Welcome, Lady Byng!

Yesterday evening we arrived home from the nearby animal shelter with a new friend.

Lady Byng

She is named for the hockey trophy that is awarded each year to the “player adjudged to have exhibited the best type of sportsmanship and gentlemanly conduct combined with a high standard of playing ability.” Yes, it’s hockey’s Miss Congeniality award. Fitting to her name, she is a very well-behaved little dog, who doesn’t need to be told more than twice where she is not allowed to go (though the subtleties of sofa-with-blanket vs. sofa-without-blanket are still confusing to her after 24 hours).

She is also very quiet. Last night, as we put her into her bed in the laundry room she cried for a while, with some really odd-sounding vocalizations, but nary a bark. Once she figured out that we were still nearby she settled down to sleep.

So, welcome to the pack, Lady Byng.


A Wee Bit of Happy News

It was a tough day, overall. I’ll go into details later, maybe. But here’s a happy story, even if it’s a few years old. It’s the story of Popsicle, a puppy found wrapped in a plastic bag in a freezer.

Popsicle was saved, and went on to be awesome. So, yay, Popsicle!


Round Mound of Hound… Rebound

Sad news for fans of the Official Muddled Dog: We’ve been busted. You see, the ol’ gal is substantially larger than the nominal limit for our neighborhood. Even at her ideal weight she would be quite a bit too big.

The rule is very inconsistently enforced, however; so as long as no one complains, management is willing to not see the big dog. Well, we’re getting new neighbors and before they moved in they complained. Management has notified us that our quiet, gentle, well-behaved dog must go.

Looking for a home, once again.

To my new neighbors I say, “The next time your &*$#^*@ fence is on fire, there won’t be a dog around to alert people to the trouble.” (True fact: OMD raised the alarm a few days ago when a fence was burning. Just like in Reader’s Digest.) But, I remind myself, we were the ones breaking a rule, we knew we were breaking it, and the neighbors have every right to be jerks and rat on our dog before talking to us. They don’t know us, they don’t know how we would react. The era of neighborliness is sadly over. How long ago was it that when something bothered a neighbor they just went and knocked on the door before calling in higher authority?

Now there’s someone who’s bed is maybe thirty feet from mine, whom I’ve never met, that has pissed me off. Part of me wants to get a new dog that fits the regulations and barks nonstop.

But that’s not constructive. What is constructive is helping to find this fine animal her permanent home. Apparently our role in her life is an interim stop between old and new homes, so we can make sure she lands in a good place.

Please, especially if you’re in the Bay Area, put the word out that there’s eighty pounds of unconditional love just looking for someone who needs her.

It’s going to be really tough to say goodbye.

More is Better

In the Official Muddled Dog’s mind, there are three things more awesome than anything else. Food, belly rubs, and tennis balls. I don’t know who invented the modern tennis ball, but if dogs had a museum his statue would be out front. As any tennis player will tell you, however, it’s only a matter of time before a tennis ball is nothing more than a tattered pile of rubber fragments and colored fuzz. It pays, therefore, to buy in bulk.

My sweetie came home from Tennis Balls R Us yesterday with a 12-pack of the fuzzy toys and OMD did not need any prompting to claim the entire bag for herself. Hilarity (and pictures) ensued.

My sister asked if Official Muddled Dog had any positions besides “prone”. I’m happy to answer yes, as long as there’s a tennis ball around. The third shot of the set demonstrates that maybe shooting at f/1.2 isn’t always the right choice — could have used a bit more depth of focus there.