Made in the shade

Here is my variation on the dog and chair routine. Sitting on the chair usually makes me the tallest dog around. But today I wanted to be the coolest dog around. So under the chair I go.

It is quite nice under there. It is shady and damp and I am at chipmunk level. I can rest and hunt all at the same time. My Person sits above me reading her book and she sometimes puts her lunch dish down right next to me because she forgets all about me when she is reading. And the sun-loving bugs bug her instead of me.

There are no drawbacks that I can see. Unless I suddenly dart out at one of the young and foolish chipmunks heading for my bird feeder and accidentally bonk my head on a chair leg.

Otherwise it is the most peaceful way of surveying your realm that I know of. If it is a sunny day in your yard you might want to try it too.

Always ready

There are so many great things about being a dog, a little red one in particular. For instance there is attire.

Take me, for example. I am always suitably dressed for any occasion. You don't have to wait around for me to get ready. I am, always. No primping, no adjusting, no changing these white socks for some other.

Today my uber outfit was put to the test. First there was cat-chasing. I woke up appropriately dressed and pounced on Ollie before the sleep was out of my eyes. Next, a morning meal and did I need to change? Not on your nelly. Next, some very dull waiting-around time, but no wardrobe change was needed for that little nap I took to while away the hours. Then - big excitement - a car ride!! I was ready in a flash. Less than a flash. On the trip I visited a native plant store and was appropriately attired in my native garb. Next, a stop at the ice cream shop and it just happens that my native wear is appropriate for dining out! Then a dip or two in the beautiful St. Croix River and turns out my native-plant-viewing, eating-out outfit is, not surprisingly, the perfect swim suit.

Later in the day I watched my Person dig around in the garden and we walked along the river and I ate Super Supper and sat around in my very own lawn chair watching birds and bugs and my Person all toiling. And still I was dressed in the very thing I went to sleep in last night.

Meanwhile my Person was, by turns, dressy, muddy, sweaty, rumpled, absolutely dirty, partially cleaned up and back to rumpled and there were at least three costume changes for her this day.

I get tired just looking at her. And so does the washing machine. And while she spends time cleaning and changing I can just sit here and think about all the other great things about being a dog.

Sweet scents

Summer is sweet. Flowers bloom on trees, shrubs and perennials in my Person's yard. Nectar flows and is lapped hungrily by that wise guy hummingbird and its fellows. So many kinds of bees - giant bumbles and all sorts of medium and teeny tiny ones - visit different flowers according to their body size to gather pollen. There are young birds trying their voices out and their parents' patience as well, hungrier than I could ever be.

The earth is humid and rich with smells. I found a wonderful new smell at the beach: aged carp. I told the flies to move on over and I rolled on that fish and bulldozed my neck across the silvery scales and spread that perfume deep into my fur. How appropriate for a day when the next scheduled activity was a visit to my favorite outdoor fish restaurant!

Until my Person got a hold of me. "Stop that," she roared ferociously. Then she started sniffing me. "Good," I thought, "she's acting more like a dog, a step toward wisdom finally. She'll appreciate me now." But oh no. She sniffed and her nose wrinkled up and she intoned the words I hate but so rarely hear: "You are going to need a bath."

And off we went to the sweet-smelling backyard and she hosed me down and washed me! I smelled like a fish that had been shampooed. So she washed me again! It was awful. But it was that or stay home from the restaurant and sleep in the backyard until I smelled more like a little red dog than a little dead fish.

I got my reward - lots of snacks and even more attention from the other restaurant patrons. I am glad they were smiling and petting me instead of wrinkling their noses and staying far away from me.

If it is true that a rose is a rose, then it follows that a fish is a fish. But when it comes to going out for dinner it is better for a dog to be more like a rose and less like a fish.