Going to the vet – Round 2

21 Sep


As you know, I don’t have a fondness for vets. Human Pavlov figured out us doggies a long time ago. My association with doggy docs is less than wonderful. I’m usually on the wrong end of sharp pointy things, latex fingers or other such indignities these purveyors of wellness like to inflict on us of the canine species. But about the only thing I like less than vets is going to the vets. And this entails a hour or more ride on winding mountain roads. If I don’t heave at least two or three times, it’s a miracle. So you can imagine my thrill when the other day, Mrs. human put me in the back of the SUV for another day of torture and misery all in the name of an annual check up.

As a preventative measure, Mrs. human gave me a Gravol wrapped in cheese to ease my journey. I guess it didn’t work too well. It was the first thing I heaved up. After a couple more pit stops to clean up the mess and change towels, we finally arrived at the dreaded place. It has a distinct odor all its own too. I can smell it as soon as we turn off the road. I think it’s lingering bad vet karma mostly. At least the odor of the others of my species masks it enough to make it tolerable.

Turns out my vet has a new partner, a female human vet. Whoopee. Double the fun. I wondered if they practice a tag-team routine, you know, good vet, bad vet. Nope. No pretense of good vet at all. Just needles, fingers and a very cold stainless steel table to sit my butt on. Doggy heaven, from what I’ve heard, is where we doggies go and get to be the docs. In doggy heaven, humans come to us for needle poking, finger [well, paw] jabbing and really hot steel tables to sit on. Haha. I think you humans call it hell. Welcome to my world.

So let the good times roll. First, the young female vet came in and tried to stick me with needles. I managed to ward her off by a considerable amount of squirming for someone who lost their lunch three times in the past hour or two. So they called in my first vet. He jabbed me with two different needles. I was not a happy camper. But you could tell he was an experienced pro. He told Mrs. human he remembered the first time I came in as a little puppy. I was troublesome then too. I love it when vets brag about me.

After some weighing and measuring, I thought I was ready to rock n’ roll and get out of there. Nope. Mrs. human had the audacity to ask the vet to draw some blood. I looked at her. Are you serious? Blood!? My blood! This crossed the line, or so I thought at the time. So I started to snarl and get feisty. I got muzzled. And they got my blood. Okay, enough already. Can we go now? Even the winding road home seemed like a relief. Just when I thought  I was good to go, Mrs. human asked the vet, “Would you clean out her anal sacs too please?” Why not pretty please? It’s my butt after all. I was hoping the vet had enough of me and would decline the offer.

Actions speak louder than words they say. And when the latex finger with slippery goo on it headed towards my nether regions, I knew I was in for it. While the vet was busy at one end, Mrs. human had me by the front end. But I had put on some weight in the past year. I moved up to the middleweight division. I am 43 pounds of spunky wiggle-butt. And the battle was on. I was still muzzled, and struggling for my dignity. That vet has big fingers. In the heat of the battle I managed to free one of my front paws, clawing at whatever I could to get free. In the process, I managed to give Mrs. human a black eye. It was a left cross I believe. Oh and did I mention she ended up with anal sac stuff all over her blouse too?

Mrs. Human's Black Eye

Mrs. human’s Black Eye

She left the vet’s office wearing a medical smock. A small victory in the scheme of life, don’t you think? However, she left my butt at the vet’s compound while she went shopping for a new blouse, and lunch. I wonder what we’re doing next year at this time? I’m thinking of ordering the book “Self-Defense for Doggies: How To Ward Off Vets” from Bones N’ Crate. Hmmm, it’s sold out. Just my luck.

Mrs. Human's Smock

Mrs. human’s Smock

Toy Story Monster

9 Nov


As you may have seen from past blogs, I have a varied assortment of doggie toys, official and the unofficial ones … plants, bird feeders, furniture, etc. All have succumbed to my testing in the real world environment.

The official ones run the gamut from stuffed lions, birds, hard chew bones with little nubs, plastic bones with tennis balls on the ends, and the list goes on. All have been, I can proudly say, chewed to bits and smithereens by yours truly, including T-Rex femurs.

But one has defied all my efforts of chewing, shaking, throwing [by Mr. human during our games of fetch], getting soaked in the rain, you name it and he still comes back for more. I am referring to none other than the irrepressible  … Mr. Bill!

Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill. Everytime I bite on him, he taunts me with that voice of his. Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill. I’ve been hearing that for months now. Drives me nuts. Still I don’t give up. I am Mr. Bill’s Sluggo.

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But he thwarts my Sluggo efforts each and every time. I’ve tried everything to rip him apart. But no luck. After persistent attempts I finally managed to set a slight tear at his waist, deliciously exposing his Mr. Bill stuffing. Finally, I had my opening!

But alas, it was not to be. Mr. human spotted his inch long opening and rescued Mr. Bill from the clutches of my canines. Drats!

Into the ER went Mr. Bill. He came out with a heavy duty set of stitches. It looked like the operation had been a bit bloody. But on closer inspection, it turned out to be Tabasco!!! Yuck. That stuff is nasty on the nose. And the situation wasn’t helped by Mr. human holding Mr. Bill in from of me right after the operation, squeezing him, taunting me … Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill.   Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill.   Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill. No respect. I finally ran off to the country cabin for some peace and quiet. Still at night, sometimes I pop up, wide awake from a deep sleep , swearing I heard Mr. Bill …Oh Nooooo! It’s creepy. I purposely leave him out in the yard far away from me. So how does he manage to sneak onto the top of my crate in the dark?


In the daylight, I still shake him, chew on him and get Mr. human to throw him. But Mr. Bill persists. He won’t go away. Especially at night … in the dark.

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Oh Noooooo! Mr. Bill. Hahahahaha.

Stitches In, Stitches Out

21 Oct

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Recall from my last blog how I had to make a little trip to the vet. I left the office with a tummy full of stitches. Okay, six to be exact. But hey it’s my tummy. What goes in must come out. And today was the day. I wasn’t exactly in a cooperative mood to say the least. All day long Mr. and Mrs. human tried to quiet me down, patting me on the head, blowing sweet nothings into my ear. I wasn’t having a bit of it. Every time they got me in position to attempt to remove one of my stitches, I squirmed and clawed like there was no tomorrow.

By the end of the day, Mr. and Mrs. human had enough of my victories. So they called in a ringer. The Vet. You may remember him from the Mystery Solved! Part 1 blog. I barked like crazy when he showed up. “Hey, no fair. You can’t bring in a professional. I want to call my PETA lawyer.” My barks went unheeded. Well, The Vet made nice and all. Let me sniff his hand, but I was still leery of what was coming my way. After the niceties were out of the way, we got down to brass tacks. I was put on a table, but not before The Vet managed to tie a nice little muzzle around my snout. En garde. The battle was on.IMG_3157

And boy was it ever. First, he sprayed my tummy with a numbing solution. And nicely rubbed my tummy. But, when those medical scissors came out I knew I was in for it. I should stop and mention at this point I was outnumbered, four humans to me. Neighbor Alan, and he always had been so nice to me, was whispering to me and taking photos! Okay, they were blog-worthy in the end. Mrs. human was near my back side and Mr. human had me by the leash. Then the first snip. Ow! I jumped and squirmed all over that table. I think Mr. human muttered something about a sissy. Or was it pissy? Okay, so I wet the table. Big deal. For not tipping the scales at quite 30 pounds, I was a cantankerous ball of jumping wiggling energy. At the end of round three, they only managed to get one stitch out. Ha!

This went on for a while until I heard a frustrated Mr. human tell The Vet, “Knock her out.” I quickly scanned for rubber mallets. None in sight. But The Vet drew out a not so friendly looking syringe. Man that hurt. Right into the muscle in my rear leg. I whimpered and squirmed. Mrs. human had sympathy whimpers. But before I knew it I was milquetoast personified. The next five stitches came out in 2 minutes or less. I, however, did not come out of it for another hour or so.


I did have one moral victory. The Vet said I was the only dog he ever had to sedate in order to get the stitches out. Score one for the Pepper. Mr. human said he was thankful I wasn’t a Great Dane. Mrs. human had a whiskey.

Ms. Pepper

16 Oct

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I’m back from my secret mission. I am excited to tell you about it. But, I sort of got waylaid with a medical situation. It seems, from what Mr. and Mrs. human said, I am no longer a puppy. I am a young lady. I wondered what the sudden fuss was about from all the boy dogs. Who knew!? So I had a trip to the doctor.

It all started innocently enough. One day I was having a great time practicing the purple ball with Mr. human, and the next I’m up bright and early heading for the SUV with my crate in the back. I didn’t like the looks of this. Was I being sent back to the orphanage? So, I wiggled and squirmed until Mrs. human managed to get me into the crate and zipped in. Did I mention they didn’t even give me breakfast either? Traveling on an empty stomach is not my forte, especially on a winding mountain road. I am prone to motion sickness. By the time we arrived at the doc’s office, the same office where I had been handed over to Mr. and Mrs. human, I left what had been in my tummy in the crate. Little did I realize my day wasn’t getting better.

Once inside, I was put into an iron crate along with the other inmates. Good news was that the place didn’t look a thing like Stephen King’s Green Mile, so I breathed a sigh of relief there. I could hear Mrs. human talking in the lobby. Then, I heard the SUV start up and drive away. This was not a good thing. I was getting a bit of doggy depression. However, a while later, a nice lady came in to get me. Ha, I was getting special treatment. Eat your heart of out inmate doggies. I discovered special is not always better mind you. I got a shot. Woopsy! The next thing I knew I was back in the iron crate, totally spaced out. All the other inmates were gone. I was the last dog standing.  Looking out through the bars, I had no idea what happened to me. Had I been abducted by alien cats in a UFO and experimented on? I looked down. I had the incision. Maybe this place was not a vet’s office after all, but a space portal for those cat beings Oopsy Woofwoof warned me about.

Before I could sort this out in my foggy state of mind, Mr. and Mrs. human appeared, rescued me and took me home. The drive home was a blur, except now and then I’d howl with unexpected pain for a few seconds. Then, it was gone. This unnerved Mrs. human to no end. The vet got a couple of phone calls and an email. Apparently, I was given a quick acting anesthetic so I could go home the same day, which when wearing off, has these effects. It’s par for the course. Yet, I’ve heard golfers get this same pain when they don’t get par for the course. Life is weird.

Back at home that evening, I was still a bit loopy. Not making sense of this yet, I reverted to natural instinct, which, by the way, drove Mrs. human frenetic. It was a rainy, dark night, too, which added to the drama. With the discomfort I was feeling, I looked for all my familiar haunts. I tried to get under the outdoor sofa, a favourite place, but my posture and stitches wouldn’t quite let me get there. I had a hunched back, got into a downward dog position, with my tail hanging low. And as if to punctuate my alternating chemically induced euphoria/depression, I’d have a couple seconds of whiny crying. When this happened, I thought for sure Mrs. human was on the verge of becoming psychotic. Anyway, I eventually settled for lying down and sticking my head under the sofa. That worked for a while. Restless, I got up and moved under the dining table. My portable travel crate had little appeal at this time, even cleaned up.

Mr. human kept reassuring Mrs. human that this was normal behaviour on my part. I have to admit, I was hurting, but Mr. human was right. I just wanted to get my own space away from EVERYONE. I needed some time alone. My Bones N’ Crate book, Medical Analysis and Weird Doggy Behavior said my actions were 100% normal. But Mrs. Florence Nightingale was determined to keep an eye on me no matter what. So, I decided to change venues. I got up, and hobbled in the rain and in the darkness, which I never do I might add, out to my cabin in the yard. This heightened Mrs. human’s anxiety exponentially. Risking underlying disease, I dug up a little fresh dirt, and plopped myself and my stitches into it. Despite my hypodermic shot of antibiotic, this had the effect of freaking out Mrs. human. Freakityemphysema is the correct medical term according to my Bones N’ Crate’s book, Medical Analysis and Weird Owner Behavior. It said this behavior is mostly exhibited by female owners, but not so much with the males. In the pouring rain, she’s out there trying to wedge a clean towel between me and the mud-dirt, which hurt. I let out a yelp. Clearly frustrated as to what she should do, I decided I should get into the dog house … in the back corner and curl up. So I did. Finally, Mrs. human relented.

But not for long I suspected. I heard her telling Mr. human during the trip home she was concerned that I might try to remove the stitches on my own. Having adult teeth in place, that sounded good to me. I was not prepared for what she proposed next. A satellite dish! Really?! Why not a couple antennas too? This way, I can reach Oopsy Woofwoof whenever I wish. I’m too embarrassed to show my face. Put one on and you go to work. Still funny? She also mentioned something about a robe. A robe and a satellite dish? Why stop there? Maybe glue some feathers to it while you’re at it. And booties so I can’t claw the stitches off. Those red slipper jobs from Aladdin’s lamp and his flying carpet should do the trick. I give up.DSC_0339_2DSC_0431_2

Through all this, Mr. human understood that I was operating on natural instincts. And by morning, I’d be as normal as one can be given the circumstances. He was right. But it didn’t help that while Mrs. human was out at midnight in the drenching rain with towel in hand, worrying to no end, Mr. human was snoring away, dry and comfortable as can be.

In the morning, Mrs. human was up dark and early. I was back in the crate by then feeling much better. But I was still in the BACK of the crate with Mrs. human at my door. At least she didn’t have a towel in hand. After a broken night’s sleep, she had made me some breakfast, eggs and rice. She was trying to coax me out, but I wouldn’t budge. A short while later, Mr. human arose from his cozy bed and appeared at my crate. I wagged my tail, got up, walked out of my crate and and enthusiastically greeted him like a long lost friend. Pardon the language, but after all Mrs. human had put herself through on my behalf, she was #&*#%^&@% upset. Hey, it’s just my natural instinct to acknowledge alpha dog.

It’s nice to be back.

In Training

14 Sep
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As you can read from the last blog, my carpals have been acting up from all the typing required to put out my blog … that is if you call my hunt and peck endeavours typing. So the timing of this blog is rather serendipitous por moi. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m in training at a top secret location for a secret mission, which for doggy security purposes, I am not at liberty to divulge the details. I can give you a hint, it does involve foreign intrigue, but my lips are sealed. Mr. and Mrs. human don’t even know about it. However, I’ve posted some unclassified photos from my training. I have been assigned my own secret personal trainer, too. But the hardest part is learning all the new vocabulary terms.
I’ve been honing my agility skills on a specially designed PAS system, which is acronym-speak for Purple Agility Sphere. Civilians call it a ball. The purpose of this training is to develop my all-around PAA skill set. That’s acronym-speak for pounce and attack. So the PAS system really challenges my PAA skills as you can see here. PAA from 8 feet away onto a moving PAS is not as easy as it seems. Practice, practice, practice.
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Another of my skills is running at full speed and grabbing the PAS without breaking stride. This is the SAB drill. That’s acronym-speak for sprint and bite. It’s rather challenging too especially when the PAS is bigger than my little head. I’m getting better at this. Although, once in a while the PAS bounces in unexpected ways and I nearly end up flat on my face. Embarrassing.
My mission training is not limited to land exercises only. I do water training as well. We practice SIEM, acronym-speak for Sea Ingress/Egress Maneuvers. Those two-footers are a piece of cake now. It’s all technique. We also practice SRAEM, which is acronym-speak for Sea Rescue And Extraction Maneuvers with the WATERS which is acronym-speak for Wubba Activated Training Egress Retention System. We do lots and lots of swimming and then its sprinting down the beach on a timed run. I must say that all this exercise is getting me into pretty good shape. Apparently, all the acronym PAS PAA SAB SIEM SRAEM and WATERS training is necessary. They tell me I’ll need it.
I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t until I return from my assignment. I think you will be greatly surprised to find out what I have been training for when I get back. So it means this will be my last blog until I return in about three weeks. If you haven’t signed up for the automatic notice for a new blog, you can do so at the bottom of this page.
Until then …. hasta la vista amigos.
NB:  This blog was supposed to have been posted Set 14, but the mission censors withheld it until I returned.

Carpal Puppy Syndrome

11 Sep


I didn’t notice it at first, but I was lying on my back the other day and realized that one of my carpal pads is pink and the other one is black. Seems like I’ve got a bit of carpal syndrome going on. Probably too much typing for the blog. I tend to use my left paw a bit more when pounding the keyboard in pursuit of a deadline. I put an ad in Crateslist for a secretary to handle some of the typing chores, but only three cats, all of questionable reputation being toms, one hamster and a guinea pig replied. I’m not opposed to male secretaries, but the cats didn’t seem to fit in with Pepper’s family blog. One even sent me a suggestively rude response to my “We’re sorry, but your qualifications  ….” email. I rest my case. Ms. hamster was well-read having gone through the Bones N’ Crates 14 volume Amazing Animal Literature Classics, including my favourite, Gaston And Josephine, but she was a bit fidgety, and lacked a sense of humour. I wasn’t sure about working with a guinea pig, but she assured me she really was an agouti. However, she was one of those hairless ones called Skinny Pigs. Not sure about having a skinny pig for a secretary. “Oink, this is Ms. Skinny Pig … I’m sorry, Pepper’s in an editorial meeting. How can I help you?” Not the image I’m looking for. Plus, her speling and grammer was a bit weaks. Pass. So I was back to square one. Hunt and peck. Hunt and peck. I thought I’d call the vet in to get his opinion, but I was afraid he’d recommend a blood transfusion or something. So, I’m down to using my right paw for this blog.

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Ever since my first day at the beach, I’ve developed a taste for little crab claws. The ones at the beach were salted. And the folks at the animal protection society will be happy to know they had been discarded by the crabs. The land cousins of the sea crabs, all of about two inches big, still are a good source of calcium. But they are much harder to come by around the yard. I have some stiff competition for them. George. That’s what I call him. George is a Yellow-Crowned Night-Heron. He’s got cool black markings around his eyes. I can relate. But George is over two feet tall. That’s taller than the waves down at the beach! He’s like the Godzilla of birds compared to the others around here. And his favourite food is, cover your ears Skamp, little red crabs. http://www.amazon.com/The-Little-Red-Crab-Hellman/dp/1615666354.

George lives for the chase, if you can call it that. George can stand perfectly still as a statue for what seems like an eternity for a puppy like me who has a hard time sitting still for more than a second. Unless, of course, I’m snoozing away dreaming of the treat truck making deliveries. So George stalks around the yard, scouting out a prime location. Then he freezes. Sometimes for entire minutes. If one of those crabs decides to take a walk-about, well George moves in the blink of an eye, his darting beak laser-fast. Breakfast served. He usually eats up on the roof. Most of his leftovers usually end up in the rain gutter far away from me. I wonder if Bones N’ Crates sells puppy planes? I understand some Beagle named Snoopy use to fly around in one.


Well, seeing as how George gets the lion’s share and I get the leftovers, I thought I would try my hand at catching crabs. This sitting still part is really hard. I tried it a few times and never got past three seconds. Then, I figured I would imitate George being perfectly still, just sitting on my two back legs. I kept falling over. Next, I tried stealth. I’d peek around the corner, wait for a crab to walk out just far enough, and then pounce. Totally fruitless pursuit. George makes it look so easy.

Well, Bones N’ Crates doesn’t sell any planes. Drats. However, thumbing through the catalog, that’s a joke folks, I came across another interesting device … a fishing pole! The tricky bit seems to be baiting the hook without thumbs. This is not a joke. And seeing as how I’m down to one paw at the moment …. Hmm, maybe I should place an ad for a retired Night-Heron willing to go 50-50.


The Art of Walking in the Rain

3 Sep

DSC_0739Most mornings, Mrs. human gets up and exercises. And most of those mornings, she also takes me for a walk. Now this may sound easy for all you bipeds, but trust me, a puppy just walking while out and about, well it’s not as easy as it appears. First off, puppies are curious more than just about anything else except accepting a treat, of course. Mention the words, “You want to go for a walk?” and I’m already hyperventilating and bouncing about two feet in the air. As soon as the leash comes out, then I’m trotting posthaste directly for the exit gate as I hardly can contain myself. And this is the puppy conundrum. Containment.

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A leash is a form of containment. A puppy is a form of free flowing energy led helter-skelter by our noses.  So every morning I get hooked up with a nice red leash, and it’s me and Mrs. human out to see the world. You have to understand, that being a puppy I WANT TO RUN. And AS FAST AS I CAN. For AS LONG AS I CAN. The leash on the other hand really puts a damper on this proclivity of mine. It’s the immovable object versus the irresistible force. I’m the irresistible one in case you had any doubts here. Okay, Mrs. human does move. But at a snail’s pace. I prefer puppy pace. It’s not long before something along the road smells really good. I follow my nose only to have the leash stop me in my tracks. I sort of stop for a second, look at Mrs. human, who’s’ tugged on the leash, and she says “Good girl, Pepper.” Just once I’d like to smell something, pulling Mrs. human along with me, and then saying, “Good girl, Mrs. human.” But it’s pure physics. Her mass definitely out masses me.

This has been going on for sometime now, and we sort have worked out a compromise. I don’t get to smell everything along the way, but I get plenty to keep me going. Although, I do get a bit pooped, no high odor pun intended, by the end of the walk on the warmer mornings. I guess if I ran the same distance, I wouldn’t get quite as far. So Mrs. human may be smarter than I give her credit. But, I did hear Mr. human telling Mrs. human that if I learn to follow her lead, some day I will be unleashed. Emancipation Day here I come. So I’m much more focused on the walking, curbing my enthusiasm as it were. And I think I’m getting pretty good at it … most of the time. Those birds always mess me up. What is it about me and birds? I see one, and I have to go after it. Talk about genetic compulsion. And do you have any idea how many birds there are in the world? I checked with the Bones N’ Crate Bird Book … Gazillions!! And I think all of them inhabit the trees along our walk. So, you can see, Emancipation Day sort of ebbs and flows with the birds.

But I discovered something pretty cool. When it’s really raining on our walks, the birds stay away. And when the birds stay away, I can do the walking thing pretty good. So the art of walking, in the rain, helps me get one day closer to RUNNING AS FAST AS I CAN AS LONG AS I CAN.

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Alien Doggies

25 Aug


Seems like humans are really still up in the air about whether UFOs are real or not. We doggies, however, are at a much advanced stage of first-paw cosmic experiences. We know that aliens are real. We’ve met them. Even on a first name basis with some of them too. Humans, while alien to we of canine heritage, don’t count as close encounters even though you do have an other worldly shape. I mean, two legs?! Put you guys on all fours and you can hardly get out of your own way. Most of you barely have enough hair to keep yourselves warm without artificial coverings. Happy to see you’ve moved past wearing animal fur. But I digress.

While I’m still a puppy, I’ve been visited by aliens a few times already. Yep. Took a liking to me. Last time, I was playing outside my condo-crate, shaking my chew toy all over the place, when I heard a familiar alien ship approaching. I can hear frequencies twice as high as you humans and at four times the distance. If you ever see me running away all of a sudden, don’t just stand there. Hightail it out of there too. But these alien doggies are friendly coming from the planet Megas Osteon, in the constellation of, what else, Canis Major. Megas Osteon is on the far side of the Sirius, the binary “Dog Star.” What, you thought those Greeks were just arbitrarily naming constellations and stars?

As Sirius is less than 60 doggy light-years away, and the doggies from Megas Osteon have multiple dark energy powered ships traveling through worm holes, they visit here all the time. Have been for millennia. In fact, the alien doggy that comes to visit me, Oopsy Woofwoof, hey I couldn’t make this stuff up, says it only takes about 25 of our Earth minutes to get here. They even come here on dates Friday and Saturday nights. Oopsy Woofwoof says it’s mostly for the In-N-Out burgers. He doesn’t care much for the Animal Style burger. He always orders the 4X4.

I suppose you probably want to know what Woofwoof looks like. Not to disappoint you, but he looks like a dog. I couldn’t say what breed exactly. He’s not in my Bones N’ Crate Breed Catalog. Then again, I don’t have the interstellar edition. He’s about medium size, has shiny purple fur with green highlights and orange ears and tail. And he thinks I look weird. He even acts like a dog. First time he landed, he came up to me and sniffed my butt. I sniffed back. Been friends ever since. It’s amazing that life on Megas Osteon is so much like life here on Earth. But that’s why Osteons like coming here according to Oopsy. He said it’s like going on holiday to a familiar and friendly doggy resort.

The strange thing is, Oopsy’s dark energy ship, while shadowy on the inside, glows very brightly on the outside. But it’s not visible to humans. And neither is Oopsy for that matter. So if Oopsy flew in right now, you humans wouldn’t see him at all, that is until he powers up his GNT, that’s short for Galactic Nano-Transmogrifier. He can even connect it to his holographic protruder. Not what you’re thinking. When he does that, he can take on the form of any creature. Cool stuff. I wanted to borrow it so I could scare the bejabbers out of Mr. human and chase him around the yard. Think Jurassic Park. Oopsy said it was bio-matched to his DNA, so it wouldn’t work for me. Maybe if I give him some DNA, I can convince him, doggy to doggy, to bring one back for me. 🙂

We always have a great time when Oopsy visits. Sometimes, we play out in the yard with his Quantum Hover-disc, and sometimes he regales me with incredible stories of about his interstellar spacedog adventures. I especially like the one about his chasing the evil mothercatship all the way to the Tree Nebula in the constellation Felis.

Now you humans, while still not convinced about UFOs, probably think I’m making this up. But, whenever we puppies have a close encounter from Megas Osteon, there is always one residual telltale sign they leave behind. Just look at our eyes.

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Mystery Solved – Part II

19 Aug

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I can’t look anything like an Anemic. That vet didn’t know what he was talking about. Have you seen pictures of Anemic puppies? Me neither. They must be really ugly if they don’t show the photos. I was a bit suspicious when I couldn’t find Anemics in my Bones N’ Crate book, Cute And Adorable Puppy Breeds, A-M. So, I checked my Bones N’ Crate Dictionary For Doggies. Under Anemic it said it wasn’t a breed, but a condition! I have a condition!? And it further stated it might be caused by an underlying disease! Man, I don’t want any underlying disease, so I immediately stopped lying under my dog house. How was I suppose to know lying under my dog house caused anemia? It said if it is severe I’ll need a blood transfusion. Yikes! Hopefully, this is reversible and not terminal. I just started lying under my dog house last week. I don’t want some other dog’s blood in me. Be my luck I’d come off the table with some weird ugly dog thing going on and an invite to the World’s Ugliest Dog competition. And if they don’t hit me with with the blood, then its packed red blood cells in the veins. Holy cow! This sounds really serious. And they recommend putting me in a cage to protect me from other animals. What other animals? I’m an only dog. I need a second opinion. This is making me nervous. I’m beginning to twitch. I keep telling myself it’s probably all in my mind. Is that my hair on the floor? My black spots are falling off!? It’s worse than I thought. Why are there humans in green scrubs rolling a stainless steel table my way? I’ve got to get out of here, but my legs are moving in sloooooow mooooootion. Woof-woof, woof,woof,woof, woof -woof.



I woke up. Where was I? I looked up. I was lying under the outside dining table.  I got out of there fast to the safety of my condo-crate. I just started dreaming lately, so it’s all sort of new to me. At least I hoped I was dreaming. I snuck a peek in the direction of the table looking  for my black spots. None on the deck. Still on my body. Whew!  I heard Mr. human telling the Mrs. the other day about my puppy dreams, woofing out loud and my legs and feet twitching. I thought he was kidding. He wasn’t kidding. The dream seemed so real too. It’s a bit unnerving this dream stuff. But I suppose I can always look forward to dreaming about being a delivery dog on a treat truck. I need to get  a Do Not Disturb sign for that one. Nevertheless, I was happy to hear I wasn’t an Anemic, but just a bit anemic. Nothing that some doggy-mins and iron pills can’t take care of according to the vet. Need to keep my eyes on that guy. Gives me nightmares.

Well, being a bit wired by the weird dream experience, I thought I would unwind with a bit of Words For Canines on my iPuppyPad. Steve Jobs made it so the pads on my paws can activate the touch screen. He always was a step ahead according to his Bones N’ Crate biography. It’s always nice to get back to something familiar and reassuring. I was playing a game with my human grandpa on Mrs. human’s side. He’s a geezer too. Come to think of it, a lot of my human’s friends are geezers as well. But at my age, just about everyone is a geezer. Anyway, even though he’ll deny it, I was ahead on points with grandpa. We sympathize with each other as he has a collar around his neck too. His is hard plastic and is just plain white. I wonder if grandma human attaches a lead to it to take him for walks? His doesn’t have a fancy name tag like mine. And his doesn’t light up at night either, with flashing options. But he does have a tube sock to make his more comfortable. I prefer something natural and furrier. Maybe I should send him a faux fur collar comforter.

Bones N’ Crate were out of stock in his size, on back order. I’ll have to check later with Animalzon.com.

Back to the game at hand. It was my turn to play. I looked at my letters and realized I had the perfect letters for my next move. Triple word score! Got 30 points for it too!


Mystery Solved – Part I

12 Aug

As puppies go, my humans are always telling people how I don’t whine and I don’t bark. I’m such a good puppy. Isn’t that adorable? It’s not surprising. In fact, Mrs. human made a big point to her dad over the phone about how well-behaved I was. So guess what? That night, before we all hit the hay, I whined. Or so they tell me. They gave me my bedtime treat, I put it in my mouth and for some unknown reason I couldn’t make up my mind where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do with it. Weird, eh? I walked around in no particular direction and made a little sound, which I would define as a teeny bit whimper-like. I think some of my molars are coming in. Mrs. human said it was a whine. I was going to argue the point, but Mrs. human might think I was a whiner.

Well, that was Saturday night. Mr. and Mrs. human were looking forward to having a nice lazy sleep-in the next morning as it was Sunday. You won’t guess what I found at six the next morning. Yep, I found my bark. Turns out I have a pretty good one too. A little high-pitched and not very guard-doggy. Imagine getting everything all at once like that! And it popped those lethargic, sleepy-eyed humans out of bed bright and early. I couldn’t have been prouder … or a bit more scared. Some rather large neighbourhood dog wandered into the no-stray zone of my environs. Totally caught by surprise, I barked up a storm. Even as the barks were coming out of my mouth, powered by my little lungs, I still wasn’t sure what that was all about. As soon as the humans opened the door to the house, I was in there like a shot, tail between my legs. Okay, it’s a bit embarrassing in hindsight. I may have been scared by my own bark, which is certainly worse than my bite, tails not included. Nevertheless, a puppy doesn’t expect a bully dog to show up like that. But it must have worked. The big dog was nowhere in sight. Score one for the Pepper. Coming from the orphanage, I’m still finding out stuff about myself. Neighbor Alan came by later that day. We always have a great time. However, he playfully scolded me a wee bit. Seems my newfound bark carried up to his place too. Right on!

The next morning I was visited by the vet for a little check up and a puppy immunization shot. It was the first time I met this vet. So he was asking my humans all sorts of questions about me including how old I was. Mrs. human related my orphanage story and that we didn’t know how old I was exactly. He asked if I had started barking yet. What a coincidence!? So Mrs. human explained the entire barking story to the vet. But, she said didn’t know how big I would get not knowing the breed of the parents. So the vet checked my heart and lungs with a little round thing connected to his ears. He felt my tummy. No odor emissions when he squeezed. He didn’t check my feet. Lastly, he looked at my teeth and gums, noticing my two front puppy teeth are missing. Then, he told my humans with all the confidence in the world that I was a little anemic. He even pulled down my eyelids to show my humans. Finally, I had an answer. I had never heard of that breed of dog before, but being an orphan, I was happy  to solve the identity issue. I was an Anemic. I wonder what makes our eyelids so great? Apparently, my breed requires some iron pills to go with my diet. I wonder if all Anemics look like me? I’ll have to look it up in my Bones N’ Crate book, Cute And Adorable Puppy Breeds, A-M. I lucked out I was a high-odor Anemic, and not a Nincompooper. N-Z was on back order. I hope they have a photo. No hurry though. It feels like puppy snooze time is here again.

Pepper Recycles

8 Aug

Note to puppy owners. Ixnay on the store bought oysta. My favourite toys are not the ones my humans spent hours looking for on-line and then buying for me. Nope. Go to your Home and Garden store and head for the gardening section. Pick up some hand held gardening tools. The hard durable plastic is best. Make sure you stop by the bird feeder section while you’re at it. You’ll also want to get an assortment of medium size planters. Just the plain old black ones are fine. Be sure you have an old container to throw them into at home. Weather them for awhile outside, maybe throw some dirt and potting soil on them too for good measure. Most importantly, sort of hide them away in a corner like they are off limits for puppies. We’ll have a blast with them all day long. You can even mock scold us to sort of keep it real and interesting. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Once upon a time, I use to chase my tail. Only I didn’t know it was my tail. This black spotted furry thing kept popping into my peripheral vision. Irritated, I would chase it until it went away. But every now and then, it would show up again. So I just accepted it as a new toy. That is until one day it got me really agitated. Having enough, I decided I would get rid of it once and for all. Only then did I discover it was my tail. Boy, that hurt for a week.

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One of my other favourite new toys are empty liter plastic water bottles. They make an awful crackling sound when empty. When Mr. human rapidly squeezes one, it freaks me out to no end. I go completely bonkers, running around like someone set my tail on fire. I have no idea where this reaction comes from. I can’t control it either. I guess it’s sort of like fingernails on a chalk board for you humans. He crackles and I go nuts, zooming in circles as fast as I can go. Might as well have zombies chasing six years olds around the house at midnight during a thunder storm. After a period of growing slightly accustomed to these bottles when crackled, if that’s at all possible, Mrs. human half squeezed one and put the cap back on so it was grabbable with my mouth. Gingerly, I sort of grabbed and then bit down on it. Well that sucker crackled and I jumped about two feet backwards. Not to be deterred, I went back for more. Grabbed it, and made it crackle just a little. Still freaked me out, but I controlled my urge for flight. So I crackled it some more. Hey, this isn’t half bad. Well the next thing I know I’m scooting that bottle all over the place, grabbing it, crackling it, which I now thought was total fun. Being almost featherweight, I pushed it everywhere, then I’d hop on it, which made it spurt out in one direction or the another with yours truly in hot pursuit. Hey, this was a pretty cool toy.

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One other thing I discovered. I must have a bit of retriever in me. For some reason I would chase that crackling thing all over the place, but then always have the urge to bring it to Mr. human. And I never bit down too hard on it either. Now what other toy would have done that for me? Helped me find my roots. So before you puppy owners decide to toss those empty water bottles in the recycling bin, see if your puppy wants to have a go at it first. Then they can be recycled. Oh, one other thing. Don’t leave a nice pottery bowl with leftover lunch in it sitting on top of a flower bowl, on top of a patio end table and then leave a puppy unattended. Oopsy. Thankfully, Eric and Cathy, Lindgrenpottery.com, besides being friends of my humans, are one of my business sponsors. Be sure to watch Eric in the video. I’m putting in an order for a black and white Pepper shaker. Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Another pottery bowl too.

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Houdini Hide and Seek

4 Aug

One of my favourite games is playing Houdini Hide and Seek with Mr. human. To play the game, besides having a willing human, you need a good size doggy blanket and something a bit smaller like a old hound-scented bath towel … um, that would be an old towel, not an old hound. So, here’s how we play Houdini Hide and Seek. Mr. human holds up the doggy blanket, and then I run and jump up as high as I can into the blanket

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Then, Mr. human throws it over my head, wraps me up and rolls me around on the deck. I flop and roll all over the place while getting myself out of the blanket. He has the hound towel ready for me just as I am about out of the blanket. He wraps me up in the towel and I flop and roll around some more. Every single time I can hear him say, “Where’s Pepper!? Where’s Pepper?” You think it would be rather obvious where I was. Duh. See what I have to work with here? Anyway, eventually I pop out. And he has the doggy blanket ready to get me again. His job is to keep me covered … preferably without the dumb questions. And my job is to make like Houdini and escape before he can cover me again. I always win. But given the competition, what else would we expect? It’s great fun, though. I could flop and roll around all day long playing Houdini Hide and Seek. Mr. human usually poops out after 15 or 20 minutes. Geezer.


One day while nosing around the perimeter of my country house with the grass in the front yard, I happened to notice a spot where the fence was a bit loose. Aha! LIke any curious puppy, I pushed on it with my nose. It gave way. I had found a gap in the fence! For joy, for joy! I almost managed to hop around on my two back legs without falling over. Does the movie The Great Escape come to mind? I could roam wherever I wanted to go without the humans knowing about it just like cats. Way cool. And I would always be back in time for roll call like any good POW, that’s Puppy of Wanderlust. The great thing about the gap in the fence was that it was right next to a big tree that blocked the commandant humans view. “There will be no escapes from this yard!”  Steve McQueen eat your heart out. Off I went.

I headed uphill away from the lap of luxury. Grass is always greener, eh? I wandered through all sorts of shrubbery, made it to the crest of the hill and came upon a large concrete overhang. There was a perfect size area just a couple feet high, almost like an open-ended cavern, that I could walk along. So off I went. This exploring stuff is really a lot of fun. And totally unsupervised. How cool is that. Well, I walked along smelling everything in sight  although it was mostly barren dirt. Seems like some rodents had been there before me. Oh, and a feline or two as well. The more I explored I discovered the neighbourhood cats had been all over this place. What in the world were they doing up here anyway? And the place was a bit musty smelly too. Phew.

Off to my right, there was a drop off. Okay, a bit of a cliff. Nothing too serious. Or so I thought. If cats can manage it, well, what’s to stop a puppy? So I kept on going following my nose. I hopped across a few little ditches, and came to what seemed like a bit of a dead-end. I didn’t realize how right I was. I turned to go back, but what was easy going one way, seemed puppy-proof looking back the other way. I was stuck. Oops. And hidden under the overhang, no one could know where I was. Double oops. I had no food or water. I was definitely in the Land of Oops suddenly missing the lap of luxury and my green grass. What to do now? From the end of the overhang, I looked down and saw what looked like some leaves and branches. I thought I could just jump down on them, scoot over the the little trail and go back to home sweet home. But something told me to stay put.


About that time I heard Mr. human shouting, “Pepper … Pepper … where’s Pepper?” Okay, okay, it’s not always a dumb question. I had mixed emotions. Was that the sound of the calvary coming to my rescue or Colonel Clink wanting to capture me and put me in the sweatbox out in the noonday Sun? Next thing I  heard was Mrs. human calling for me too. Not sure what to do, I did nothing except stay where I was. Even gardner John was on the hunt for me. He spotted me first, although I could see Mr. human at the other end of the long overhang. John managed to carefully walk along that little trail on the edge of the cliff to just below where I was. When he got to me, I wagged my tail to say hi to John. Maybe he came over to play. So when he tried to grab me, I playfully jumped back. I came closer, he tried to grab me, and I jumped back again. Maybe John was a fellow escapee? But Mr. human was too crafty. He gave John some dog treats. Traitor. John held them out. I couldn’t hold out, so I went for the treats. John grabbed me. Betrayed by my belly again. My short-lived adventure as an escapee was over.

After carefully walking back along the little trail on the edge of the cliff, holding on to some roots and branches with me in tow, John handed me up to Mr. human. I was right. He had a doggy lead in his hand to clip on to my collar. I was sure I was headed for the sweatbox. Mr. human commandant had to climb over neighbour Alan’s railing, walk across the patio, through the kitchen, living room, hallway and out the front door. Secretly backtracking down the hill with me in shackles through the low lying shrubbery wasn’t going to happen. Instead this sinner puppy was displayed for all to see. I half expected the villagers to throw rotten vegetables at me while my forehead was emblazoned with a big scarlet E. On the interminable march back to the gulag, I could sense that Colonel Clink human was not exactly pleased with Sgt. Pepper’s new version of Houdini Hide and Seek. To tell the truth, neither was I. The ounce of prevention fence was secured immediately with nails and rocks by Mr. human and gardner John. I managed to avoid doing time in the sweatbox. But, even Mrs. human didn’t call me adorable this time. I was in the dog house.

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Turns out it’s a good thing I didn’t try to jump down on those leaves and branches by the trail. They were the tops of trees. I heard Mrs. human telling someone it’s a straight drop 100 feet to rocks below at that end of the overhang. Nearly made my spots fall off when I heard that, which is to say I about turned white as a ghost. Every now and then I see cats nonchalantly climbing all over the place unfazed at the cliff’s edge. I don’t know how cats do it. From now on I’m sticking with the original version of Houdini Hide and Seek, maybe with a little tug of war thrown in to spice it up.

House of Pepper

1 Aug

Now that I have a blog, some of my followers want to know more about my digs. That’s hip and cool jive for where I live. By nature, puppies are cool. Speaking of cool, thanks to reader Bob for the spot on ‘way cool’ remarks. And yes, my humans have potential to rise to my level of coolness as you put it. Mrs. human more so than Mr. human who is definitely a work in progress. As long as he keeps doling out the food and bedtime treats, I can tolerate Daddy-o. That’s coolspeak for Mr. human. I just wish Daddy-o would ditch the video camera.

As to my digs, I have a really cool pad. Or should I say pads, and I’m not talking about my paws. My yard is shaped somewhat like an hour glass with a ninety degree bend in the middle. My urban pad is a really cool condo-crate. Hi-tech and green too. Has a LEED platinum certification. Lovably Engaging Environment for Doggies. It has an open floor plan, easy access, and a skylight that lets in lots of natural light. Best of all is it’s location. With doggy real estate, it’s all about location. My condo-crate is just outside the door to the human’s deck and outdoor dining area. My central location means they can’t sneak past me. And when they sit down to eat, I am present and accounted for like any good puppy.

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And did I mention the southern exposure? It’s perfect for getting the morning sun on the deck where I can snooze. When I wake up, and need to take care of my natural needs, I simply meander around the corner to my country place. Yes, I have a country house too. I leave the hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle, follow the little grass trail NE and in no time at all I’m sitting on my front porch. It’s rather rustic, but it’s located in a nice sheltered valley with a grassy front yard. While it doesn’t have indoor plumbing, it does have an outhouse in the back. I call it “Contraband Cabin.” Whenever I need to take something without you know who knowing about it, I take it here. A certain blue bird feeder comes to mind.

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Well, I’m feeling a bit sleepy. Writing a blog is hard work, especially when I have to hunt and peck. At least I have access to a computer. I can’t imagine what my ancestors went through with pencil and paper. Just picking up a pencil is tough enough. But resisting the urge to chew it into tiny little pieces is almost unbearable. While yellow No. 2 pencils with rubber erasers are canine meat and potatoes, I lean towards the spicier Staedler HB Lumograph. For some reason I prefer the taste of blue over yellow. And crayons. Well, don’t get me drooling. Ah, the warm breeze is coming up right now. It’s ideal for my late morning nap. Daddy-o should have my noon time treat ready for me when I wake up. My Bones N’ Crate book, How Famous Dogs Trained Their Owners is really paying for itself. So I think I’ll end the blog here. Keep following and keep writing in. Until next week, be cool.

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The Big Green Magic Can

29 Jul

This blog is dedicated to the memory of Flipper, who loved …

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One thing I learned from my Bones N’ Crate’s book, A Puppy’s Guide to Life, is that cute will open doors and curiosity can get you into trouble. Cute got me rescued from being a street mutt. And cute got me adopted by my new humans. However, cute definitely is related to size. Mrs. human is always saying how cute this is, or how cute, umm, I am. I’ve noticed that if it’s little, cute’s the word. “Oh, she’s so little. She’s cute.” Not so much for the big stuff. I’ve never heard Mrs. human say, “Bob’s big eared elephant is really cute.” Or that “Mr. Chunkyshort is really cute for weighing 200 kilos.” So I’ve had a bit of nerves lately when people look at me, telling Mrs. human, “Wow, Pepper is really growing. She’s getting big.” How could these humans say such dreadful things? They even weighed me last week. I’m almost twice what I weighed when they got me! And I even overheard her tell Mr. human that she wished I could stay little. Translated that means I won’t stay cute. And if I’m not cute, am I destined for the streets once more? A Puppy’s Guide to Life only has one paragraph about puppy paranoia. To paraphrase, it says “Look at your feet. Do you have big feet? If you do, you’re SOL. Why? Because you will grow into them!” I looked at my feet instantly. Were they big? Well, they looked about normal. But what’s normal? Are six-inch feet normal for a puppy ten inches at the shoulder? I hope so because my feet are much smaller than that.

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I looked up the chapter, What Makes A Puppy Grow? Bad news. I read it again just to be sure. Right there in plain letters was my answer … FOOD. I couldn’t believe my favourite thing was the cause of my cuteness disappearing. Poop. What depressing news. I mean what puppy doesn’t like food? It’s one of the two great joys in a dog’s life. I think the other one is treats. Anyway, what am I going to do? Like any puppy facing a life crisis, I did some research and found out that fast food is the main contributor to obesity. More bad news. I eat my food pretty fast. Worse, obesity is not defined as little and cute. I had to get to the root source of my growth.

And then it dawned on me. From the day I arrived from the “orphanage,” the nice humans at the animal protection society, to my new home, there has been a big green magic can from which Mr. human dispenses … my food. They could fit nearly half a dozen of me into that big green can. And if I keep eating everything that comes out of it, I may end up six times bigger too. Magically, it appears that the big green can has an endless supply of food in it … available on demand anytime night or day. It just disgorges food out of it like there’s no tomorrow. How is that possible? I mean the big can never fails to produce the food. Not once. Not even a false start. It’s perpetual. No doubt Mr. human is trying to fatten me up in the eyes of Mrs. human so she doesn’t think I’m cute anymore. Then it’s curtains. Au revoir. Hasta la vista, puppy. I bet it’s payback for all those “high odor” gifts he has to bury. I had to find out exactly what was in the big green magic can.

Remember when I said curiosity can get you into trouble. Well, it kind of worked out that way. I couldn’t get into the magic can because, not having grown any opposable thumbs, I couldn’t lift the lid. Almost by accident, I managed to knock that sucker over. A little leverage and a wall helped. I can’t take all the credit. Serendipity was on my side. Everything went flying with a very large amount of noise given the big green magic can is metal. What a racket. Enough to wake up the humans too. Big mistake. Seeing as how the lid was off and the dog was out of the barn, I jumped into the can to see what magic it held. It was the biggest bag of food I ever laid eyes on. At least three times bigger than me. That’s when instinct kicked in. Food is my favourite thing remember. So I started munching away, with great gusto I might add. I figured the humans would be there soon enough. I was right.

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Well, as you can see, I was south-end out when the humans showed up. Poetic, eh? In one end, out the …. Well, Mr. human was booming. References to TiPoo littered the night air.  Just about when I thought my days of free lunches were over, Mrs. human said, “Isn’t she adorable!” My ears perked up. Adorable? She said adorable? She picked me up and cuddled me. I cuddled back with all my puppy charm. I peeked at Mr. human. He was glaring back. Obviously, he did not share her sentiment. Adorable. I like that. I can live with adorable. Maybe cute is overrated. Besides, my feet aren’t that big.

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Blog 3: Down to the Sea

25 Jul

Do you remember the first time you went down to the sea and jumped in among the waves? Just so happens my humans live by the sea. And they thought it would be fun to take me swimming in the ocean. Hey I’m a puppy, let’s go for it! It all sounded like great fun. I got to run like a nut and smell everything at the beach. I didn’t know where to start. There were tons of rocks, wet sand, dry sand, beach critters, and all sorts of cool stuff to sniff and inspect. However, I saw that the water wasn’t sitting still. It kept moving. A lot. It was nothing like my drinking bowl. The water would rise up to twice my height and then come crashing down. It was great running up and down the beach where the water rolled onto shore, all white and foamy. Just in case, I kept an eye on that moving water.

Then I saw Mrs. human walk into the moving water. She motioned for me to join her. So off I ran … until the first wave reared up in front of me. My tail froze like a rope. Yikes!

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Okay, a two foot wave might not sound like much to you five and half to six foot humans. But when you stand ten inches at the shoulder with good posture, well, surf’s up baby. To put it into perspective for you, a person 5 feet high at the shoulder would be facing a twelve foot wave. Still want to go in the water? I did what any other self-respecting puppy would do under the circumstances. I puckered up and hauled butt for solid sand. Made it too. Although my derriere got a good soaking. Mr. human laughed. You know they could have humiliated me at the house and saved us a lot of hassle.

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But Mrs. human kept enticing me with her sweet sing-songy voice. “C’mon Pepper, you can do it. C’mon Pepper. C’mon.” Reassuringly, she even held her arms out for me. What’s a dog to do? All the while Mr. human is documenting all of it for posterity. Yippee. Puppy drowns at beach. Film at 11. And they say water is life! I caught a break. There was a lull in the waves so I went for it. I ran and man did I ever jump … kaploosh into the sea. My tummy hit the water and my little legs were churning like windmills in a hurricane. I have no idea what made me do that. All the while Mrs. human keeps saying, “Good girl. C’mon Pepper.” Mercifully I reached her arms. She swept me up and I was safe on an island in the sea.

Ha! I survived my first swim in the sea. Maybe I can audition for the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie. I already have a patch for my eye. Okay both eyes. Doggy Zorro, then?

While I was basking in the glory of the moment, I realized Mrs. human wasn’t walking back to shore. She was staying out there in the choppy depths. She had to be in at least four feet of water! I stared at those monster two-footers constantly crashing on shore. I was staying put. Or so I thought until Mrs. human lowered me toward the water. Hold on there, I’m not ready for a return trip just yet. She didn’t read my mind. Into the water I went. So I cycled my legs as fast as they would go, keeping my head above water. Almost to shore when a sneaky wave rolled in behind me and over me. I kept my mouth shut and motored even faster to terra firma. That was a close call.

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I wasted no time shaking all that salty water off me and trotting down the beach away from further chants of encouragement to drown where I left a “high-odor” offering to Neptune on the beach. I can’t believe he got that on video. Mr. human buried that one too. When is that guy ever going to find the time to go back and dig them up? If you don’t make the connection, you need to read Blog 2.

Well, I ended up going back into the water a few times. It’s anyone’s guess where I got those water genes. I kind of got the rhythm of the waves down and then it became fun. So Mrs. human and I frolicked in the waves up and down the beach for some time while the other human recorded it for the world. I had to be born in the digital age.

Later, I got my first bath. And surprise, surprise, that’s recorded too. What am I, a four-legged holiday to Disney World? Don’t these humans have a life? The nice warm shower water got rid of all the salt. I was good to go. But it  didn’t stop there. Some nasty smelling stuff made by humans called Doggy Shampoo was poured on me. I emerged smelling like a human. Definitely a low point in my life.

All in all it was quite an adventure my first day down to the sea. I could get use to that every now and then I suppose, except for the human smelling shampoo part. Back at the house, I overheard my two humans talking about paddle boarding and doggy wetsuits. What do you suppose they are up to with that?