Our Labrador retriever was a loyal dog.

Funny Dog Story

When I entered the kitchen around 7 a.m., my husband glared at me with bleary eyes  marked with half-moon circles. I poured my coffee and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I was hoping to get a full night’s sleep last night because I have a busy day. Didn’t you hear the dog whine at 4:30 this morning?”

“No, I didn’t hear him or I would’ve gotten up.”

” He whimpered, whined, then he yelped and barked. He needed to go out.”

“So you’re angry that I didn’t hear him.”

“No, I threw on my white terry cloth robe and I couldn’t find my slippers so I put on my flip-flops. The dog tore down the steps to the front door and I followed him and grabbed his leash from the closet. When my flip flops hit the tile foyer, I slid on something slimy and my feet flew up; I landed on my back.

“Are you ok?”

“I’m bruised and tired.”

“What was on the tile?”

“Yellow dog vomit, a big puddle. Don’t worry about cleaning the floor. I had lain there a minute and my robe absorbed it. I rose, and when I opened the wooden entry door the dog pushed the storm door open and ran.”

“He slipped out? We never let that happen. Thank goodness no one was out driving.”

” I walked the neighborhood with nothing on except my robe, underwear, and flip-flops. Clouds had blocked the moon, and I navigated using our floodlights and street lights. I couldn’t find our Labrador retriever, and when I returned home he was standing on the front lawn panting and wagging his tail so hard that his back shimmied. He had stolen six neighbors’ newspapers and scattered them across our front lawn.”

“So, training him to get the newspaper was a success. He must have felt euphoric when he had retrieved the first paper and didn’t know when to stop,” I said.
“I had walked our court with barf streaked down my back and I pitched papers to the homes without them. Some neighbors may be surprised to find a journal on their lawn that they hadn’t ordered.”

” At least the dog seems ok, so we don’t have to take him to the vet. Since we never let him out alone, he shouldn’t be able to nab any more papers.  I’m sorry that your day started at 4:30. On the bright side, the dog helped you relive your youth as a paperboy. But, next time wake me. ”

 

 

 

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Unforgettable Hilarious Night

My brother-in-law, Sam, had made the mistake that has haunted him for decades. He divulged valuable information to the wrong people.

He told my boyfriend Bob, who is now my husband, and me that his mother mentioned that he looked like Burt Reynolds. She was right, he had Burt’s rustic look with dark hair, a mustache, and heavy eyebrows that framed his brown eyes. Regardless, we had set him up for humiliation.

Bob and I had spent months in a resort and knew many restaurant owners and bartenders. We had planned to meet Sam and my sister, Kathy, for appetizers in a bar that we frequented. We arrived first and asked the bartender to tell Sam, who would arrive shortly, that he looked like Burt Reynolds.

Sam and Kathy entered and sat down at the wooden bar beside us, and before they ordered, the bartender said, “You look just like Burt Reynolds.”

Sam rolled his eyes and smiled knowing that Bob and I loved to agitate. He said, “I see that you have been talking to my wacky sister-in-law and her boyfriend.”  The bartender laughed. That was the beginning of Sam’s hell.

We left the bar ahead of Sam and Kathy and drove in heavy traffic to an outdoor-dockside restaurant where an acquaintance of ours, Charlie, sang island songs and strummed the guitar. On that humid July night, people packed the tables and bar. Bob and I had arrived and the hostess sat us at a recently vacated dockside table. When Charlie finished his set with  Jackson Browne’s “Running on Empty,” we approached and asked him to watch for my sister, a beautiful blond, and my brother-in-law, who resembled Burt Reynolds. “When you spot them, would you please announce that Burt Reynold’s has arrived?” Charlie laughed and agreed.

Ten minutes later, Kathy and Sam ambled around the corner to the deck. Charlie stopped abruptly in the middle of  Jimmy Buffett’s “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes,” ending with “If we couldn’t laugh, we would all go insane.” I had hoped that these wise words impacted Sam’s outlook on this night.

Charlie  stood up from his stool and laid his guitar down and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our surprise guest Burt Reynolds and give him a big hand.”

Bob and I stood at our table and waved to Kathy and Sam. The sundress and polo shirt crowd cheered and clapped as Sam and Kathy skirted the tables heading our way. Sam shook his head and glared at me. When Sam and Kathy sat down, the three of us convulsed with laughter. Sam didn’t smile.

Meanwhile, John Philip Sousa’s “The Stars and Stripes Forever” blasted from a yacht motoring into the harbor. When the boat captain had tried to dock, he had skimmed a piling near our table with the yacht’s bow rail. We watched and heard the rail’s metal pieces click off one by one, like dominoes and splash in the water. We suspected that the captain was drunk. Lucky for us, no one cared about “Burt” anymore.

Sam didn’t divorce my sister over her family’s unusual sense of humor, and they are still married after forty-plus years.

That was the first of several stories about how we tortured our wonderful brother-in-law. Thank goodness he still has a sense of humor.

I changed the names to protect the innocent and guilty.

 

A Leonberger puppy flying in a Southwest cabin.

Puppy Escapes in Airplane

When I learned about the Leonberger dogs’ loyalty to their owners and fondness for children, I convinced my husband that– it was not a bean-brained-paid boondoggle– it was worth flying to purchase a Leonberger puppy because none were available near us when our Labrador retriever passed. Anyway, we had sufficient airline points to pay for our flights.

I joined the Leonberger Club of America and found a breeder in Seattle, Washington, who had mated her female. Prospective buyers were often selected when the vet confirmed the bitch’s pregnancy. I submitted an application, and the breeder approved it, convinced that I would train the dog and not return him when he weighed 140 pounds.

The puppies were born, and the breeder picked mine based on temperament, knowing that I had two young children. Though some in the dog business ship puppies in cargo, I felt that it was cruel.

My daughter, who was nine, and I flew to Seattle to pick up our new family member the weekend that he turned eight weeks old; a pet can fly on a plane if it can fit in a pet bag under the seat in front of yours.

No one had told me how to fly with a dog. While I anticipated the adventure, “what if scenarios” revolved through my mind like a spinning top. I learned that traveling with a pet causes perspiration. Though we had flown out to Seattle with the Sherpa bag under the seat, I wondered what would happen if Fido was too tall or bulky to fit. Would they confiscate him and send him to cargo?

When we picked up our puppy from the breeder in our rental car, my daughter held him on her lap and spoke softly as she ran her hands through his coat. Separation anxiety caused him to yelp and yap during the forty-five-minute drive to the airport.

Though I paid his air fare, I worried that passengers might suffer from dog allergies or complain to the airline personnel about traveling with a pet in the cabin.

After passing through airport security, we took Fido to the restroom and filled his water bowl. He wouldn’t drink, and we headed to the gate that was two gates past our boarding zone, hoping to hide him. We placed his carrier on the floor, and high-pitched screeches erupted from within. I unzipped the top so that Fido could stick his head out. We slipped him ice cubes and puppy kibble from between our fingers; his teeth pricked our hands like tiny thorns. We hoped that food would distract him, and the breeder’s soft blanket, scented by his littermates, would soothe him.

Eight-week-old Leonberger puppy is on his way to his new home.

Leonberger puppy rests in a Sherpa Pet Carrier.

He was asleep when they called our flight, and I had slung the bag over my shoulder and placed my hand over the black mesh end to prevent anyone from seeing the contraband. Only the airline staff knew I lugged invaluable loot. We boarded, and I slid the sack under the seat in front of us. When the plane departed, I took a deep breath and exhaled. I celebrated with a glass of wine.

The aroma of chicken and beef drifted through the cabin and Fido stirred.  When the stewardess served our dinner, my daughter had taken her retainer out of her mouth and rolled it in a napkin placing it near her plate, After eating, the flight attendant removed the tray, and five minutes later, my daughter noticed that her retainer was missing. We jumped out of our seats and hurried forward to alert the attendant, who pawed through the trash with plastic-gloved hands and found it.

When we returned, I checked the pet bag and noticed that the zipper was open; Fido had crawled out of his prison. I heard the lady behind me say, ” Where did you come from cutie?” I knew where the fugitive had fled.

I rose and edged sideways out in the aisle, and I turned around and grinned at the woman behind us who had an escapee sprawled across her Nikes gnawing her shoestrings.  She picked up the dog, petted him and handed him over. I apologized and returned to my seat. When I placed the absconder back in his bag, his soprano shrieks pierced the cabin. Sweat beaded my hairline. I wasn’t allowed to remove Fido, so I brushed my foot against the side of the canvas and hoped that I could calm the criminal.

The grey-bearded man who sat next to me crossed his arms over his potbelly and said, “I had no idea that you had a dog in there, what kind is it?”

I flashed a smile and said, ” He’s a Leonberger puppy.”

“Hamburger? Hamburger puppy? I eat those especially if they are noisy when I am trying to rest.”

I twirled my hair around my index finger and placed it behind my ear and said, “Sorry.”

The man leaned back and closed his eyes. A few rows behind, a baby screamed. I watched the hamburger-eating man open one eye and furrow his brow.

Though I had regretted disturbing everyone around us, I learned a valuable lesson on that flight: We had traveled six thousand miles in two days to discover that Fido didn’t fit. We changed his name to Harry as in Harry Houdini.

Though it sounds bazaar to fly cross-country to purchase a dog, I wouldn’t trade the two days that I had spent with my daughter exploring Seattle, or our decision to adopt Harry. He was great with children and became one of the best dogs that we have ever had.

Leonberger Puppy with child

Our Leonberger puppy and our children grew up together.

 

 

 

 

 

Chocolate Labrador Retriever

Car Driving Dog

MGB Sports car

https://flic.kr/p/6ykGEa https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/                         (photo by Stephen Rees)

When I was in my twenties, I had a ninety-pound Labrador retriever, Bob, who, on quick trips, rode in the passenger seat of my MGB convertible. With the top down, we went to the post office. The lot was packed, and when a car backed out from a front space, I zipped in, happy that I could watch Bob from inside the building. While I waited in line, I shifted my weight and my heart raced when I saw a man standing next to the driver’s side of my car. Did he hit my car? Did Bob bark at him? Would he try to steal my dog?

I continuously glanced over my shoulder at the man while the clerk waited on me, and I felt relieved when we were done. I gathered my belongings and hurried outside noting the cars lined up out to the street waiting to park. When I approached my car, I saw that Bob was sitting behind the wheel. I suspected that he was attempting to imitate the alpha, but I knew that he couldn’t drive a stick shift. The gray-haired man, with his arms folded over his chest, watched me walk toward them.

I smiled hoping to disarm the man, literally. He said, ” I had to meet the driver of this car.”

” Oops, did I take too long?”

“I had been waiting for a parking spot for over ten minutes.” Was he judging me?

“I saw the back of this person’s head hoping that he would start the car and pull out. I thought that he was rude dawdling on a jammed lot. I blared my horn.” Here it comes, I thought.

“The horn’s blast must have startled your dog. A big brown head snapped around, and he stared at me. I never imagined that I was waiting for an animal to move the car. I had to laugh that I blew my horn at a retriever.”

He extended his weathered hand, and I shook it. We laughed and I thanked him for waiting to tell me the story. I smiled on the way home, but I drove, good try Bob.

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https://dorothyadele.wordpress.com/2013/08/07/puppy-training-101-blame-the-husband/

Tory Burch Beach Bag

Travel Packing Mistakes and Mishaps

For a Florida trip,  I made my first mistake by not taking my own travel tricks and tips advice. I had packed a large suitcase instead of the size accepted onboard airlines. I was flying alone on Southwest, and I wanted to avoid asking for help lifting my carry-on to the overhead bin. Instead, I checked my medium bag that was loaded with books, shoes, and clothes.
When I tried to check my luggage curbside, the baggage handler weighed it and said that it was two pounds over the 50-pound limit, and I had two options: I could open my suitcase on the sidewalk and let the travelers waiting in line view my underwear collection or pay $75.
“What are two pounds?”

 

“A pair of jeans.”
I had set my bag near the curb and unzipped it while everyone watched the “Dorothyadele Victoria’s Secret Show.” I was happy that my husband wasn’t there to glare, then roll his eyes and ask if I had ever traveled or packed a bag before.
Luckily, my suitcase was not a merged mess when I had unzipped the left compartment and pulled out my camera, makeup bag, and books.

 

 

I unzipped the other side where I had my Nike running shoes wedged. In front of my audience, I pulled out a shoe and twirled it in my fingers testing its weight. I decided that it was too light and shoved it back in and zipped my case.
When I returned to the attendant, he asked if I had removed some items. I lifted my bulging beach bag as proof. Without weighing it, he accepted my suitcase, and I wondered if removing the books would have been enough.

 

I headed inside the terminal lugging my tote that contained an iPad, an iPhone, a writing journal, socks, a purse, sunglasses, a book, and the articles that I had pulled out of my suitcase. I was happy that I didn’t have that black and white Nike waving out the top.
When I approached the unsmiling TSA PreCheck agent and presented my boarding pass, she smirked, grabbed it, and said, “This is a mobile boarding pass, get back in line over there and get the correct one. You have time.” I felt like she resented that I had skipped the long line as a TSA PreCheck traveler.
“What about the boarding pass on my phone?”
“You can use that, but step out of line… honey.”

 

 

I scanned through my emails looking for the Southwest boarding pass confirmation.  I found it, and I sweated and wondered if she would reject it. I stepped up and presented it to her. She scanned it, and to me, it looked exactly like the one that she had confiscated two minutes before. I proceeded through security and made another mistake.

 

 

At Subway, I ordered a breakfast sandwich. When I had set my bag on the counter to pay, I knocked the metal coffee-creamer receptacle off. It bounced and clanged on the tile floor. The other customers and I watched the empty creamers roll around. The clerk didn’t seem to trust me to pick them up; he quickly gathered them and placed the creamers back in the container out of my reach. Since I delayed everyone, I apologized and paid my bill.
I boarded my flight and sat in front of a screaming baby for 2 1/2 hours whom I heard regurgitate. Though I felt sorry for the child, I smiled when I thought about my morning mishaps.
My husband had joined me on vacation and we flew together on the return flight. When we had packed, I had placed several of my items in his small suitcase to avoid an overweight bag, hoping to dodge another Dorothyadele Airport Trunk Show.

 

 

As we waited in the airport baggage line, I watched the lady in front of me hoist her bag on the scale and tip it at 65 pounds. She left the line and rearranged her contents between two suitcases. We approached the handler and my husband, the gentlemen, pulled my bag, though he told the agent that he had my luggage, not his. I held my breath when the clerk heaved my bag on the scale and I watched it hit 50.5 pounds. He waved us through.
In addition to our standard tips, we paid an extra $15 to the Hertz bus driver and the hotel valet just to lift my bag. Consequently one of the best money-saving-travel tips is to pack light.

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Yellowjacket bee

Setting My Husband Up For Failure

It’s never intentional if my husband injures himself while assisting me. For instance, one day after shopping, I returned home and found him sitting at the kitchen table staring at me with cold, bleary eyes. I asked him what was wrong.

He said, “Though I am not big on gardening, you wanted me to turn your compost pile, and I thought that I would get some exercise and help you. It didn’t work out well.”

“Thanks for aerating my garden soil, but your face is flushed. What happened and why are you giving me a mean look?  Why are you breathing hard?”

“While I was raking, I hit a yellowjacket nest. Bees swarmed and stung my neck, face, arms, and legs. They even got into my shorts and up my tee-shirt sleeves. I think that I was stung over 20 times. I ran up the deck stairs to escape them and found a locked door.  I ran back down the stairs, around the side to the front door, in the house, and up the steps. With my clothes on, I jumped in the shower to remove the bees that continued to sting me. If you have any questions, I left several in the drain for you to count. Why did you lock the door anyway?”

” I’m sorry, but latching the door is a habit. Did the dog didn’t get stung?”

“No, he’s okay.”

“Thank goodness, but I hope that you are alright too.”

I gave my husband some Benadryl, and then to ensure that he was not exaggerating, I counted about 12 bees in the tub. We rode to the emergency room, and the doctors gave him a shot of adrenaline that made him anxious for a few hours, but he survived another episode caused by dorothyadele.

Since I didn’t want a divorce, I never asked him to work with my dirt compound again. Before I raked it, I waited until the bees were hibernating because they were not stinging me.

Now, I have a barrel composter that I turn to mix the soil. It’s a shame that my husband learned the hard way.

.

Black snake

Squatter Snake

The first eighteen months that we lived in our home, I had traipsed barefoot through the basement, using the stairway light, and the sun that streamed through the window to guide me. One night, I turned the corner and nearly stepped on something, consequently I have never walked through the basement in the dark again.

 

I flipped on the light, and a snake lay on the floor in front of me. We eyed each other for several minutes deciding our next move. When I looked closer, I noticed that he had a pattern on his back and a triangle-shaped head. I guessed that he was possibly poisonous.

 

However, there was one thing that I knew for sure: Snake handling was not in my wife/mother employment contract and removing one was a man’s job. Since my husband has always loved a challenge, the logical solution was to present my husband with the gift of letting him determine how to get rid of the snake. When my husband returned home from work, ready to relax, I would surprise him with his next job.

 

The thought of getting close to the snake unnerved me, but I decided that I would put a large bucket over it, and I would weigh it down with several hundred bricks. Though I didn’t want to let our squatter out of my sight, I left to get a bucket. I chuckled wondering how my husband would remove the snake. Would he slide the bucket?  Would he lift the bucket and take a chance of the snake striking?

 

Naturally, when I returned, my husband’s friend was gone. Now he was a full-time resident. I had lain awake the next few nights –or years—  wondering if it would slither up the steps to our bedroom. Suppose it slid up the side of our bed? What then?

 

The following spring, our housemate had donated his skin to decorate his living quarters, and I couldn’t help but wonder, did it belong to him or one of his siblings?

 

Though I have had our home inspected and sealed, this was the first of several snake episodes. Each family member has had the joy of encountering at least one.

Attracting Bluebirds With Mealworms, a Heated Birdbath and Humor

Four Bluebirds and a Cardinal

Four Bluebirds and a Cardinal (photo by dorothyadele)

 Cardinals (photo by dorothyadele)

Cardinals (photo by dorothyadele)

Bluebirds and Cardinal (photo by dorothyadele)

Bluebirds and Cardinal (photo by dorothyadele)


During spring and summer, bluebirds hatch regularly in birdhouses in my neighbor’s yard, who uses live mealworms to attract them. Her success motivates me to try it too, so I keep a mealworm stash in my basement refrigerator during the warm months.  

 

I initially place the worms in a small cup on top of a bluebird feeder that sets on my deck railing. When the bluebirds find them, I put the mealworms inside the feeder and they visit it.  

 

Bluebird houses perch on five-foot-high-metal poles in an open area in my yard with baffles clamped below to prevent snakes and animals from climbing and invading their homes.  Though they have attempted nests in the houses, wrens and sparrows usually evict them before their eggs hatch.  

Bluebird House With Baffle (photo by dorothyadele)

Bluebird House With Baffle (photo by dorothyadele)

 

 My best bluebird attraction is my heated birdbath. It supplies fresh water on freezing days when other sources are scarce. Birds flock to the birdbath and entertain us with their activity and color on cold winter days.

 

 

Not only have the birds entertained us, but the mealworms have too. One day, my sister-in-law opened my basement refrigerator looking for a drink, and she was curious about the contents of the burlap sack on the shelf. When she opened the mealworm bag, I had heard a loud scream, and I knew that she had found my special stockpile. I guess that mealworms were the last thing that she expected to find in my refrigerator!

dorothyadele

English: Mealworm

English: Mealworm (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Leonberger Dog

Dog Finds Possum

My husband called my cell phone and said, “Your dog, B, escaped the yard. I found him sitting on the hill in your garden outside the fence, and I can’t leave for work until he is in.”

 

This was a first, and I wondered why he had escaped, and I asked my husband to try to get him back in the fence. My husband had gone outside to drag B in and found him sitting next to a dead possum. The dog was panting and smiling like he found the golden urn.

 

My husband called back and said, “I think that he may have killed a possum, because I thought that I saw blood when I reached over it to grab B. However, the possum warden refused to leave his departed playmate, so he’s still in your garden.”

 

Bad thoughts swirled through my head. If he, the dog, not my husband, had tasted blood, was he bloodthirsty? Would he kill other animals? Suppose he kills a dog or cat? Would our kids and their friends be safe in our yard? I decided that when I got home, I would call the vet and ask these questions. I may have to get rid of my dog.

 

When I had returned home my husband said, “The dog is in the backyard. I held a piece of steak in front of him, and I was about six inches away from that big possum, when I grabbed his collar to him drag away.”

 

I went to see my dog hoping that my husband was wrong.  I lifted his lips and checked his teeth and gums looking for signs of blood. I also ran my hands over his body checking for wounds. I couldn’t find anything. Maybe the possum had already been dead or died quickly fighting a 140 pound dog.

 

The next morning, my husband grabbed a shovel and bag to dispose of the remains. I said, “Why don’t you just throw it in the woods so an animal will eat it?”

 

“No, I’m taking it off our property, because I don’t want B to exhume the body.” I understood his rationale, because the dog was enamored with his numb soul mate, and he might break the fence to visit it.

 

After my husband collected his mortuary supplies and donned heavy gloves, he headed out to transport the deceased. I had no intention of assisting him as a pallbearer or attending the viewing. Within five minutes, my husband returned.

 

“Where’s the possum?”

 

“It’s gone.”

 

“Gone, dead?”

 

” Gone away.”

 

The possum fooled us and I was relieved that my dog wasn’t a bloodthirsty killer. I couldn’t help but think about my husband’s possible reaction if the possum had moved when he was reaching across it to grab the dog. That would have been worth filming.

 

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https://dorothyadele.wordpress.com/category/dogs/

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Dog Bite Report

My husband had to file a mandatory dog bite report for our Leonberger puppy when he was 8-weeks-and-one-day old, and these photos clearly show his mean streak. The top one is his mug shot.  Puppy had only spent one night at our house, when he scampered down the front lawn with my husband to get the newspaper.
After my husband picked up the paper, he saw puppy in the middle of the yard joyfully chewing on an unknown object. He hurried over to him and tried to pry his mouth open to remove the object, but puppy was determined not to reveal the prize in his mouth, and he kept his jaws clamped shut like he thought that he was a snapping turtle. With a little maneuvering, my husband finally opened his mouth and nicked his finger on his needle teeth in the process. Can you imagine his glee when he discovered that the coveted treasure was a possum skull? No wonder puppy didn’t want to give up this gem because he probably never had his own skull before.
A few days later, my husband’s finger became infected and he had to go to the medical center to have it treated. Because of a new law, that is more applicable to vicious dogs, he had to file a report indicating that his dog bit him before they would see him.  He tried to explain that the puppy was 8 weeks old, but they wouldn’t hear it. He filed the report, and it took two rounds of antibiotics to treat him.
The result of this incident is that the dog must be on his best behavior for the rest of his life because he has a record.

 

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Harlequin Great Dane Puppy and Dalmatian

Pet Control

My father had often said, “Those dogs aren’t running my life,” but my sisters and I still laugh, because unbeknownst to him, he and the Great Dane and Dalmatian were part of a chess match. The dogs were the chess masters, and he was their pawn.

 

My parents usually took the dogs with them when they went to the beach. One day,  when my parents were packing their car to leave the beach for my father to go to work; our Dalmatian and Great Dane had slipped out the door and took off. My parents walked and drove the neighborhood for hours, and they finally called the police. It was a sad day when the policeman gave my father the bad news: The dogs had become criminals and they were locked up behind bars.

 

I would have loved to have heard the conversation between my parents when my father had to drive to the police station that was several miles away and bail them out. Luckily, he was an attorney and visiting clients in jail was nothing new to him. He said that when he saw the jailed dogs, “They looked guilty.”  After loading them in the car, my parents headed home. Unfortunately, they were stuck in rush-hour traffic, and my father missed work. The dogs were affecting his job.
Though my father often complained about our pets, I believe that he liked them though they intimidated him. At Christmastime, he saved empty cardboard rolls from the Christmas paper and stacked them in the corner in the family room. Though he would never hurt anyone or anything, when he thought that the dogs were misbehaving, he would grab a cardboard roll and say, “See this!” and the dogs ignored him as usual and continued what they were doing. I guess holding something in his hand taller than the Great Dane made him feel powerful.
We needed a new car, and my father thought that he was buying the family a station wagon. We, us kids, knew that he was buying the dogs a car, though we hadn’t pointed that out to him. The dogs needed room to spread out for long car rides, therefore their requirements dictated what my father drove.
Though my father pretended that he didn’t like our dogs, when the Dalmatian was diagnosed with a terminal illness, my parents drove her to a veterinarian school hours away as a last ditch effort to save her life. Unfortunately, it was unsuccessful, but I give my parents credit for making that trip.
Ironically, years later after my mother had passed, and the dogs were gone, my father called me and said, “Dorothyadele, a vagrant has entered my office and said that he is leaving town. He has a golden retriever, Ralph, with him, and he plans to have him euthanized. Should I take him?”

 

“Absolutely!” I said.

 

 

The cycle continued. We never knew the dog’s age, but he was a good companion for my father for about five years until Ralph became ill. I knew that my father liked dogs.

 

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Top Ten Dog Training Mistakes – Guest post by Blogger Kevin Davies…

https://www.creativedogtraining.com/blog/what-is-the-best-age-to-start-training-my-dog

https://www.lovethatpet.com/dogs/training-and-behaviour/dog-training-tips/

J and her pet rat

The Unwanted Rat Became a Good Pet

When my husband, my daughter, J, and I stepped in our front door after soccer practice, my neighbor Susie followed  holding bags and a cage in her arms.

She said, “I bought J a rat for her  birthday.”

I said, “Funny.”

She said, “I asked J what she wanted for her birthday, and she told me that she wanted a rat because they make great pets.”

Susie pointed to a cage that contained a gray and white baby rat with a snake-like tail and an anteater nose.  The rat disgusted me.

I told Susie that I thought that she should have asked me first. However, though I was angry, I wouldn’t jeopardize our friendship over a stupid mistake.

The rat stayed and J was ecstatic.  She named her new pet Oreo.

J kept Oreo in an aquarium in her room. His tail and four yellow jagged front teeth repulsed me and I worried that if he escaped, I might have to capture him.

Daily, I entered my daughter’s room, and I forced myself to touch Oreo’s back with my index finger. Within two weeks I held him, though he still revolted me.

My daughter quickly bonded with Oreo and walked him on a leash ensuring that anyone who saw her questioned her parents’ sanity.  She also dressed him in a  silky-short-sleeved-pink top and mesh-tutu-doll outfit and transformed  him into a transvestite ballerina.

One day, Oreo struggled to breathe and seemed in pain, and we took him to a vet. While we were in the waiting room, a woman approached my daughter and asked if she had a kitten in the bag.

My daughter said, “No, it’s a rat!”

The woman’s eyes widened and she loudly sucked in her breath, then she pivoted and hurried to the opposite side of the room.

We saw the vet and he sent us home with antibiotics and soap because Oreo was also losing his hair. Can you imagine the neighborhood gossip if we allowed J to walk a bald rat?

J  treated Oreo by sliding an eyedropper filled with antibiotics into the corner of  his mouth, and he accepted  it.  Though it nauseated me, Oreo also allowed  J to bathe him, and his health improved.

One day, as we cleaned Oreo’s cage, he escaped. I called his name, and he ran from under a cabinet and allowed J to pick him up. He was smarter than I thought and became a good pet.

The day he went to the big cheese, J and I cried while my husband gleefully ran to get the shovel. Though I bonded with the rat, the experience confirmed that a live animal or rodent should never be an  impulse gift.

When, Susie’s daughter’s birthday arrived, I called Susie and said that I had her daughter’s gift. I told her it was an anaconda with a  year’s supply of food.

I put a lot of thought into this, and I never said that a reptile  wasn’t a great gift.

Golf Cart

Golf Mishaps and Humor

I love it and hate it at the same time. I hate the horse flies that cut into my skin with their barbed mouths and the mosquitoes that puncture me. I also hate feeling frustrated for lacking athletic ability.

I love the exercise, competition and exhilaration from success. But most importantly, I love the laughter. When Danielle and I play golf, we become a spectacle.

The first time that we played, we spotted two men on the tee behind us. We were intimidated and worried that we were slowing their game.

We tried to speed up our game. Instead of hitting my ball in the hole, I grabbed it off the green, ran to the “getaway-golf cart,” and I jumped in and told Danielle to floor it so we could escape the men.

When we arrived at the next tee, we nervously glanced back as the two men loomed ominously. We skipped that tee, but the men were still right behind us. I wondered if the men were afraid of the group behind them and they were skipping tees too.

We finally let them play through. At least we learned this valuable lesson quickly.

We made another scene when we hit golf balls at the driving range. There are two parallel yellow ropes on the ground about five-feet apart that run the length of the driving range. This is the area where you hit balls.

We were at the end of the driving range and rope. While attempting to hit the ball, Danielle  missed and hit the rope so hard that it wrapped around her body. I imagined the headline “Woman Strangles Herself While Driving Golf Balls.”

We laughed hysterically but quietly hoping we didn’t disturb the serious golfers. Have you ever tried to laugh quietly while your body is convulsing with laughter?

Golf Partner

Golf Partner (photo by dorothyadele)

When Danielle and I climbed into the cart to play golf yesterday, rain poured even though it was not in the forecast. We laughed because we felt that it was a typical golf day for us. All went well, and I hit Danielle in the back with a golf ball only once.

Paris 1973

Mistaken for Prostitutes in Paris

When I visited Paris with my high school French class we were mistaken for prostitutes and booked in a brothel by the travel agent. Do you see a common theme?

My roommates in Paris were my friend, Deb, and her mother, June, who chaperoned. June was — still is — very beautiful. She was fun but refined, and she dressed with elegance.

One evening, June wore a chic yellow jacket trimmed in white. She paired the jacket with white slacks and white boots. The three of us took a walk and explored the city. We found a quaint cafe and dropped in for dinner.

As we dined, sleazily dressed women in heavy makeup glared at us. We glanced at them, and we spoke in hushed voices because we felt threatened. I thought they were jealous because June looked stunning.

When we returned from dinner, we told our French teacher about the “ladies” with their angry stares. We learned that we had chosen a restaurant in a part of town known for prostitution. Leave it to us to venture into the wrong neighborhood.

Also, boots were a sign of prostitution in Paris. I suspect that the women in the restaurant thought that we were invading their territory and wanted us out.

During my high school French trip, not only were we mistaken for prostitutes, but the travel agent had booked us into a brothel.

Was someone trying to tell us something?

https://dorothyadele.wordpress.com/2013/06/18/booked-in-a-brothel-in-paris/