Cheez Ballz!

Santy Paws brought Polly a huge jar of cheese balls for Christmas. When he presented it to her, her curly tail wagged so fast that we thought she might take off like a helicopter.

As you can see in this photo, Polly is already on the verge of obesity (she takes after her mother). Our vet says this is a common tendency in pugs. I have a hard time understanding how a little dog with such a big personality, who is so very, very busy in her roles as Ear Hygienist, Beard Inspector, Hall Monitor, Dining Supervisor and Traffic Management Director, would not be burning at least as many calories as she takes in. I worried a bit that the cheese balls would add to her girth.

As it turns out, Polly has little opportunity to overindulge in cheese balls because the instant my hand moves towards the jar, all the dogs come running. Cheese balls rain down from heaven and are gobbled up the instant they hit the floor. Then everybody licks the floor for 3-4 minutes. With all that competition, Polly's lucky to get a single cheese ball to savor.

Color Trends

Black is in, I tell you. I've got a year at JC Penney under my belt, and am on my way to becoming a fashionista. So, pay attention, black is IN!

Isn't it Polly's glossy coat amazing?

Polly at work

Polly is our smallest dog in physical size, but perhaps our biggest dog in terms of attitude. All of our dogs must submit to her daily inspection, with a special emphasis on detailed ear-licking and the expert removal of eye boogers. At least once a day, she moves into kick-ass mode and torments a bigger dog until they cry "Uncle!" Unfortunately, that kick-ass ritual tends to happen on top of my bare feet, in the confined space under my desk. Her favorite victim is Goober, so you can imagine my surprise to discover them cuddled up on a chair this afternoon.

As always, I ask you to ignore the dirt on that chair. We just can't keep up with the dirt. I dust and sweep every other day, but I really ought to do that twice a day.

Hell no, I won't go!

When I was in high school, draft dodgers protested the Viet Nam war by yelling, "Hell no, I won't go!" at peace demonstrations. Polly wasn't even a twinkle in her daddy's eye then, but that's what she's crying today.

Mr. P. came home from work and reported that Jack, the guy who gave us Polly 3 years ago because his dachsund hated her, now wants her back. His son moved out and took the dachsund with him, and big, strong Jack wants a little dog to cuddle again.

But Mr. P. told him, "No way. Polly is the wife's favorite dog. You're not getting her back."

I said, "Jack couldn't wait to get rid of her before, and now he wants her back? Oh, no. No, no, no!"

While we discussed this, Polly watched nervously, her big bug eyes sending us messages like, "Please, Mom. Please, Dad. I can't go back there. Don't make me. You can't make me."

As soon as there was a break in the kitchen action (supper preparation), I scooped her up and kissed her and told her, "Don't worry, Polly. You're my baby now and you'll always be my baby."

Double decker dogs

Did you ever love someone so much that you just couldn't get close enough to them?

I don't know who's more adorable in this photo, Miss Polly with her anxious little head stacked on top of Georgie, or Georgie with his block head tilted to the side so that a slice of sunshine falls on it.

What's your problem?

What's your problem?

Do you not understand the importance of feeding biscuits to pugs?

Who cares what the vet says about avoiding overfeeding of pugs? Just because she said I'm beautiful and shiny and sleek doesn't mean I don't need a biscuit. I need a biscuit NOW (stamping her tiny feet). GET WITH IT, MOM! Don't you know that biscuits make my tail curl? Do you want a pug with a straight tail? Do you want a starving, traumatized pug? Do you want me to start barking hysterically and wake up all the other dogs? Do you? Because I'm fully prepared to do that...just give me a biscuit now, and nobody gets hurt. Understand?

Nobody Loves Me

Polly: Georgie, are you awake?
Georgie: Zzzzzzzz.
Polly: Wake up. We need to talk.
(Editor: Four words guaranteed to put any man to sleep.)
Georgie: Arfrmmp.
Polly: Don't you think Patch is getting kind of stuck on herself since she started sleeping indoors? I mean, it's all about Patch now. Isn't Patch darling cuddled up in my purple blankie? Isn't Patch a good girl? Does Patch want a biscuit in bed? Shhh, Patch is sleeping.
Georgie: Who's Patch?
Polly: It's just not fair.
Georgie: Zzzzzz.
Polly: Nobody loves me any more.

Polly & the Ken the Squirrel

Polly loves to suck her stuffed white squirrel. It's the only toy she's ever done this to (well, actually, it's the second toy she's done it to - the other one being her first stuffed squirrel, the one the puppies killed). In addition to the squirrel, she has a pink bear that is apparently acceptable for cuddling but not for sucking. For a long time, my friends and family thought I was making up the whole squirrel-sucking thing, and every time I tried to photograph it, Polly would stop sucking and give me a "Do you mind?" look. But I finally have photographic evidence.

Since the squirrel comes from Kenton, TN (famous for its "real" white squirrels), Polly's squirrel is now named "Ken".

Polly's Bad Day

Polly's bad day just got worse.

Earlier this week, we discovered (the hard, messy way) that one of the puppies has diarrhea. After 2 accidents, I caught Berry in the act yesterday afternoon.

Today I cooked some plain white rice for him and mixed Pepto Bismol into it. This remedy, suggested by a long-ago vet of ours, has worked for generations of our dogs.

When it was time to give Berry his medicine, I shut Polly and Georgie in my study and let Berry into the kitchen. He wasn't sure he liked the rice
(new and unfamiliar) but did manage to choke it down. The entire time he was eating, Polly was
shrieking in the bedroom. Finally I opened the door and she shot out of there like a little black
cannonball, only to find that Berry's bowl was empty.

Then it was time to feed her and the rest of the dogs (I'm sorry to confess that Berry ate a second supper with his brothers, sister, and mother - no wonder he's fat). Much to Polly's dismay, Mr. P. put her kibble in her bowl and put Georgie's kibble in the saucepan with the leftover rice (no Pepto). The reason for this: Georgie's the Alpha Dog (in theory, anyway), so he
gets the treats. Polly could not get over the terrible injustice of this, but had to abandon her protest and eat her own kibble before anybody else got at hers.

Little dog in a big chair

Six dogs are outside on the deck, enjoying the fresh air
and sunshine. One dog is inside, all alone. A little dog in
a big chair, looking pitiful (her specialty).



















"What's the matter, Polly?" I say.

"I'm bored," she sighs.

"Go outside and play with the other kids," I say
briskly, thinking, Oh no! My mother's voice is
coming out of my mouth!

"I want to play with my toys," Polly says.

"You can't have your toys during the day. You
know what the puppies will do to them."

"Then I want to sit in your lap."

"Maybe later. Why don't you take a nap now?"

Big sigh.

Ten minutes later, I peek out into the living room.
She's still sitting there, staring mournfully at my
study door. What a hard life Polly lives. No attention,
no love, no treats, no toys, no playing.

My voice heavy with sarcasm, I tell her, "You could
go live with some other family if you'd prefer."

She leaps off the chair, puts her tiny paws on my knees,
and wags her tail. "That's a great idea, Mom!"

Ungrateful wretch.

Goodbye, Mr. Squirrel!

I mentioned the death of Polly's stuffed squirrel earlier and realized that you haven't heard the whole story, so here it is.

Stuffed animals have a short life expectancy at our house. Even the ones designed especially for dogs don’t last very long.

Last fall, a member of my writing group gave me a white stuffed squirrel. The teeny town he lives in is famous for its white squirrels (I think they have a population of 3 of them). A local civic group bought hundreds of these stuffed squirrels for a festival, and had hundreds of them leftover (which I guess added to the town’s squirrel population, but these guys aren’t out there climbing trees or running across the road trying to fake out passing motorists—they’re confined to some cardboard cartons in Tim’s garage).

I thanked Tim nicely, thinking, “What am I going to do with this silly thing?” But when I got home, Polly expressed an interest in it, so it became her toy. More than that, it became her best friend. She cuddled it, carried it around the house in her mouth, buried it under her bedding, and most of all, sucked on it (maybe Polly was weaned too early?). Soon Mr. Squirrel was no longer white (as you can imagine), but I didn’t dare throw him in the laundry for fear that he would disintegrate, or that Polly would have a panic attack while he was spinning around in the dryer.

Then the puppies were born and ventured into the house. They quickly discovered the squirrel. We had some anxious moments when Meg tried to take the squirrel outside with her, but I managed to rescue him.

A few weeks ago I was working in my study while all 7 dogs were playing in the living room (that was my first mistake). After a while I realized that it was ominously quiet out there, so I went to check on them. Polly was standing next to her squirrel with the puppies ranged around her. Georgie and Patch watched from the sidelines. The squirrel had been badly eviscerated and there was white stuffing everywhere. Polly sniffed at the bits of stuffing and looked at me as if to say, “Please put it back together!” But it was too late. So I put Patch and the puppies outside and cleaned up the mess. As I held Mr. Squirrel over the trash container, I asked Polly, “Would you like to say a few words before he goes to his grave?” She gazed up at me in confusion (the trash container happens to be about 6” away from the dog kibble container, so she may have been wondering if I was going to feed her and the squirrel). Then it was, “Goodbye, Mr. Squirrel!”

Poor Polly. Such a traumatic day. Such a grievous loss. She did, however, manage to choke down every bite of her supper (like mother, like daughter) and has accepted a few biscuits of condolence. Memorial contributions can be made to the Humane Society of the United States.

When Mr. Parker got home that night after a bad day at work, he wasn’t too interested in the Squirrel Tragedy, but the next morning he announced that he was going to buy Polly a new stuffed toy for her to keep on the bed in my study where the puppies can’t get at it (at least until they grow a bit bigger). He actually managed to find a grey stuffed squirrel at Wal-Mart. Polly did not understand that the new toy was supposed to stay on the bed, and the grey squirrel was dead within 24 hours of arriving here. Polly hardly noticed. It was not, after all, the original Mr. Squirrel.

Finally I met up with Tim and his wife Terri, who presented me with not one but two new white squirrels. I hid one of them in a closet and gave Polly the other one. She was delirious with joy - threw it up in the air, raced around the room with it, sucked it, the whole deal. Our new arrangement is that when the puppies go to their clubhouse at night, Polly gets the squirrel. When I get up in the morning, the squirrel goes to perch on the sideboard in the dining room.

What about Georgie?

And what about Georgie?

The reincarnation of Winston Churchill?

Or Yoda?

"Like me, handsome Georgie is."

Polly, phone home!

Is Polly from Outer Space?
Sometimes we think she should phone home.
But we love having her here, and would miss her
if she went to her home planet.

I often look at Polly and wonder what she's thinking. You might look at her and say, "With eyeballs that big, there isn't any room for brains in her head." Which could be true. Mr. P. says we should have named her Lucy (as in I Love Lucy).

You might say dogs can't think because that's the exclusive province of humans. But how could you look at this face and believe there's nothing but random electrical impulses going on in there?

Fortunately (or maybe not), having 7 dogs and 1 cat is improving my animal mind-reading skills. Here's what Polly thought about this afternoon:

12:32 pm - Is it suppertime yet?

12:45 pm - I saw a dragon in the yard! I know I saw a dragon! Why won't Mum let me out there to kill it? Doesn't she realize the danger?

12: 46 pm - Is it suppertime yet?

1:04 pm - Meg just peed on the rug. I saw her with my own eyes. Why isn't Mum yelling at her about it? Why do I get yelled at for peeing on the rug, but not Meg? It just isn't fair!

1:22 pm - A biscuit sure would be nice right now.

2:01 pm - I wish I could have my own phone. A pink princess phone. I could call Patch and we could talk about boys and she could give me the answers to my math homework.

2:38 pm - There goes that dragon again! How dare it?! Why can't Georgie see the dragon? Is he blind?

3:01 pm - Mum's going to the refrigerator! What's she getting? An orange! She's eating it all by herself. Doesn't she know how much I love oranges?

3:25 pm - Oh no, Teddy's got my favorite purple blankie, the one with pink butterflies on it that match my collar. That's MY blankie!

3:26 pm - Ha ha, Teddy's getting yelled at for peeing on my blankie.

3: 28 pm - Oh no, my blankie's going into the washing machine monster. Why doesn't Mum realize how dangerous that monster is? What if my blankie never comes out again? Does it get dizzy in there?

4:05 pm - Is it suppertime yet?

4:07 pm - where's supper?

4:09 pm - I wonder what's for supper?

4:11 pm - Chicken livers for supper would be nice.

4:13 pm - Chicken livers with ice cream would be nicer.

4:15 pm - Oh, what a relief, here's my blankie, safe and sound. Oh, so nice and warm from the dryer.

4:16 pm - Now Berry's peed on my blankie. I'm not exactly sure what all the words mean, but Mum sure sounds mad.

4:17 pm - Bye bye, Berry. Write when you get work.

4:19 pm - I better check my food bowl. You never know.

4:20 pm - Nothing. Is she trying to starve me to death?

4:22 pm - Even a bowl of kibble would be OK.

4:24 pm - How about 4 pieces of kibble?

4:26 pm - Two pieces of kibble?4:28 pm - I'm going to faint with hunger. Maybe Mum will finally pay attention if I faint.

4:30 pm - Hallelujah! Here comes a big bowl of kibble! Yum, yum, munch, crunch, urrp.

4:32 pm - Now, a nice drink of water. With Jinx slobber in it. Ick.

4:33 pm - That's better.

4:34 pm - Is it suppertime yet?

It all began like this...

Once upon a time, a happy family lived in rural Tennessee. Papa Bear, Mama Bear, Baby Bear... wait, no, wrong story. I'll start again.

In a modest home on a country road lived me (Jean), my husband (Mr. P), and our two dogs, Georgie (a fawn French bulldog) and Polly (a black pug), with an outdoor cat (Smoky, who you might guess is grey) to monitor the mouse population. Our neighbors are farmers and their cows, plus countless stray dogs and cats. Apparently lots of people think it's OK to drop their unwanted pets into a ditch.

Last fall, a sweet white mutt with a black patch over one eye appeared. She evaluated every home in the area and targeted us to be her new family. She must have seen the neon "SUCKER" sign on our roof. We called her Patch, not wanting to invest a lot of effort in naming a dog who would eventually disappear. But she didn't disappear. We fed her, gave her a crate in our garage, and when she began to get fat and her teats distended, I took her to the vet. He told us Patch weighed 32 lbs, was about a year old, and was about 4 weeks away from delivering a litter of puppies. This was not exactly what we had planned for our family, but that SUCKER sign is there for a reason.

On December 21, 2008, Patch gave birth in our laundry room to 4 adorable puppies. Every time we take them to the vet for shots, he says in awe, "And you're keeping them all?" Well, yes. We can't bring ourselves to part with them. We love them all - how could we chose which one(s) to banish? We couldn't give them away in the Wal-Mart parking lot to any idiot who'd drive up and throw them in the back of his pickup truck. We'd have to do a home visit, a psychological evaluation, and get 3 references.

So the puppies stay. Patch and the pups have a large doghouse (an 8x8 shed with a pet door) and share a big fenced-in yard with Georgie and Polly. Although Georgie was interested in eating the puppies when they were small, now that they are 5 months old and bigger than him (he weighs 23 lbs, they weigh about 40 lbs each), he tolerates their rough-housing with only the occasional snarl. As their behavior improves and the weather gets warmer, Patch and the puppies spend more time indoors, but so far none of them have shown an interest in being officially house-broken. (Georgie enjoys snacking on puppy poop anyway.)

The vet theorizes that the puppies are part Rottweiler, part bloodhound. Two of them (Teddy & Meg) are tan with white markings, and the other two (Berry & Jinx) are black with tan markings. We have had Patch spayed and in a month or so will have the puppies neutered, because we can barely afford to feed this crew, never mind more pups.

As the vet says, "You gotta a whole lot of dog goin' on here!"