Stealer

Saturday morning we took the boys into doggie daycare for a little fun as we headed out and about. We went into Portland to the famous Powell's Books, the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world. There is not much better than a leisurely stroll through story after story of books. The photography books are on the very top floor tucked into an obscure corner, and you need an oxygen tank by the time you get there, but I digress. After our purchase we left and drove over to Doner Kebab for lunch which serves German and Turkish food. So good. After a few more stops we head home, and then off to pick up the pups. I stayed home to prepare their food, and upon arrival they burst into the door excited to be home. I hear, "Stealer" drift in from the garage. Your dog is a stealer. In the famous words of Scooby Doo- Ruh-roh. I said, Ohhhhh, who's the bad boy? Of course, I already knew who the bad boy was. I asked what he did. Well, the daycare has toys, treats and bones to purchase at nose level laying all over the place, which I have always thought was a bad idea. Seems someone had a taste for a pig ear, which they do not get at home. It was snatched, and gobbled at lightening speed on the way out the door. Next time we owe them for one ear. My husband said, Taren must have been really hungry. Wha......????? Taren? I could not believe it. I laugh and scratch him behind the ears, telling him he has pig ear breathe, and that he has been a bad boy. He flashes his Weimy grin at me, his wiggle butt at full speed, as if to say, ya and it was good too.

Actions compliments of the ever generous and talented Rita at the Coffeeshop Blog

Why Toys Don't Last

I will be the first to admit toys don't last long around my house. The boys play hard and fast. We have spent a small fortune on keeping them entertained. Who am I kidding?  They are the ones providing the entertainment.  There is nothing better than an afternoon of keep away, bitey face, fetch, and boys will be boys, roughhousing. The particular toy in the photo was a Kong Pet Stix and lasted longer than most. All the extra branches made it exceptionally fun as there was always someplace to grab onto. I was sorry to see it's demise. When I heard the first seam groan I knew its days were numbered. Like with any toy, the first bit of stuffing to show results in a destuffing frenzy. I can't wait till summer. I miss these warm evenings of play. Please ignore the abysmal state of the grass. We were waiting for it to die, so we could till it under and cover it with bark for the boys. We do own a lawnmower. Really!

Click new products and scroll a bit if you want to get a good look.

Kong-Pet Stix

*Disclaimer- No, I don't work for Kong. I know fellow pet owners just like to see the goods. =0)

The Art Of Sleep



German Shorthair-Caelan

 As a life long insomniac I have spent a great deal of time observing how others sleep, the dogs are no exception. They are similar to people in their likes and dislikes. Enjoying to go to bed with the chickens or taking on qualities of the genuine night owl. Caelan, especially in the winter, loves to get his snooze on. He goes to bed early and will snuggle as long as you are inclined. Taren, on the other hand, is generally wide eyed long after Caelan and awakes in the morning if anyone rustles the blankets a bit restlessly. We have learned if you want to sleep past 5 on the weekends it is wise to lay still. Very, very still. Caelan likes to sleep under the blankets next to me. Taren likes to sleep on top of the blankets, but covered with his own blanket. He is also a grumpy sleeper. If you jiggle the mattress too often he grumbles. If you dare move the leg his head is propped up on, the one every last bit of feeling has drained out of hours ago, he grumps. He likes to hog the bed and the pillows. He enjoys the 2 a.m. stroll out to potty on occasion, and the ever annoying and somehow endearing need of a midnight snack. Taren seems to dream a lot. Sometimes his tail thumps happily, his legs moving in their own rhythm in slumbered chase. Sometimes he makes sounds that induce me to gently wake him. Caelan does not seem to dream as much, but he does snore. He has never once gotten up in the middle of the night to potty. He does however, have his own bad habit. KK is much like a cat, he cleans himself. Lick, lick, lick, slurppppppp......again, and again.  Oh, and again.The sound drives me nuts after a while, and the constantly wiggling mattress sends Mr. Grumpy Pants over the edge. He likes to lick me too, but no thanks. I know where that tongue has been. The thing they have in common is they like to sleep on their backs, and is probably the result of being a bit too warm. It is not uncommon to wake up with a foot in your face, jammed in your back, or propped up on your legs. Like his brother, Caelan is a bed hog, and he radiates heat better than any electric blanket on the market. When morning arrives, and it always arrives early with Taren, the real fun begins. I ask Taren, Where's daddy? Go get him! Taren grabs the blankets with his teeth and pulls them off and buries his snotty nose in my husbands face, rooting around and trying to get him awake. If that fails, he just starts digging and barking  and any hope you had of staying snuggled down evaporates. KK and I lay back to watch the action and cheer him on. Saturday mornings come early, but not without their entertainment.


*** The occasional midnight snack is the result of increased running miles and trying to regulate the amount of food needed. Sometimes I get it wrong, and he lets me know.

What Lurks In The Shadows

German Shorthaired Pointer Stalking Squirrels

Morning comes early at our house. I feed the dogs straight away, because Taren is pretty sure he is on the verge of starving to death if you do not. I pour my coffee, and nuke it so it is extra hot.  Just the way I like it.  Then drown it in creamer and fake sugar. Yes, I am well aware that somewhere in the world a gourmet coffee grower just heaved a great sigh. I then trudge upstairs, turn on the computer and proceed to drink my coffee. Bothering me before the caffeine flow is firmly established is a bad idea, a badddddd idea. I hear the door open, and the boys rush outside to potty, and then I hear the barking. They normally never bark so I wonder what is out there in the dark. I yell out the window a sharp- Caelan!  His pitch and fervor rise. It's 5 a.m.- Hi Neighbors! Good Morning! Somewhere in our neighborhood I am sure someone is thinking- Gonna shoot me a dog. I run down the stairs, I never want to be *that* neighbor. I get Caelan to begrudgingly come in, and I proceed to drink my now not optimally warm coffee. Grumble.....  As the morning progresses I let KK back outside and he rushes to the edge of the deck, stands, and leans over the railing. His entire body is quivering. I usually throw bread over the edge for wildlife, so I was expecting to see a deer or two. I know, bad habit.  I look over the railing and I see what appears to be a cat. I go back into the house thinking, That was kind of a weird looking cat.  So I look out the window and sure enough it was a weird looking cat, up and until he turned into the light. It appears we have ourselves a possum. I grab Caelan, yell at my husband to come look and make it snappy, and shut the door in a hurry. You know, because they can levitate, hurl themselves at your face and suck out your soul through your nostrils. Okay, maybe not, but their eyes glow red and they growl, and not in a very nice way. Have you seen their teeth?! So while my coffee is now stone cold, I know what lurks in the dark, and am none too happy for the knowledge.

Behind Blue Eyes

When we brought Taren home he was a sweet, blue eyed bundle, of Weimer joy. Just like most puppies I would guess. He would eat, sleep, play, and routinely trot you down the stairs for potty breaks. Time passed and he morphed out of the very young puppy stage into the- Holy Crap! There goes the furniture stage. The- We need a new garbage can, with a lock, phase. Followed by the- Quit eating the ever loving bark, rocks, sticks, and everything that was not nailed down stage. Somewhere along this line we were fairly convinced we had brought home a really goofy, ten year old boy, with a bad case of hyperactivity. One that could not quite grasp the meaning of no, down, off, or for the love of doG not those shoes! He was much more kid than dog. Every once in a while you would capture a photo, and there it would be. This glint of boyish charm, and something in the eyes that made you think he had pulled off something grand.