Baby, It’s Cold Outside

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As you might recall, I came here from Tennessee. You know, where it’s warm?

Not that I’d ever complain about my awesome living arrangements, but seriously: It’s so cold that my people are bringing the plants inside tonight. The plants, I tell you. If it’s too cold for plants then why on earth do I have to go out there?

Today I went to watch one of my boys run around after school for some sort of team thing. Not only did they not let me run with him, it was so crazy-cold that I was shivering.

Sure, the shivering thing encouraged a dozen seventh graders from the other team to come over and pet me, which was excellent. But here’s the thing: People kept saying I need a jacket. Or a sweater.

We dug up this puppy photo of me, taken just days after my arrival in Connecticut. I realize this picture is seven or eight months old, but I’m still just as stinking cute now.

I totally want your opinion. Can I pull off the fleece jacket look? Or does it make me look silly?

So Much to Chew, So Little Time

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As of yesterday, I am one year old. My people keep saying “Well, he’s not a puppy anymore.” As if a date on the calendar is going to make me suddenly stop being me. I mean, I know Roxy is all calm and grown up, but that’s her. I really don’t anticipate giving up any of my wonderful puppy qualities anytime soon.

Just last week, I arranged for one of the boys to get an unexpected new pair of sneakers. All I had to do was chew off the heel of one of his shoes and voila! My mom delivered a new pair right to his school, just moments before his cross country meet. (You’re welcome, by the way.)

And I can’t imagine not jumping up on my people’s beds and licking them every morning, or not wagging my entire body when my people walk in the door, or jumping into the car anytime anyone wants to leave, or climbing on the counter to get some snacks. Those things all make me who I am, so why would I want to become all grown-up like Roxy?

But here’s the thing: I thought I was a leader when it came to Eating Interesting Things. I’ve polished off a pound of raw hamburger, a batch of chocolate cookie dough, stinky cheese, the newspaper, filet mignon, a jalapeno popper and countless slices of bacon.

Pretty good, right? Yet I’ve got nothing on this dog I heard about the other day. It seems there’s this Springer Spaniel from Massachusetts who has eaten lawn fertilizer, an entire bag of Halloween candy, and a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses. Made of glass.

This amazing dog, named Tahoe, is seven years old. I’m just one. So clearly, I’ve got a lot of living to do. And none of it’s going to get done with me acting like an adult.

If my mom is looking for a title to her next book, I think I’ve got it: “Stuey, the Forever Puppy.”

Best. Day. Ever.

 

 

As you might imagine, I have fabulous days all the time.

Regular dogs, like Stuey and any other non-famous dogs, can have some pretty good days — days that could include bacon, belly rubs, squirrel chasing, or rolling in something smelly.

But me? I tend to have exceptional days. Once or twice a week I get to go to schools where I am the center of attention. A few hundred kids pet me and say how cute I am. And I get to ride in the front seat of the car. Both ways.

Friday, however, was crazy-good. When we arrived at Simpson-Waverly School in Hartford, it seemed like a regular school visit. But then our super-nice friend Bob started handing out copies of my book to these little kids. They all got a copy! They were all smiley and happy and so excited to get their own book, which, as you know, has dozens of pictures of me in it. What could be better?

(I’m still trying to figure humans out. Even though the kids all seemed happy, my mom was crying. Do people cry when they’re happy? People are so weird.)

Anyway, these kids all got to start their weekends by petting me, hearing about my story and the story of other dogs who are rescued and brought to their forever homes, and getting a new book.

Now that’s a fabulous day.

Again with the Swimming?

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Every time it looks as if I’m about to have a perfect day, my people do something to ruin the moment. Case in point: Today’s Mandell JCC Doggie Duathlon/Dash.

As if basking in the glory of being Connecticut’s most famous dog, greeting kids and looking cute wasn’t awesome enough, our book signing table was right next to the Oma’s Pride table. That’s right — the raw dog food people. I got treats left and right, and the nice man talking to people about this raw diet even gave me a bone. Like, a real bone. A disgusting, juicy, awesome bone. You could not imagine how happy I was.

My favorite type of dog — the Shiny Black Dog — was present in abundance. Although I thought everyone was there just to see me, the day was actually about dogs who swim one lap in a pool (crazy) and then run with their people (sorta cool.) Man, those shiny black dogs are excellent swimmers. I think. I don’t know. I was too busy gnawing on that bone to notice. Plus, I hate swimming, as you may have gathered from previous blog posts.

So the event was coming to a close, my person was packing things up, and then it happened: She put me in the kiddie pool. At first I thought they were saying I was going in the kitty pool, which would have been great, since I am kind of obsessed with chasing cats.

But no. I was subjected to the shame of “swimming” in eight inches of water, after seeing all of those big dogs paddle their way across a real pool.

I really don’t mean to be such a diva, especially since I walked away with a second totally icky and wonderful bone. But the kiddie pool? Come on. Show a girl a little respect.

Stuey: An Accident Waiting to Happen?

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You know those “accident prone” dogs? The ones who are always at the vet for some sort of injury or accidental ingestion? The ones who single-handedly pay the veterinarian’s cable bill and kids’ college tuition?

I am not that dog, really. Despite the stories you may have heard about me eating a pound of raw ground beef and an entire batch of double chocolate cookies, I really am an easy going dog. The hamburger was shaped into these cute little sliders, and they were left right there on the counter, so how was I supposed to know they weren’t for me? And the chocolate cookies?  Please. Those were just begging to be eaten.

And yes, the unfortunate photograph my person chose to use for this post makes it looks like I’ve gotten into trouble again. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my fault. I really can’t tell you what happened because it’s all a bit of a blur now. Let’s just go with it not being my fault.

The nice veterinarian said my dew claw got pulled away from the quick. That’s apparently disgusting, since people make funny faces every time someone says it. I have to wear this bandage for a week, which you’d think would be awful, but is actually a ticket to more treats and hugs.

So don’t feel bad for me, really. I’m fine. And please don’t call me accident prone. Maybe I just like going to the vet, OK?

Your New BFF?

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Because I’m perfectly medium (2011 and 2012 champion: Most Medium Dog in Farmington’s Doozy of a Dog Contest), and because I’m so flipping cute, my people are often asked about my breed. I am, of course, a Little Brown Dog.

“She’s the perfect size,” they gush.

“Now that’s the kind of dog I’d like,” they say, while considering life with an incredibly medium dog like me.

Well, here’s your chance. On Saturday, Sept. 8, this little Tennessee lady — who, luckily for her, looks just like me! — will arrive in Connecticut, and will live in a foster home in Farmington until some nice family adopts her.

Her name is presently Jelena, but you could call her anything you want, really. Stuey and I can’t wait to meet her! She’s about 25 lbs., about 9 months old, and loves sleeping in her crate.

(She’s apparently house-trained, too, but I think that’s a bit too personal, and I’d really appreciate it if you people would stop talking about our pooping and peeing as if we’re not in the room. It’s embarrassing.)

Now, about the tiara. I know! It’s awesome, right? I hope she lets me borrow it when she gets here!

If you’d like more information about this Little Brown Dog, please visit www.emilysfriendsrescue.com or email jan@emilysfriendsrescue.com.

Roxy: The Bathing Beauty

I’m not a big fan of water. It’s not that I’m afraid to swim or anything. I just don’t like getting my fur wet. When one is constantly photographed as I am, one doesn’t want to get caught looking less than her best. 

Stuey, on the other hand, is just plain scared of the water. Since he was found in a ditch up to his neck in cold water, I can understand his distaste.

But like most everything in our lives, swimming is yet another skill at which I have managed to outshine my annoying little brother. Even without practice, and under the duress of being forced to swim against my will, I excell. Watch these two short videos, and I’m sure you’ll agree that my strokes are much smoother than Stuey’s, and I create no splash at all compared to his flailing effort.

I don’t mean to brag, but this is yet another example of why a book has been written about me, and Stuey’s, you know,  just a dog.

Click right here to see Roxy and Stuey swimming.

Stuey: The World’s Worst Co-Worker

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So I was sniffing with this Schnauzer the other day and he told me something that really bummed me out. He told me that his people actually go away all day to work. I mean, sure, it’s fine if they want to work, since we enjoy those expensive bully sticks.

But gone? All day? My person’s “office” is the front porch, where she can watch me bark at all of the cyclists and runners going by. I know she loves it when I do that, because she always yells “Stuey!” when I start to bark. I love my job.

Sometimes I think I might make it a little difficult for her to work. Sometimes I can’t help but lick her face when she’s doing those boring phone interviews. And I do sort of feel bad about the times I accidentally step on her laptop and delete her writing. But I’m pretty sure she’s happy to have me as an office-mate.

Here’s a photo she took of me working hard. This was right before I fetched her a coffee and made some copies. I’m allowed a little break every now and then, aren’t I?

Accessorizing Roxy (the Nudist)

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Because I’m generally a nudist, I don’t give much thought to fashion. Sure, my humans buy me the best collar-and-leash ensembles from the most exclusive boutiques (Green Dog Market in Farmington, Leaps & Bones in South Windsor.) But I try to avoid wearing anything that will detract from my expressive eyes and awesome white paws.

But today? I rocked this neckerchief. Right? My author and I were signing books and looking cute (well, she signed books and I looked cute) at the Coventry Regional Farmers’ Market, and this nice lady came over and gave me this adorable accessory. Probably because I’m so flipping cute and famous and she wanted me to showcase it for her, just like designers do for people like Sarah Jessica Parker.

Despite my usual au naturel look, I do think I look pretty awesome in this. I just might make wearing clothes a habit.

On Holiday with Roxy

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You wouldn’t believe the week Stuey and I have had with our people! We’ve been banana boating, hiking, swimming and biking along the shores of Lake Champlain in Vermont. We’ve enjoyed local, fresh foods, and …

Who are we kidding? Our people totally ditched us while they went on vacation. The worst part? They left us with the trainer. She’s, like, crazy-tough on us, and doesn’t let us get away with anything.

I have never been more humiliated. I mean, I could see leaving my annoying little brother with the lady who insists that we sleep in a crate and actually listen to her. But me? Doesn’t she know who I am?

I demand to be included in the next family vacation. I’ll start packing now.