HARLEY - Six Years Old - and Counting...

I took down my Christmas trees today.  I was picking stray pieces of plastic and lint off the carpet when something caught my eye under my desk in one of Harley's beds(1).  I got down on my hands and knees, looked closely under my desk, and gasped.  Shards of glass glittered up from the brown and tan cotton-covered bottom of his bed.  I couldn't believe my eyes.  The *FLB had chewed up a glass ornament.

I looked at him.  He looked at me.  "What?!" he seemed to say.

You're probably thinking, "Well, did you rush him to the Emergency Clinic?"

You're new to this blog, aren't you.  No, I didn't rush him to the Emergency Clinic, and I probably won't mention it at his next vet appointment.  It's been weeks since I first put up the tree, and weeks since any ornaments would have hit the ground and not been noticed by me.  Whatever he's eaten or swallowed has been through his system and exited.  And, before you call PETA on me, I saw quite a bit of glass in there; it could be that he didn't swallow any of it.

Besides, sigh, this isn't the first time the *FLB has chewed on something or eaten something that should have, at the very least, made him really sick. 

He stole one of my granddaughter's small stuffed animal and hid it in his bed after one of her visits.  Sibling rivalry.  I found it and saw a small hole chewed in it and threw it away.  Later I was vacuuming the carpet and all of a sudden I heard, "clinkaclinkaclink" as a lot of small somethings rattled through the machine.  I stopped and, yes, got down on my hands and knees, and felt around his bed.  There were hundreds of small pearl-sized plastic balls next to his bed and in his bed.  Had he shaken them out of the little stuffed animal?  Probably.  If he'd sucked them out I think they would have been gooey with Harley liquids.  Had he thrown up recently?  No.  Anything unusual in his....spoor?  (Classy word, eh?)  No, but I don't get up close and personal with his...spoor.  I shrugged and cleaned up the rest of the little balls.

A co-worker and friend who has since returned to the Czech Republic (Hi, Luci!) created a beautiful and original Christmas gift with cookies and birthday candles.  I displayed it on my table under my Christmas tree for a weekend.  When I returned from work on Monday it was gone.  Not a gram of cookie or candle anywhere.  I interrogated the *FLB but he denied any knowledge of said gift.  I watched his...spoor...for several days and did see flashes of yellow, but chose not investigate further. 

When I brought this dog home from the pound he was one year old.  It was January.  So I celebrate his birthday in January.  The date is flexible; it depends when dog products go on sale and I find something inexpensive (CHEAP) and appropriate for the *FLB.  So far I haven't found anything that, A. the little guy wouldn't just chew and eat in one sitting (rubber/plastic), or B. something that the *FLB will use to spread stuff all over my carpet for months (braided rag chews).   His toys currently consist of :

1.  a small tire purchased by my brother that is advertised as INDESTRUCTIBLE and is made of tire-grade rubber.  I can vouch that, although the *FLB has invested many hours gnawing on the tire, it looks as new as the day he got it.
2. a rock that the *FLB stole from my office.  I brought the rock back from a beach in Nova Scotia.  It is a ragged piece of quartz and I was using it to prop open the compartment door where I keep my computer tower and modem.  Since both machines can run hot I like to keep the door propped open.  (Why did I buy a desk that had a closed compartment?  I don't know.  Seemed like a good idea at the time.)  So I used to use the rock to prop the door open, but I would come home from work and the rock would be missing.  I would find it in Harley's bed.  I finally gave up and let him keep it.  Although it does embarrass me when I have company and he brings out his rock.  "What's that?" they will ask.  sigh.  "That's his rock," I will explain.  "BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
3. a red and green un-stuffed thing from which all the stuffing has been removed and spread all over my house (I removed the squeaker); he just likes to chew on the fabric.

He used to have one of those really hard plastic Nylabones that's supposed to be safe for dogs, but I can't find it.

Uh-oh.

*FLB=Freakin' Little Bastard

(1)  In the Old Days dogs were lucky to have a towel or some other rag on which to sleep.  My childhood pets slept outside. Even Lassie slept on the floor at the foot of Timmy's bed - no special bed for Lassie!   Now they have dog beds and, evidently, one is not enough.  You should have a dog bed in every room so your dog will have somewhere safe and comfortable to sleep in every room.  (It's Me or the Dog)  Harley has a crate and 2 dog beds.  I am so politically correct. 

Lassie

I skipped blogging yesterday.  I had an AWFUL day - a truly BAD HORRIBLE day and just couldn't do it last night.  I sat in front of my laptop last night and said, "Forget it."  And I went to bed.  And then I nurtured myself.  See, I had ordered a set of DVDs from Amazon.com a couple weeks ago - the 50th Anniversary set:   The Best of Lassie.  I was very tired but not sleepy, so I watched a couple of episodes.  They were the original ones with Jeff & Mom & Gramps.  Not my favorites...I didn't start watching Lassie until Timmy came along in 1957, but I did find out how Lassie came to live with Jeff in the very first episode broadcast originally in 1954.  After I turned off the DVD player I still tossed and turned a while, but I was more relaxed.  Why?  Lassie, of course.

I think my parents started letting me watch Lassie when I was 2 or 3.  It came on early enough that I could watch it right before bed.  And I loved it.  I mean, I REALLY loved it.  Dad told me later - several times - Dad always told me stuff several times - one of the things I miss about Dad - he told me that he and my mother actually discussed keeping me from watching Lassie.  You see, at the end of the show, that mournful whistled tune would begin and Lassie would sit there in all her (his) beauty...and then...as the music swelled to a crescendo...she would lift her paw.  And, at the end of every show, I would sob hysterically because it was over.  I would cry and cry and cry.  My parents actually worried it was hurting me to be so upset, but then the next Sunday would come and they worried about how much more upsetting it would be for me to lose Lassie.     

Lassie (and Timmy) were on until 1964; then Timmy was replaced by some stupid forest ranger.  The show lost quite a bit of its appeal to me - who wanted to watch Lassie and a GROWN-UP?!  In addition, I was growing up myself and becoming interested in other things.  Like the Beatles and The Man from U.N.C.L.E.  I gradually quit watching Lassie. 

I looked up the Lassie TV show in Wikipedia and was amazed to find out that it's one of the longest running dramatic TV shows of all time; it ran continuously from 1954 until 1973 - ironically I was born in 1954 and married in 1973.....how...cosmic.  Even cooler...my first dog was a collie.  A gift from my paternal grandmother Essie Maxwell, who for the only time in her life, did something totally outrageous without asking my parents first.  She gave me a collie puppy.  She rocked my little 6-year-old world that day.

I want to share Lassie with my almost-3-year-old-almost-potty-trained granddaughter Kinsey.  First of all, she needs to know what a real dog looks like and acts like.  (No offense, Harley.  Thank God he can't read.  He's just now getting over the shaving episode.)  Kinsey is spending the night this Friday night and I'm going to try a couple of episodes out on her.  And I'm prepared for her NOT to like them.  If she doesn't we'll just watch SpongeBob Squarepants, the Movie.

And after she's asleep I'll watch 1 or 2 episodes of Lassie.