Tag Archives: standard poodles

Uh Oh…

He’s smart.

He has a thing for car keys.

In truth, we collectively already have experience with an “early driver,” and while they lead to great war stories about just how tough it is to raise little ones… in real time? They’re kind of hair raising.

And deceptively sweet.

Who can blame a little pupper wupper for a minor nibble on the sole of a shoe?

Especially when they are so docile during the introduction of hygiene practices?

Yes, his posture is saying, “Yes, of course… Go right ahead. I understand. Ears need to be cleaned. I’ll just wait here until you’re done, then… pinned down between your knees… shall I?”

However, note the eyes, screaming, “ARE YOU FUDGING KIDDING ME??!!!! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM??!!!!”

And this attitude is just one reason why we’ve been SO BUSY in the last couple of weeks. It was this, and the first draft of the book we need to have finished by Monday.

Questions come naturally to quick, growing learners.

For instance, check the head tilt, suggesting, “Shoes? What shoes? I only see Monkey, Mr. Rooster, and a pair of not-so-well-concealed-slippers…. and, well, yes… I suppose I notice a pair of red suede shoes… sorta….”

Of course, what I SMELL is an entirely different matter.

And who can smell an object to absolute certainty without verifying it via other channels?

Just a sec, please. I’m almost done my completely scientifically objective investigation.

Ack.

Okay, I’ve got it. It was a red suede Dansko clog, last worn without socks for 10 hours in an under-ventilated corporate office.

Shall I check just once again to be sure?

Dang it. Red shoe gone. Only under-flavored nyla bone left in compensation.

We wants our red shoe back. Please.

And why do they keep looking at the size of my paws? They grow every morning, just like the rest of me.

Wha??? What’s wrong with these people? If I doubled in weight in the three weeks I’ve been here, what do they expect from my feet?!

Sheesh… You’d think they would have figured out the growth/skill acquisition rate earlier in the game, given that we’ve shifted from HER first person perspective to MY first person perspective in the course of one short blog posting.

Okay, let’s all just settle down and admit it: I’m going to be a BIG, SMART, CUTIE-PA-TOOTIE, CURLY HEADED PUNKIN’ DOGGIE FROM HERE FORWARD…

… and won’t that be FUN?!!!!!!

Faith, Hope, and… Apu?

Faith was rescued the day she went to labor with her 12 puppies. She was so emaciated that only four of the puppies survived. The good news is that under Madeline and Brad’s excellent care, they are thriving now and all have been adopted and will be heading to their new homes within the next week or so. Our own little squirmer will be landing at Chez Jamison on September 12.

We’re not sure which one of the fat red balls lined up at Faith’s feeding trough will be ours, but I’m sort of hoping it will be the one on the far left. I think that sweet little butt speaks to an intelligent, mellow, friendly sort of poodle, don’t you?


We need your help here. In addition to stocking up on water bowls and squeaky toys, we are trying to land on a name.

We were strongly leaning towards “Watson” for a while there, in part because of the recent announcement of IBM’s artificial intelligence machine, and partly because it would be fun to holler “Watson! Come here!” every day. But “Watson” is already a family name, and we don’t wish to incite umbrage in the sharing parties.

We like “Omar” very much (big fans of “The Wire”) and Mr. Sharif was a cool, elegant dude. Plus, it’s a beautiful name that means “flourishing and long lived,” and has a dignity that befits the noble poodle. However, we also would like to get a goat someday and, obviously, the goat would need to be named “Omar,” too. This might get confusing down the road…

“Winston” is a particular favorite, and lends itself to the term of endearment, “Winnie, the Poohdle.”

We’re also considering “Ripley,” believe it or not, since poodles are incredibly intelligent and will spontaneously create their own circus tricks, just for grins and chuckles.

“Gizmo,” “Emile,” and “Gnemo” (the “g” would be silent) all would work too. But the name at the top of the list right now is “Apu,” because I just can’t help myself.

Or are we barking up against the wrong tree altogether here? Please jump in with your thoughts. Otherwise, little Spanky is likely to end up with a dog tag that says “Thank you!” on one side and “Come again!” on the other.

We Want a Dog

We want a dog.

So it’s a serious issue when, as a couple, your lifestyle doesn’t represent a responsible space for living with a dog.

What does that say about your life?

It means you either need to give up on connecting in a meaningful way with the wonderful species of canines, become cat people, or find a new lifestyle.

Wanting but not having a dog is equivalent to failing to connect to the color green, or to great spaghetti sauce, or to laughter.

And yes, cats are fabulous, if you enjoy a life of domesticated service and don’t have allergies to cat saliva, disdain, or shredded everything.

So when the “wanting to but not being able to” light bulb went off in our collective head this month, it served as yet one more confirmation that the time has come to make some changes.

Ready?

We’re making some changes.

We’re also communicating with the Southern California Poodle Rescue Operation, and have bought the book “[easyazon-link asin=”B00BR9WLR8″ locale=”us”]The Art of Raising a Puppy[/easyazon-link]” by the monks of the New Skete Monastery.

[easyazon-image align=”none” asin=”B00BR9WLR8″ locale=”us” height=”160″ src=”http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51WhgQmzloL._SL160_.jpg” width=”101″]

Stand by… Things are going to get very wriggly, and warm, and wonderful around here…

Dogs Save Potato Bug From Papparazi

This post is about a potato bug we met returning home on “The Path” a few weeks ago.

However, I find the bug so repulsive that I’m going to break us all in gently by showing you who we had met earlier in the day at Pelican Point Beach.

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They’d grown, and they were dry and fluffy, but we recognized them right away as they bounded down the stairs on to the beach.

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And yes, they were just as adorable and engaging to watch as they had been the first day we met them.

(Note: Oliver’s manners have not yet improved significantly. Everyone knows it’s rude to pee in the pool. Lulu seemed quietly resigned to the situation, though. Some of life’s “what boys do” lessons just come early, I guess. And no, we have no idea why we seem to catch all manner of animals taking a leak. Perhaps they’re just relaxed around us.)

Okay, I think you’re ready for a bug shot now.

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You can’t say we didn’t warn you.

We’d had our play with Lulu and Oliver and were on our way back up the hill when we saw “it” in the middle of the path. We had no idea what it was, but I’m very clear on what my visceral and completely girly response was to the sighting: “EWWWW! That’s just disgusting!”

It was two inches long–which is a BIG bug for California–and looked like a cross between a grasshopper, wasp, and the biggest dang ant I’ve ever seen. Did it fly? Could it hop? If so, how high? A quick trip to Wikipedia made me feel better about how squeamish I was:

“In California, the Jerusalem cricket is known as a potato bug.Its large, human-like head has inspired both Native American and Spanish names for the Jerusalem cricket. For example, several Navajo names refer to the insect’s head:[8]

  • c’ic’in lici (Tsiitsʼiin łichíʼí) “red-skull”
  • c’os bic’ic lici (Chʼosh bitsiitsʼiin łichíʼí) “red-skull bug”
  • c’ic’in lici’ I coh (Tsiitsʼiin łichíʼítsoh) “big red-skull”
  • wo se c’ini or rositsini (Wóó tsiitsʼiin) “skull insect” [Who, I ask you, would have warm fuzzy thoughts about a huge bug with a red humanesque head? Ick.]

Also from the same wiki page: “Despite their name, Jerusalem crickets are neither true crickets, true bugs, nor native to Jerusalem, and they do not prefer potatoes for food.”

Interesting, but somehow doesn’t make it any easier for me to look at it. Need a break now…

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The dogs still adore each other.

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Equals in size, maturity, energy, temperament and ear-biting skills, it was like watching kids let out of class on the last day of school before summer break.

Ready to get back to the bug?

(And note what kind and considerate bloggers we are? We even issue “disgusting photo” alerts for our readers. Who else does THAT? Come to think of it, who else posts disgusting bug photos? Hmmm… never mind.)

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It was kind of dragging itself along, exoskeleton bumping along the gravel as it hauled its big disturbing self towards the grass on the side of the path.

Ack. Enough.

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Resplendent.

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Repugnant.

How many nasty weapons of mass destruction does one two-inch bug need? Look at all those blades and pointy bits! Are those eggs on the underbelly? And doesn’t that thigh also look kind of human as well?

Ugh.

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Why do we find some creatures so delightful and others make us gag on sight? I’d love to know. What I do know is that there are many “human-like” attributes evident in these dogs: flowing hair, smiling faces, the joy of companionship and play, bling… and I don’t find them offensive at all.

I feel I’m missing something here.

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In any case, we had reached the stage of “Honey, get out one of our cards and see if you can move it to a better angle, okay? Honey?” (Read: “I’m not going anywhere NEAR hopping distance to the thing, but I’d love a close up shot of that face.”) Just as “we” were getting within nudging distance, who should appear on The Path, but…

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… the rescue squad.

One of the owners, obviously a native Californian, said “Oh, a potato bug,” upon which he bent over, scooped it up, and threw it in the bushes. “There! That’ll give him a chance. See ya next time!”

Sigh… you never know what you’ll miss until it’s gone.

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