burrito, or some quesadilla.  Honestly, Biggie has me wrapped around his paw.  Oh, well. 

Hubie

I tried many times to have a dog, but for various reasons it never worked out.  One failure that still hurts over 40 years later was Hubie.  I had decided owning a dog was never going to work for me, and I would never own another one.  Then a friend moved away and left me his dog.

 

Hubie was a trained hunting dog.  I know he was a mixed breed with both spaniel and German shorthair, but in spite of having both flushing and pointer in his genealogy, he was most at home retrieving waterfowl.  He and I were good friends almost immediately. 

 

I had rarely hunted birds, and never before had I hunted water birds, but that was about to change.  As soon as the season opened, he and I took the canoe out to the reeds on a nearby lake and when the sun came up, the teal were flying.  I took a teal about 30 yards out, and Hubie climbed over the gunwales to bring it to me.  In about 2 hours I had my limit, and I knew we would be doing this again.

 

The second and third hunts were about the same as the first one, except that there were more ducks than teal, but all I could seem to score on were the teal.  Never the less, Hubie was all I could hope for in a hunting dog.  He and I managed to get in some quail hunting, and he was good at it, but the water was where he belonged.

 

We had time for one more duck hunt before the season closed, and at sunup we were in place among the reeds.  It wasn’t the place we had been on previous hunts, but it was close enough.  The reeds provided a natural blind with just enough space for me to watch the flyway over my half-dozen decoys.  It was a cold morning, but we were as warm as we could get in a canoe.  I had spread out a number of blankets for Hubie to lie on, and I had plenty of towels to dry off some of the excess water he would collect while retrieving my birds. 

 

The birds were there on time that morning.  I sat and watched the first few fly by without taking a shot, and Hubie let out a low growl of disapproval.  I finally raised my twenty-gauge and fired off a shot.  As the bird hit the water, Hubie jumped out of the canoe, and I heard the yelp.  I looked at where Hubie entered the water, and I saw the stick before I saw Hubie and the blood. 

 

As quickly as I could, I moved the canoe a few feet so I could grab onto the dog, but it was too late.  The stick had killed him almost instantly.  Bringing him back into the canoe, I guess I flashed back on all the dogs I had tried to own.  I know I cried.  I think I screamed out my anguish.  Other hunters quickly motored and paddled over to me thinking I was injured, but one look at my dog brought tears to most of them.  Apparently I wasn’t the only one to loose a dog in a similar manner.

Biggie

I decided some 30 years ago I would never again own a dog, and true to my word, I still do not own a dog, but I have a dog—a part-time dog.  Our neighbor has a dog that my wife walks every day.  Biggie is a white dog.  After that, who know what he is?  He appears to have a mix of Bichon, Poodle, Shizu, and Dachshund.  His curly white coat looks like wool (sheep dog?).  He is very low to the ground and very, very long.  And he has a checkered past.

Our neighbor’s mother found him as a pup in Mexico a few years ago.  She was visiting in Juarez when someone asked her if she wanted a “genuine French poodle.”  No one was fooling anyone, but she took him anyway.  When she passed away, the dog was passed to various family members in Texas and New Mexico, but it wasn't working out for anyone.  There was even some talk of sending him to the pound.  Finally our neighbor brought him to her home in California.

It’s been an interesting year.  At first Biggie was untrusting and aggressive, but patience (not mine) and attention (not mine) began to turn him around, and I really give my wife credit for this.  I wanted nothing to do with another dog.  But he was a dog, and I can’t resist a dog.

Biggie definitely belongs to our neighbor first and foremost.  My wife is number two on the list, and I am at the bottom of the pecking order, but I don’t mind.  I get to enjoy him, and then he goes to someone else.  I know he is not mine and never will be, and I like this.  I get the best of having a dog around, and at the same time I don’t have to clean up after him (but I do), I don’t have to walk him (but I do), I don’t have to feed him (but I do), and I don’t have to pay the vet bills (and I don’t).

Yes, this is the way to have a dog.  Even though it took me over half a century to figure it out, I finally got it right.