My Fourteenth Year

It’s me, Oliver! I’m handsome and sweet and tricky, as always. Good looks are in my DNA

so I can’t take a lot of credit for it. My sweetness is a choice, in case you choose to emulate me.

(Remember my vocabulary is extensive and comes naturally to me.) My trickiness? Now that is

something that I have created out of sheer guts and gusto.

I will give you an example of how tricky I have always been and continue to be as I age ever so

gracefully. It’s best seen when I am prancing, and I do mean prancing, in front of you and any audience I can

conjure up with stolen treasures between my beautiful mandibles. I turn my head to look behind me to make

sure my audience, including you, is completely engaged.

Then I slide into place, snap up something I am sure you will want, and slip past you as neatly as I

can, always quicker than you, even when you chase me. I can make quick turns and 360 changes.

The only way you can convince me to sacrifice the booty is if you bring me to the front door, extend your

palm, say “Thank you, Oliver!” in just the right tone of voice and open the door to let me outside. Even if I

didn’t really want to go outside, over years of practice, we have come to a tacit agreement that being out-of-

doors on the deck with Biscuit is a satisfactory reward. Together, we are quite a force! I drop your sock or

shoe or dishtowel at your feet and often you reward me with a salmon treat. Then you open the door and

out I go. Sometimes, if it’s too cold or there are too many roller bladers to bark at, I have to use my two-bark

command for you to let me back inside. Now!

Well, enough about trickiness. Let me announce my seventh completion of Therapy Animal

Certification. I am very proud of this accomplishment. My dear nephew Biscuit has not been

this successful-yet. I am sorry about this, but we all have our lessons to learn. Every two years,

as therapy animals, all animals and their handlers (that’s you!) are required to pass the same old test again. I

was stellar this time, absolutely perfect. It’s not nice to compare, but, well, let’s just say someone I know and

love was imperfect. He barked too much and too often. He hasn’t learned my reserve and sophistication. I

have tried to help him, but he is what some people call “a lot.” We all love him anyway.

One last thing before I sign off for today…reaching the ripe age of fourteen definitely has its merits.

Daddy hand feeds me my kibble if I pretend I’m not hungry. You are much more sympathetic if I need to pee

several times in a day. Dogs who live to be as old as I am lived have witnessed many things, both sad and

happy.

Dogs like me know and understand a lot more than most people know and understand.

But you, my dear family, accept and protect me and I lie next to your bed until I think you are safe. When

I hear you snore, I find my way into my own bed which you are kind enough to keep clean and cozy for me

until we start a new day.

Advice from Oliver: Try to remember that turning fourteen definitely has its advantages.

I’m still tops!!

I am reaching an important birthday, age fourteen years.

I am still a very strong and formidable dog. If you ask Biscuit, he will vouch for that. You may notice my sly

look, my jaunty scarf and my right bandage. Those features are designed to enhance my style, which is

sheer magnificence. I am not quite as free with advice as I used to be. I keep my opinions to myself more

A photo from ancient times just to remind you of my great good looks and my retrieval skill

than I used to. I have taught you all, my dear readers, what I know to be true. Take some time and pawruse

my old blogs. I have much to offer. Tell your friends, both two and four-legged. My advice is witty, offhand,

and wise, all important characteristics during times of great foolishness.

Advice from Oliver: Less is more.

Sleeping and Snoring

The first part of this story is Sleeping. Once again, as you can see above, I am quite comfortable in my own fur despite the fact that you awakened me. When you move from place to place I must follow you. It’s in my DNA. You don’t have to pay a fee or collect my spit to figure that out since I already know that and so do you. We have empathy as well as intuition. Because you have not collected a herd of sheep for me or for Biscuit, to herd, I suffer from naptus interruptus. I herd you all over the bonnie dails. That’s Scottish for lovely fields. But I am a very tolerant dog. I move around at a steady gait right beside you; well, okay, I admit it’s a relatively slow gait these days. But I manage to keep up with you regardless. You’re a little slower too. I like that.

As for Snoring, the second part of this story, I make a lovely sound that sounds like snoring, except it is a lovely gentle wavelike sound that has nothing to do with sleep apnea and does not require a snorkel machine. It comes from deep inside your throat, and your soul. Many years ago, as oral tradition would suggest, my predecessor, Samoset, your very first (I am the eighth) Bearded Collie had mastered the yogic oo-jai breath. He was quite trendy. He may have learned it from you. Yoga was popular during Samoset’s life (1972ish). According to AI, oo-jai breath is a yogic breathing technique called victorious or ocean breath. It helps me, Oliver, stay warm, focused and steady. You do it and so do I. I have heard you, but not as often as I would recommend. It demonstrates how truly harmonious with the ocean we can be. We are aware of the beauty of gentle sound, peaceful appearance and rejuvenation.

Oliver’s advice: For those of you who need to focus, close your eyes, relax and inhale and exhale in a rhythm that puts you into a deep state of bliss. You can find out how to breathe like me through effortless research. Look it up. My personal rating for oo-jai breath is ten.

Still cool

Well, dear fans, I’m here to tell you that I can usually get what I want no matter how I act. If you check the history of my posts, you’ll see I’ve been writing for ten years, but I was already two years old. Not only am I a successful individual, I am extraordinarily handsome and well-coordinated. This blog is not my resume, so I won’t bore you with the details of my exploits, but suffice it to say that I’ve been around. I speak to just about everyone and can keep my cool if I don’t get the proper response. Things haven’t changed much since I last wrote. See who’s in front below? Biscuit may be beautiful and strong, but he eventually yields to me, Oliver the powerhouse. Oliver the great.

Look closely. See the toothmarks on that brown package? My point is that I can still carry heavy packages in to you with my teeth. Just sayin’. I dropped it for a minute to pose for your photo of me. The cone I happen to be sporting in the photo above is quite fashionable in my age group. I was just trying it on for a few weeks after my doctor found a little problem on my foot. I single-pawedly improved. In fact, I made a magnificent recovery. Thank you for asking.

She (my doctor) said I was an “excellent boy.” I didn’t take offense at her inadvertent condescension. I focused on the “excellent” part and ignored the “boy.” It was a choice. Also, I was very brave and barely needed any anesthetic. I only cried once in my life that I can remember. It was when a lovely friend said goodbye. I was quite small then and it was my first important loss. I’ve learned since how to fill up my eyes with love for what’s in front of me.

Advice from Oliver: Courage comes easier to some than others. Some of it is choice.

My mistake

From time to time, I make a mistake. Last post, I didn’t properly write that my sister is Biscuit’s mother. So, now you know. I am not perfect.

If you have trouble sending any comments to me, I would suggest that instead of sending them via the channels that are full of AI influence, send comments directly to onelightsource@comcast. net