Tag Archives: Toby the Puppy

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Ready for vacation to end? Yes … and no

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This is the latest in an occasional series of blog posts commenting on upcoming retirement.

FRANKFURT, Germany — Friends have asked me on occasion about how I respond to taking time off from work.

My answer usually has been: “I’m good for about a week, maybe 10 days. Then I’m ready to go home, to get back to the grind.”

Guess what. I’m no longer working full time. Neither is my wife. We’re in semi-retirement mode. Our 11-day journey to Germany and The Netherlands is about to end. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I can say that I’m not nearly as ready to return home as I was when I worked for a living.

What’s up with that? What gives?

It’s easy, man. We no longer have job requirements awaiting us. Sure, I still work a couple of part-time jobs. I’m grateful for them both. I’m having fun writing for an Amarillo television station’s website and greeting customers at an auto dealership.

But I have to tell you that our time away from all of that has been glorious in the extreme.

We got reacquainted with good friends. We met their spouses and their children. They showed us the sights and introduced us to cultures in western Europe with which we were unfamiliar.

At this moment, getting ready to catch an 11-hour flight home, I am not entirely ready for this adventure to end.

I believe our semi-retired status is pulling harder on us than any desire to return the “grind” that awaits us in the Panhandle of Texas.

OK, this much also is true. We miss Toby the Puppy; we’re looking forward to seeing our sons, their families and, oh yes, our granddaughter Emma.

But there’s a part of this marvelous journey in Europe I don’t want to end. There’s more to see. More to enjoy. More to taste and smell.

We’ll get back here eventually. My hope is that it’s sooner rather than later.

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Puppy Tales, Part 25

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Did someone say this is National Dog Day?

Good grief! It almost got past me.

I won’t be long with this blog post. You’ve read already about Toby the Puppy, the pooch we acquired Labor Day Weekend 2014. He’s been a member of our family now for just shy of two years.

We laugh every single day at — or with — our puppy.

He slays us with his vigor, his relentless insistence that we toss toys around the house so he can fetch them and bring them back. We leave him alone for, oh, 20 minutes, and when we return he acts as though we’ve been gone for a week.

I mention the words “walk,” “ride” or “eat” and he’s all over me. Same for when my wife mentions those words in his presence, too.

We have been longtime cat lovers. We still are. We miss the kitties — Socks and Mittens — we had when Toby came into our life.

But our puppy captured our hearts immediately upon his arrival.

Happy National Dog Day? Pffftt!

Every day is Dog Day in our house.

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Puppy Tales, Part 24

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I’ve bragged about Toby the Puppy many times already on this blog.

There. Having stipulated my pride in our puppy, I now shall offer a brief additional boast.

He has learned the word “heel” when we walk with him through our Amarillo neighborhood.

The good news about walking a 10-pound pooch is that he doesn’t drag us around the neighborhood behind him. The bad news about Toby, though, is that he remains highly energetic when we go for walks. The first sight of his leash sends him into ecstasy. He cannot wait to get out the door.

But this “heel” business — the universal command for dogs to walk next to their “parents” — has been a bit of a challenge.

I’m happy to report, though, that Toby now seems to understand the meaning of the word. We say “heel!” as he starts to wrap his leash around our legs and, by golly, he takes his place between his mother and me.

He lays his ears back, which is a sign that he’s relaxed while he walks.

OK, now for the additional learning that’s required.

Toby’s attention span is limited. He often doesn’t stay in the “heel” position for very long. He sees another dog, a cat, hears a noise that startles him … he jumps and starts to pull on the leash again.

We’ll stay with it. The exercise provides plenty of benefit for all of us. We are about to celebrate the second anniversary of Toby joining our family. Thus, our puppy has learned a lot already and has demonstrated some remarkable intelligence.

We just need to get him to stay focused. Wish us luck.

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Puppy Tales, Part 23

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Dog ownership is a bit more complicated than cat ownership.

You mommies and daddies of puppies know of which I speak.

Toby the Puppy went to the doctor this morning. He suddenly had lost his appetite. He was still full of his usual spunk and affection. His disposition was as sunny — and goofy — as always.

He just wasn’t eating. He also was spitting up a little bit. It was clear. Nothing foreboding in whatever it was he was coughing up.

With our kitties, we might not have panicked. Well, we didn’t actually panic last night and this morning. But we felt strangely compelled to take him to the doctor’s office this morning. We didn’t have an appointment, so we had to wait for the veterinarian to “work him in” between surgeries and other appointments.

We got to the doc’s office when it opened. The doc showed up a few minutes later. A few minutes after that, they called for Toby.

The vet tech asked: What do you want to do? I asked: What are the options? Blood work, she said, or we could just “treat him symptomatically.”

Let’s go with the blood work and take it from there.

Twenty minutes later, we got the results. He’s fine, the doctor said. A little dehydrated. He’s just got some kind of bug.

He got a shot for the nausea and a shot of fluid that would be absorbed into his system to hydrate him.

I went to work this afternoon and then returned home.

“Tell Daddy you’re feeling better,” my wife instructed Toby as I walked into the house.

He jumped all over me. Yes, he’s better.

So help me, this puppy is like caring for a baby all over again.

Well … almost.

 

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Puppy Tales, Part 22

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It’s official.

Toby the Puppy has found a new sleeping place. He has abandoned his mother and me for comfort in the dark of the night.

We acquired Toby nearly two years ago. He has been bunking with us almost that entire time.

Until just recently.

He now scampers into his kennel when it’s bed time. He curls up and goes to sleep. Lights out for the puppy.

Here’s how it goes.

When it’s time to turn in, we send him into the back yard to take care of his personal business. He does what he’s supposed to do.

Then he comes to the back door. We let him in.

And then he scoots immediately into his kennel. We keep the door open. Thus, Toby needs only to settle in for the night. When he joined the family, we sought to “train” him to sleep in the kennel. No can do. He wanted out of there. He whimpered. We surrendered and let him sleep with us.

Here’s my wife’s theory on the puppy’s change of sleeping habit: He knows he’s loved.

We are unaware of the entire life he had before he joined us in September 2014. All we know is that he was one of several pooches in that house. He wasn’t getting the attention, perhaps, that he felt he needed — or deserved; he had to compete with the other animals in the house for the attention of their human “parents.”

Well, Toby the Puppy has no such need to compete in this house.

He’s the one. He knows it. He is comfortable.

Yep. He’s the top dog.

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Faith in VA medical care remains strong

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I hereby declare that my faith in the Department of Veterans Affairs health care system remains strong.

I told you I’d inform you of what I learned from my health-care provider regarding an injury I suffered while walking with my wife through the ‘hood the other day.

Her diagnosis? “You’ve injured something in your knee,” she said. She said I need to use an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory drug, keep the compression bandage wrapped around my sore knee, and “rest it as much as you can.”

There. Problem solved … I hope.

As is almost always the case, my appointment this morning at the Thomas E. Creek Veterans Health Care Center in Amarillo went like clockwork.

I showed up at 7 a.m. to get blood drawn at the lab; I was out of there by 7:25.

I grabbed a burrito at a nearby convenience store, brought it back and wolfed it down while waiting for my 8 a.m. appointment with my nurse practitioner.

She called me back at 8:15. We visited. I told her about my injury. She took a look at my leg and said, “Yep, it’s swollen.” She gave me her diagnosis and her proposed remedy.

I walked out of the Lone Star Team clinic at 8:50.

Not bad at all.

I still have this minor hitch in my step stemming from the “pop” I felt while walking the other morning with my wife and Toby the Puppy.

I also told you I’d keep the faith. It’s working well for me.

https://highplainsblogger.com/2016/06/va-might-face-a-stern-test-soon/

 

 

 

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Puppy Tales, Part 21

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What? Another of these posts about Toby the Puppy so soon after the previous one?

Sure, why not?

One of my sisters owns an 11-year-old chocolate Lab. Sophie is a sweet pooch. My wife and I love her dearly.

Sis decided to give me some advice about dog ownership, which was that “Toby is not the boss in your house. You are.”

Yep. I got it. Sophie isn’t the boss in her house, although she does get a lot of what she seeks. Yes, Sophie is spoiled. Her Aunt Kathy and I have witnessed it from time to time over the years.

Here, though, is the crux of why it’s so hard for Toby’s mother and I to grasp the idea of who’s the boss in our house. We were cat owners for more than 40 years. And those of you who have kitties in your family understand this fundamental truth: Cats rule; you cater to them; no questions asked.

When we acquired Toby nearly two years ago, we laid the law down to him. Socks and Mittens, the two kitties we had at the time, were the bosses of the house. This was their home and you — we mean Toby — had better get used to it. Indeed, both Socks and Mittens made the point abundantly clear whenever the puppy got anywhere near them. They hissed and spit at him. They swatted him.

Finally, he got the message. And, truth be told, Socks actually developed a semi-cordial tolerance toward Toby.

Well, we lost Socks a few weeks after Toby arrived. This past Feb. 29, we bid farewell to Mittens. They both were older and it was time.

Toby’s got the house to himself, except for my wife and me.

It’s a struggle with which we have to contend. Cat ownership is somewhat addictive and we learned very early in our marriage that if we were to welcome kitties into our home, it had to be on their terms.

We were proud kitty owners for too long to assert ourselves with a puppy, with whom we fell in love immediately upon his arrival into our lives.

Whatever he wants, he’s likely to get. Within reason.

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Puppy Tales, Part 20

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Toby the Puppy has thrown us another curve ball.

I’ve told you already about the kennel, about how we sought — upon acquiring him in September 2014 — to “train” him to sleep in it.

He refused.

We gave it about a week. He’d whimper and whine. We gave up. He’s been bunking with us every night since. We lay out a blanket. He curls up on it. We throw it over him and he spins twice and then lies down. Lights out for the night.

That’s been the drill more or less ever since we surrendered to his sleeping whims.

Lately, though, he’s done something a good bit different.

He’s walking into the kennel voluntarily. On his own. No prompting. No cajoling. No bribery.

Last night, he sauntered into the kennel at bed time.

He curled up inside the carrier — and slept there for almost the entire night.

Do I expect this to continue? Do I anticipate Toby has found a new favorite place to sleep? Umm. No. He remains a Mommy’s boy. He’ll want to cuddle with his mother at night. Toby might give me a nod on occasion. That’s OK.

As my wife and I have learned since we joined the ranks of dog owners (we’ve always been dog lovers), our pooch is capable of surprising us daily.

Toby already has figured how to make us laugh at him daily.

I’m sure there’ll be more surprises on the way.

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Puppy Tales, Part 19

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Toby the Puppy is playing us like a fiddle.

Here’s the latest tune: He’s going voluntarily into his kennel. He’s making us think he’s actually OK with spending time in there.

I’m not taking the bait.

Why not? Because he has this particular expression he gives us when he knows it’s time to go inside the kennel. It involves the time his mother and I have to leave the house and we cannot take him with us.

Dog owners know the look. I think it’s a sort of universal canine countenance.

He starts by lowering his ears. Then he licks his chops ever so subtly. He then gets a sort of sad look in his eyes, as if he’s saying, “Please, Dad, don’t put me in there. I know you’ll be back, but pl-e-e-e-e-a-se don’t put me inside that thing over there in the corner of the room.”

Well, the past few days has brought this new phenomenon.

He goes into the kennel all by himself.

My wife had left the house to run an errand the other day. I had to leave for an appointment. I looked for the puppy. I couldn’t find him. I had a mild panic attack, thinking for an instant he might have gotten outside the gate. Finally, I peeked into his kennel. There he was.

I closed the door on him, peered inside and got “the look.”

I won’t be fooled by this pooch, who I insist is just about as smart as Lassie or Rin Tin Tin.

He’s already learning how to spell certain words. We speak to him in complete sentences and he understands every word.

Now he’s seeking to fool us into thinking the kennel is really and truly an all-right-place to be.

I know better.

It’s that look that gets me every time.

 

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Puppy Tales, Part 17

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I’ll be brief with this post. It’s getting late and we’ve had a bad day.

I told you about how Mittens our kitty seemed to know intuitively that her brother, Socks, was no longer with us when he died suddenly in November 2014. She became even more lovable than she was, showering us with affection in a way that Socks used to do.

Tonight, we’re getting the same vibe from Toby the Puppy. We said goodbye to Mittens this afternoon. We took her to the veterinarian’s office when the carcinoma in her cheek made her unable to eat. She was willing to eat, but she just couldn’t chew her food. The infection became too intolerable for her.

She died peacefully. Mittens was 14 years of age.

We came home and moped around the house.

So did Toby. On a normal evening at home, he’d want to play fetch with whatever toy he had laying around the house. Not tonight.

This evening he curled up with us and just looked at us.

Tonight we received a demonstration of what Radar O’Reilly used to say on “M*A*S*H,” which is that “Dogs (and cats) are people, too.”

Man, they know when you’re hurting.