I can hardly remember a time when there wasn’t a Biscuit. He’s technically my nephew. That is to say, he’s my sister’s pup. But Biscuit is much more than that. Much, much more. He’s a pal when we’re alone in the house with classical music playing. I don’t change positions from when you left and have reminded us, “I’ll be back!” I know you’re telling the truth because you always come back. Eventually. I listen to all the sound/music on the CD player, but I have a favorite: Chopin. After we’ve waited through many musical compositions, we hear the garage door go up. I’m first at the door. Biscuit wakes from his tenth nap of the day and joins me. He tries to imitate my happy expression when you come home. Biscuit sniffs your shoe and wags his tail. I jump on you and hug you. He doesn’t have nearly the keen sense of drama that I have. But you pet both of us equally. It’s only fair that you love us the same, even if I am older and wiser.

Biscuit is also an excellent playmate when we find a big stick along the walking path. Sometimes I take one end and he takes the other. Sometimes when I’m feeling Alpha-ish, I growl low in my gullet and Biscuit drops his end and I go sailing off with the stick bouncing down the path. I feel sorry for him and prance in front of him in order to demonstrate just the right swagger, head up, feet a-dancing. He tries to pick up the dragging end of the stick and I completely fake him out by running away again. It’s a great game. 

Biscuit’s an accomplice when I steal socks off the drying rack in the laundry room. He tries to take part of one sock, but I hold on tightly. We both run upstairs to see if when we stand at the front door, you’ll let us outside on the deck to patrol the neighborhood. I have to fork over the socks before you let us out. You let Biscuit out if he jingles the bells on the door, which requires no effort or ingenuity.

I used to be boss regardless of the time and place, but what good is that if there’s nobody to follow? Now I have Biscuit to help convince you that I need to go outside this instant.

Since Biscuit arrived, when the day folds in and it’s good and dark, it becomes absolutely necessary for me to remind Biscuit and you and Dad that I am Leader. When he jumps on your bed and he thinks he’s closest to you, I have to jump in front of him even closer. If he lies on your feet and acts like a big fluffy baby, I usually let him get by with it because I know who I am. I am not fluffy. I am sleek and elegant. I do not have to prove 100% domination because Biscuit and I both know who’s Top Dog.

Advice from Oliver: It takes a source of competition to prove one’s true excellence.

Daisy and I were about the same age. She was as beautiful as I am handsome. This blog is for my beautiful friend, Daisy, who left our world a few weeks ago.

She was a Rhodesian Ridgeback. I am a Bearded Collie. We are what you call dogs. We have four legs. You have two legs and two arms. I hug you with my front legs like you pet me with your arms. Daisy and I mostly chased each other in circles. She jumped over my head and I barked. We had a lot of room to do that up at Old Pines, where she is resting in the photo above. Daisy had long legs and was bred to hunt lions who run very fast . I was bred to herd sheep which are slower and shorter and are intimidated by loud barking. Almost every time you saw Daisy, you patted her lovely head, and sang a very old song to her. It sounded like this:

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer true. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage. I can’t afford a carriage, but you’ll look sweet, upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.”

For those of you who have reached a certain age, you may remember that song. For you young ones who just like the song, you might like to know that it was written by a man named Harry Dacre in 1892 for someone he loved named Daisy, Countess of Warwick. She was one of the many sweethearts to the King of England named Edward. But Harry loved her too and wrote the song for her.

My pal Daisy was related to me somehow but we never know how to describe that kind of relationship. She lived with Iris, her sister, in the household of your daughter and all of those humans at that house, Stephanie, Howard, Eleanor and Eliah. I don’t really understand what you’d call us, cousins or uncles or aunts or something. The real thing that mattered is that it was always clear we loved each other and that is what counts. We sniffed each other all over in the important places and in the respectful ways that dogs do. Iris and everyone around your house and mine and miss you, but we are taking good care of each other and will remember you forever.

Advice from Oliver: Love the ones around you, no matter how many arms and legs they have. And no matter how many other people love them. Sing to them, even if it’s an old song, (131 years old). Bark if it’s in your genes. Sniff them if you feel like it. Remember them forever.

BISCUIT, AS YOU CAN SEE, WAS EXHAUSTED AFTER HIS WORK WAS DONE.

So, you bore witness to my grand generosity this morning. Instead of growling and intimidating my best friend, the Brown Biscuit, as we sped toward the front door, this morning I actually allowed him to bound out the door before I did to retrieve the morning paper. This has traditionally been wholly my job. I faded into the background and let Biscuit go first. He snared the folded-up paper in his teeth overjoyed at his good fortune, and pranced and leaped around the deck. He did not shred the green plastic wrapping or the paper itself as he has been known to do in the past. 

You were thrilled with his great genius when I only get just a “Good boy!” and a treat. But never mind. I’ll give him that. He dropped the paper in the middle of the dining room before he completed the task of bringing it into the kitchen. That’s where I rescued him and picked the paper up, delivering it dexterously to its rightful place in your outstretched hand. 

Although Biscuit hung back before he was completely done with the job, he received the exact little treat I got…a salmon bit…so delicious. 

I thought my behavior was extraordinary. You know I am far superior in my retrieval skills. Add patience and kindness to talent and agility in a growing list of my personality characteristics, and you can see how gracefully I am aging. 

I can’t help but mentioning here that I also allow Biscuit to establish his place on your bed before I do. He hops up, fur flowing behind him, and plants his four furry paws squarely in front of himself, gazing at you adoringly.

I am perfectly content to lie next to the bed since the top of it is getting to be a rather big jump for me. I know you love me at least as much as you love the Biscuit, so it’s fine with me. Besides, as far as guarding the premises is concerned, I can do it more easily from the floor than from the height of your bed. 

Some things may not be obvious to the two and a half year old who is less mature than I am, but I have faith, with my guidance, he will learn in time.  

Advice from Oliver: Leading by example comes to us all eventually.  

Catchy title, isn’t it?

Now that Biscuit, my best pal and biggest nuisance, has reached full maturity, I have had to become more and more insistent on the fact of the matter. The fact of the matter is whatever I happen to pick up in the way of a STICK on our walk in the city or country, it is always going to be mine. Biscuit is lucky to have me to keep him humble. He may think he has control of long and short branches, entire limbs of trees, and other such oddments (remember I have a large vocabulary), but as soon as I see that he is chewing on something, I have to step in. I am very fast. You used to call me Lightning. 

My preeminence also includes other wood products such as the newspaper which I have been bringing in for years. Biscuit tries to sneak it away from my alligator jaws, but I always win. Sometimes we shred the paper in the tussle. You give me my treat begrudgingly.

Above, you see me exhibiting my natural powers. Biscuit and I were running in our Wisconsin woods. You happened to capture this struggle with your little phone. Don’t I look adorable? In case you’ve forgotten how handsome I am, check the dog-dude on the left. On the right is Biscuit, who thinks jumping high and smiling sweetly is going to win.

I, on the other paw, am much more subtle, my hind paws barely clearing the ground. Amazing strength, wouldn’t you say? Aren’t you proud of me? You don’t see the stick because it’s in my mouth.

As far as the newspaper goes, Biscuit still hasn’t caught on how to take it in his little Biscuit bities and bring it to you gently for a treat. Daddy usually gives him a treat anyway which really isn’t fair, but neither is the usual course of life…fair, that is. Daddy calls Biscuit’s attempt an “assist.” I call it doggone dumb.

Advice from Oliver: Don’t be afraid to exert your strength and wisdom that comes from age. Younger dogs can learn by watching. 

Today was extra delicious. You took us to a great big place where Biscuit and I ran around free without our harnesses or leashes. I don’t think you had as much fun as we did.

I’m cute, sure, I know that. But, I’m even cuter with a dead bunny hanging from my mouth. I think it adds to my overall shaggy allure. I was lucky enough to find a juicy rabbit hidden way down next to the water. Someone else made him stop moving before I found him. I didn’t have to do that part. Once I had him firmly in my teeth and fended off Biscuit and our friend Freya, I ran you all around the big park for quite a long time with guts and blood dripping on the snow.  It’s wonderful to be off leash! The bunny’s hippity-hoppity legs flopped up and down out of my mouth when I ran. We were a beautiful sight, fit for the slickest outdoor magazine. Dawg, this was my lucky day. And it made such a delicious crunch when I chewed him, bones and all.

Your voice had a different tone when you called me to come. I think you knew it was hopeless to get me to let go of the delicious food. You sounded, well, like you were seeing a different side of me. I let you get really close and then I’d run away again. I am faster than you are and we both know it.

 You tried so hard with the treats I usually get including a small scrap of dried bacon to bribe me to drop my treasure. You didn’t honestly expect me to drop the rabbit for measly dog treats, did you? I am an animal like you. One major difference between us is that I don’t need an oven to cook my food. I like it raw. I had so much fun.

That was the best rabbit I’ve ever eaten. Come to think of it, it’s the only rabbit I’ve ever eaten.

Now I have new knowledge of what those furry things taste like—you know, the ones that come at dusk and chew on your favorite plants—those things. Rabbits. Bunnies.

Do you still love me? You made me stay on the deck for awhile. Usually, when I scratch on the door and bark twice, you let me in. This time, I had to bark many times. I can’t really count. You leashed me up, brought me directly to the bathtub, scrubbed my face and my chin until there was no more bunny aftertaste. The flavor faded with the peanut butter flavored enzymatic toothpaste that you scrubbed onto my teeth. You also gave me a pill.

I hope that bunny didn’t make me sick. You got on your tappity tap tap machine. I’ll bet you were sending Freya’s mother a message. I think it might have had something to do with Freya, in case the bunny leg I left her didn’t agree with her. You gave her a couple of pills too, just in case.

I think I’ve lost my sleeping-on-your-bed privileges for awhile.

Advice from Oliver: Take full advantage of every opportunity to search and find new dining delicacies. Exciting experiences await you over every hill.