Dear Kid,

Two days ago, Booker was (unfortunately) sick as a dog. Which I suppose was better than him being sick as a horse because we would have needed a different vet. He looked even sadder than usual and after Daddy took him for his morning walk he was more interested in sitting in my lap than in breakfast.

Since Booker considers food—especially meal time—to be more exciting than winning the lottery, this was a pretty darn strong indication that All Was Not Right. Meal time typically means doing the Snoopy Supper Dance and spinning around because he just can’t contain all that happiness in one small body. There was no Happy. There wasn’t even any Mildly Interested. Poor puppy. (I’m sparing you all the details. They weren’t pretty.)

We spent most of the day letting sleeping dog lie (as it were). Dad took him to the vet late in the day. She wasn’t particularly concerned, expressed a thought or two that Booker might be suffering from some unspellable disease (which Daddy poo-pooed as barking up the wrong tree), then sent them home with some pills and instructions to feel better. (The pills were for Booker, not Dad, just in case you were confused.)

According to Booker, the pills Taste Bad. Who makes doggy pills that taste bad? However, when you wrap the pill in a little bit of cheese it goes right down. Mary Poppins had it wrong. (Extra points if you get the reference.)

Yesterday, he definitely seemed better. He even wagged his tail a little. Although he was definitely still a bit under the weather and perhaps feeling a little too old to learn a new trick. Today he’s back to working like a dog—at shedding and being his cheerful self. We’re very glad to have the Return of the Real Booker.

I don’t know if every dog will have his day (can you have the Dog Days of Fall?), but the past few certainly haven’t been his. Here’s to better puppy tummies.

Woof.

Love, Mom

Just a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down. – M. Poppins

Dear Kid,

I know you couldn’t really be here this year (what with other commitments), but mark your calendar for 2014, because the Cincinnati Chocolate Festival is Not To Be Missed.

Pi and I went down to the Festival yesterday (held in the same place you graduated from high school because pretty much no place else is big enough for it).

The Festival is now huge with zillions (I counted) of people and tons of vendors. Some of the vendors we expected to see (like Graeter’s, Aglamesis Brothers, and Esther Price Candies—don’t you love that those are all Cincinnati companies?), some were a little surprising (Edible Arrangements was there with chocolate dipped fruit and Kroger was there with a cracker/blue cheese/chocolate combo), and some were just plain unexpected (The Spicy Olive gals were there with chocolate balsamic vinegar—omg, fabulous!!!).

There were a lot of chocolate vendors neither Pi nor I had ever heard of (but what do we know) and we had a wonderful time roaming around and tasting different types and varieties of chocolaty yumminess. Cupcake Crazy had mini cake pops (about the size of a marble) on toothpicks for tasting. Both Pi and I really liked those. The Melting Pot was there with excellent chocolate for dipping a strawberry and pound cake into with cute little tasting fondue forks. In her expert opinion, your sister declared that the best chocolate by itself (yup, she drank the leftover dipping chocolate).

There was fudge from Jelli’s including Tiger Stripe and a hot chili fudge. It was HOT. I loved the microscopic taste I had, but there is no way you could eat a regular size piece. I suspect even being in the same room with it would cause Dad’s head to pop off.

Yes, we did buy something for you but it’s a surprise.

I’m pretty sure I gained about 7 thousand pound this afternoon. Not saying it wasn’t worth it….

In other news, Booker spent some time racing around with Roxie this morning. Roxie has apparently been told to keep off the newly blacktopped driveway. Booker did not get the memo.

Do you know what puppy shampoo does to blacktop? Absolutely nothing. Do you know what Skin So Soft does to blacktop? Takes it right off puppy fur. Do you know what puppy shampoo does to Skin So Soft? Not nearly as much as you might like it to.

We got wet.

He is now clean, has run circles around the house air drying his fur, has rolled around on the good carpet (can’t be bothered to roll on the stuff we want to replace), and has had his compensation for behaving during bath time of a piece of square cheese.

If only bribing children to clean up could be so easy….

Stay off the wet blacktop.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Being the kind of great mom that I am, I decided to play with Booker a little bit this morning.

“Come here, baby,” I called to him. Ever hopeful that there might be food involved, he trotted over to see what I wanted. He sniffed around and determined that there was no food involved. He gave me a reproachful look for starving him.

“Want to play?” I asked him. He stuck his head in my lap so I could easily scratch the back of his neck. I obliged and asked again, “Do you want to play?” He nudged my hand in a gentle rebuke that I had neglected scratching duties. I scratched.

After a minute or two, I grabbed a toy out of his bin. ‘Oh, boy!’ I could hear his brain cells say, ‘It’s my toy!’

I threw the toy across the room and he went scampering after it. It’s not an enormous room but when you have little bitty midget dachshund-type legs, there is plenty of room to scamper. He pounced on the toy with glee, gave me a look to say ‘Thanks, Mom!’ and lay down to chew on the toy.

“Bring it here, Booker,” I called, “Come on baby.” Important chewing continued.

I coaxed. He chewed.

I finally pulled another toy out of the bin. “Look what I have,” I sang. His head popped up. Another toy, oh boy! He came running over. “I need the toy,” I told him. He looked at the one in my hand to explain that I had the toy. “No goofy,” I said, “the one over there.” And I pointed across the room. He looked hopefully at the one I was holding. “Go get the other toy,” I said and pointed again. After a minute, he resigned himself to getting the first toy with a set of his face that clearly said, “You could probably have gotten it yourself and if I were a teenager, you can bet I’d be rolling my eyes.”

Once he brought it back, I threw the second toy. Being well trained, I pulled another toy out of the bin. He promptly brought me toy #2 and I threw toy #3. When he brought that back I threw toy #1 toward the front door. Booker went skidding across the wood floor, screeching to a halt at the last minute. He picked up the toy, and trotted back (via the carpet route). He looked to see if I had something to trade for the toy in his mouth. When he saw I did, he dropped his and waited for the throw.

Scamper, retrieve, throw another toy. Repeat.

After we’d done this about 6 times, he sat down smack in the middle of the room, dropped the toy, and scratched his ear. He enjoyed that so much he scratched the other side.

Done scratching, he picked up his toy, gave me a look, and trotted over to the window (toy in mouth) to see what was going on in the world. I was not forgotten, I was ignored. I think he’s been taking lessons in How to Snub Humans from a cat somewhere.

Eventually he came looking for me with an expression that said, “I was just looking outside for a minute—where did you go???”

I got the last word (so to speak) I left out all his toys. He’ll have to clean them up later. Assuming no one trips over them in the meantime.

I’m off to put some of my toys away. Have a great day, kiddo.

Love, Mom

Dear Boy That I Haven’t Sniffed In A Long Time,

I must tell you about the goings on here. Things have Gotten Out of Hand.

It all started out innocently enough. Mom and I had a lovely conversation. She’s learning a lot—I keep trying to teach her real words but it’s slow going. At the end of the conversation she got up and I followed her into to the kitchen because that’s where Food is and that is always Happy Time for me and my tummy.

Imagine the horror when she took out the bottle that says “Puppy Shampoo” because that’s where baths happen and that is not Happy Time. It is Wet Time. And I am not a silly lab who likes to waste time playing in water.

So while she Organized, I cleverly trotted out to the porch and camouflaged myself next to the window. I know that I see right through that thing, so I figured she’d never spot me. What? No dirty puppies here. I sat very, very still.

She found me (for someone with a nose that doesn’t work very well, she can be darn clever) and into the sink I went. I was very cooperative, because I am That Kind of Canine and if you’re going to get clean you might as well do it right. I let her wash every last part of me. As you know, I hate severely dislike baths but I love the square orange cheese I get afterward (still trying to figure out how to train mom to give me some without a bath).

I got dried off, ate my cheese, and then I had to fix everything. No one puts my fur back where it belongs so I have to roll around on the carpet (I so wish I could lick my back) and then I licked all the fur I could reach (I don’t know why I can’t just give myself a bath without all this sink business).

A little later, Daddy brought home the big motor thing. We all had to help unload because Daddy was In A Hurry. I was busy helping, but Mom kept forgetting to give me treats. So I thought “what can I do to really be helpful?” and poof! Woof! came the answer: I could roll around in something to get a good smell back on me.

Nonchalantly I moseyed behind the burning bush to the side of the house. Mom said, “Booker” in a Don’t-Move-Another-Muscle-Mister voice, but what could I do? Everyone else was working so hard. I had to do my part, didn’t I? So I zipped off on little doggie feet. Mom yelled, “Booker, Come!” which I  know means “when you get over here you get a treat. Probably.” It was hard (I LOVE treats), but I had a job to do and so I kept going.

I found some really cool stuff to roll in (I won’t tell you because I don’t want you to get jealous) and after I’d had a good perfume, I went back to the Pack.

Mom’s eyes opened extra wide when she got a whiff of me. Pi said something about me (I know it was about me, but I’m not sure what she said because of the funny look on her face and the way her nose was scrunched up—too much of a good thing, maybe?)

You will NEVER guess what happened next. Into the sink I went. I have never even heard of having two baths in one day. I wasn’t even dry from the first bath. Can you believe this?

Nobody appreciates help.

I’m exhausted. Must go take a nap.

Love, Booker

Dear Kid,

Booker is sleeping and making all sorts of adorable noises in his crate. I wonder what he’s dreaming about. I’m sure he’s not dreaming about rabbits because a) we haven’t seen any rabbits recently and he’s got a memory about 14 seconds long and b) he’s surely got more important things on his mind. Like breakfast.

Can you imagine Booker actually catching a varmint? I wonder if his wolf instincts would kick in and he’d try to kill it or whether his natural personality would dominate and he’d try to be friends with it?

Speaking of his friends, Cobra (such a silly name for a cat) and Booker had a lovely time this morning. Booker whined and wagged until Cobra came running down the driveway to see him. The funny part is that while they love each other, they haven’t at all got the hang of how to behave with each other. Cobra wants to butt heads and do other cat-like things while Booker wants to play and sniff (not necessarily in that order). Which inevitably means that the cat head-butts Booker, stares superciliously at him while he tries to sniff, and then they ignore each other. The really funny part is that they work so hard at ignoring each other–kind of like 6th graders. Then the cat will go off on important cat business and Booker will fuss that he’s being abandoned. They crack me up.

I googled (when it’s a verb, do you have to capitalize google? how did google become a verb anyway? We would never say “I yahoo-ed”) dog dreams. Turns out there is an article in Psychology Today (of all places) talking about dog dreams. After some horrid experiments (how do people get away with cutting out parts of dogs’ brains???), they concluded that dogs do in fact dream (duh) and they dream about things they did during the day, just like people.

Which is only fine up to the point where I realized that I dream about things all the time that would never in a zillion years happen in real life and so how on earth can we assume what dogs dream about?

But he is the cutest furry thing for miles regardless of what he’s dreaming about.

Sweet dreams, kid.

Love, Mom