Are you a dog or cat person, or are you like me, both.
Every morning after I take my shower I meet the greeting group, my dog BoBo, my dog Nibby, and my cat Skinny. It's just a queen size bed so the sight of two 80 lb German Shepherds and a Calico cat between them on it, makes me smile each time I see it. There is a ritual we go through. I dress and sit between the dogs on the bed as the cat sits in my lap. I have to use both hands to pet the dogs while the elbow rubs on the cat. We all talk to each other. I say hello to them and they each have their own way to return the hello to me. Skinny meows, she is a real talker and very bossy. Always telling me what to do. Feed me, pet me, let me out, and let me in, amongst a few. My favorite is as she sits in front of the refrigerator and begs for ham. She loves it. And would you believe there are no cat or dog foods make from ham. Sorry skinny.
Nibby although the younger dog has a deeper voice then BoBo. She kinda moans and talks with a woo woo sound. BoBo on the other hand has a high pitched whine. Together they sing for my attention. All together that is. And I whine too. Crazy I know, but we are all part of a pack I figure. So we all sing together. My neighbors must think I'm nuts. Well guilty as charged. They shoulda seen me in the early seventies. Gosh I miss those days. My mind thank God, survived it all.
Nibby is slim and still learning how to behave. BoBo has it down pat. She knows if she does what we want she gets lots of treats and hugs. I hug and kiss my pets and they grow up loving it.They are the most affectionate animals you will ever see. Excerpt for your own I'm sure.
Next we go to the kitchen where Skinny eats her Fancy Feast and the dogs get morning biscuits cause they eat their main meal at night. After that it's a run in the yard. Skinny has disappeared in the hedges and she never leaves my yard thank God. She came to me from my brother in law who passed away. He saved her from the streets. Now she is the Queen. BoBo was his dog, but she stayed so much with us when he was sick, she feels at home here. The dogs fear that paw swipe thing Skinny has down pat.
You'd be surprised to see two huge dogs back aside for a sauntering cat to pass by.
BoBo and Nibby run so fast and so loud it reminds me of race horses as they thunder down the track.
We had to replace the grass again. Hope this stuff lasts a bit longer then the last. It cost enough so it better.

BoBo, Chris, Nibby and Me at Christmas    

                                                                                                            Skinny who doesn't know she's a cat!

After all of that they greet my DH Chris. He doesn't get as much love and hugs as I do because he disciplines them. They love him, but they LOVE me! I'm mommy and I feed, them and give them their medicine, and comfort them when they hurt themselves, I stop the fights, and I am the holder of all dog and kitty treats. Lastly we watch Skinny as she rolls in her Catnip and gets very feisty. She puts on a show for us, chases the dogs and is the boss of them. Who wouldn't love to have pets that give you such unconditional love. They don't care if I don't look my best, they don't even notice. Haven't known that kinda love since my grandma died!
Then it's laptop time. With two dogs on my feet, (literally), and a cat that likes to walk on my keyboard, a cup of PGtips tea and I'm ready to write. Now if my Muse was only as easy as my pets I'd be on my way.
What do you and your pets do that makes your day with them special? Poor Chris, he doesn't know what he's missing.

My cousin, is the king of forwarding emails. This one got to me. It touched my heart and I'm glad for the dog.
Come on you can't resist a HEA, most of you are romance authors and most of you have a pet you love.

Get out the Kleenix tissues  and get ready for a special tale of a dog and his owners, new and old. And why he was left behind...

They told me the big black Lab's name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen.  The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I'd only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.  Everyone waves when you pass them on the street. But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn't hurt.  Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie's advertisement on the local news.  The shelter said they had received  numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn't look like "Lab people," whatever that meant.  They must've thought I did. But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and I didn't really hit it off when we got home  We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home).  Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.  Maybe we were too much alike. For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls --- he wouldn't go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked boxes.  I guess I didn't really think he'd need all his old stuff, that I'd get him new things once he settled in.  But it became pretty clear pretty soon that he wasn't going to. I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he knew, ones like "sit" and "stay"  and "come" and "heel," and he'd follow them - when he felt like it.  He never really seemed to listen when I called his name --- sure, he'd look in my direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then he'd just go back to doing whatever.  When I'd ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey. This just wasn't going to work.  He chewed a couple shoes  and some unpacked boxes.  I was a little too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell. The friction got so bad that I couldn't wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it  was, I was in full-on search mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff.  I remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the "damn dog probably hid it on me." Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the shelter's number, I also found his pad and other toys from the shelter...I tossed the pad in Reggie's direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm I'd seen since bringing him home.  But then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that?   Come here and I'll give you a treat."  Instead, he sort of glanced in my direction --- maybe "glared" is more accurate --- and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down.   With his back to me. Well, that's not going to do it either, I thought.  And I punched the shelter phone number. But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope.  I had completely forgotten about that, too.  "Okay, Reggie,"  I said out loud, "let's see if your previous owner has any advice.". ____________ To Whoever Gets My Dog: Well, I  can't say that I'm happy you're reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie's new owner. I'm not even happy writing it. If you're reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter.  He knew something was different.  I have packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time...  it's like he knew something was wrong.  And something is  wrong...which is why I have to go to try to make it right. So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you. First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier.  Sometimes I think he's part squirrel, the way he hordes them.  He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there.  Hasn't done it yet.  Doesn't matter where you throw them, he'll bound after it, so be careful - really don't do it by any roads.  I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly. Next, commands.  Maybe the shelter staff  already told you, but I'll go over them again:  Reggie knows the obvious ones  --- "sit," "stay," "come," "heel."  He knows hand signals: "back" to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your hand out right or left. "Shake" for  shaking water off, and "paw" for a high-five. He does "down" when he feels like lying down --- I  bet you could work on that with him some more.  He knows "ball" and "food" and "bone" and "treat" like nobody's business. I trained Reggie with small food treats.  Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog. Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand. He's up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they'll make sure to send you reminders for when he's due.  Be forewarned:  Reggie hates the vet.  Good luck getting him in the car --- I don't know how he knows  when it's time to go to the vet, but he knows. Finally, give him some time. I've never been married, so it's only been Reggie and me for his whole life.  He's gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can.  He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn't bark or complain.  He just loves to be around people, and me most especially. Which means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new. And that's why I need to share one more bit of info with you.... His name's not Reggie. I don't know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the  shelter, I told them his name was Reggie    He's a smart dog, he'll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt.  But I just couldn't bear to give them his real name.  For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I'd never see him again.  And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything's fine.  But if someone else is reading it, well .. well it means that his new owner should know his real name.  It'll help you bond with him.  Who knows, maybe you'll even notice a change in his demeanor if he's been giving you problems. His real name is "Tank". Because that is what I drive. Again, if you're reading this and you're from the area, maybe my name has been on the news.  I told the shelter that they couldn't make "Reggie" available for adoption until they received word from my company commander.  See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could've left Tank with ... and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone... call the shelter... in the "event"  ... to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption.  Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed.  He said he'd do it personally.  And if you're reading this, then he made good on his word. Well, this letter is getting downright depressing, even though, frankly, I'm just writing it for my dog.  I couldn't imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family .. but still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me. That unconditional love from a dog is what I take with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible things .... and to keep those terrible people from coming over here.  If I have to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so.  He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades. All right, that's enough. I deploy  this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter.  I don't think I'll say another good-bye to Tank, though.  I cried too much the first time.  Maybe I'll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth. Good luck with Tank.  Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight -  every night - from me. Thank you, Paul Mallory ____________ I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope Sure I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer. I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog. "Hey, Tank," I said quietly. The dog's head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright. "C'mere boy." He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.  He sat  in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn't heard in months. "Tank," I whispered. His tail swished. I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment  just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my face into his scruff and hugged him. "It's me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old  pal gave you to me."  Tank reached up and licked my cheek.  "So whatdaya say we play some ball?"  His ears perked again. "Yeah?  Ball?  You like that? Ball?"  Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.    I hope you enjoyed this!

 

This is exactly what Nibby looks like, hey it's better then Knuckles. That's what DH wanted to call her.

Recently my dog Junior had to be put to sleep. We have a wonderful Veterinarian, he cried right along with us.

I need a dog to hug so it didn't take long before we got Nibby. She is a German Shepherd dog and was born on May 20th. We got her when she was nine weeks old.

The very first day we brought her home she was nervous and afraid. She didn't even know what a dog toy was. She spent the night in my arms, shaking and looking all around. That night she slept in my bed, with a few dog chews and toys surrounding her.

In the morning there was a fantastic change in her. She got it! The toys were her's and the toybox was full!
Dog chews were for chewing and canned food was for dogs to eat. She'd never had anything but dry food and since she had diarrhea the doctor gave her special canned food. She went crazy. Life was fun!

Then her new cousin BoBo came over to visit. Soon they were running around like maniacs. It's funny how BoBo, who is full grown, plays so gentle, while little Nibby plays so rough. An adult dog just knows what a baby is and they exhausted each other. Out she went. Sound asleep.



So Nibby has grown quite a bit she is now three months old. I find little puffs of her cottony fur all over the place. Although there is a tiny patch of adult fur on the middle of her tail. So I can tell what her fur is going to end up like. Shiny!

I think she is pretty well house trained as she has never pooped inside and has peed inside for over a week.
How did I get so lucky? She only ate one old shoe and hasn't chewed on any furniture.or anything other then what she is supposed to. There are dog chews and toys everywhere. I put them away, she takes them out.
Very cute doggie.

Well at three months she is now pushing the limit. What can I get away with? What do you mean stay? What are you guys eating, gimme some! A lot of training will have to be done in the very near future.
Her sudden bursts of energy is amazing. Getting up to let her out is tiring. Yes, the DH who promised to help does not help at night. He'll pay for that!

Nibby has discovered how to bark when she wants my attention. She knows a lot of human phrases, Like do pee pee, thank goodness for that one. She knows what are you hungry means, go get the ball, sit, down and give me your  paw. The staying is intermittent and she needs work. She is such a handful, but when she lays her little head on my neck and puts her paws up to hug me. And wonders of wonders, her ears are up. Stay tuned for the further escapades of Nibby. Growing up for a puppy,
. I promise to take some real pictures for my next post about My New Puppy.

My recent discovery is that my ultimate gift is not a pair of Manolo Blahnik skyscraper-heeled shoes. Nor is it a box of Godiva chocolate.

It’s a Lily.

Not the flower, but a fluffy Bichon/Poodle puppy my grandsons named Lily. Her first few weeks in her new home were very hard. Weighing in at two pounds, she was hypoglycemic and had a respiratory infection. But after a trip to the vet, Lily and I bond over Nutri-Cal, antibiotic doses and numerous feedings out of a child’s medicine dropper.

Now she’s a real scrapper. In fact, she’s so active I had to put on lipstick and get in the picture just to hold her still.

She fits perfectly into my daily routine. My husband’s job often takes him away from home. Lily makes a great companion. She sits at my feet while I write. When she’s restless she starts wandering my office. This immediately catches my attention because she’s not fully housetrained yet. So up I jump and outside we go.

My biggest challenge is keeping her off the bottom shelves of my bookcases. Teething, she loves to nibble on the pages and seems obsessed with the printed word. During edits of AFTER GLOW, my erotic paranormal story now available at http://www.thewilderroses.com/, she often sat on my lap while I made final edits.

“Which sentence sounds better?” I ask out loud. “Her hand rested on his hard chest,” or “She rested her hand on his hard, muscular chest.”

Lily looks up at me with those dark eyes and barks twice, letting me know she likes the second one better. Just kidding, but she does listen intently to every word I say.

She didn’t enter my life in the best of health, but she’s become a blessing to my family. Her love is unconditional. Her spirit is contagious. Her companionship is priceless. She’s truly my ultimate gift.

What’s yours?

Until later,

Pamela Varnado, AKA: Pamela Vee
AFTER GLOW available now (http://www.thewilderroses.com)
http://www.entertheveespot.blogspot.com/

PFSW Ladies and Readers - Mea Culpa. I was scheduled to post on Monday and it totally slipped my mind. MEGA apologies. Sad to say, but if something isn't on my calendar, I might not remember.

But I'm here today with another pet story! Judi was kind enough to send this to me for last week's Pet Stories, but somehow, either the post was eaten by the internet or I accidentally deleted it. We are NOT take discussing which of these possibilities is more likely!

Judi Phillips has 2 books published with Wings Press, Through All Time and Secrets, and has a book coming out next year with Wild Rose Press, Ghost of a Chance. She lives in Maine in the foothills of the White Mountains with 2 dogs and have 3 grown kids, two granddaughters and another grandbaby on the way. She writes a little bit of everything, paranormal, contemporary with a bit of mystery, and have recently delved into erotica, which she having loads of fun writing. Because she also works full time (aka The Dreaded Day Job), she crams her writing in whenever and wherever she can. (We all know how that is, don't we?)

Here's her story...Once a year, I make my little doggies (Sassie, the Yorkie, and Jake, the Min Pin) earn their keep. I hitch them up to plastic sleds (one a small flying saucer and the other a regular sled) and we trek into the woods a hundred yards from my house. While I gather twigs and small branches for enough kindling to last me through the winter, they explore, sniffing and territory marking to their hearts’ content. Then I “load” up the sleds and they help me pull it back to the garage for winter storage out of the snow. Their reward is that they get to snooze in front of the crackling fire on cold winter evenings.

Here they are hard at work.
Can you say"Slave-Driver-Mom Judi"?

Thanks Judi for sharing your story. Those are two very cute dogs.

Finally! Dogs who earn their keep. My two said this was the worst blog they'd ever read. Said it gave "hoomans" the wrong idea!

Jill catching up on her rest after a rough day playing in the yard.


Maggie looking cute and asking for her ball to be thrown!

Thanks for dropping by! If I'm not here, look for me at Cynderella's Castle (my blog).

Until Next Time.

I like flowers, all kinds, big or small, fragrant or not, perennial or annual, I like them all but I don't like pulling out the weeds.
I like Josh Groban, he makes me cry when he sings, but I don't like Neil Diamond.
I like the smell outdoors after a refreshing rain, but I don't like hurricanes.
I like the mountains and the click and rustle of autumn leaves, but I don't like humidity.
I like kind and generous people, but I don't like cheaters.
I like dogs and cats and all kinds of pets or animals, but I don't like spiders.
I like Maple Syrup, but I don't like imitation syrups like in the pancake house.
I like snow, but I don't like six months of it.
I like writing, but I don't like promoting.
I like CSI Miami, but I don't the red headed guy.
I like Oprah, but I don't like degrading shows like Jerry Springer
I like making new friends, but I don't like liars.
I like tea, but I don't like coffee.
I like Letterman, but I don't like Leno
I like clean 1000 count cotton sheets on my bed, but I don't like doing laundry.
I like a spanking clean house, but I don't like housework.
I like to hear my canary sing, but I don't like cleaning bird doo.
I like pet mice, but I don't like snakes.
I like broccoli, but I don't like liver.
I like movies, but I don't like movie theater seats and sticky floors.
I like Lost and the men on lost, sigh, but I don't like that I am lost when I watch it.
I like vacations, but I don't like the traveling to get there part.
I like Democratic ideals, but I don't Republicans pretending to get it.
I could go on and on. There are always reasons to like or dislike. So tell me what do you like and what don't you like.

His name was Whitey McRowdie. His parents were Conan and Amber. His mom was 42 in People Years (6 in Doggie Reckoning), his pop a mere pup of 14 (2 years). He was a toy poodle and the best friend I ever had.

At birth, he had the biggest strike in the Animal Kingdom against him--prematurity. The vet determined that Amber's tiniest pup was two weeks premature, that she'd had two litters, in fact. When the first litter reached gestational maturity and was ready to be born, he was forced to come along for the ride whether he wanted to or not.

He certainly wasn't much to look at--a body the size and width of my middle finger, with a rat-like pink tail and paws to fit on the head of a corsage pin...a concave scoop where his stomach should have been...a head resembling a baby bird's with bulging sightless eyes. Fighting weight: two ounces on a postage meter. If I'd had a stamp, I could've shipped him anywhere!
"Ain't no way this li'l critter's gonna live!"

I was determined he would, Amber seemed determined he wouldn't. The instinct to cull the unfit made her push him out of the warm little nest. I pushed him back in, fitting him between his bigger, happily-nursing siblings. The next day, the vet gave me a syringe and tube, showed me how to put it down the pup's throat and inject formula directly into his tummy.

"If you can keep him alive a week, he might live."

For the next two weeks, I performed that arduous task, every two hours, day and night, placing him on a heating pad to keep his body temperature constant.

At the end of that time, he graduated from 6 ounces of formula every two hours to 12 ounces, supplemented with very watery pablum, strained egg yolk mixed with formula, and applejuice. By now, Whitey had a new name. There's a scene in Ghost Busters where the three men hunt for the little green slime ghost and one of them says, "Ugly little spud, isn't he?" That was the pup--an ugly little spud. So Spud he became.

He continued to grow, I continued to be surrogate mother. At four weeks, he was the size he should've been at birth, weighing 8 ounces. His sisters weighed 2 pounds. They liked to play "Spud-ball"--tossing him around. Guess who he ran to when they got too rough? As far as Spud was concerned, I was Mama, and he just happened to have been born with 4 feet instead of two!

We celebrated milestones, such as the day he got his first tooth--at six months. Did an IQ test for dogs we saw on PBS. Spud rated as having the intelligence of a two-year-old human. He understood 24 words. I think I have more baby pictures of Spud than I do of my own son who informed me he was jealous. I told him to imagine Spud was the baby brother he'd always wanted.

It was around this time that the vet finally decided perhaps he wasn't going to die after all....

...and he didn't...

...not for 14 years. The day we lost Spud was the day our entire family was devastated. After such a dramatic start and living for so long, he was as dear to us as any human member. He was my constant companion, my Little Buddy, my Baby, the family member who called the shots, the one who decided the Gentleman Caller was going to be permitted to stay.

Who says animals can't feel, can't love, can't experience emotion? Anyone who's had a beloved pet knows better. Anyone who's had a beloved pet will echo me when I say (to paraphrase slightly):

"Spuddy , I'm glad I knew ye!"

Years ago we owned a black cocker spaniel. When my son started to crawl the dog took exception to another small creature invading its territory and snapped at his face. Needless to say, we quickly found the dog a new home without children.

After that experience, we had a dog-free household until my son started school. Then we decided he was big enough to cope with another dog. This time I researched thoroughly to find a friendly breed that wouldn’t mind the attentions of children. The result: we found ourselves proud owners of a small fuzzy pudding on legs. A Shih Tzu!

This breed has an ancient and proud heritage, descended from the oldest and smallest of Tibetan dog breeds. The type we know today originated in China from dogs gifted to the Chinese Emperors. In the seventeenth century, the Dowager Empress, Tzu Hsi, instituted a breeding program. The dogs were bred to resemble the lion, venerated by the Chinese because it was symbolic of Buddha. Eunuchs in the Imperial Palace in Peking vied with each other to breed the most leonine specimen.

The Shih Tzu is characterized by its long, flowing coat, sturdy build, intelligence, and a friendly, energetic nature. They have a variety of coat colors and the long coat can be allowed to grow or clipped short. Their coat is not like the fur of other breeds; it’s more like human hair. Instead of shedding, Shih Tzu lose hair gradually. If the coat is allowed to grow it requires daily grooming, but if kept short, the coat is as easy to care for as any short-haired breed.

They generally stand about 9 to 11 inches high at the withers (above shoulders) and weigh between 10 and 16 pounds.

Some interesting cross breeds are available: the Shizapoo, a Shih Tzu and a Poodle; the Shih-wawa, a Shih Tzu and a Chihuahua; the Peki-Tzu, a Pekingese and a Shih Tzu. (Hmm, Peki-Tzu sounds familiar! I wonder if that’s where the writers of Pokemon found the name?)

Unlike some dog breeds, Shih Tzu are usually content when left alone. Most enjoy exercising outdoors, although they don’t need a lot of exercise and are quite happy to run around the house or yard.

The choice of breed was certainly the right one for us. We now have two who tumble around together and love family life, especially if it involves eating!