Tag: pets

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. 

Time

Woof. woof. What is time? You are here or you are not in sight. We are sheepdogs and we have to keep track of everything that moves, especially you.

We both sleep a lot in between keeping track of you. You wear us out.

In the morning, when you are in sight, Biscuit and I chase each other around the house and bark and run. Sometimes, when you’re not looking, I steal your little pink stripey things from the laundry room and trot around in front of you until you chase me and I drop them at your feet. When you say in a loud voice, “Hand them to me!” I have to pick them up again and wait until you take them from my mouth. When you get tired of this game, and we have barked a lot, you let Biscuit and me out on the deck. Biscuit wants to stay outside longer than I do. After a few minutes outside, I give my two-bark alert to tell you I want to come in. You open the door and I prance in. I am a beautiful prancer. Quick, funny and smart. Biscuit stays outside. Because I need you and want to be with you, I follow you all over the house. Everywhere. No exceptions.

When you are leaving and will not be in sight, you let me know you are coming back by playing beautiful music on the black machine, where Biscuit and I rest and wait for you to come back to us. We usually go to sleep by the door. I snore and Biscuit goes to sleep. When you come back through your magic door where you keep your car, you find our leashes and take us for another yummy, smelly walk. Sometimes you go by the dead-rodent-scattered eagles’ next, which makes our noses twitch. Sometimes we go by a big squirrels’ nest where Biscuit looks up until he either sees the squirrels and tries to jump up the tree or he doesn’t see the squirrels because they are sleeping in their leafy nest.

We know the time when:

a. we wake up and need to go for a walk (6:30 a.m.)

b. it’s time for our kibble and salmon oil (after our first walk (7:30 a.m.)

c. it’s time for our second walk (10 a.m. )

d. we are hungry again (4:30 pm)

e. we are sleepy and want one last breath of fresh air (8:30 pm)

f. we jump on your bed for awhile until you come to bed (9 pm)

c. it’s time to get up again (7 am)

Every time is our time!

Advice from Oliver: Every time can be your time too.