I heard the scream from another room. The shock tinged with just a touch of humor. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” First guess? What has the Crickster done now? Based on the location of the scream, it was not too difficult to figure out. Again, into the cabinet. Again, more rolls munched. The pile of munched rolls grows on the counter. Yes, I use them. There is one roll intact being saved for guests. Sigh. Does she look contrite?
The big dogs were laughing at me! They knew I would get into trouble and they just hung back and watched as I raced to the door when mom called. It was a good recall. But I could tell by the “uhhhh” in her voice that something was wrong. It was me. I found a really nummy pile of really great smelling stuff in the yard and rolled and rolled and rolled in it until I smelled like the bestest pup on the planet! I guess nobody else thought so. I got scooped up and put into the bathtub! And then I got washed with this really awful smelling shampoo – oatmeal? Whoever heard of washing in oatmeal! And then I got scooped up and dried off in a towel. And then I got to lie on my rug and dry off. I smell awful. And the big dogs laughed at me.
The vagaries of trying to coordinate puppy training amongst household members who come and go and are, quite logically, focused on other things besides raising a puppy. School. Writing. Workshops and conferences. So Katie and I pass in the hallway tonight and she glances into the bathroom. Sprawled on the floor is the Crickster with half a roll shredded. “Cricket!” she yells. Cricket does not look at us but just munches faster. Katie wades in and rescues the balance of the roll – which has been dramatically reduced. “What is the toilet paper doing on the roller!” I say. “I don’t know – I didn’t do it!” she replies. And then I recall Brenda’s comment (under my name) to the previous post. “Ahh. Brenda did it.”
Talked with Brenda tonight on the phone. She in Yakima speaking at a conference for herself – and for me. Saved me 6 hours of driving to be on a panel and speak for 14 minutes on public disclosure requests. Yuck. “I had no idea!” she says. I keep going into the bathroom and there is no toilet paper on the roll and it’s way up on the counter and I think – those LAZY people!”
Meanwhile I’ve now discovered that a childproof cover on the door handle won’t work because the doorknob is sprung and all The Crickster need do now is apply a small pressure to the closed door and it swings open. It is a conspiracy.
I have a secret. My puppy is obsessed with toilet paper. I am hoping it is a phase. It started when we went to Salem for the Muddy Paws flyball tournament. She discovered toilet paper in the hotel room and she appeared wide-eyed and ears flying out of the bathroom with a streaming white tail and running across the room looking like a bat out of hell. She has matured greatly since then. Now she lurks to ensure no one is watching, dashes into the bathroom, and closes the door behind her. She leaves no trails of evidence – just small piles of munched and shredded tp – rather like a hamster bed. The ingested balance can be found in the yard. If I open the door and expose the crime, she doesn’t look at me. Toddlers believe if they can’t see you, you can’t see them. There is no longer tp on the wall rollers – counters have proved safer. But I live in a house with two other human beings who forget to close doors, put tp in the roller, and then wonder why there is shredded wet globs of tp all over the floor. Actually, I don’t think they wonder. I don’t. I remind myself it is a little thing. After all, I could be more controlling about when and how she is allowed access through the house. Life is composed of all these little things – and I go to the bathroom alot. So the question at hand – is it easier to train a puppy or two human beings? And if it is a phase, does it really matter?
Woo Hoo! I got to go to Flyball practice today and Sasha had to stay home. Neener Neener Neener:>>)) That’ll teach her to go off and herd sheeps without ME. Sheesh. Actually, I feel kinda bad for her. She hurt her knee and is on some medicine and not supposed to do anything. Not even catch toys or play tugga! Just easy walks – which she thinks are verrrry boring. So the Flyball gig is all on my shoulders – and I reeeeady!! I am verrrry fassssst. And I get to jump over puppy jumbs now. Well, one jump anyway. It is 4 inches high and almost not even a jump at all. See my kid tryin’ to hang onto me? That’s ‘cuz big mom was on the other side of that puppy jump teasin’ me with a tugga. Mine! Mine! Mine!
I’m down in Lincoln City, Oregon, with the Nix. This morning, we went down tso the beach just after dawn under blue skies. About a hundred seals were hanging out at the beach on a spit of sand just past us, and when we walked down by the surf we saw seals actually surfing in the waves…it was very pretty.
I’m not actually sure that Nix saw the seals, but I sure did.
Nix is a blast on the beach – she loves the sand and the smells and the wind in her face – she goes round and round me (on leash or off – this beach is on-leash).
Here she is exploring the big driftwood that comes up on the beach. It’s not Sunday yet, and so we might get in one more walk, but tomorrow is packing and driving day.
I am in the process of tearing apart the garden. To shrink it. Reduce ongoing maintenance and increase the recall dimension available in the yard for the dogs. And make room to spread out agility equipment. Sash and the Crickster have been very obliging in helping out. I figure getting them to help weed and turn the dirt is better than fighting about it – especially since short of crating them or keeping them inside it’s a losing battle for sure. And besides, it was a splendid gorgeous day outside. Sash is on restricted activity, trying to heal up an injured knee, so she actually spent the afternoon lying in the sun and baking her body. An occasional wag of tail to say hi. Cricket did enough turning of dirt for the two of them, though. And then a blissful nap on the couch with a sleeping puppy on my chest breathing sweet little puppy dreams into my neck and the big border collie draped across my legs. Doesn’t get much better than this!
Mom is at the beach in Lincoln City, Oregon, for a writing workshop. We drove down yesterday. We stopped 
at Cannon beach part way to stretch our legs (see the lovely picture of me posing in front of the pretty rock? We got three walks today, but now I’m stuck in the room while Mom is being social. But that’s okay – I’ll be patient! We walked on the D river beach, and twice around the hotel cause she’s still a gimp so we walk short and often instead of long. It was sunny and warm and nothing but nothing smells as good as the ocean.
I’m living with a family of gimps. Sash is limping on her previosuly broken leg, and has to stay home from flyball for the second Sunday in a row. Mom just got told she has achilles tendinitis (which she aggravated playing baseball – when she should have been walking me anyway). So it’s Sunday, and we’re not going out. We did go for a bit yesterday….we made to our local park and mom only limped a little. Mom won’t take me out again today because she doesn’t want to hurt Sasha’s feelings.
Grass Lawn is a wonderful park, but they have our nature trail all blocked off, and they put in a lot of new stuff that’s so popular we couldn’t even get close to it. So mom had me pose by the sports statue, although it was a little scary and my legs were shaking at first. I mean, that thing’s tall. Especially if you’re a little golden girl.
So now it’s Sunday and I’m hanging on the couch with Sasha, but hey, I’m a golden. It’s all good.
Night before last, we were trying to sleep. Nixie and Sasha were rolling on the floor playing baby alligator and Cricket was crying in her crate, wishing she was out with the big dogs. These are the kind of nights that made us think, “Gosh – we should blog this.” You know the ones, where your dogs are being adorable and annoying all at once, you wish you had more hands and a clone or two, and wonder where the heck your camera is. And you don’t sleep.
Well, when it’s time to go to sleep, the dogs have routines. Cricket gets cuddled out on the dog beds at the foot of our bed, and then she gets bundled into her crate, whines softly for a while, and lets out a big sigh and flops down and goes to sleep. We can’t let her sleep uncrated because if left alone for ten minutes she’s after a shoe or a piece of molding or an electrical cord or something else off-limits.
We climb into bed and Sasha cuddles in the middle right between us until I kick her out and then she curls up at my back, just so, making it tough for me to reach the reading light and turn it out or grab a last sip of water. Not that she cares. It the prize place and if she gets up Nix takes it, Otherwise, Nix curls up at the foot of the bed and puts her heavy head on someone’s foot. Some shuffling occurs off and on, but those are their places.
So I get up in the middle of the night. On my way back to bed, I notice Sasha is curled up in one of the dog beds on the floor and Nix is in the other one, watching her. Getting ready to climb into bed, I feel Sasha. I step back. I look.
Cricket has escaped. She’s the one on the dog bed. Nix is keeping her out of trouble. Cricket knows I’m there but she won’t look at me. Her little eyes are squeezed shut and I can imagine what’s going on in her head. “Don’t see me. Don’t see me. Don’t see me.”
This is a dog who bounds up for pets the second she sees any of us, lying there, pretending to be asleep. Nope, she didn’t sneak out. Not her.
We’re really hoping that we left the side of the crate open on accident and it’s not a case of the border collie learning to open yet another door: she can get through the baby gates unless we close them extra carefully, and just like Sasha, she can open the slider between the kitchen and the dining room with her nose. Nix, BTW, can’t open anything and won’t go out a door that’s not fully open. Really.
