Purple Nose Syndrome

Last year my mom took me to the veterinarian's office because the whole end of my nose was a bright purple. "It's a fungus," he said and he went on to say that the cure was worse than the disease and not to worry about it. He was a quack! A couple of weeks later I went to my canine groomer and after my bath, she picked all the purple stuff off my nose and she showed it to my mom. I could almost see a light bulb go off her head when Mom made the connection that the matted stuff from my nose was exactly the same color as her new chenille bathrobe. I know she figured it out because when we got back home again, Mom washed that bathrobe a zillion times. It made a difference but I can still find a purple dust bunny under the bed once in a great while. Mostly, though, the dust bunnies are bland colored and they're not nearly as much fun to chase as the purple ones. Whenever I sniff them out, sure enough, the next day my mom picks my nose as if I were a baby or something. How embarrassing! Then she clucks like a duck saying it's time to vacuum again. ©

Poodle Exercise with Humans

Mother's Little Helper

I get into so much trouble and half the time I don't even know why---like today. My dad had diarrhea and since he's wheelchair bound, he didn't have enough time to make on the toilet before it hit. Mom got him in the shower and was trying to get Pop's poop cleaned up off the floor and the wheelchair but she's so inept that she got it on her sweater sleeves and everywhere else but the ceiling. Boy, did that smell good! I was happy to be in the room.

Then mom took the gel pad off my dad's wheelchair and leaned it up against the wall and I thought, "Oh, boy, she's going to let me help clean up the mess." I was licking away while my mom showering dad's butt off when she saw what I was doing. And instead of praising me for being such a good little helper, she yelled at me! What in the world is wrong with that woman? She's too old for PMS. She snapped off her rubber gloves, telling my dad she didn't want to get poop on me as well---as if I'd care, it smelled so good!---and she grabbed me by the collar, making me leave the bathroom.

So now I'm pouting in my bedroom-slash-the laundry room and wondering why she didn't use the 'S' word even once while all this was going on. I don't understand the subtle nuances of when and when not to say the 'S' word. Mom says it all the time, but she tells Dad he can't. ©

The Laundry Day War

My mom isn't the smartest toy in the box, if you know what I mean. Today she got a bra caught on the agitator in the washing machine and she spent a half an hour trying to free it. I could have done it in six second with a pair of scissors and a step stool. But, no, she couldn't take the easy way out; she had to sputter and spit with her head deep inside the washing machine calling the undergarment offensive names that had me blushing under my curly locks. ©

An 'S' Word Kind of Day

My mom is having a hard day. An 'S' word day. It started out with me peeing and pooping on the kitchen floor before she got up. That will teach her not to forget to put the ugly black box in the doorway before she goes to bed. Not that I would ever use it to do my business in but I probably would have held off a little longer if it had been present. She got up at 9:05 and she ought to know by now that I pee and poop at nine sharp.

Then I got into the trash and fished out a couple of Kleenex to eat for breakfast. That was her fault too. She had taken the top off the container and left it unattended to answer the doorbell. That brought back great memories---digging around in the trash. I remember my puppy days when even the red pepper she put in the trash basket couldn't stop me from diving for Kleenex and other worthy prizes. Then she bought all those different types of baskets, trying to out-smart me. It couldn't be done. Oh, the good old days before the trash basket went behind a closed door. Door knobs and latches aren't easy for short dogs like me.

I've never understood what is so bad about saying the 'S' word but my mom said it today after she accidentally kicked over my water dish. It was clean and full to the top, too. That was funny watching the water snaking across the laundry room floor as my mom scrambled to find something to stop it from going under the dryer. Well, what did she expect? It was bound to happen sooner or later with that dish sitting so close to the door going out to the garage. ©

My Adoption Day

When I first met my adopted parents I only weighed 2 1/2 pounds. Yesterday at the vets I was cruising the 20 pound marker. I guess it's true what my mom keeps harping about. I'm too fat for my own good but, darn it, I still look sexy in my silver fur.

That day we first met, my dad took me out of the cage and held me up so he could look at my face. Back in those days he chewed a lot of Black Jack chewing gum and he had a pack in his shirt pocket. It smelled so good that I grabbed a stick for myself. That made Dad laugh. I was just barely five weeks old and my real mother wasn't through teaching me how to be a dog, but the lady who owned the cage wanted me gone anyway. So that's how I came to pick out Don and Jean to be my parents. ©

Bad Ticker Times Two

Mom put an ugly winter coat on me today and took me to the veterinarian's office. I wasn't sure I wanted to go after the conversation I over heard at home. Mom was telling dad that I probably won't live the year out with my heart problems. Dad's got the very same problem but she didn't tell him that he was going to die soon. What's up with that? I'm in better shape than he is. I might have a bad ticker and a little arthritis that makes my joints not move so good, but he can't even walk. I'm sway backed, but he takes ten times as many pills as I do.

My mom is making me crazy. One minute she seems sad about my health and the next minute she's planning my replacement. She even told the veterinary that she'd get one now---before I'm even gone!---if I hadn't peed on a puppy that some friends brought to over to the house a few years ago. Well, he deserved it. Why doesn't anyone understand that? He smelled too much like liver paste.

The vet and my mom talked about my heart, my kidneys, the lump in my groin, and my appetite. How embarrassing it was to have that woman feel me up as if I was a rag doll with no underpants on! Then she handed my mom a bottle of Enalapril pills and a bill for $80 and my mom said she was glad to get out of the place for less than a hundred dollars. I don't understand what all the fuss is about regarding medical bills but for some reason my mom wishes I were on the same insurance plan as my dad. ©

Vera Wang and Me

I scored a coup today. I extracted a Vera Wang feminine fragrance sampler card from the newspaper and rolled in it until I got myself smelling SO sweet that no one would come within three feet. My mom said it's a good thing I've got a grooming appointment coming up soon. Damn! I like the way I smell now and I don't want to replace my "essence" with that doggie poo-poo stuff. She stopped buying Oprah’s O Magazine because, she said, I was constantly molesting them to get at the perfume pages. I love all expensive perfume but Vera Wang is still my favorite. Their gift sets are $75.00. Can anyone doubt my taste in fragrances? Yup, call me a fan of yuppie perfume. ©

Cardboard Prison

I've always been a busy dog---some might say a naughty dog---until this last year when my heart started acting up. I'm 15 ½ years old but I still feel like a puppy inside. I still want to pull toilet paper through the house but when I walk from the kitchen to the bathroom I have to stop and rest half way. Man, that's a long way to go just to cause a little trouble. So, I've been known to pee on the carpeting instead. That seems to do the trick to get my mom running around like a crazy creature looking for rags and a big red spray can that she uses to re-mark the spot that I just did. Why does she do that? I mark. She marks. I mark again. I may be old but I'm still alpha leader in our pack and I can win any pissing contest. Well, almost any. My territory is three steps down off the deck and sometimes I have trouble in our Michigan winters getting down there and... well, accidents happen.

Yesterday my mom spent a long time lining a huge cardboard box with black plastic. I didn't know what she was making but I had an awful feeling it had something to do with me. At bedtime I found out she did have something sneaky up her sleeve. Mom closed me in the laundry room with the ugly black box blocking the door to the rest of the house. I think she thought I was going to pee in it but I fooled her. I waited until morning, until my dad moved the box, and then I peed on the Linoleum in the kitchen.

I like sleeping in the laundry room but I hate being barred from going into the rest of the house at night. I can't look out the dining room door to see the rabbits eating bird seed at midnight. The snow banks are so high next to the deck that they can run right up them to get to seed my mom throws out for the birds. I think one of night raiders is the rabbit I found hidden in the flowers last summer when it was still a tiny baby. ©

The Talented Mr. Cooper

Typing with paws is a bitch so I'm going to let my mom put some blog entries in here from time to time. The entry below is one of hers....but it's about me, so that's okay. She was having a bad day, but---sigh---I sure had a great time.


Mom Wrote:

The toilet is plugged up. I hate toilets---more specifically I hate new toilets. I never had to deal with plugged up toilets before Don had his stroke and we moved, first into an apartment, then into a brand new home. The apartment wasn’t too bad, they had maintenance and we called them a couple of times a week. I’m maintenance now and we’re on a monthly schedule for fixing plugged up toilets. Had I thought about the fact that we’d have the modern, water saving toilets in our future, I would have taken my old one with me when I sold my house. But I didn’t, so after breakfast I went back to slay the dragon in the bathroom.

Things are going better than I expect them to and I’m thinking I must be honing my plumbing skills and I’m a happy camper…until I go to the bedroom to make the beds. Oh yuck! There on the carpet, in the walk-in closet, is evidence that the dog took a turn at trying to unplug the toilet. “Calegon where are you? I need someone to take me away!” This is one of those ‘damn stroke’ moments that not even a raspberry truffle can fix.

I look around for the guilty party, the one who drags everything illegal into his walk-in cave. I find my sweet little gray poodle sitting on the bed giving me a big brown smile, looking like he just came home from a great adventure. “Pearl diving in a cesspool! Come right on up, all you doggies, lay down your quarters! Canine Adventure Park has a brand new feature! Plenty of pearls left before we flush.”

Canine Adventure Park is getting bigger. They now have: The Car Wash, The Canine Poo Poo Beauty Parlor, The Boys’ Tree Farms, The Outdoor Deck-Jail, and now the fabulous Pearl Diving Tank! Maybe I’ll suggest they need to add Bungee Cord Jogging behind a moving car. Oh, I almost forgot the theme park’s most popular attraction: The Laundry Basket. There used to be a time in my life when finding a pair of purple panties on the living room floor had an entirely different meaning than it does now. Now, it just means that our dear darling dog wants us to see his souvenir from his latest theme park adventure.

Okay, enough gripping about the dear darling dog. I strip the bed of the sheets that were just put on clean yesterday and shove them in the washer. Now, the dog needs a bath, the day before he’s scheduled to see the groomer. I think about canceling that $40 expedition as punishment for Cooper’s trying to change the color of the carpeting in the closet. It’s a good thing I keep a case of Resolve Carpet Cleaning around for times like this. Now, if I could just find a product to wipe the smile off his doggie face; he’s having entirely too much fun today and I’m not in the mood to smile back. I think about going after a roll of tuck tape in the garage and that makes me grin, but there’s probably a law against duck tape on a dog. So, I buck it up and scrub his little face extra hard.

He’s still in the shower when a thought depresses me: I didn’t really fix the toilet all by myself. I was taking partial credit for Mr. Cooper’s talented work.

Jean Riva ©