Simon, the loudest voice on Fairway Drive.

There I was, soundly asleep this morning and it was only 11 a.m.  Suddenly I came awake to the sound of one very loud bark.  I woke up in terror and confusion, looked at the doorway to the bedroom, and there he was, Simon, feet planted, looking back at me, as if to say, "You've been there long enough."  Once he had made his point, apparently, he walked across the room and settled down on one of the two huge dog pillows we have on the floor next to the bed.  And he went to sleep.  For heaven's sake.  What was that all about?  A dog's mind is a mystery, mostly.

Simon is the most vocal when he has a specific desire, even when we don't understand what it is.  He barks to be let in when he's out, he barks to be let out when he's in.  Now Schuster does too, somewhat.  The problem with Schuster is that he is a continuous barker: all the way to the dog walk yesterday; for at least 3 hours when someone arrives, and so on.  Simon is a precise barker.  One loud bark in the bedroom this morning, one loud bark at the door last night.  Did he want out, as you might think?  No, he wanted me to leave the big dad chair and come to the door, so that he could get to the chair and settle down for the rest of the evening.  Simon.  The thing is, he stayed with me this morning until I got up, got dressed, made the bed, took my pills, and left the bedroom.  Now that's a friend, and I did need to wake up.  At my age one never knows.  Except, apparently, Simon.

Of course I have left out Dexter, who is a whole different kettle of fish, as my mother used to say.

Behavior Modification LIV

I'm afraid that if I mess with the picture entry, the picture will vanish.  I'm still not sure how I managed to get it from Mary's Facebook page to here.  Surely my accomplishment is a technological wonder.

In any case Mary and I went to Michael and Katie's for brunch around 12:30 p.m.  Their two dogs were wonderfully friendly.  Kipper the lapdog managed to bounce into my lap at one point and even let me love on him a bit; Rascal the very large overly friendly and extremely loveable doggie dog sat next to me so I could scratch his ears and pat his head frequently.  Full of strange dog odors then, I came home and was set upon by my good buddy Simon who is usually too comfortable to bestir himself: "Oh, it's you."  Not today.  I plopped down on the love seat after releasing Schuster, and Simon was there, on my lap, sniffing me from head to toe.  He even got his head stuck between my leg and the seat trying to get at the new smells.  Nice to be an object of interest to him for a change.

Behavior Modification XLV

Dogs' minds are fascinating.  Since Schuster can't resist tearing up shoes, magazines, and sometimes books, we put him in a "crate" (a wire cage made for such things) whenever we leave.  At first he would run for the hills when he saw the cage set out, and Mary and I would have to "trap" him between us.  Now we put his toy tiger in the cage and he walks in and hunkers down on his own.  He also doesn't yowl when we leave but the racket he makes when we get home and before we let him out is deafening.  So darn cute.

Simon hurries to sit in my chair when he knows I am bringing my supper to the front room, because I always share with him.  Since I have an armchair "table" on the left arm, as well as a small end table beside the chair there, Simon sits beside me on the right.  No matter how often I get up for refills, Simon stays beside me on the right.  However, once the food is gone, and I get up for a bathroom break, Simon will move to the left side of the chair, which he actually seems to prefer.  Obviously he hasn't taken notes and figured this movement out, nonetheless, he almost always gets it right.  He knows when the move is acceptable.  Should he ever get it wrong, all I have to do is pat the arm on the right side, especially if I am carrying a plate, and he will switch sides.  All things considered these movements are a finely orchestrated creaturely dance which we both have worked out.  Even then there are more aspects involved in the dance than I have described.  I find his behavior fascinating.  That food is involved undoubtedly helps, but no one ever made him do anything.  He somehow understands what is required.  Part of the joy of being owned by dachshunds, I suppose.

Behavior Modification XLI

My laptop is on the fritz, and I keep messing up the entries using my iPad.  Simon and Schuster are still in fine form though, what with the ear-chewing, sock-, shoe- and napkin-stealing, and under-the-cover sleeping.  

Yesterday we all went for a walk, the first in a month.  With Simon I like to call them "piss and sniffs," since that is an accurate description of what happens on them, at least for Simon.  Schuster, however, has not yet grasped the purpose of a walk for a male dog.  He just pulls tiresomely, trying to catch up with Frollie and Dexter.  He may lift his leg once, if we are lucky.  Eventually, Mary gets mad and yells at him, loudly, forgetting for a moment "how damn cute" he is.  Simon and I usually bring up the rear, so to speak, for with Simon there are many many pauses to "piss and sniff."  

Well, I seem to have posted one from my iPad.  Truly, real behavior modification.

Out from Under His Blanket, of course...

               #454

           Little Brother

Little Simon, out from under,

Looking long and hale,

Like a well-packed sausage,

With a shapely tail.

Little Simon, out from under,

Glowing in the light,

Like a well-fed ground hog

Who can't tell wrong from right.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXXVI

Dachshunds!

The first really cold night this week we were hunkered down in the living room, watching something or other on TV, when Simon suddenly hopped down from the sofa, walked over to the piano and lifted his leg, letting flow a mighty stream.  Yes, he peed on the piano leg in the living room.  Mary shouted an obscenity at him (she was closest), grabbed him and hauled him to the kitchen door, and pushed him out into the bone-chilling overnight.  

Schuster seems to have learned where to do "it" in under a year, with the help of "pet pads."  Simon, in almost 5 years, may have learned where to do "it," but the willful little dog obviously chose not to act on that knowledge, either that, or he has acquired an early onset of doggie Alzheimer's.  In any case he is not telling, and since then, we are watching him closely and making him go out regularly.  I go along to make certain he actually gets off the deck and does something "meaningful" while he is out there.

The minute the yelling began that night, Frollie and Dexter started slinking toward the door with their tails tucked between their legs.   Not Simon.  "What?  Who me?  I did something wrong?"

Dachshunds!

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXXI

Simon and Schuster can be very entertaining.  Simon, as I have reported, likes to bury himself under a blanket on our sofa.  Schuster has discovered this behavior, and likes to harass Simon.  He gets on the sofa, uncovers Simon, digs him out, then chews on his ear until Simon attends to him.  Schuster sits on top of Simon and chews on Simon's ear as if it were a piece of rawhide.  Uncovered, Simon at first tries to keep sleeping, which, of course, is difficult when someone is chewing on your ear.  Eventually the two dachshunds end up on the floor, wrestling and chasing one another around the front room.  Watching them turns out to be more interesting than watching television, except, of course, when it's The Blacklist.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXIX

It is difficult to write anything when you have, as they say, an embarrassment of riches from which to choose.  Schuster, for example, should have been called Havoc, given that that is the way he leaves the house and what he makes me want to do: "Cry Havoc!".  Mary is/was in Texas; I am/was on my own with 4 dogs (well, 6 counting Schuster), Pinkie the cat, Dusty the outside cat, and Possibly the possum (Possibly the outside possum).  

My body does not work well at all anymore.  I cannot catch the little beast.  I cannot crate him at night.  He mocks me daily.  He pees on the floor beside the pad instead of on the pad--well, half the time; thus the mockery.  He figured out how to get into the blocked-off upstairs carpeted rooms by crawling under the sofa by the door.  At first I thought he jumped over the barrier.  Who knew he could get that close to the ground though and wiggle through.  Inside the room, he tore up a series of decorative lamp shades, some odd colorful costume material (not mine), a collector's outfitted teddy bear (also not mine), and he pooped on the floor.  He POOPED on the floor!

The last I saw he was outside on the deck wrestling with Simon.  Simon on the inside attacks only pillows and he does that right in front of us.  Well, that is not quite true.  I was remembering Frollie's and Dexter's food bowls which he also attacks, as I have explained before.  

In any case I am exhausted.

However, now it is time to feed everyone, all "6" dogs, Pinkie the cat, Dusty the outside cat, and possibly, Possibly the outside possum.   

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXVII

Simon: he sits with me for only the first half of the evening; he sleeps alone overnight on the sofa under pillows and blankets; he mostly determines how long walks last and where we will go.  However, when Mary is vacuuming the house and the sweeper roars, he comes to my chair at the table and begs to be picked up and held tightly, and I am happy to oblige.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXVI

Schuster is adapting to the household, though he still prefers the company of other dogs, especially Dexter, to people.  All things considered, that is probably sound.

We have to crate Schuster "overnight," as the meteorologists say, since he is very quick and quite destructive.  Everything on the floor is at risk: magazines, books, electrical cords, etc.  He hits a room like a cyclone, with equal destructive power, if we do not watch him.  We have the "crate" in the bedroom now next to Dexter's bed, which seems to keep Schuster quiet, at least.  When we had the crate in the kitchen he howled and carried on something fierce.  He sounded like a caged demon, not that I really know how caged demons sound.  But it was fierce.  So, he won; mostly.  Five of us are in the bedroom (three dogs and two people), the cat is in the laundry room (our choice), and the Little Master, Simon, chooses to sleep on the sofa, under covers and pillows, in the living room by himself.    

Behavior Modification XXIV

Real behavior modification: Mary bought a red, long-haired dachshund, whom we (I) have named Schuster, or Schuey (Shoey).  We found the seller in the Cracker Barrel parking lot.  There it is, a new addition to the Little Master's household.  He is not troubled, for now we are Simon and Schuster, the red and the black.

In fact, the only troubled (I watch "Haven" on Friday nights) creature in our house is Frollie who growls at Schuster every time he passes by.  And then there is Schuster who came into the house troubled.  He is eight months old and apparently has known only his litter mates up until we bought him and, according to our vet, created a separation anxiety.  The little guy won't let us pick him up.  He's okay when he's in our arms (all nine and a half pounds of him), but before that happens he runs.  He'll come close but he doesn't want anything to do with being picked up.  He'll sleep between us on the bed, but before we can hold him, we have to catch him.  I can scarcely walk on my own let alone catch a small (did I say nine pounds and a half?) red streak flashing by my feet.  "Schuey, oops, damn!  Missed him again!")  I tried getting down on the floor to see if I could entice him to come with a tidbit.  He grabbed the tidbit and ran.  I think I heard him giggle.  Then, of course, I spent the next half hour trying to get up off the floor.

At this juncture, Schuster is the canine version of those people who think everything going on around them is about them.  Walk into the room where he is lying down and off he goes, even if you just want to sit down too.  Go to the kitchen for a drink of Ocean Spray Cran-Grape and he dashes into the bedroom. In fact if someone just looks at him, he runs.  And so on.  (And no, Ocean Spray is not paying me.)

The oddity is that he has, of course, bonded with the most neurotic dog in the house, Dexter the Beagle.  It occurs to me that Dexter will just reinforce Schuey's neurotic tendencies.  Dexter is afraid of almost any man who comes to the house, as well of many other things.  It took him two years to get over his fear of me.  Fortunately he did get over it, perhaps because I am the person who feeds him Alpo every day.  Dexter's response to Schuey is mostly toleration.  Schuey thinks Dexter's food bowl is also his, apparently, for when Dexter gets his bowl of food, Schuey rushes in and sticks his nose in the bowl too, though of course we don't let him do that.  Dexter, the gentle giant, just backs away as if that's simply the way the universe works: the little dog eats the big dog's food.  Frollie would have snapped his ear off, and I am not sure what Simon would do since his food never lasts long enough for anyone to find out, but Simon isn't food aggressive.

Interestingly, Simon was asleep on the sofa two nights ago when Schuey, who was up there with Mary, crawled over and fell asleep stretched out next to him, the black and the red, Simon and Schuster, too cute.  Apparently Simon hadn't known that Schuey was asleep next to him for most of the evening, for suddenly he woke up, saw Schuster beside him and jumped down to the floor as quickly as he could move, which isn't all that quickly anymore.  I keep cutting back on his food, but he is still a slightly tubby little dachshund, and maybe Simon is just a tad troubled by the new addition, though he doesn't growl at him.  

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXIII

Tuesday, 8/17/2013.  Simon!  At home the little rascal wanted desperately to go along, barking and carrying on with the other two dogs, but when we got to the trail, he wouldn’t walk.  First, he would not cross the street to get to the trail.  He would not go right to go up the hill toward town.  He would not go left to take the park trail around the BMU building.  Then he heard Dexter baying off in the distance where the others were. 

So we crossed the road and started down the Memorial trail, for a bit, presumably to find Dexter who had quit baying.  Suddenly Simon seemed to realize where he was and that he had determined not to go there.  He stopped and gave me the look.  I tugged.  He froze.  We turned around and went back to the parking lot.  This time he would not turn right to go up the hill as he usually does.  Instead, he started across the parking lot.  I thought he was going to the car and wanted to go home.  By this time I was ready to oblige.

However, he walked past the car, kept on going across the parking lot, through the grass, across the black-topped trail, and up to the tree and shrub line.  From there we followed the shrub line right, along the creek and around the bend to the bridge.  At the bridge I got him to cross the road and follow the creek and tree line on the other side of the road around the wide grassy field. 

A woman with two dogs in the field got his attention.  He was willing to turn right to walk toward the swiftly disappearing woman with dogs.  He issued a few perfunctory barks, went back to the tree line and moved toward the street.  I thought I had it made.  We will get to the sidewalk, go up the hill, and we will get to go home.  I should have known.  He’s a dachshund with his own agenda.

When we got close to the sidewalk, he started to romp, through the grassy field, here and there, nose to the ground, snuffling into holes, sending up bugs and seeds, having a marvelous time.  I was like the foot of a compass; he was the pencil that made the circle.  I tried to move him to the sidewalk to no avail.  He was determined to romp.  I began to worry, for if Mary did not come with the car, I had no idea how to get him to move toward home, and we had been walking and romping now for a good 45 minutes. 

But Craig went up the hill in his truck with his dogs; I yelled at him to call Mary and tell her to come get us.  He did, she did.  She was still in the parking lot on the east side of the building, talking to two dachshunds, fortunately.  I was in the grassy field on the west side of the building talking at one dachshund. She saw us, I waved, she waved.  She sent Frollie racing down the walk to us.  Simon saw Frollie coming, sat down in the grass and was at least interested.  When Frollie (such a Sweetie) reached us, Simon decided he could follow her down the long trail to the car.  We did. 

I have no idea what provoked such behavior.  The heat and humidity were bad again, and I know he does not handle those conditions well.  There were other dogs on the walk which sometimes he is okay with, sometimes not.  I thought perhaps his feet were sore, but he did not limp and two days earlier, we walked a mile and a half on city sidewalks without any trouble.  This time we managed to do a good mile, according to my pedometer, just romping in the doggone field, so to speak. 

The next time we will start from the house and, as Yoda might say, we either do or not do.   No more parking lot follies.

Simon on the Rocks...

                 #443

        Get Along, Little Doggie

He climbs the rocks around the pond,

Agile as a mountain goat;

If he should slip and tumble in,

No one is certain he can float:

                Simon.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXII

At 2 in the morning, Simon, walking in the kitchen for a drink from the water bowl, looked out the glass back door, saw his reflection looking back from the overnight, and barked ferociously, loudly, whereupon chaos ensued.  

I turned off the bright inside light whereupon the outside dachshund disappeared and peace was restored.  Blessed are the peace-makers, I hope.    

Behavior Modification: Chapter XXI

With Simon I never quite know where to begin.  For example, he just showed up to finish my oatmeal/banana mid-afternoon snack; he'd been having his mid-afternoon nap on the sofa.  I was reading at the table, as I usually am, and eating when I looked down to see Simon staring up at me.  He had, apparently, heard my spoon clacking against the bottom of the bowl.  I finished my last large spoonful, left him a generous taste, and put the bowl on the floor.  The bowl is now clean, except for one oatmeal flake struck to the bottom.

 

This morning all 3 dogs showed up to lick my Yoplait yogurt container.  I gave it to Simon, of course, no contest, but then I had to get up to find some dog "snaps" to give to the other two who also had great expectations.  Guilt is an effective motivator.  Dexter and Frollie had been there before.  We have played out this scenario often.  Like Simon they just stare at me.  I get up and get the treats, by which time Simon is back to get one too.

Simon and Frollie are very clever.  Each has learned how to chew the bottom of the yogurt container until it loosens or comes off.  There is good yogurt left around the bottom and under the edge, apparently well worth the effort unless I am passing out snaps.

Last evening Mary came home with groceries from Walmart.  Simon always comes downstairs to see what we are doing.  He goes into the garage, investigates the car with its open doors, sniffs the laundry room where I am restocking shelves with the 9 bottles of Ocean Spray Cran Grape that Mary just brought home (yes, we drink a lot of Cran Grape; I'm having one now).

Meanwhile Mary had been putting bags of groceries at the bottom of the stairs.  She moves bags from car to stairs, from stairs to kitchen.  While she was making the second trip from car to stairs, Simon found the bag with the leftover chicken drumstick from the Walmart deli.  (Mary had gotten hungry "out there.")  Dexter and Frollie had noted the bag and left it alone as "people business"; they are like that. Simon being Simon stuck his nose in the bag, found the drumstick, hauled it out, and raced upstairs eating it as he went.  By the time Mary caught up with him, he had eaten the drumstick, bone included.

With Simon there is no real distinction between people business and Simon business.  Everything is Simon business; there is nothing he won't stick his handsome dachshund nose into and investigate, and act if he determines the situation warrants it. 

Behavior Modification: Chapter XX

One evening last week Simon and I walked almost two miles on the hiking trail, from green gate to green gate and back. 

Then, when we got home, I made his favorite supper of a little Beneful, a little Moist and Meaty, and, best of all, filet mignon-flavored Alpo, all stirred to perfection.

Next, we sat in the big-dad chair to watch the news and evening shows, Simon on my right, while I had my supper of salmon patties with creamy cheese sauce (one of Mary’s specialties), french-style green beans with almonds, and buttered cut corn.   I, of course, shared my precious salmon patties with Simon, and when I finished, I let Simon lick my plate, being sure to leave him a little sauce and salmon.  He likes the green beans too.

Food gone, he jumped down from the chair, crossed the room to the love seat, hauled his full little body up, burrowed under the blanket and disappeared for the rest of the evening.

I was devastated.

Two nights ago I shared with him my Kahn’s thin-sliced bologna and provolone cheese sandwich with Catalina dressing.  I tear off the bologna that sticks over the edge of the sandwich for him; all right, I also let him have a bite of the sandwich from time to time.  He stayed longer.  But not much.

Last night, however, after an invigorating walk (he chose all the turns and directions), and after sharing my tortilla and polska kielbasa with hot sauce supper, Simon stayed most of the evening, left about midnight; he even licked up the hot sauce.  At least he doesn’t leave to sit with anyone else. 

I have discovered that in order to get him back, quickly, all I have to do is go to the kitchen, get several Kraft mozzarella cheese sticks and a box of almond-nut thins, mostly gluten free.  Before I can return to my chair he is there.  It never fails, no matter how sound asleep he is.  He is like Gromit the dog, Simon loves cheese; I suppose it helps that sometimes I say, “cheese, Simon, cheese,” before I leave; but whether I do or not he knows.  Behavior modification!  I guess I should take some comfort in the fact that he doesn’t sleep around.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XIX

Simon has short black hair and a long back.  Last evening as I opened the back door to let him into the house, I noticed three mosquitoes riding on his back, chatting.  Once inside the house, they took flight and proceeded to  bite me the rest of the evening.  Did Simon know he was giving aid and comfort to the enemy?  I wouldn't think so but one can never be too sure!

Behavior Modification: Chapter XVII

We were just past the bridge on the hiking trail when Jose and his dog Jake caught up with us.  Simon was immediately offended for some reason.  He planted his feet and gave me the look.  Since Jose decided to wait for Wayne, whom he had just talked to on his cell phone, I suggested he and Jake turn around and walk back to the bridge.  They started back, Simon unplanted himself and off we went.  Wayne and Jose joined us later, and all was well.  The little dickens never knew.  Tricked him, I did.

Behavior Modification: Chapter XIV

I was standing behind the sofa behind the table behind the chair behind the table behind the sofa when I became aware of a pair of bright black eyes, just barely visible, regarding me over the sofa seat.  The top of his black head was visible too and his ears were perked up.  Simon wanted up on the sofa, but Dexter the Beagle was already there.  Given the look I was getting, Simon clearly wanted me to correct the situation in his favor.  

While I was considering the eyes considering me, Dexter got down and left the room.  Simon jumped up on the sofa, pulled a blanket over himself and disappeared.  Crisis averted.  Still, seeing a pair of eyes regarding me over a sofa seat was somewhat unnerving.

To recover, I walked back to the bedroom to take a nap on our new mattress.

Who Wags Whom?

               #434

          The Tail of Simon

Do I wag my long black tail,

Or does my tail wag me?

Who ever stuck it on back there

Hung it where I can't see.