Living With Oreo

Growing Old Together

2011-11-27T19:05:00.000-08:00

Here's an Oreo-related column from today's Ottawa Citizen:

Oreo is our family dog. He’s a six-and-a-half year-old black and white Portuguese water dog with a pleasant disposition and a penchant for eating sticks.

When it came to acquiring him, I was the lone holdout. My wife Cheryl and my daughter Sarah were desperate to get a dog. Although I like dogs, I didn’t want the responsibility.

Needless to say, I capitulated and Oreo has long since become a valued member of the family. In fact, with every passing year, I find that he and I have more and more in common and we are now becoming fast friends.

I think this has something to do with the aging process. Based on the very rough guideline that one dog year is equivalent to seven human years, Oreo is now about 45. When he turns nine on March 24, 2014 and I turn 64 a day earlier, we’ll be almost the same age in human years.

Keeping that in mind, it’s perhaps not surprising that we are starting to live very similar lives. To wit:

Diet

Oreo has allergies and has to eat special dog food made from salmon and potatoes; expensive special dog food, I might add. Although I don’t have any allergies, I now also have to restrict my food intake to those things which do not cause any digestive upsets. However, we both still enjoy the occasional treat.

Weight

Both Oreo and I are convinced that we are the perfect weight for our breed. The family vet, however, disagrees and suggests that our portly Portie could stand to lose a few pounds. I have heard similar comments from my family doctor. We choose to view the glass as half full as well as the bowl and the plate, and figure there’s just more of us to love.

Sleeping habits

Like most dogs, Oreo likes to sleep. I used to marvel at his ability to put in a full night’s sleep and still bag tons of zzzs napping during the day. Now that I’m retired, I am no longer in awe of his sleeping regimen and often manage to match him nap for nap.

Exercise

Despite our slight excess weight, we are both firm believers in exercise. I like to work out by taking group cycling classes. However, more and more often, I find that my exercise regime mirrors Oreo’s as we now take frequent walks together.

Hair

As I mentioned, Oreo’s fur is black and white. As more grey sneaks into my head covering, my hirsute status might now be described as brown and white. Oreo, too, is starting to show touches of grey here and there although his fur is not thinning like mine. We both choose to classify our hair appearance as distinguished.

Health

Up until recently, I would have placed Oreo’s health status a tad ahead of mine. But, like me, he has been diagnosed as having osteoarthritis of the right hip. I’ve got it in the left hip, too, but we both manage to bounce around pretty well for our respective ages. Like Oreo, I still have most of my original teeth.

Sex

Oreo was euphemistically “fixed” at a very young age. Yet he still seems to have some sexual urges as he occasionally attempts to hump the odd dog or human leg. I, too, have had some minor surgical alterations but, so far, I do not hump other dogs or legs.

Drugs

I take a couple of medications for acid reflux and mild hypertension. Thanks to his osteoarthritis diagnosis, Oreo is starting to catch up with me. We both take Glucosamine and the occasional Aspirin for our arthritis but neither of us indulges in recreational drugs unless you count the odd beer.

Rock ’n’ roll

Although we both liked to party when we were younger, thanks to advancing years, neither of us is now fond of loud music including rock ’n’ roll. If we have to have music in the house, we prefer something peaceful, like soft classical music or nature sounds, especially those featuring birds and squirrels.

As we age gracefully together, Oreo and I are finding more and more activities to join in together. Activities like eating, napping and watching TV. If current trends are any indication, I anticipate the two of us happily spending our golden years together. I just wish the old guy had a pension to help out with his vet bills.

Memo to Oreo - CBC Radio

2011-06-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

Now that I've finally figured out how to access an MP3 file from my blog, here's a link to my CBC Radio "dogumentary" called "Memo to Oreo." Just click on the MP3 icon and it will take you to the OpenDrive site. Click on the play arrow and the audio should start in a few seconds.

The Pup is Sick

2011-03-29T17:44:00.000-07:00

Well, he's not really sick and he's no longer a pup. In fact, last week Oreo turned six. But things are not going well for the now middle-aged fellow. Before we went south on our March break trip, Oreo was having some difficulty getting up. It seemed to come on too quickly to be arthritis so we didn't give it too much thought. But by the time we got back, he was worse. This lead to vet visits, pain medication and watchful waiting. Today he had x-rays, a traumatic event for dogs since they have to be put out. The effect on my bank account was also a bit traumatic. When oh when are we finally going to have socialized medicine for dogs? The good news is that the vet doesn't see any signs of arthritis, fractures or hip dysplasia. Hopefully, Oreo just has a soft tissue injury that hasn't healed because we didn't keep him quiet. For the next two weeks, we have to keep Oreo from climbing stairs, jumping on furniture and lengthy walks in hopes that his injury will heal. Here's hoping that come spring, he'll be his old active self.

Oreo Gets Skunked

2010-12-05T11:43:00.000-08:00

Oreo hits the news again, this time for his encounter with a white-striped creature of the night. Check out this link to see how the poor guy fared:
http://www.ottawacitizen.com/entertainment/Skunked+Pepe+LePew+Oreo/3930463/story.html

Once again, Oreo makes the news

2010-09-26T19:55:00.001-07:00

Check out today's Ottawa Citizen to see the continuing adventures of Oreo the PWD: http://www.ottawacitizen.com/opinion/Dogged+canine+expenses/3581075/story.html

Memo to Oreo

2010-06-13T17:16:00.000-07:00

It looks like the archived episodes from CBC Outfront are no longer available. But if you go to http://www.prx.org/pieces/34693-humans-and-animals, log on and search for "Memo to Oreo", you will find it as the fourth piece of a series on animals. "Memo to Oreo" starts at about the 39 minute mark of the file.

Sleeping Beauty

2009-10-16T10:28:00.000-07:00

In reply to Julia from Ottawa, check out the earlier posts for some Oreo pix. I notice, however, that there are no recent pictures of the pampered pooch. For your amusement, I'm posting one today of Oreo in one of his more common poses. And Julia, you may think cats are nice but Oreo still doesn't agree!

Portie Alert!

2009-09-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

This is not the first time it's happened but it may have been the scariest. I'm speaking, of course, of one of Oreo's infrequent dashes for freedom.

This one occurred in the parkland near our house last Sunday morning. Cheryl sometimes takes Oreo there for his morning walk and occasionally even lets him off the leash. Big mistake.

While Cheryl bent down to retrieve some of Oreo's poop, he took off. By the time she stood up, he was nowhere in sight.

Cheryl wandered up and down the field yelling Oreo's name and undoubtedly waking any late-sleeping neighbors whose houses backed onto the field. Meanwhile, Oreo had headed across the field and onto the adjoining street.

Luckily, some kind people who live on that street spotted Oreo racing around looking for an entrance back into the field. They grabbed him, tied him up and phoned the number on his dog tag.

That's when I got the call to come rescue our nomadic dog. I drove to the rescuers' house, thanked them and headed back to the field to look for Cheryl. By this time, of course, she had given up and headed home.

Eventually, I was able to find both my wife and my dog. A happy ending although Oreo had no clue as to the danger that he faced.

Porky Portie

2009-09-01T12:50:00.001-07:00

It's been some time since I've updated our life with Oreo. But an article on Oreo's younger, more famous cousin in today's Washington Post reminded me that Oreo had a summer, too. Only Oreo's summer was hardly in the same league as Bo's. No galavanting in The White House, no evening walks with the President of the United States and no Martha's Vineyard getaway.

Not that Oreo can complain too much. For the most part, he got to lie around the house getting fat. Which brings me to the subject of today's blog: the porkie Portie.

Somehow, between sneaking in extra feedings and us being a bit slack on giving him table scraps, Oreo managed to pack on a few extra pounds. His mid-summer haircut-cum-shave revealed that our dog had a bit of a belly.

This discovery resulted in a new dietary regime for Oreo. No more table scraps, no inadvertent extra feedings and a slight (albeit noticeable) reduction in his daily portions of dog food.

Did Oreo notice? Definitely. He was not happy about this involuntary reduction in his caloric intake and tried to make up the difference by ingesting more than his usual share of grass, sticks and God-knows-what.

Despite his initial reluctance, Oreo has adjusted to his new mealtime regime. And the results are starting to show. He appears to have shed a couple of pounds and may soon regain (re-lose?) his once trim appearance.

Stay tuned for more progress in the PWD slimathon that we hope will turn our porky Portie into a dapper dog.

The First Puppy

2009-04-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

MEMO

TO: Bo, The First Puppy

FROM: Oreo the Portuguese Water Dog

My owner tells me that you have just been chosen by the Obama family to be The First Puppy. Congratulations, Bo. That’s quite an honor. But before you get too carried away with all the attention, best to heed a few lessons from someone who’s already been around the block a few times, so to speak.

For starters, your biggest asset is that you’re cute. Believe me, that will take you a long way. I’ve got the same markings and curly hair as you and, boy, they’ve helped me out of some big jams especially those times when I rolled around in that delicious dead animal matter. Despite what trouble you get into, looking cute means your owners can’t stay mad at you for long.

Next, enjoy your puppyhood but remember, it won’t last. So long as you’re small and cuddly and cute, you can get away with murder. Pee on the rug all you want and chew everything in sight. You’re a puppy; it’s expected. But just so you know, this stage won’t last forever. There’ll soon come a time when your owners are going to expect you to pee outside and actually respond to commands.

Just a word of warning. Beware of the obedience course. It’s no fun but I strongly advise you to just go along. The sooner you perform well at one of these courses, the sooner you can be done with them and get back to doing just as you please. Owners seem determined to get you to graduate with honors. But don’t worry; they seldom have the patience to continue the training regime at home.

Once you’ve completed the obedience course, it’s time to start training your owners. As for the basics, no need to fret. They’re generally housebroken and know to come when you bark. But when it comes to food, treats and walks, they’re sometimes a little slow.

Typically, you’re going to have a couple of bowls - one for food and one for water. Your owners are going to give you regular feedings of dog food but, trust me, that’s not going to be enough. You’re quickly going to have to train your caretakers to give you more dog food and to supplement it with some nice leftovers or table scraps.

One surefire method to get more is to play one owner off against another. I believe you have four owners so this should be a piece of cake for you. Once one of them has fed you, wait an hour or so. When another owner enters the room, shake your food bowl, bark and generally pretend to be starving. Chances are you’ll get a second or even a third helping.

Initially, humans tend to be conscientious about taking you for a walk. Just so you know, twice a day is the accepted minimum. Unfortunately, over time, some owners get a bit lazy and start to cut back on the frequency and length of your daily outings. That’s when a little extra training may be required.

If you find you’re being shortchanged in the exercise department, let your owners know. First try barking. If that doesn’t work, bring them your leash. If even that fails, start leaving little "presents" around the house which should quickly bring them around.

As for sleeping arrangements, humans tend to think you should sleep on the floor or on a doggie mat. That’s OK for starters but don’t settle for that. If you feel like sleeping on a sofa or a chair, do so. Your owners will probably shoo you off the furniture at first but eventually they’ll give up. With a little luck, you’ll be able to sleep in one of the Obama girl’s beds or, if you play your cards right, maybe even the Lincoln Bedroom.

Good luck, Bo. We’re all counting on you. You’re the first Portie to inhabit The White House and hopefully you won’t be the last. After all, we don’t want another Scottish Terrier living there any time soon, right?

Portuguese Water Hound?

2009-01-12T18:36:00.000-08:00

I informed Oreo tonight about Barack Obama's announcement today that his family has narrowed its canine acquisition down to two choices. In the words of the president-elect, they're deciding between a "Labradoodle and a Portuguese Water Hound."

Needless to say, Oreo was not impressed with Obama's use of the designation Portuguese Water Hound. He figures if the guy can't even get the name of Oreo's breed right, we may be in for four more years of screw-ups like with that Bush fellow.

I explained to Oreo that Obama is not at all like Bush. But Oreo is so incensed about the misnomer that he just keeps barking and refuses to listen to me. At least that's what I'm assuming he's doing. It may, of course, just be his usual demeanor.

I'm also getting the impression that Oreo is not impressed with Obama lumping him in with Labradoodles. After all, Oreo is a purebred Portuguese Water Dog and Labradoodles are nothing more than uptown cross-breeds, mutts in minks if you will.

I'm just hoping that Obama does the smart thing and chooses a PWD. I suspect that if a Porty becomes the First Dog, Oreo may calm down and forgive the new president for his verbal gaffe today and give him a second chance.

My Third Christmas

2008-12-11T07:13:00.000-08:00

This one appeared in the Tuesday edition of The Christian Science Monitor (http://www.csmonitor.com/2008/1209/p19s01-hfes.html):

Let me introduce myself. I'm Oreo, a 2-1/2-year-old Portuguese water dog currently lodging with a human family of three.

The family consists of a dad, Dave; a mom, Cheryl; and a 12-year-old daughter named Sarah. For the most part, they're a pleasant bunch, and I generally have few complaints regarding my room and board.

Except when it comes to this time of year. For some reason, the month of December causes my caretakers to go a little crazy.

Early in the month, they erect a tree in the living room. Two years ago, they brought in a real tree and stuck it in a pail by the front window. Dave spent a good hour or two grumbling under his breath and jamming bricks and pieces of wood into the pail to keep the tree upright.

At first I thought the tree was for my benefit. I figured they were providing a place for me to mark my territory so I didn't have to venture outside in the cold. I appreciated the gesture although the appreciation was not reciprocated.

In fact, the following Christmas, the tree wasn't dragged in from outside. Rather, it was taken out of a box in pieces and slowly constructed from bottom to top. Again, I figured this new tree was for my benefit.

But it turns out this new "tree" is no tree at all. I've sniffed and sniffed and sniffed, and as far as I can make out, the thing's made of plastic. Apparently it's there for the family's benefit, although I'm still unclear as to its function.

As the month progresses, the family members add boxes wrapped in colorful paper under the tree. Sarah and Cheryl seem to take delight in this ongoing custom. Dave, on the other hand, keeps muttering something that sounds like a sheep saying "humbug."

Actually, putting the wrapped boxes under the tree throughout the month doesn't happen anymore. I'm not sure exactly why although it might have something to do with my pleasant discovery of cookies in one of those boxes two years ago.

Now they don't put the boxes under the tree until sometime during the last week of the month. One day there's nothing under the tree, and the next morning the floor's overflowing with junk.
I'm not sure what all this activity symbolizes. It doesn't happen any other time of the year, just December. And I'm still unclear as to why these humans go through the exercise at all. Sarah seems to get a kick out of it, but it definitely tires Cheryl out. And Dave isn't fit to talk to until at least January.

The day before all the boxes go under the tree, other humans move into the house for a couple of days. And – wouldn't you know it? – they bring a bunch of paper-wrapped boxes, too.
The day of the boxes under the tree is the craziest thing I've ever seen. Everybody gets up early and even more people show up at the door with – you guessed it – more boxes! And all this stuff ends up under the tree.

What happens next is really quite silly, if you ask me. They spend an hour or so passing the boxes to each other and tearing all the paper off.

I've never pretended that I understand humans. But after 2-1/2 years of living with them, I thought that I had pretty much figured out their routine. Yet this end-of-December madness makes no sense to me.

It all wouldn't be so bad except for what happens next. After the paper-destroying exercise, Dave and Cheryl put a huge, delicious-looking turkey in the oven, where it stays, cooking all day. It doesn't seem to bother them at all, but, as I'm sure you can understand, it's pure torture for me.

With all this madness going on, I'm fortunate if I even get fed and walked. I think I agree with Dave; I could probably do without this annual free-for-all. But every year there's a little box under the tree with my name on it, and what's inside usually tastes pretty good. So maybe this thing called Christmas isn't so bad after all.

Presidential Canine Advice

2008-11-15T07:58:00.000-08:00

TO: The Obama Family
FROM: Oreo the Portuguese Water Dog

My owner tells me that you folks are looking for a dog. First of all, I’d like to reassure you that you’re making a very wise choice. Anyone who tells you that you should be getting a cat instead is just not thinking straight.

Now the last I heard was that dad has decided that he’d like to get a mutt from the pound. That’s a nice gesture and I heartily endorse the sentiment. But I also heard that ten-year-old Malia is allergic to dogs and that the number one priority is to get a dog who’s hypoallergenic.

With no false modesty, I can heartily recommend that you acquire a Portuguese Water Dog. Yes, there are other breeds that are hypoallergenic. But if you want a real dog in The White House that Malia can actually play with then a Porty is the way to go.

Some folks are going to tell you that you should get a Bichon Frise. Sure, they don’t shed and those with allergies won’t have a problem. But do you really want a Bichon? In case you didn’t know, they’re small, yappy dogs that even other dogs don’t like.

I’m sure you’re going to have all kinds of people telling you that you need a poodle. OK, you could do worse but I don’t think the President of the United States should be owning a frou-frou dog like that. Pick a Portuguese Water Dog and you’ve got all the advantages of a poodle and none of the stigmas.

Look, if you’re still having doubts, give me a call and I’ll be glad to pay you a visit. Who knows? Maybe we’ll hit it off and I can become the First Dog.

It’s not that I don’t like my current family. But they live in Ottawa and, frankly, it’s not the greatest climate here. I hear that Washington is a heck of a lot milder and I sure wouldn’t mind escaping these long Canadian winters.

Plus, my owners are not the most generous when it comes to dog food. It turns out that I, too, am allergic and therefore need a special dry food made from potatoes and salmon.

For the first year or so, I didn’t mind too much. But now I’m downright sick of the stuff. I hear that you folks have your own personal chef. Maybe he or she could treat me to the odd meal of roast beef or steak tartare.

So, think about it. You’re all about change and I sure could use a change right about now. Plus, as a Canadian PWD, maybe I could help you formulate some new policies. After all, we’ve got socialized medicine, gay marriage and medical marijuana up here.

If my offer sounds good, give me a call. But please don’t let my current owners know. For some reason, they’re kind of attached to me. For now, you can contact me through my blog and no one else has to know.

Stop And Smell The Roses

2008-08-22T17:36:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I've posted about Oreo. Nothing much has changed regarding our favorite (read only) Portuguese Water Dog. He sleeps, he eats, he gets walked.

But the other day, Oreo did engage in one of his favorite pasttimes, namely rolling around in digusting things. Whereas you and I might live by the motto "Stop and smell the roses", Oreo's guiding principle in life is "Stop and smell the disgusting rotting animal matter and then, if possible, roll around in it."

Cheryl and Sarah took Oreo for his evening constitutional and made the fatal mistake of letting him off his leash. To Oreo, that just means an open invitation to find the most revolting and smelly things he can and then cover himself in it. This time, it was fecal matter.

Oreo's little misadventure meant, of course, that there was an unscheduled bath for the pup that night. Not something that Cheryl and Sarah had planned but not something they could avoid either. Luckily, for me, I could opt out.

I remain amazed, puzzled and disgusted by our dog's penchant for rolling around in anything that has rotted and stinks to high heaven. Sadly, I think this is standard operating procedure for all dogs. One would think that if you've been given an enhanced sense of smell, you would want to use if for good rather than evil.

For dogs, however, the world of smell is topsy turvy. In fact, I suspect if Oreo were presented with roses, Chanel No. 5 or pure vanilla, he would turn up his nose. Now a sizzling T-bone steak - that's a different matter. At least we have one olfactory thing in common.

The Sprained Ankle

2008-06-19T18:07:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday, while taking Oreo for a walk, Cheryl stepped in a rut and sprained her ankle. While she was lying there in pain, Oreo wandered off to amuse himself, once more putting the lie to the myth that dogs are noble, heroic creatures who save their masters and mistresses from danger.

Cheryl finally managed to get up and hobble to a nearby house where she borrowed a phone to get me to come and rescue her. Unlike Oreo, I am fairly reliable and quickly drove to pick up Cheryl. I even had the foresight to bring along an ice pack to help keep the swelling down.

Although the ice pack helped, Cheryl's sprain was more than a mild one which kept her hobbling about for most of last week. What that meant, of course, was that I was enlisted to walk Oreo twice a day until the ankle healed.

I managed to survive my walking marathon with Oreo and it looks like Cheryl's ankle is almost back to normal. Thank goodness since dog walking is not my favorite activity.

The photo above is a fairly recent one showing Oreo in one of his accustomed positions - i.e. - on the furniture. Initially, I had hoped to keep the dog off the chairs and sofa but my wishes were given little priority by Cheryl, Sarah and especially Oreo.

Scary, Scary Stuff

2008-05-26T15:45:00.001-07:00

Sometimes we tend to forget that dogs are not all that bright. Or maybe it's that we owners are not that bright and somehow think dogs are brighter than they really are.

Two recent incidents brought this fact home to me. The first happened last Thursday on my drive home. As I was driving on a residential thoroughfare near our house, I spotted a small white dog dashing across the road. Luckily, I slammed on the brakes and managed to stop just as the dog ran in front of my car.

With my heart pounding, I looked out to my left to see two teenage boys walking up the cross street, one with a leash dangling from his hand. They didn't seem concerned at all that the dog had come close to death.

It turns out that the dog was running across the street because another dog and his owner were walking on the opposite sidewalk. I don't know if the moronic teenagers let the dog off the leash so he could join the other dog or if they were just too lazy and ignorant to put the dog on the leash.

In retrospect, I should have pulled the car over, got out and lectured these hormone-addled idiots about dog safety. Then again, given their adolescent state of mind, it probably would have been a waste of time.

The second near-death canine experience involved our own Oreo. Last night, Cheryl was walking him in a field behind neighboring houses. Lately, she had trusted him to be off the leash. Big mistake.

All of a sudden, he bolted through a wooded area which separates the field from Walkley Road, a main four-lane street in the southeast part of the city. Oreo ran across Walkley Road and headed down the adjoining four-lane Conroy Road. Since Walkley Road is usually very busy, it was just dumb luck that there was no traffic when he made his crossing.

Luckily, a car stopped on Conroy Road and let a woman out who rushed over and rescued Oreo. Cheryl showed up shortly after and thanked the woman profusely for saving Oreo from certain death. She didn't think to get her name and number but she certainly deserves special thanks.

All this is a reminder that dogs (at least, untrained dogs) are entirely clueless when it comes to the man-made dangers around them. From now on, Cheryl will be keeping Oreo on the leash except for visits to the local dog run. And even then, he won't be off the leash until he's far from the parking lot.

Oreo Mange Tout

2008-04-08T12:57:00.000-07:00

It's spring and a young dog's fancy turns to.......eating any damn thing he can get his paws on. For much of Monday, we had an in-house, canine mystery. Cheryl had removed the fancy middle eastern carpet from the stairs on Thursday and laid it out by the front window to clean it. And that's where it stayed since Cheryl and Sarah went away for the weekend.

On the weekend, I was delegated the task of taking Oreo for his walks. That involved driving him to the local dog run which is covered in two feet of snow and has treacherous, icy paths. I persevered for two mornings and managed to give him a 40-minute walk each day.

That second day, however, Oreo found part of a discarded plastic bag and immediately ingested it. I lunged for his mouth and tried to grab the bag before it ended up in his gullet. Unfortunately, I only managed to get one small piece of it.

I thought nothing more of the incident. After all, Oreo eats just about anything. In fact, he should be named Oreo Mange Tout. Anything left on the ground risks ending up in Oreo's stomach, particularly in the spring. I'm assuming all that melting reveals a wondrous new world of scents and smells which tempts dogs into treating the great outdoors as their own personal doggy buffet.

The Monday morning after Cheryl and Sarah got back from their trip I headed downstairs and found a small pile of thrown up dog food on the fancy carpet. I informed Cheryl and headed off to work. After all, he's not my dog and I've already cleaned up my share of his leavings over the years.

We figured this was a one-time incident but when I got home Monday night, I soon discoverd three more piles of doggie upchuck on the carpet. Except this time there was a clear clue as to why Oreo was reguritating at will.

One of the piles was wrapped in a knotted up piece of plastic, the same plastic, no doubt, that M. Mange Tout snarfed down on the weekend.

Anyway, I guess it's good news that Oreo managed to unload his plastic. Otherwise, we likely would have ended up with another expensive vet visit. Here's hoping the carpet remains empty tonight.

A Shaggy Dog Story

2008-02-29T13:13:00.001-08:00

Poor old Oreo is caught betwixt and between. His curly PWD locks have grown to the point where we can now barely see his eyes. He's definitely overdue for a haircut but Cheryl faces a doggy dilemma. When Oreo gets a haircut, his coat is so matted that he ends up getting just about shaved. Considering that there are still many weeks left of winter here in the Great White North, is it really fair to leave him with a tiny spring coat to survive the cold and snowy days ahead?

Cheryl has taken to doing the occasional trim in order that Oreo can still see where he's going. A bit of a trim around the body also seems to help although he still looks a bit ratty. But until the temperature stays consistently above freezing, I think he's going to have to put comfort ahead of appearance at least for the time being.

Oreo Goes For A Skate

2008-02-17T17:13:00.000-08:00

Oreo got his walk tonight but it was a little more difficult than he's used to. That's because we got a nice dose of freezing rain which left the streets like a skating rink. I warned Cheryl before she headed out so she had the good sense to put on her ice grippers. But poor Oreo didn't have that option so he ended up slipping and sliding his way around the neighborhood. I suspect the poor guy got more exercise than he bargained for and will be hitting the sack earlier tonight.

Oreo & Santa

2007-12-05T18:46:00.000-08:00

This is Oreo and Santa from a picture session at the local shopping mall. I didn't have the pleasure of participating in this festive occasion. In fact, I'm not a big fan of dressing up dogs or making them pose with fictional characters. But Cheryl and Sarah took Oreo and, after much pulling, pleading and holding, they were able to get him in place for the photo. It doesn't look like he was too pleased about the whole exercise although he reportedly was thrilled about his first visit inside the mall.

As for non-seasonal matters, Oreo is currently not on my favorite dogs list at the moment. Two nights ago, he barked at about 11 P.M., apparently to be let out to pee. I had almost fallen asleep but I got up and staggered down to the kitchen to let him out. I opened the back door, Oreo poked his head out the door and decided not to go out. There was a foot of snow outside and it was still snowing and blowing. I tried again to get him to go outside but again he refused. At that point, I gave up in disgust and went back to bed.

After a less than full night's sleep, I woke up at 5:30 and headed downstairs. As I walked across the living room carpet, I noticed a sizable wet spot in the middle when I managed to step on it. Yes, his highness, who didn't want to go out the night before, had decided to simply empty his bladder on the carpet which is his standard backup peeing spot.

I was tempted to wake up Cheryl and have her clean up after HER dog but I took pity on her and did the dreaded cleanup myself. A cleanup which consists of mopping up the pee on either side of the rug with rags and then soaking both sides with the magic anti-stain, anti-odor liquid. The corner of the carpet is then lifted up on a magazine rack to allow it to dry for a day or two. At which point, I shave, dress and leave for work before I'm tempted to write a "Dog for Sale" on-line classified ad.

Rude Pig

2007-11-11T19:21:00.000-08:00

Since Cheryl was taking Sarah to dance class this morning, I volunteered to take Oreo for his morning walk. Nothing extensive, mind you; just a 20-minute walk around the neighborhood.

Being the unimaginative guy I am, I usually take the same route, the halfway point of which is a dog-filled house at the corner of two nearby streets. Most times, the three dogs from that house are not in their yard. But today they were out and, once they spotted Oreo and me, they started barking like.....well, dogs.

This has happened to me before and I just continue walking as the dogs stand inside their fence barking madly. Oreo, of course, takes no notice of these ill-mannered curs and keeps walking, too, without so much as a peep.

For some strange reason, today I got the not-so-bright idea that maybe if I walked Oreo up to the fence that he could rub noses with the miscreants and they would settle down. But as soon as I started towards the fence with Oreo in tow, the dogs' owner came out into the yard and started calling out: "Ignorant! Ignorant!"

At first I thought she was talking to her misbehaving mutts. I explained that I had hoped that maybe the dogs would play. It was then that I again heard the woman's avian-like call: "Ignorant! Ignorant!"

At this point, I had passed her backyard and was now walking along her sideyard. She opened the gate a bit to her sideyard, at which point I said: "Excuse me. What did you say?" All I heard again was her one-word warble: "Ignorant! Ignorant!"

There was clearly no doubt that her limited vocabulary was directed at me. Rather than take the high road and continue on my walk with Oreo, I stopped and said "What a rude pig!" Not my finest hour to be sure but I felt I had to say something. Obviously not something witty and biting but something nonetheless.

Oreo and I continued on with our walk, leaving the delinquent dogs barking madly and their owner in full-throated song with her unique "Ignorant!" cry. Since her house is on my semi-regular dog-walking route, we may meet again. But if we do, I will be sure to steer clear of her yappy menagerie and just keep on walking. I may be ignorant but I'm not stupid.

Sad News

2007-10-24T04:18:00.000-07:00

I just received a comment on my last posting from Lisa informing me that Pete, the owner of the doggie resort where Oreo sometimes stayed, has died (http://nccpd.org/pdf/InMemoriam-1.pdf). I hardly knew Pete but on my few visits to the resort I was impressed by his love for animals and his quiet devotion to them. He will be missed.

Disobedient Doggie

2007-10-13T15:37:00.000-07:00

Cheryl has been telling me about Oreo's repeated disobedience when she takes him to the local dog run at Conroy Pit. Apparently he would frequently not come when called and would end up eating something disgusting or rolling around in same.

Today I got a taste of this behavior when I volunteered to take the miscreant mutt to the Pit so Cheryl could go to a Saturday event. When we got to the parking lot, things were fine. I had Oreo on his leash and we headed down the path to the woods. About a hundred yards in I let him off his leash. That's when he usually heads off down the path. But today he decided to turn around and head back to the parking lot.

It seems he likes the parking lot since it's a feast of different dog smells. Plus today there were a number of dogs just starting out from the lot so he wanted to play with them. Despite my repeated calls, the careless canine would not return. I had to walk back to the parking lot and put him on the leash.

Once we got about 200 yards from the lot, I could unleash him and he was fine. Throughout the walk, I periodically called him and gave him a small treat. That seemed to work. But just to be safe, when we got within sight of the parking lot, I put the leash on again. At that point, I ran into another owner who knew Oreo. I mentioned his misbehavior and he just said: "It's his age."

I didn't clue in at first but once I thought about it, it made sense. After all, Oreo is two and a half years old, which in human years makes him a teenager. The bad behavior is nothing more than adolescent rebellion by a rambunctious teen.

Now knowing what's behind Oreo's recent actions, I'll be less surprised by his behavior. However, I think we're going to have to draw the line at smoking, drinking and midnight dog parties.

Memo to Oreo

2007-08-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

The mini-documentary "Memo to Oreo" will be re-broadcast nationally on CBC Radio on Thursday September 6th at 8:43 P.M.

We Survived

2007-08-20T15:52:00.000-07:00

Well, Oreo and I survived our week together. So long as he got his daily morning walk at the local dog run, his evening neighborhood stroll and two square meals a day, he was perfectly happy. No major incidents to report apart from some morning frolicking by Oreo with other dogs at Conroy Pit.

One twist on the week came on Friday. I decided to visit Sarah and Cheryl and their companions at their rental cottage. That meant, of course, taking Oreo with me. A two and a half hour ride in a car promised to be eventful but Oreo was fine. He behaved fairly well at the cottage although I think everyone was happy that we were only staying one night. I think that was a reflection on Oreo but, in hindsight, perhaps it was because of me!

The ride back was also uneventful. We took an alternate route due to the summit at Montebello, Quebec with Bush, Harper and Calderon. I think we could have gotten through but we played it safe and travelled via Lachute and Hawkesbury instead.

Just the Boys

2007-08-12T16:30:00.000-07:00

This week will definitely be a test of my ongoing relationship with Oreo. Cheryl and Sarah are off to a cottage for the week and I will be in charge of the dog. That means a morning trip to the local dog run each day and a walk in the evening. Not to mention some occasional attention in between. I suspect that we'll get along fine so long as I do what Oreo wants and stick to his routine. Since Cheryl and Sarah will be away, he might get a bit antsy (as will I, no doubt) but between the two of us, we'll survive.

Who's the Boss?

2007-07-16T13:42:00.000-07:00

It's becoming increasingly apparent that, at least in the case of Oreo, the "dog-master" relationship has been turned upside down. After all, it is Oreo who calls the shots. He tells us when he wants to be fed, when he wants to be let out and when he wants to go for a walk. And if we ignore any of his requests, we are treated to pestering and whining that would put a toddler in her "terrible twos" to shame.

Part of Oreo's mastery of his domain involves the living room sofa. No matter how many times I tell him to get down, he persists in this annoying habit. I'm not even sure why I bother any more. When I happen to catch him in the middle of the night, he langorously stretches and takes his time getting off the sofa as if to say "Dave, you and I know that once you go back to bed I'm just going to hop right back up there."

Cheryl deceives herself into thinking that she is training Oreo to use one of the armchairs in the living room instead of the sofa. Sure enough, now he uses BOTH the armchair and the sofa. Cheryl thinks he's getting the message that the armchair is his but the sofa is off limits. But she's not the one who's up in the middle of the night to see the folly of her plan.

Oh well, at least he's not sleeping on the beds. But that's only because we close all the bedroom doors at night. If we didn't, you can be sure that Oreo would be comfortably curled up on top of the bed of his choice. After all, he's the master.

Oreo's Under the Weather

2007-06-23T13:39:00.000-07:00

WARNING: The following entry has dog-related language that some readers may find offensive. Reader discretion is advised.

Yeah, right. Is there even anything called "reader discretion"? Presumably yes since we're always being warned about the advisability of something called "viewer discretion" on our
TV screens.

Anyway, Oreo's a bit sick. Actually, he's pretty much back to normal but this morning he definitely seemed under the weather. As usual, I was up first. I was hoping to sleep in after Oreo had barked at 3:30 in the morning and I was the lucky (stupid?) one to get up, let him out and wait FIFTEEN MINUTES for him to return.

When I got up again at seven, I was greeted with a small pile of dog puke on the living room carpet. Rather than wake up Oreo's two owners (believe me, I was sorely tempted), I fashioned a makeshift shovel from two pieces of cardboard and deposited the bulk of the mess and the cardboard pooper scooper in our city-provided composter.

I then proceeded to sponge mop the offended patch of carpet with warm, soapy water. I blotted the spot with a clean rag and turned the corner of the rug to let it dry better.

Since I had to take my car in for servicing that morning and since a technician was scheduled to show up that morning to check out our phone line, I figured that I better take Oreo for a walk since Cheryl wouldn't get a chance. So I did although I was again questioning who was the owner of this high maintenance dog.

The walk was our usual twenty minute stroll through the neigborhood complete with Oreo's mid-walk stop for a poop. For months I have been lucky and Oreo has done his business in the backyard before we leave. But ever since the back fence was down, he seems to have gotten in the habit of waiting until he's on his walk to defecate. Lucky me.

Except this time he didn't produce his usual pile of poop (notice the crappy alliteration). Instead, he assumed the usual position and voided a small amount of diarrhea. As a conscientious dog owner (or, more accurately, a conscientious dog walker), I always pick up after the pooch. I even had the mandatory plastic bag at the ready. But it didn't take me long to decide that scooping a small amount of diarrhea was not going to be easy or productive. So, for once, I did not stoop and poop. But really, can you blame me?

I'm happy to report that Oreo and I are almost back to normal.

Back to Normal

2007-06-14T18:04:00.000-07:00

Well, the new fence is up along the back property line and that means Oreo can have free run of the backyard again. What a relief. In the interim, we had to put him on a leash when we let him outside. Except that he didn't want to go out. And even when we could finally convince him to go outside, more often than not he'd get his leash caught up on a chair or some other obstacle and whine to be let back in. I'm glad that experiment has come to an end.

A different experiment also came to an end today. When I got home, I discovered a very clean dog - one who had apparently been given two baths. That's fine; I have no complaint with that. But after bathing him, Cheryl tied a red ribbon around his neck complete with a frou-frou bow. Although Oreo's not really my dog, I felt that I had to stand up for what little masculine pride he had left. Cheryl finally relented and removed the ribbon. Now Oreo's not only clean but no longer an object of ridicule.

Please Fence Me In

2007-05-24T06:25:00.000-07:00

Now here's a complication I didn't figure on when it came to dog ownership: a disappearing fence.

Our house backs on to the playing field of a neighboring high school. That playing field has been separated from us for years by a chain link fence that encloses the entire field. But not now.

Last Friday, I came home, looked out the back bedroom window and noticed the absence of the chain link in the chain link fence in my neighbor's yard. It turns out that portions of the fence are in bad shape and the school board decided to replace the entire thing.

The trouble is, they neglected to tell us. Luckily, the workers had stopped for the day at my neighbor's yard. Otherwise, if Oreo had been patrolling the back yard and the fence had come down, he might still be on his way to Montreal.

Yesterday we finally received a letter in the mail detailing the fence work. Apparently we'll have a new fence in about two weeks. But in the meantime, we have to let Oreo out on a long leash attached to a handle screwed into the ground.

Seems easy enough. But Oreo is unclear on the concept. When I try to let him out to tie him up to the leash, he resists. I'm not sure if he thinks I want to take him for a walk or he just doesn't like being tied up outdoors. Eventually we do manage to get him out but two weeks of this is not going to be fun.

The Disobedient Dog

2007-05-14T05:27:00.000-07:00

Yesterday provided lots of evidence that Oreo is not an obedient dog. Things started off well with an early walk at the local dog run. Oreo was off leash for half an hour and came when called at the end of the walk. When we got home, however, his cooperative demeanor changed.

Usually when I let Oreo out of the car, I hold his leash just in case he might think about bolting. But I figured by now he was so used to getting out of the car in the carport and immediately heading in the front door of our house that I didn't need to grab his leash. Big mistake.

As soon as Oreo got out of the car, he spotted a rabbit on our front lawn and was off. He raced across the street and into a neighbor's backyard in a futile attempt to catch the bunny. And I quickly followed behind yelling "Oreo, come back!" and frantically shaking his treat bag.

Of course, all my efforts were in vain. Once Oreo finally gave up on the rabbit chase, he bolted across the street and started exploring another neighbor's backyard. He completely ignored my commands and then headed for another backyard.

When he decided that he'd had enough fun, he headed for our carport and waited for me to let him in the house. I think he was looking for a treat given that I had been waving his treat bag for the last ten minutes. Needless to say, he did not get one.

Later that day, Oreo gave Cheryl a hard time. She took him for a walk at a local wooded area where he decided to take off on his own in the woods. Cheryl kept calling but he wouldn't come back. Eventually, of course, he returned when he decided it was time. Except he was covered in white flaky stuff of unknown origin that necessitated an unscheduled afternoon bath.

Last night, we experienced the third leg of Oreo's Sunday trifecta. Cheryl got up about midnight and closed the door to the spare room. A few minutes later, I got up and I thought I heard something in the spare room. So I opened the door and there was Oreo. Apparently he had decided to spend the night on the spare room bed. I politely directed him to his own bed on the kitchen floor and said good night to our disobedient dog.

One Exhausted Oreo

2007-05-09T16:53:00.000-07:00

I've been subbing for Cheryl the last couple of days. Ordinarily, that would mean that Oreo would get short shrift with shorter walks and less attention. Well, he probably still got less attention with me but I think he did get a lot more activity.

This morning I took him for a long walk at Conroy Pit, the local dog run. Between running off to explore and playing with various other dogs, he managed to get a good workout. And then I took him to his pal Mickey's for more fun - a four hour playdate with his best canine pal.

On top of all that, Oreo even got a short walk tonight after supper. But since then, he's been Mr. Comatose, lying at the top of the stairs resting from the day's activities.

Dogs are much like kids. If you don't give them a workout, you'll be stuck with a hyperactive two year old who'll drive you nuts. But run them ragged and they'll flake out before you know it.

Good night, Oreo. Pleasant dreams.

Oreo's Audio File

2007-05-06T16:56:00.000-07:00

The CBC Outfront web page has now posted the audio file for last week's dogumentary "Memo to Oreo." Check it out at http://www.cbc.ca/outfront/listen/2007/07-05-02.htm

Memo to Oreo Redux

2007-05-02T07:17:00.000-07:00

Well, tonight's the night for my "Memo to Oreo" mini-documentary. It's slated for airing tonight on the full CBC Radio One network (91.5 FM locally here in Ottawa) at 8:43 P.M. So if it's the second intermission of the Senators hockey game and you've wandered into the kitchen for a beer, turn on the radio and give a listen. Check out www.cbc.ca/outlook for particulars.

Oreo, The Radio Star

2007-04-26T11:47:00.000-07:00

Recently I pitched an idea for a CBC Radio documentary (dogumentary?) centering around life with Oreo. Well, they went for it and the final product is to be aired nationally on CBC Radio One next Wednesday night at 8:43 P.M. The local Ottawa station is 91.5 FM. So for those few of you who won't be watching the Senators playoff game against the New Jersey Devils that night, tune in to hear Oreo speak his mind.

The Dangers of Multi-tasking

2007-04-18T08:07:00.000-07:00

Even at 57, I figured I was still fairly coordinated. You know, as in having the ability to walk and chew gum at the same time. Well, that may still be true but anything requiring even a tad more coordination may be out.

Last night, I volunteered to take Oreo for his post-prandial consitutional. Since the weather was still a bit chilly, I put on my gloves. I was even able to perform this routine feat while holding Oreo by his leash.

The walk was uneventful, until we neared the end. As we approached our house, a neighbor headed out to walk her dog. Oreo strained at his leash in an attempt to join the other dog. I kept pulling him back since we were almost home and I wasn't in the mood for an extended sniff and greet session with another dog.

It was at that point that I foolishly decided to remove my gloves. After all, I was able to put them on while holding Oreo's leash. Surely taking them off would be no more difficult.

Probably not except that I now had a dog at the end of the leash pulling with all his might. But I proceeded anyway. The left glove came off with no problem. But when I tried to remove the right glove with Oreo pulling, the leash fell off and I tripped and fell on the pavement.

As I stumbled onto my hands and knees, my immediate fear was that Oreo would run away. Luckily, I think he was in shock from me falling towards him and he lay down in his position of submission. I yelled at him to stay (which seldom works) and lunged for the leash. Eventually I grabbed it, got up, dusted myself off, checked for blood and headed home.

With spring finally here, my one satisfaction is that I won't have to wear gloves for many months. Hopefully, by the time I have to again, I will remember to stick to one task at a time.

How To Tell A Dog Owner

2007-04-02T06:44:00.001-07:00

It wasn’t my idea. In fact, I was against getting a dog. But after my wife Cheryl and my daughter Sarah wore me down, I finally caved in and agreed to the acquisition of a black and white puppy named Oreo.

In the year and a half that Oreo the Portuguese Water Dog has been with us, I have to admit that I’ve learned a lot. Like how to puppy-proof a house, how to scoop poop with a plastic bag and how to write regular cheques to the vet.

But the most interesting thing I’ve learned since Oreo’s arrival is how to spot a dog owner. Having observed various members of this interesting breed, I believe I have come to know their unique markings and characteristics.

When you walk into someone else’s house, you can tell almost immediately whether or not they own a dog. Check for chew marks on the moulding, baby gates but no kids and floors littered with bones, chew toys and worn out tennis balls. And if none of those things clues you in, the animal barking and jumping up on you is usually a dead giveaway that you’re in the home of a dog owner.

There are, of course, plenty of other signs that someone owns a dog. A hair-covered blanket in the back seat of a car usually spells dog ownership, especially if there’s a slightly wet, gamy smell in the air. Since the owner probably lets the dog sleep in his bed, he’s oblivious to the hair and odor and dismisses your complaints as "fussy" or "finicky."

Other sure signs of dog ownership have to do with the owner’s apparel. The man with the permanently mud-stained pants from the knee down is, in all likelihood, a dog owner. Likewise, the woman whose pantyhose is always torn. Although these folks invariably claim that their dog "never jumps up on people", their wardrobes say otherwise.

Another telltale sign there’s a dog in someone’s life is the sore right shoulder (or sore left shoulder for southpaws). Although a properly trained dog is supposed to heel, I’ve rarely seen one do so. Most dogs yank on their leash repeatedly thereby sending their owners for ongoing physiotherapy treatment.

My favorite way to tell if someone is a dog owner? He’s the one holding a plastic bag up to the light to check for holes before heading out for a walk. Anyone who has performed pooper scooping duties with a defective bag will instantly know why.

Dog owners are in many ways similar to new parents, only worse. Once Sarah had turned three, I figured that I had heard the last of baby talk in our house. But since Oreo’s arrival, Cheryl has apparently regressed.

All those silly nonsense words and terms of endearment have returned and are now directed to our dog. And even though Oreo is no longer a puppy, the baby talk continues and will likely continue even into his dotage.

But it’s not just the syrupy sweet talk. Dog owners are like new parents in other ways, too. They’re always buying their animals new toys and treats. And the dog tends to get the full-Kodak treatment with even more photos than the kids.

Given half a chance, dog owners will talk non-stop about their darling Fido or super intelligent Rover. If you thought new parents were insufferable with their baby bragging, just ask a dog owner about his mutt’s best characteristic or latest accomplishments and get ready to have your ear talked off.

The dog owner is also the one with the huge blind spot and memory gap regarding her pet’s behavior. While Skippy bites, barks and humps your leg, his owner will express genuine surprise and declare that Skippy has never done such a thing before. And two weeks later, when Skippy does the exact same thing, she’ll be just as genuinely surprised.

But the best way to identify a dog owner is by the silly smile on his face. Despite all the trials and tribulations of dog ownership, these folks can’t seem to get enough of their canine friends. As far as I can tell, it’s a true case of irrational puppy love.

The Girls Are Back

2007-04-01T17:45:00.000-07:00

Well Oreo and I survived our weekend together. And there were no incidents, injuries or casualties. Each morning, I got up early and took Oreo for a walk at the local dog run. This had the double advantage of avoiding great numbers of dogs (which tend to distract Oreo and lengthen the walk) and avoiding the spring mud (which is still frozen in the morning before the temperature gets above zero).

At first, Oreo seemed a bit lost and would occasionally look out the front window probably expecting Cheryl to appear in the driveway at any moment. But before too long, he settled in with his new master and seemed quite content. He got his two walks a day, two and a half meals and even the odd ear scratch.

But when Cheryl and Sarah returned on Sunday afternoon, it was abundantly clear who Oreo prefers. He was shaking and wagging his tail like a blender on frappé. Oh well, no one said it would be easy being a reluctant dog owner.

Just the Boys

2007-03-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

Now here's a novel concept: just Oreo and me spending the weekend together. It wasn't my plan but that's just the way things are going to work out.

Cheryl is driving Sarah to Brampton for a dance competition this weekend. That means a weekend by myself at home. It also means someone has to take care of the dog.

That someone would be me. The question then becomes how happy will Oreo be to see Cheryl and Sarah on their return. That all depends on the nature of the care he receives from yours truly.

A dog used to getting two walks a day with one usually being an extended, off-leash frolic at the local dog run may have to adjust to two brief walks in the immediate neighborhood. Unless I'm prepared to transport Oreo to the dog run in my car and hope that he doesn't get so muddy that my back seat upholstery ends up looking like a mud bath.

If Oreo's lucky, the coming days of sunny, dry weather will make a trip to the dog run more probable and his daily routine will not be unduly disrupted. Heaven forbid that the family dog should have to make some adjustments.

Stay tuned to see if Oreo and I are still on speaking/barking terms by Sunday night.

Oreo's Birthday

2007-03-25T17:55:00.000-07:00

Friday was my birthday but the celebration was deferred until yesterday since Sarah was at a friend's for a sleepover. And guess whose birthday was yesterday? That's right; Oreo the wonder dog turned two.

All that meant was that Oreo and I shared the festivities. Luckily, I came out on top with some great presents. But it looks like Oreo was just as happy with his one gift - a chew toy from the dollar store that he made short work of in a manner of minutes.

I'm glad to see that my standing in the family hiearchy is more secure than I thought. At least for a day I came in a strong third ahead of Oreo. But I think the look he gave me Saturday night means I better watch my back.

And here's another photo from last week's NYC trip, a shot of Sarah with two St. Patrick's Day revellers.

Oreo's Back

2007-03-20T17:28:00.000-07:00

Oreo had another stay at his rural doggie resort. This time, it was a six-day visit while his owners (i.e. - us) went on a four-day bus tour to New York City. Here's Sarah at Times Square on a cold mid-March day.

When we dropped off Oreo last Wednesday evening, he was excited to be at the resort. But when we left, he was mournfully standing in the farmhouse window looking none too happy. Nevertheless, he had a good time playing with the other dogs and lounging about on the bed and sofas while we braved the cold in the Big Apple to watch the St. Patrick's Day Parade.

Cheryl picked him up yesterday morning and he was eager to get home. Yesterday he spent most of the time sleeping since he was exhausted from his vacation. We, too, were tired from our trip with its Big Apple sensory overload. Today, we're all pretty much back to normal, including Oreo.

It's The Pit - Conroy Pit

2007-03-04T17:13:00.000-08:00

After spending half of today trying to figure out how to buy and download songs on-line for Sarah's MP3 player using gift cards she got for Christmas, it's time for a change of pace. Much as I thought I didn't enjoy yesterday morning's expedition, it was actually more fun than today's frustrating venture into the world of computer technology.

Yesterday was one of those rare occasions when I accompanied Cheryl and Oreo to Conroy Pit, the local dog run that consists of miles of wooded paths where dog owners can let their pets run free off leash. In fact, it was a full-family outing as Sarah came along, too.

It started off as a nice walk on a mild, sunny late winter day. But within minutes, it started snowing and we soon found ourselves slogging through a mini-blizzard. Luckily, it only lasted about fifteen minutes. But then we spent the rest of the time slogging through soft snow that made the walk more drudgery than fun (at least for me).

Despite all that, there were some interesting moments. It was fun to watch Oreo meet up with various dogs and play and roughhouse with them. It was also fun to see the wide variety of dogs (everything from a Shitzu to a St. Bernard) and owners (of all sizes and descriptions) and to hear their (the owners') tales of dog ownership.

One couple made me realize how lucky I am to have Oreo as our pet. Their dog
Riley is a lovely animal but it had one odd and ultimately expensive habit: it ate socks whole. That necessitated three separate operations to remove a sock from the dog's intestines for a grand total of $7,000 in vet bills. Luckily, the couple had pet insurance so that most of the cost was covered. The husband noted that after the first operation, the insurance company sent a cheque and a note enquiring after Riley's health. After the second operation, they just got a cheque and for the third operation, they got a cheque and a letter saying that this would be the last time they'd be footing the bill for a sock removal (pun intended). Thankfully, Riley has outgrown his obsession and the days of sock ingestion appear to be over.

The walk lasted an hour which is typical for Cheryl and Oreo who both enjoy these outings on a regular basis. For Sarah and me, an hour was about fifty minutes too long. Luckily, we took a separate car and made our own pit stop on the way home - Tim Horton's - where we recovered from our outing over a hot chocolate, a decaf and a box of Timbits. Now that's an outing worth repeating.

Spring is in the Air

2007-02-27T17:00:00.000-08:00

Spring is in the air and on the floor, as in dog prints across the living room and kitchen floors. Now that the weather is mild and some snow is melting, Oreo manages to cover his paws with mud and do some paw-painting on the floors. Yesterday I came downstairs to see a couple of dozen paw prints scattered about. There were too many for a cloth so I got the mop from the basement and did a quick wash of the offending area.

Usually I take the time to wipe Oreo's paws when I let him in from the backyard. But I have to admit that lately I've grown tired of this exercise. Instead, I now tend to let him walk around with wet feet and then clean up after him by moving a rag around with my foot.

I think Oreo has changed our cleaning standards. What's a bit of dirt on the rug anyway? Eventually it will all be a uniform grey, right?

Here's hoping summer is here soon and we can forget about cleaning the dog - at least most of the time. But to get to summer, we have to get through spring, the season of mud-filled dogs and dirty kitchens. Has anyone ever trained a dog to wipe his feet on the doormat? I didn't think so.

Oreo's On A Diet

2007-02-22T03:54:00.000-08:00

Last weekend Oreo injured himself. We weren't quite sure what happened but he was favoring his back right leg, hobbling around and whimpering. Cheryl thought that he might have bruised his leg or pulled a muscle when he was playing with his pals at the dog run. Apparently one big dog ran at Oreo and just about knocked him over. In any event, our biggest fear was that this was the first sign of hip dysplasia, a condition that is not uncommon for Portuguese Water Dogs.

By Monday, Oreo seemed to be fine. He was running, walking and jumping without limping and there was no more whimpering. But since he was due for one of his many shots, Cheryl took him to the vet. Everything checked out fine, except his weight. Oreo now weighs well over 40 pounds and is a bit of a chunky boy.

The recommendation is to cut out his half meal at lunch time and to cut back a bit on his morning and evening meals. I'm not sure Oreo is thrilled about this but so far he's not complaining too much. Then again, he doesn't have a whole lot of choice. When I think of how great it would be to live a dog's life, this is one aspect I'm not so thrilled about. Imagine if your diet was restricted and limited by someone else and you couldn't just have that extra donut or piece of pie unless that member of another species let you. Maybe being a dog isn't that great after all.

It's Cold Out There

2007-02-13T17:31:00.000-08:00

Here's another shot of Oreo against a nice, clean kitchen floor. Not that it's always clean these days given the accumulation of slush, mud and snow outside. Every time Oreo goes out for a walk or even a spell in the backyard, he inevitably ends up with dirty paws which leave their marks throughout the house.

For some time now, both the front and back doors have featured some old cloths which are to be used to wipe Oreo's paws. This is a chore that is honored more in the breach, as they say. It's usually easy to tell when the pup has had his walk from the paw prints that mark his path from one room to another.

The other day, I drove Sarah to school and saw something that was both laughable and reasonable. A woman was walking her dog who was wearing four booties. Two years ago, I would have laughed and called this a silly affectation. Now I'm beginning to think it's not a bad idea. Maybe I'll consider an upcoming birthday present for Oreo namely, two pairs of doggie boots. Then again, recalling the trouble I used to have with Sarah's boots when she was a toddler, I expect that trouble would be doubled with our four-legged friend. Perhaps I'd have better luck teaching Oreo how to wipe his paws on the doormat. Yeah, right.

The Pampered Pooch

2007-02-07T13:01:00.000-08:00

Alas, Oreo is not about to change his ways. I got up in the middle of the night last night to again find him sleeping comfortably on top of the bed in the guest room. When I entered the room to rouse him, he slowly got down off the bed and took the time to stretch out his back legs as if to say "Dave, you and I both know that once you go back to sleep, I'll be up here in a flash. Do we really have to go through this charade?"

I know it's a losing battle but I feel that I am the only one keeping our household from descending into a canine apocalypse. If I left the matter to Sarah and Cheryl, Oreo would be sleeping wherever he pleased and our house would become a little slice of doggie heaven. Someone has to hang tough and keep at least some semblance of order. Otherwise, as foretold by a modern day doggie domino theory, surely we are doomed.

I suspect, however, that Oreo knows that all he need do is wait me out. In this "man versus beast" war of attrition, he has the upper hand or, in his case, the upper paw. It's a dog's world after all.

A Recent Oreo Pic

2007-02-01T14:51:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've posted to this blog. Not a whole lot to report so I thought I'd add a recent photo of the pup to show what an almost two-year old Portuguese Water Dog looks like. This photo doesn't quite do him justice since when he's out on his daily walks, he carries himself regally and does look a bit majestic.

No progress on the training front. In fact, if anything, Oreo has regressed a bit. When I woke up in the middle of the night last night, I happened to glance in the spare room. In the darkness, I made out a black lump on the bed.

Sure enough, it was Oreo. At least he had the good sense to climb down off the bed and make his way downstairs. However, I fully expect to catch him up there again. The battle of wits continues with me placing a distant second.

Oreo the Extrovert

2007-01-19T12:41:00.000-08:00

I've definitely noticed that Oreo is an extrovert. He likes having people around and is not shy about letting us know. On the weekends, we'll eat dinner in front of the TV and so we bar Oreo from the rec room until we've finished eating. He spends the time spread out in front of the baby gate that bars his entrance looking depressed and occasionally making little sad sounds signalling his displeasure.

Even when it comes to Cheryl's bathtime, Oreo prefers not to be alone. Once Cheryl's in the tub, Oreo bumps open the bathroom door with his nose and proceeds to the tub where he helps himself to a drink. He then lies down by the tub to await Cheryl's eventual exit from her bath.

Given half a chance, Oreo would spend the night in our room or Sarah's room, preferably on top of the bed. And given half a chance, Cheryl and Sarah would let him. That's where I draw the line. Oreo has the rest of the house to choose from but, so far, no bedroom snoozing for him. Even extroverts have to be given limits.

Cut and Run

2007-01-14T06:47:00.000-08:00

How do you cut a dog's nails and trim his hair when he absolutely, positively refuses to cooperate? Cheryl tried a few times in the past to trim Oreo's nails but he was adamant about not letting her do it. She even suggested that I hold him down while she cut but, having envisioned an ongoing wrestling match with an ever-growing dog, I respectfully declined.

The issue came up again yesterday since Oreo's nails and hair were looking a bit ratty. When Cheryl mentioned the pup's untrimmed state, I thought back to a time when Cheryl had smeared some cream cheese on the fridge to distract Oreo and carry out some long-forgotten chore.

"Why don't you smear some peanut butter on the fridge," I helpfully suggested. "And see if that works?"

So Cheryl dabbed a bunch of peanut butter (organic, of course) about two feet up on the fridge door and summoned Oreo to the kitchen. He immediately attacked the peanut butter-laden door and Cheryl was able to trim his nails and his hair without complaint. Actually, there was a minor disturbance when the peanut butter ran out. But another smear on the door provided plenty of time to complete the tasks at hand (or, in this case, the tasks at paw).

You have to wonder what Oreo would put up with if we spread some live paté on the fridge door. I'm guessing he'd be so distracted, we could give him a full haircut or maybe even minor surgery.

Feline Follies

2007-01-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

This is one of those rare times when a posting from my political satire blog ends up on Oreo's blog, too.

"He [John Baird] is also a lover of felines. The Harpers are great cat lovers, too."
- The Globe and Mail - Jan. 5, 2007

Ruff-ruff. Woof, woof, woof.

Hi, I’m Oreo. I’m a Portuguese Water Dog and my so-called master has agreed to translate my remarks for this piece.

I’ve never written an op-ed essay before. Heck, I’ve never even written a letter to the editor. But this latest cabinet shuffle by the Tories has really got me steamed.

The other day I was lying in front of the TV licking myself when I heard that John Baird has been appointed Minister of Environment. Nothing wrong with that, of course.

But what got my tail tied in a knot was the report that Mr. Baird likes cats. And apparently his boss Mr. Harper and Mr. Harper’s wife Laureen are big cat lovers, too.

Now I’m the first one to say that this is a free country and that everyone has the right to their own opinion including, of course, the right to be wrong. But, honestly, do we really want a bunch of mealy-mouthed cat lovers running the government?

When was the last time a cat ever did anything useful? As far as I can tell, never.

These furball-filled felines do nothing but lie around all day eating their owners out of house and home. They barely even acknowledge anyone else’s presence, much less cater to their needs.

Ask yourself when’s the last time you saw a cat taking its owner for a nice walk? Or playing fetch with a ball or stick? Or rescuing some poor misbegotten child from the bottom of an abandoned well?

The world is divided into two types of people: those who like dogs and those who like cats. And when it comes to the latter, as far as I can see, they’re no better than cats themselves.

As for the few cats I know, all they want to do is cut and slash. And cat lovers appear to be the same. Whether it’s programs or taxes, it’s all cut, cut, cut.

Not like that nice Stéphane Dion. The guy owns a dog, a Siberian Husky named Kyoto. Now what could be friendlier than that?

My owner tells me there’s likely going to be an election soon. I don’t know much about elections but I do know a thing or two about cats and dogs. And if my experience is anything to go by, I’d steer clear of the cat lovers.

Most dogs I know will run and play and even let me sniff their butts. But when it comes to cats, it’s just me, me, me and an open paw to the face. And I’ve got the scars to prove it.

So take a tip from a dog who’s been around the block. Before casting your vote for anyone, check out their pet preference. Otherwise, the next thing you know you’ll be governed by a bunch of yarn chasers and bird eaters. Just a word to the wise.

Oreo Ends Christmas

2007-01-08T17:20:00.000-08:00

The twelve days of Christmas officially ended on Saturday. Thanks to the mild weather, I was able to disconnect the outdoor Christmas lights and bring in the extension cord. And yesterday Cheryl and Sarah dismantled our new artifical tree and put away the lights and decorations. A far as I was concerned, that marked the official end of our Christmas.

But I forgot that there is a new member of our family, the one and only Oreo. And it turns out that he, not us, determines the official end of the Christmas season in our house.

A couple of weeks before Christmas, I helped Sarah and our neighbor's little girl Danielle construct a gingerbread house from one of those packaged kits. Even though I managed to crack one of the walls in half, I was able to salvage the structure with the strong-as-mortar icing.

The completed gingerbread house spent the next two weeks as the centerpiece of the dining room table. When Christmas arrived, we moved it to a safer location atop the stereo which sits on the table near the front door in the living room. And there it stayed - until this morning.

Cheryl was out this morning and returned to find Oreo in the kitchen munching away on what she assumed was a bone. 'How cute' she thought as she approached her ever-adorable pup. On closer inspection, however, she discovered that Oreo had one of the walls of the gingerbread house in his mouth. His whiskers were coated in icing and the rest of the edible edifice was nearby on the floor.

It's hard to know how or why Oreo got his paws on the gingerbread house. He would have had to get up on the table and drag the house down from on top of the stereo. Given that it's been around for about a month, the 'why' of its destruction is also a bit mysterious. Cheryl suspects that because today was the first day that we were all back to our usual routines, Oreo was not pleased and decided to show his displeasure by helping himself to the nearest gingerbread display he could find.

My theory is that Oreo has decided that Christmas isn't over until he says it's over. And with the demise of the gingerbread house, it's now official - the holiday season is done.

The Doggie Resort

2007-01-08T05:44:00.000-08:00

For those interested in checking out Oreo's doggie resort, it's the Ottawa Valley Dog and Cat Resort and the web site can be found at www.jowlflapper.com. Please note, however, that the resort policy has recently changed and the resort is closed on Wednesdays.

Oreo's vet mentioned that she uses a similar place to board her dog. I don't have the particulars for that resort although I believe it, too, is east of Ottawa.

If you're lucky enough to find a good doggie resort, I'm sure your dog will thank you. When we drop Oreo off at his resort, he can't wait to get in so he can play with the other dogs. We haven't yet had to use a standard kennel but I'm guessing they're not nearly as much fun for dogs.

Playing With Oreo

2007-01-03T16:57:00.000-08:00

You'd think playing with your dog would be an easy, risk-free experience. But when it comes to dogs, nothing is easy or, for that matter, risk-free. Earlier this week, Sarah was playing with Oreo and he licked her face. Just an innocent doggie lick on the cheek. But that little lick turned into a rash which lasted for the rest of the day. Apparently Sarah is allergic to Oreo's saliva. I think she'll be less inclined now to let him slobber all over her.

I discovered a similar reaction tonight when I was playing with the fierce overgrown pup. We were wrestling, boxing and otherwise fighting. Since Oreo had a tennis ball in his mouth the whole time, there was minimal risk of an inadvertent bite. But he did manage to jump on my arm from time to time and lightly scratched it. I didn't think much of it at the time but about ten minutes after our battle, I noticed the scratched area on my arm had gotten quite red and sore. Within the hour it had subsided but I suspect that there was again some kind of allergic reaction at play.

Given this recent history, maybe we'll have to take a new approach to playtime with Oreo. I don't think we'll need head to toe armor but maybe a long sleeved shirt and a pair of gloves are in order.

That Blinkin' Dog

2006-12-19T16:05:00.000-08:00

As we rapidly approach the winter solstice, our days are getting shorter and shorter. And when it comes to walking the dog, that usually means it's done in the dark. Early morning walks are done before sunrise and after work walks are carried out after the sun sets. That means safety becomes an issue.

I only walk Oreo occasionally (as per section 1(a).2 of my Reluctant Dog Owner's Agreement) but even I've noticed that you have to be careful of cars when walking the dog when it's dark outside. Apart from drivers not bothering with stop signs, stoplights and the like, it's difficult for them to see pedestrians and dogs.

Cheryl has come up with a solution that she saw at the local dog run. It's a flashing red light that affixes to Oreo's collar and warns one and all that a three-foot high something is coming in their direction. As Cheryl says, she now can truthfully say that she has to take "that blinkin' dog" for a walk.

On the doggie playdate front, it sounds like Oreo may have had a frustrating playdate today. Cheryl dropped him off in the backyard of his good pal Mickey without checking to see if Mickey's owner Sandra had let him out. It may be that Sandra forgot and thus Oreo and Mickey may have spent a couple of hours barking at one another through the closed back door. Here's hoping no neighbors were home this morning!

Oreospeak

2006-12-13T17:52:00.000-08:00

It suddenly dawned on me today why Oreo doesn't always do as we want. I suspect it's a simple linguistic misunderstanding. As in, we speak English and Oreo speaks Portguese Water Dog.

So I probably shouldn't get that upset when Oreo puts his front paws on the bed or the sofa and wants to get up. I'm shouting "Down, Oreo. Get down!" I'm not entirely sure but I have a feeling that those words loosely translate into Portuguese Water Dog as "Come on up, Oreo. Come on up!"

Likewise when I take Oreo for the occasional walk and order him to "Heel! Walk next to me Oreo!", I suspect that what he hears in PWD is "Take off! Run fast and pull hard on the leash!"

I'm unaware of an English-PWD - PWD-English dictionary but surely one exists. And once I find a copy, I think Oreo and I are going to get along a whole lot better.

Oreo Moves to the Kitchen

2006-12-07T20:10:00.000-08:00

It's been a week since I've posted. I just read a piece on Cam Stracher's blog "Dinner with Dad" about their new puppy which reminded me that it was time to update the ongoing saga of life with Oreo.

The major change in Oreo's life was precipitated by the purchase of our first (and with any luck our last) artificial Christmas tree. The debate had been ongoing for years as to whether we should go natural or artificial. You know the arguments - both have their pluses and minuses. Well, we finally took the plunge and the pseudo-tree now stands proudly trimmed and lit in the living room in front of the window.

Unfortunately for Oreo, the tree has taken over the spot where his doggie bed usually goes. So for the holiday season, Sarah and Cheryl have moved his bed underneath the kitchen table. It didn't take him long to get used to the new location and he now flakes out around 9 P.M. even when the kitchen lights are still on.

If I'm passing through the kitchen, I try to remember to turn the lights off to help poor Oreo get to sleep. Tonight, however, was not the most restful evening for the pup since I was slaving away at the kitchen sink trying to replace the CO2 cartridge in the single lever, washerless faucet. This is a chore that has to be carried out every five or six years when the old cartridge nears empty and the faucet becomes more and more difficult to lift. Since we were fast approaching the stage where it takes two hands to lift the lever, I knew the cartridge had to be replaced soon.

Rather than wait until Saturday to do this chore, I succumbed to a wave of obsessiveness and tackled the job tonight. It's not really that difficult a task. And given that I've done it a couple of times before, it should have been fairly straightforward. But since I am lacking the handyman gene and because I can't remember how I did it five years ago, it's always an adventure.

This time was no exception. Although I thought I had done the job properly, when I turned the water back on, somehow I had reversed the hot and cold positions for the single lever faucet. Eventually I managed to reverse them back but I didn't get the lever functioning properly. Since the faucet basically worked OK, I left it as is - but not for long. A half hour later, I attacked the tap again and through a combination of luck, skill and magic, I got the faucet working as it did before.

All this to say that Oreo was not having the most restful sleep under the kitchen table while his master was grunting, groaning and swearing at the sink not six feet away. He would rouse himself occasionally and stare up at me with that look that said: "What the heck are you doing?" Which, given my limited success with the faucet repair, was a fair question.

But now all is well in the Martin household. The faucet has been repaired and Oreo is sleeping peacefully in a darkened kitchen while I type out this latest tale of handyman heroics. But even though Oreo's bed has moved, his preferences have not changed. Which means that sometime before morning, I'm likely to find him comfortably asleep atop the living room sofa.

Memo to Oreo

2006-11-29T12:26:00.000-08:00

Here's a piece I wrote last year in hopes of getting it published. Instead it will now be foisted on the poor unsuspecting readers of this blog:

MEMO

TO: Oreo
FROM: Dave (Nominal Head of Household)
CC: Cheryl (Spouse); Sarah (Daughter)

A belated welcome to the Martin-Brooks household. I know there was some initial reluctance on the part of some to your joining the family. But I am happy to say that, for the most part, we have ironed out our differences.

The fact that you are a Portuguese Water Dog is apparently a big plus in your favor. Since both Cheryl and Sarah are allergic to dogs, it was mandatory that any new member of the house be a non-shedder. As far as I know, despite my advancing years and increasingly hairy back, I, too, still qualify on that count.

As you may be aware, the family vote on your proposed membership was not unanimous. However, your candidacy did garner a clear two-thirds majority. Given the secret ballot nature of our quasi-democracy, I am not at liberty to divulge the specific breakdown of the vote. Suffice it to say, we are now all on board to varying degrees.

Initially, I would like to stress to you that your acquisition was not a frivolous decision on our part. I’m not sure if you are aware that Cheryl purchased you at two months old for the not insignificant sum of $1700. We are not asking you to contribute to that amount in any way. But I thought you should know that we are financially committed to your well being. Just to reassure you, please note that we paid nothing for Sarah and yet she is still with us ten years later.

You may have noticed other expenditures for your benefit. The high-end crate and the stainless steel dog food bowls are not inexpensive items. And, by the way, in case you’re wondering, the three baby gates blocking off the kitchen doorways did not come with the house.

I hope you are enjoying the $800 Afghan carpet on the stairs. Apparently that was purchased to help you avoid developing hip dysplasia. I only wish that it had been there ten years earlier to help with my arthritic hips. But, never mind; better late than never.

The $300 gate in the backyard was also a recent acquisition for your benefit. As were the various bricks and boards used to block off any exits under the fence. I get the sense that you are not fully appreciative of these improvements. Rest assured; they are necessary. Much as you think you can take on the neighbor’s cat, trust me, you can’t.

As for health care, I am told that you do not have any medical insurance coverage. That’s unfortunate. However, until you do, we are prepared to cover your vet bills including the upcoming neutering operation (don’t ask). I would only ask that you take appropriate precautions to minimize further expenditures on medical treatments. From now on, that means no more eating feces or rolling around in dead animal matter.

We expect all of our family members to be housebroken. If I am required to always put the toilet seat down, I trust that you can at least refrain from urinating or defecating indoors. I know the living room rug looks vaguely like a lawn, but please restrict yourself to the real lawn. After all, it’s not as if we’re asking you to pick up after yourself.

Our expectations for you are fairly modest and I believe entirely reasonable. In return for three meals a day, assorted treats and at least two walks, all that we ask is that you feign excitement when we come home and occasionally sit and/or lie down on command.

As for schooling, we were pleased with your recent satisfactory performance at obedience school. However, we do not foresee any postgraduate studies for you in the near future. In fact, if the slipper chewing and failure to come when called continue, it is possible that you will be repeating obedience school, possibly with a private tutor.

I believe you have already recognized and accepted Cheryl as the alpha bitch. I understand that I am supposed to be the alpha male. Let me just say that I am a tad disappointed since your behavior to date suggests otherwise (e.g. - biting, barking and general disobedience). I’m not going to press the matter right now but this will have to change.

Which brings me to the subject of walks. In keeping with the original terms of ownership, walking you is not my primary or even my secondary duty. You are to look to Cheryl and Sarah for the performance of this particular function.

That is not to say that I am averse to the occasional walk with you. I am concerned, however, that the gradual increase in the frequency of such walks over time may result in my ‘de facto’ membership in the ranks of other aging males on our street who seem to be the only ones walking the family canine before sunrise, after sunset and during any outbreak of significant precipitation. This matter should be revisited periodically to prevent any further drop in my already tenuous standing in the family hierarchy.

Notwithstanding the concerns expressed in this memo, I anticipate a cordial, dare I say friendly, relationship developing between us over time. Once you have learned to stop chewing anything within reach and to cease eating non-edible items, I fully expect that we can spend many pleasant years together on or near the rec room sofa watching sports, drinking beer and/or eating dog biscuits.

2006-11-23T18:44:00.000-08:00

Here's the other picture that Citizen photographer Jean Levac was kind enough to send me. Again, it's pretty clear who owns the sofa.

Cheryl agreed to take Sarah to her dance class tonight. So I volunteered to take Oreo on one of our infrequent neighborhood walks.

All went well. No dead animal eating, no cat chasing and no leash tugging. And best of all, no poop scooping by yours truly.

The one interesting moment came when we encountered a local dog owner walking her three dogs, none of which was as big as Oreo. Oreo was happy to see them and then, to my surprise, he became all submissive, lay down and let the other dogs have their way with him.

All this was very puzzling to me until the owner mentioned that all three of her dogs are female. 'You're not so dumb after all Oreo', I thought to myself, although surgery has ensured that there's not a whole lot he can do to follow up. Oh well, he sure seems to like getting poked, prodded and sniffed anyway.

The Photogenic Porty

2006-11-21T16:45:00.000-08:00

Jean Levac sent me this photo today. He's the photographer who took our picture for my recent travel piece in the Ottawa Citizen. As you can see, Oreo not only rules the sofa, he rules the entire family. And for those who missed it, here's my Citizen piece:

"The dog days of holidays: There's something wrong when your pet enjoys your vacation more than you do"
The Ottawa Citizen
November 4, 2006 - Page: L4
Section: Style Weekly: Travel & Leisure
Byline: David Martin

It used to be that when our family headed south for March break, the only things we had to worry about were finding our passports and getting to the airport on time. But now, thanks to Oreo the Portuguese Water Dog, we have another concern.

Since his momentous arrival as a puppy the summer before last, nothing has been quite the same. A kitchen that hadn't seen baby gates in years quickly became a three-gated fortress. And a backyard fence that had more holes than Swiss cheese had to be secured on all fronts.

But as time passed, we all adjusted to our new Oreo-filled life. Except for me. From tripping on dog toys to stepping in dog pee to writing frequent, three-figure cheques to our local vet, I was finding it hard to warm up to our new four-legged friend.

So it came as a bit of a surprise to me that when we were preparing for last year's spring break getaway, I started to worry about how Oreo would fare in our absence. Luckily, Cheryl had taken extra pains to ensure that Oreo's week would be as trauma-free as possible. Rather than book him into a standard kennel, she discovered a doggie resort out in the country that featured a large fenced-in play and exercise area.

For $16 a day, Oreo would be boarding on the main floor of a country farm house with seven other canine guests. Instead of spending his week in a wire cage, he would get to spend it "free range" with some new friends.

Still, I couldn't help thinking that the separation would be hard on the dog. But it turns out that my fears were misplaced. Instead of worrying about how Oreo would make it through the week, I should have been more concerned about how I would do.

Our one-week stay at an all-inclusive, five-star, newly-renovated, over-hyphenated Caribbean resort got off to a great start. And for Cheryl and Sarah, it continued with a great middle and a perfectly fine end.

As for me, I developed a nasty case of bronchitis two days into our stay and spent much of the holiday hacking, coughing and whining. But at least I could lie in the sun and nurse myself back to health. What about poor Oreo, I thought?

In retrospect, I shouldn't have been wasting my worry on Oreo. He was having the time of his life.

The day after we got home, Cheryl drove out to the "resort" to pick up the dog. According to the resort owner (who doubles as the "concierge"), Oreo spent most of the week playing with another puppy his own age. Since the dogs had the run of the main floor of the house, he also warned her that Oreo might have picked up some bad habits.

Yet when Cheryl got home, something wasn't right. Although Oreo was happy to see us, he seemed tired and listless.

Once again, I worried about the poor pup. Maybe the week away was too much for him. It seemed as if he was slipping into a depression.

By the next day, it was clear that my concern was once again misplaced. Oreo was back to his old self. He hadn't been depressed; he was just exhausted. He'd had so much fun playing with his new pals all week that he needed a rest from his vacation.

And that's just what I needed -- a rest from my vacation. A few days lounging on the sofa would surely help me shake my Caribbean chest cold and get me back to normal. The only trouble was that one of those bad habits Oreo picked up at the "resort" was sleeping wherever he wanted to, including on the sofa.

Based on last year's experience, I'm thinking that maybe this year we won't go anywhere for March break -- except for Oreo. He can return to the doggie resort and I can get my sofa back, at least for a week.

David Martin is an Ottawa writer who blogs at http://www.livingwithoreo.blogspot.com/
Photo: Jean Levac, The Ottawa Citizen / After a week away from his owners, Oreo, the Portuguese Water Dog, believed the couch was his.

Oreo Becomes a Toy

2006-11-15T06:45:00.000-08:00

The other night, Oreo got hold of one of Sarah's little stuffed toys and wrestled it into submission. The results of the one-sided battle were spread out on the living room rug for me to see the next morning. There was a head, an empty body and a few hundred beads that made up the stuffing for the now-deceased toy.

When Sarah woke up and saw the devastation, she wasn't upset by the loss of her toy. Rather, she was concerned because she was pretty sure the toy had a squeaker inside and that maybe Oreo had swallowed the squeaker.

It's been three days now and it still remains a mystery as to what happened to the squeaker if, in fact, it ever existed. One possibility is that it has passed through Oreo and is lying in a pile of dog poop in the backyard. The other possibility is that it has lodged in Oreo's entrails thereby making him the first living, warm-blooded squeeze toy. The next time someone squeezes the pup around his middle, we may hear a once-familiar squeaky sound. The final possibility, of course, is that we will soon be making our umpteenth trip to the vet for an expensive squeakectomy.

Meeting the Relatives

2006-11-14T06:43:00.000-08:00

Cheryl left voting in the municipal elections last night to the last minute. So when she arrived at the local community center just before 8 P.M., she happened on a dog obedience class. One of the pupils was a black and white female Portuguese Water Dog with the same type of markings as Oreo. After voting, Cheryl rushed home, picked up Oreo and tracked down the owners of the other dog.

It turns out that the owners inherited their three-year old PWD from another family and their dog comes from the same kennel as Oreo. Cheryl suspects that Oreo and this other dog share the same father since Oreo's father has the distinctive markings they both bear.

Meeting the relatives has a different meaning in the doggie world since one male may have sired dozens of offspring. Then again, with our new world of multiple and blended families, maybe we're not so different after all.

The Porty Walk Redux

2006-11-12T19:49:00.000-08:00

Despite the miserable weather, Cheryl and Oreo headed off to Conroy Pit this afternoon to join the monthly Porty Walk, a gathering of local Portuguese Water Dogs and their owners. I passed on the opportunity and chose instead to enjoy the dry warmth of our house while watching football on the tube. Sarah and her friend Bridget also opted out as they were busily engaged in a day-long marathon of Sims2 on the computer.

Cheryl returned with a wet dog and a report of a gathering of nine PWDs. She was hoping to meet one of Oreo's siblings but none was there this time. In fact, none of the eight other PWDs was from Oreo's home - i.e. - Lowport Kennels. But maybe the poor weather kept the numbers down and Oreo's search for a family member will bear fruit next month. Given that it will then be December, chances are I'll be taking a pass on the next Porty Walk, too.

Dog House of Commons

2006-11-07T09:25:00.000-08:00

Sometimes Oreo's blog overlaps with my political satire blog as in this piece which was a near miss for the op-ed page of the Chicago Tribune:

Ruff-ruff. Woof, woof, woof.

Hi, I’m Oreo. I’m a Portuguese Water Dog and my so-called master has agreed to translate my remarks for this piece.

I’ve never written an op-ed essay before. Heck, I’ve never even written a letter to the editor. But this latest kerfuffle about what somebody named Peter MacKay apparently said has really got me steamed.

The other day I was lying in front of the TV licking myself while watching Question Period on CPAC. I heard some guy say to this Peter fellow: "What about your dog?" Peter replied: "You already have her" and then pointed to an empty seat where his ex-girlfriend usually sits.

Well, everyone’s in an uproar saying how it’s so cruel and demeaning that this guy should compare his ex-girlfriend to a dog. The ex-girlfriend is named Belinda and she’s all upset and demanding an apology. Peter denies saying what he said and refuses to apologize.

Frankly, if anyone deserves an apology, it’s me. I am really, really ticked off. What is wrong with being compared to a dog, I ask you?

Personally, I can attest to the fact that some of the nicest animals on earth are dogs. Now I’m not saying humans are ugly but without their clothes on, they look pretty funny.

And while some of my best friends are human, their race as a whole is not a model for good behavior. I’m not going to start pointing paws but I don’t recall dogs starting any wars. And when it comes to pollution, the odd poop in the park is nothing compared to what humans have done to this planet.

This Peter guy should own up to what he said. Heck, he should take pride in what he said. In my view, there is no greater compliment than being compared to a dog. As you know, we are loyal and friendly and, if I do say so myself, some of us are very attractive.

And where does this human Belinda get off being offended? Peter pays her one of the highest compliments there is and she’s all "He’s rude, boorish and sexist."

You’d think that somebody called her ugly or something. Instead she was compared to the best looking animal around.

Now I’m not a big fan of most humans but I have to admit this Belinda woman is not bad looking. In fact, she kind of reminds me of a certain Afghan Hound named Misty who I’ve been checking out lately at the local dog run.

I think both Peter and Belinda are acting like real dog haters, caninists if you will. Peter should openly and honestly say that he genuinely thinks Belinda is a dog, a real bitch if you will. And for her part, Belinda should graciously accept the compliment and tell Peter that she thinks he would look great naked on all fours with his tongue hanging out. Then they could sniff each other’s butt and put this nasty episode behind them. After all, it’s not like anyone hurled a real insult and compared someone to a cat.

What Kind of Wine Goes With Dead Squirrel?

2006-11-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

Cheryl returned from her walk with Oreo at Conroy Pit today to announce that he again ate something disgusting. Since he's off his leash at the dog walk, it's often difficult to see what he's ingesting. But Cheryl managed to catch up with him in time to see what appeared to be a hairy haunch of dead squirrel disappear down Oreo's gullet.

I'm glad I wasn't there to see Oreo's latest culinary adventure. Even if starving, I suspect I'd have a hard time scarfing down a piece of skinned and roasted squirrel. Imagine then, if you will, a piece of dead, rotting, hair-covered rodent sliding down your throat. And then imagine asking for more. Well, that's Oreo.

So long as I don't have to watch him chew on roadkill, I don't really mind what he eats. Except for the possibility that he'll get sick again. We already had one visit to the vet last month resulting from some unidentifiable meal that Oreo ate. If this is going to be a regular moveable feast, then we simply can't afford it.

Stay tuned to see if Oreo's future visits to Conroy Pit involve the wearing of a dead squirrel-proof muzzle.

Oreo the Celebrity

2006-11-04T12:03:00.000-08:00

Well today Oreo made it into the Citizen. For those who have access to the paper, check out the Travel Section and the fabulous photo of the majestic PWD. Sarah's true owners, Cheryl and Sarah, look wonderful and I, of course, look like a grinning idiot. Oh well. Isn't that always the fate of the writer?

As noted previously, since the photo was taken, Oreo has been shorn and is but a shadow of his former self. But the hair will grow back and he will regain his former status. In the meantime, I'm going to ask the Citizen photographer Jean Levac if he could e-mail me the photo. Hopefully I'll be able to post it soon.

Oreo Gets A Haircut

2006-10-23T18:00:00.000-07:00

Oreo got his hair cut today and this is the sad result. It may be hard to tell from the photo, but he's no longer the same dog. Who knew that hidden beneath that proud hairy Portguese Water Dog was a black and white weiner dog? Actually, it's not that bad. But Oreo definitely is a different dog with most of his hair shaved off. Hopefully he'll grow some hair back before winter comes or he's going to be one cold dog.

Luckily Oreo's photo for the upcoming Citizen article was taken before the haircut so he won't have to suffer too much public embarassment. I thought the photo was going to be in last Saturday's edition of the paper but it wasn't. October 21st was only a tentative date so it could show up in a future Saturday edition.

A Dog's Diet

2006-10-19T08:24:00.000-07:00

For Oreo, this has been an up and down week - mostly down. On Sunday night, he threw up by the back door and then went outside and threw up some more. From that point on, he was one sick pup. When I headed off to bed at about 11 P.M. that night, Oreo was lying like a lump in the upper hallway. Clearly he was not himself.

The next day wasn't much better. Oreo dragged himself around, threw up again and basically did a doggie impression of a damp dishcloth. His condition was worrisome enough that Cheryl took him to the vet late Monday afternoon leaving me to rush home from work to take Sarah to her dance class.

The vet checked out Oreo and said it was probably something he ate. Having seen this dog in action in the great outdoors, I was not surprised. Considering that an empty Tim Horton's coffee cup is a tasty treat for our dog, it's more than likely that he noshed on some rancid animal carcass while on one of his forays at the local dog run.

In any event, the vet prescribed an antibiotic to help fight off the legion of foreign bacteria that was surely making itself comfortable in Oreo's stomach. Luckily, the antibiotic seemed to work and by Tuesday morning, Oreo was starting to feel like his old self. Cheryl kept him on a bland diet but at least now he was walking around and occasionally wagging his tail.

Oreo recovered just in time for his photo appointment on Tuesday night. A travel piece I wrote for the Ottawa Citizen had an Oreo-theme and thus a photographer showed up to snap some pictures of Oreo and his coterie - i.e. - us. Since he was almost back to full health, Oreo was able to pose majestically as only a Portuguese Water Dog can.

Oreo's picture is slated to run in this Saturday's edition of the Citizen, at which time he will be available for interviews and paw-print autographs.

Bad Dog

2006-10-10T19:47:00.000-07:00

"Bad dog!" That seems to be the one common cry of dog owners. "Bad dog!" followed by a scowl and a shake of the index finger is the universal reaction of those who are forced to cohabit with canines.

Oreo, of course, is no exception. Although I keep saying that he's basically a good dog (which he is), like any other dog, he has his bad side. And this week he managed to exhibit that in spades.

They say that bad things happen in threes. Well, whoever "they" is, Oreo's exploits seem to confirm their observation.

First up was Oreo's pillow snack. We have a nice little pillow that Cheryl made and it sits at one end of the living room sofa. Up until now, Oreo has lived in harmony with that pillow. But a couple of days ago, I came home to discover the pillow sitting in the middle of the living room. I assumed that maybe someone had tossed it down there. But on further inspection, I noticed that someone had chewed a corner off the pillow. And that someone turned out to be Oreo. I chastised him but since I hadn't caught him in the act, that did absolutely no good. In fact, given that I fed him his dinner shortly after, he probably figured he was being rewarded for his act of pillowcide.

Oreo's second bad deed happened tonight when Cheryl took him for a walk at the local dog run. Apparently Oreo found himself a nice, juicy, decomposing animal and rolled around in the remains until he achieved the desired level of stink that clearly appeals to him. Cheryl was not pleased as she had to spend a half hour in the bathroom bathing Oreo to remove his hard-earned disgusting odor. Why do dogs like to roll around in dead animal remains? If you asked a dog, I'm guessing he'd say "Because it's there."

Number three on Oreo's bad boy triple play also happened tonight. I briefly left a dirty dinner plate on the kitchen counter while I stepped out the door to discard some garbage. On my return, I discovered Oreo with paws up on the counter attempting to do a pre-wash on the plate. Having caught him in the act, I yelled the mandatory "Bad dog!" and shooed him out the back door. He knew that he'd been caught but somehow I doubt that my lesson sunk in. The only thing I noticed was that when Cheryl let him back in, he gave me a wide berth....for about five minutes.

I can only hope that "they" are right and that our three bad incidents are over. But knowing Oreo, I suspect there's another three in the works.

Oreo Needs Glasses?

2006-10-04T11:41:00.000-07:00

Just when you think your dog is on his best behavior, he throws you a curve. Recently, Cheryl bought a new pair of glasses which came with a fancy leather case. You guessed it. Yesterday morning, I awoke to find the glasses and the case on the living room rug. Luckily, the glasses were unharmed but one side of the case was chewed into a pulpy mess. I don't know how Oreo managed to get the case but I can imagine. He's big enough to put his front paws up on the kitchen counter so it's probably just as easy for him to reach things on tables at a similar height. I pointed out to Oreo the error of his ways and his look suggested that he understood. On the other hand, I won't be leaving any of my goods within reach any time soon.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

2006-09-28T14:12:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of Oreo on a dry day after he has been bathed and brushed. Nice looking dog, right? But you should see him on a day like today when there's an ongoing drizzle outside. Of course, he wants to go outside and of course he manages to muck around in the dirt and water and come back looking like a drowned rat.

Every time we let Oreo out on a day like today, we have to towel him down and clean off his paws. Even then, he still tracks dirt around the house. I've recently taken to bribing him with a few dog food pellets if he'll let me thoroughly clean his feet. So far, this method has achieved moderate success.

With all the time and money spent on dog training, it would be nice if someone could come up with a way to teach dogs to clean themselves off before they come into the house. I picture a mini-shower outdoors with Oreo rubbing his paws together to get them cleaner than clean. Then again, I picture a world without George W. Bush. I guess I'm just a hopeless dreamer destined for constant disappointment. Sigh.

A Tim Horton's Dog

2006-09-17T16:55:00.000-07:00

This is another recent photo of Oreo. He's lying next to the famous baby gate which served to keep him out of the dining room even when there is another route through the living room. However, the other night, he finally figured out that this doorway isn't his only point of entry into the dining room. So maybe he's not that stupid after all.

I took Oreo for his morning walk today to allow Cheryl a chance to sleep in. This was the first time in a while that when I took Oreo for a walk he didn't find a Tim Horton's cup. Like most caffeine addicts, it seems that Oreo needs his morning coffee. Most times, he's able to find a discarded Tim's cup which he picks up and brings home with him. I think this says more about how people dipose of their Tim Horton's cup than it does about Oreo's morning drinking habits. It's kind of sad that so many people think nothing of littering. Luckily, inadvertent environmentalists like Oreo manage to clean up after the less than responsible humans. Maybe it should be a dog's world after all.

Dead Dog Sleeping

2006-09-13T17:25:00.000-07:00

Cheryl took some recent pictures of Oreo and this is one of them. This is a usual nighttime pose for the pup and even an occasional daytime posture when he's having one of his frequent naps. In fact, this is a tame version of his usual sleeping position. He's usually sleeping next to the front door closet with his feet directly up in the air against the closet door. It looks uncomfortable but it seems to work for him.

The Porty Walk

2006-09-11T17:45:00.000-07:00

Last spring, Cheryl learned of the Porty Walk - a gathering of Portuguese Water Dogs and their owners at the local dog run on the second Sunday of each month. She's been meaning to participate for months now and yesterday we finally decided to go. Unfortunately, it looks like the Porty Walk is no more or has been changed to another date or is on hiatus. In any event, Cheryl, Sarah, Oreo and I showed up yesterday afternoon at 1:30 in high hopes of running into half a dozen other PWDs. Alas, our full-fledged Porty Walk was not to be.

But luckily another family with a Portuguese Water Dog assumed the Porty Walk was still a going concern and did show up. So we ended up having an enjoyable walk with Paul, Sonja, their three kids and their PWD Spencer. Spencer is only eight months old and is therefore still a full-fledged puppy. He and Oreo got along famously although it became apparent that Oreo (at a year and a half) is almost past his puppy stage since he occasionally was less enthusiastic than Spencer.

Despite being a reluctant dog owner, I have to admit from time to time that owning a dog can be fun. Yesterday was a beautiful day for a walk and it was nice to meet Spencer's owners and compare notes on dog ownership. I'm far from being up for daily dog walks but on occasion I can see the attraction. With a heavy emphasis on the words "on occasion."

Oreo Fails His MENSA Test

2006-09-07T15:10:00.000-07:00

Before reading this latest episode in the saga of Oreo, keep in mind that our living room and dining room form one L-shaped area with open doorways from the kitchen to both rooms.

Last night we had a guest for dinner and, at one point, Oreo was making a nuisance of himself underneath the dining room table. Cheryl hauled him out and banished him to the kitchen. Since we still haven't removed the baby gate for the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, Cheryl closed that and Oreo just lay there on the other side of the gate moping.

If he had wanted to, it was a simple matter to go through the open doorway to the living room and around the corner to the dining room. Despite having lived in our house for over a year, he appeared to be entirely clueless as to this alternate route. Even after I twice got up from the table and entered the kitchen through the living room, Oreo just didn't get it.

Cheryl was saddened to see that the dog she once thought was as bright as they come had flunked a basic intelligence test. Oh well, no MENSA for Oreo.

Oreo, the Extrovert

2006-08-29T17:09:00.000-07:00

This is an old photo of Oreo and Sarah since Cheryl surprisingly hasn't taken any recent pictures of the pup. But looking at this one, I don't think he's changed much in the interim. It turns out that Oreo is small for a Portuguese Water Dog which suits me just fine. If he were any bigger, he might be too much to handle. But at his current size, I can still yank his leash and sometimes get him to walk beside me in a straight line. If he were one of the larger PWDs, I'm not sure he'd be that manageable.

Today brought more evidence that Oreo is a pretty nice dog with a good temperment. We had our furnace replaced which involved having a number of workers in the house hacking, sawing, drilling and otherwise making a lot of noise. Oreo didn't bark or make (much) of a nuisance of himself. He was just thrilled to have more people in the house. Unfortunately for him, he had to leave since the work resulted in metal filings and parts all over the basement floor which would not have been healthy for a dog whose real name should be "mange tout."

Oreo is definitely a social animal. Even when he's tired, he prefers to lie next to one of us while he snoozes. In fact, I think Oreo is so sociable that he is probably next to useless as a watch dog. So long as a would be thief gave him a couple of pats on the head and a handful of dog food, Oreo would be happy to hold his bag while he filled it with loot and then show him the way out. Oh well, it's still far better than having one of those giant dogs who knocks you down or one of those little yelpers that grate on your nerves like nails on a blackboard. Oreo is just one good natured, happy dog and, in doggie terms, that's about as good as it gets.

Oreo on Vacation

2006-08-24T16:25:00.000-07:00

This week marked the third time that Oreo stayed at his doggie resort in the country and the first time that I got to see him in his vacation surroundings. The family (minus Oreo) took a mini-vacation in Montreal for three nights and four days. One advantage of this getaway was that Oreo's resort was on the way. So on Monday we headed out on our vacation and about one hour into the trip, we stopped at a rural farm where Oreo was to spend the next three nights.

Much as I am a reluctant dog owner, I was secretly pleased to see that Oreo was happy to be back at the resort once again. In fact, much like a kid being dropped off at his favorite summer camp, Oreo didn't even turn around to say goodbye. He just headed off to the house to meet up with the other dogs already at the resort. I think Cheryl might have been a bit hurt that her puppy didn't even say so long. But, in the end, it's nice to know that he's going to have a good time which wouldn't likely be the case with most kennels which seem somewhat prison-like.

We say goodbye to Pete the resort owner and self-styled concierge and head off to Montreal for an enjoyable three-night stay that will cost considerably more than the $20 a night charge for Oreo's getaway.

Thursday afternoon at 1 P.M., we show up again at the doggie resort to retrieve Oreo. A big white dog is at the gate to meet us, a dog that Pete calls his Walmart greeter. Pete goes back to the house and gets Oreo who races to the gate and greets us with such desperate glee that it seems apparent that he assumed we were gone for good.

Pete invites us in to get Oreo's dog bowls and food and I get my first glimpse of the animal-filled farmhouse. About eight other dogs have the run of the living room complete with beds and sofas to sleep on. The second floor is home to visiting cats who neither I nor the dogs get to see.

Once back in the car, Oreo quickly settled in and relaxed from his busy holiday. According to Pete, Oreo spent most of the time playing with a couple of other dogs and was the first dog out of the house for walks or a swim and the last one in. His tired demeanor was confirmation that he had probably had way too much fun.

Now back home, Oreo is spending a lot of time just lying around catching up on his rest. It's probably somewhat confusing to a dog when his family leaves him for three days and then magically reappears. The goods news, however, is that he spent those three days playing with other dogs and having a great time. All in all, not a bad vacation.

Heaving With Oreo

2006-08-16T18:40:00.000-07:00

Who's to blame? Me for leaving the gate open to the rec room downstairs? Or Oreo for chewing on a dead animal during his evening constitutional and then barfing up the remains on the rec room carpet in the middle of the night?

Frankly, my money's on the dog. But everyone else seems to subscribe to the "but for" theory of canine reponsibility - i.e. - but for my lapse in gate latching, the puking would likely have been on the easily cleanable kitchen floor rather than on the downstairs berber rug which has a decidedly higher degree of cleaning difficulty.

When I walked down the basement stairs this morning, I was greeted by two saucer-sized brown stains on the carpet, a series of splatter stains and a bunch of plant material that looked like it had spent at least several hours in a dog's stomach. It was a surprising and not particularly pretty sight.

My first reaction, of course, was to head back upstairs to wake up Cheryl to inform her of the latest heinous act committed by HER dog. She roused herself from her sleep and joined me in the rec room in our multi-pronged attack on the offending matter.

Between the soap and water, carpet stain removal and doggie odor and stain remover, we managed to eliminate most of Oreo's late night deposits. Where the brown saucer-sized stains were, there now remain two very faint yellow marks which will likely serve as a permanent reminder to me to always latch the gate at the top of the stairs.

By the way, do dogs ever grow up and go away to college? No? Pity.

Painting With Oreo

2006-08-11T08:15:00.000-07:00

The longer you have a dog, the more you realize that he affects just about every aspect of your daily life. A dog is kind of like a kid that way except worse since a kid eventually grows up and sometimes does what you say. And with any luck, unlike a dog, a kid will eventually leave home.

The latest evidence of my dog-bound life came with the painting of the outside doors of our house. What would normally be a straightforward task became unduly complicated with Oreo in the house.

There was no way we could paint the doors in place since Oreo would have been at them and us the whole time with untold disastrous paint-related consequences. So we took both doors off their hinges and placed them on a table in the carport.

Since we have screen doors both back and front, this was an elegantly simple solution that allowed me to scrape, sand, clean, prime and paint both doors without Oreo's involvement. Trust me, the tasks progressed much more quickly without his assistance.

Alas, there was still one minor complication. I took it upon myself to scrape and paint the back door sill. But in order to do this (and to provide time to let it dry), I had to leave the back screen door open.

This meant taking steps to prevent Oreo from exiting the back door and tramping his paws through the fresh paint on the sill. Our eventual solution was to build a small fortress of chairs, stools and a dog crate to bar his exit.

This solution worked although there was a small drawback. Any time Oreo whined, we assumed he might have to go to the bathroom. So we put on his leash and took him out the front door to the front yard where he, of course, did nothing.

It is now the morning after and both newly painted doors have been rehung and we are back to normal. Oh wait, Cheryl wants to paint our two Adirondack (Muskoka, for my Canadian readers) lawnchairs.

I'm leaving before this project starts. I figure I've done my time in paiting purgatory for this week. Bye Oreo. See you later, hopefully without pink paint on your tail.

The Pooch Is Back

2006-08-02T16:30:00.000-07:00

Well, the pooch is back. In the end, Oreo spent almost a whole week at the doggie resort which in human terms works out to $160. By my rough calculation, it would cost me (with discounts) about $5,000 to board him there for the entire year.

Cheryl picked up Oreo this morning and apparently he was overjoyed to see her. I suspect that when he gets dropped off, he figures this is it; he's being abandoned. So to see his owner return six days later must be a thrilling canine mixture of relief, delight and confusion.

As with his last resort stay, Oreo reportedly spent the whole time playing with other dogs. So I guess a resort stay for a young dog is much like sending a kid off to camp. When you drop them off, they're all anxious and worried about their new environs. But as soon as the owner/parent leaves, it's playtime until you come to pick them up. Thus, the dog/child gets the fun and the owner/parent gets the guilt.

Oreo, of course, is exhausted from his six-day vacation. Thus, he spent most of the day sleeping and is now out on his evening constitutional with Cheryl, Sarah and Sarah's friend Bridget. Like it or not, things are now back to normal - a normal which now reluctantly includes a dog.

Oh well, we've already booked him into the resort for four days later this month when we take a short trip to Montreal. Until then, it's back to living with Oreo.

Adios Oreo

2006-07-26T17:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it turns out Paula didn't come through although I couldn't really blame her. She lives in a small apartment without air conditioning and she's already taking care of someone else's dog on a semi-permanent basis. So it didn't really make sense to send Oreo to her place.

I was, of course, disappointed by this turn of events. But I kind of expected that this would happen and I had steeled myself for another round of Oreocare. Yet I couldn't let go of the idea of a four-day mini-vacation for me. Four days of having the whole house to myself sure was inviting.

So I asked Cheryl to try the backup plan. Earlier on, she had made a reservation for Oreo at his doggie resort in the country. But when Paula initially offered to take the pup, Cheryl cancelled the reservation. Although we were only days away from the camping trip and the doggie resort fills up quickly, I figured why not get Cheryl to check and see if there was still room. She was not optimistic but it never hurts to ask.

Well, you guessed it; there was room at the inn. Since the weekend was booked up, we had to pay an extra "squeeze-in" fee for those two days but it was well worth it.

Since the campsite Sarah, Cheryl, Susan and Shayla are going to is a seven-hour drive away, they've decided to take two days to get there. So that means departure day is tomorrow. Cheryl and Sarah will drive Oreo to his resort before returning to Ottawa to pick up Susan and Shayla to begin their westward journey.

That means that when I get home from work tomorrow evening, I'll be all alone. It should be the start of what will now be a restful five-day break. I'm looking forward to all the alone time to read, watch movies, eat unhealthy food and sleep. But despite my upcoming life of leisure, I know I'll miss Cheryl and Sarah. The $64 question of course is: Will I miss Oreo? Maybe just a little bit. Or maybe not.

An Easy Choice

2006-07-19T17:58:00.000-07:00

Next week Cheryl and Sarah are going on a four-day camping trip and leaving me at home to luxuriate in the rare delight of solitude. At least that's what I envisioned until I remembered that Oreo is not going camping.

Although Oreo is not a high maintenance dog, the thought of again being his sole caregiver put an immediate damper on my bachelor dreams. Being alone means staying up late watching movies that no one else in the family wants to see and then sleeping in until ten in the morning. Being with Oreo means going to bed at ten so I won't be a wreck when he wakes me up at six for his breakfast and a walk.

Being alone means going where and when I want during the day and not having to check in with someone else. Being with Oreo means being back home by noon to feed him again and let him out to do his business.

Being alone means a restful evening alone eating steak, drinking red wine and watching movies. Being with Oreo means more dog feeding, backyard cleaning, walking and playing with doggie toys.

But all is not lost. Cheryl suggested that we leave Oreo with her friend Paula who is a veteran dog lover. At first I thought that I would be wimping out by pawning him off on someone else. But the more I thought of it, the more the idea appealed to me. So I said "yes" and now I'm crossing my fingers that Paula will come through.

Let's face it; even the best of friends need some time apart. So if the best of friends need some "me time", then Oreo and I definitely need a break.

What's In A Name?

2006-07-10T07:18:00.000-07:00

After living with Oreo for more than a year, I think I have developed a foolproof method for determining how you feel about a particular pet in your home. It all has to do with the number of names you assign to the animal.

As I repeatedly note, I remain ambivalent about Oreo. This is readily apparent from the limited number of names I use to address him. There's "Oreo", of course, and "puppy" and if he's headed for the garbage or the garden, I loudly employ "Hey you."

My wife Cheryl on the other hand has a seemingly endless list of monikers and terms of endearment for Oreo. There's "Oreo", "McSnoreo", "Oreoodle" and "McDoodle." Then there's "Sweetie", "Sweetums" and "Honey." A whole series of names derives from his puppy status as in "Puppeeee", "Puppy doodle dandy", "The pup", "Puppet", "Puppy boy" and even "The pupperatzi."

As you can see, based solely on the number of names, there is little doubt about who likes Oreo more. My only concern is that Cheryl generally only refers to me as "Dave" or "Hey you." I think you know who in our household is more likely to end up in the doghouse.

Walking the Dog

2006-07-06T17:32:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile since I last posted on this blog. Part of the reason is a series of home-related mini-crises involving the computer, the toilet, the kitchen light fixture and the furnace. The other part of the reason is that my wife Cheryl took a ten-trip to Italy leaving me to take care of Oreo and my daughter Sarah.

Cheryl got back last night and I was relieved to hand the leash back to her. As I reported, Oreo was fine for the ten days but Sarah wouldn't stop licking my legs and digging up the garden. Or was it the other way around?

For someone who was a reluctant dog owner, Cheryl's absence was a challenge. Although I had taken Oreo for the odd walk, for ten days I was the only one walking him, feeding him and cleaning up after him. The happy ending to this story would be me expressing the revelation that I loved walking Oreo and that he's the best darned dog in the whole wide world.

The actual ending to this story is that I still cannot fathom why people own dogs. Admittedly, walking Oreo was not as bad as I thought it would be. Walking him twice a day forced me to get some exercise and to even occasionally socialize with neighbors I met on our route.

But the mindless routine of feeding, walking and cleaning up after a canine did nothing for my spirit except underscore my longing for Cheryl's return. Having a dog seems like a never ending sentence to servitude. The tail wagging and enthusiastic greetings are hardly sufficient payback for all the work. If a dog is man's best friend, it's because the dog has one sweet deal.

In fairness, Oreo is still not much more than a year old. In dog years, he's probably a teenager which means we had no more chance of getting along than a 56-year old father would with a teenaged son.

I have not written off my relationship with Oreo yet. As we both age, there's still hope that we will come to some mutually satisfactory arrangement that may result in something resembling a friendship. Stay tuned.

Oreo and the Toilet - Part II

2006-06-12T17:15:00.000-07:00

Between computer, furnace and plumbing problems, I have been delinquent in updating this blog. The plumbing problems were simply a continuation of last month's toilet troubles. My caveat to the plumber when cancelling our first appointment proved to be prophetic.

As I was toddling off to bed the following Thursday evening, Cheryl informed me that the toilet wasn't draining properly. Since I had just come up from the rec room where the supposedly repaired computer was on the fritz again, this was not welcome news.

First thing the next morning, I called up the plumber and made an appointment for later that day. He showed up with an assistant in tow, presumably expecting the worst.

As he explained to me, having been informed that the problem might be dog poop blocking the toilet, the snaking would be a two-man job. But first he warned me that our toilet was not a great design for such a problem and he couldn't guarantee success.

Luckily, the two-man team was successful and rescued our toilet from the brink of extinction. Chalk up another Oreo-related expense, this one being relatively modest compared to the many other dog outlays: $82.

A word to the wise: Don't dispose of dog poop down the toilet. In theory, it may be the most environmentally friendly option. But in practise, it's not a good idea. Unless you like living dangerously or are in need of a new toilet.

Oreo and the Toilet

2006-05-31T08:10:00.000-07:00

There’s one thing they don’t talk about in "The Giant Handbook of Dog Care" - poop disposal. What are you supposed to do with the mountain of canine excrement that you collect over the endless days of your dog’s existence?

As I previously noted, I thought that the easy approach would be to dump Oreo’s leavings in the wheeled composting bin that the garbage collectors empty every week. But ever since I dumped some dog poop in the bottom of the container and it stuck there for weeks on end, my wife Cheryl has disabused me of this green option.

According to Cheryl, the environmentally responsible approach to canine waste disposal is to flush it down the toilet. The idea is that Oreo’s fecal matter can then be processed by the city sanitation system just like ours is. After all, he is a member of the family.

Despite my misgivings, flushing Oreo’s crap down the toilet has been the preferred method of disposal for some time now. And since I rarely collect the stuff, it didn’t really matter that much to me.

Recently, however, I had to mow the backyard. Thanks to Oreo, that chore now has an additional preliminary step: clean up the poop.

So I dutifully collected a moundful of the stuff on a plastic gardening plate. I momentarily considered dumping it in the compost collector but, given Cheryl’s strong admonition against this alternative, I decided instead to unload the plate into the toilet. I flushed and went back to my lawn mowing.

In retrospect, it was probably not a good idea to put a big load of dog poop in the toilet all at one time, particularly when some of the stuff had dried out and was pretty hard. In retrospect, I probably should have dumped this particular load in the compost collector, particularly since it was already half full of grass and weeds and there was little chance of the poop clogging up the bottom. In retrospect, we probably should never have gotten a dog.

That night we started to experience some minor difficulties with the toilet. Occasionally the bowl would not empty completely. But then it would and I figured whatever problem there was had disappeared.

By the next day, however, the bowl was not emptying completely at all. It started to dawn on me that maybe some of Oreo’s poop was plugging the drain. I brought out our old standard plunger and made a few attempts at unblocking whatever was there.

My plunging attempts met with limited success. So the next day, I bought a new plunger specially designed for toilets. I brought it home and gave it a thorough workout. But rather than see increased water flow down the drain, I was experiencing less and less drainage.

Knowing my limitations, I finally gave up and called a plumber who promised to be there the next afternoon. But being somewhat obsessive, I checked out the Internet and looked for additional solutions.

One suggestion was to pour half a pail of warm water from about waist height directly into the toilet. The theory is that the additional pressure would assist in dislodging whatever was blocking the path. There was no indication why the water had to be warm but I’m guessing it is either to help soften the blockage or to make the chore less uncomfortable when water splashes all over the repairer.

Whatever the reason, I engaged in a frenzy of plunging and water pail emptying that left both me and the bathroom floor damp. But it appeared that no progress had been made.
So I gave up for the second time and cleaned up the water on the floor and put the plunger and the pail away. This was now definitely a job for the plumber.

But when I returned to the bathroom an hour later and tried one last flush, to my surprise, it worked. The water swirled and swirled and the bowl emptied completely. I waited patiently as the tank refilled and I tried again. Once more the water disappeared. A third and a fourth attempt were equally successful.

The next morning, I gave the toilet a final real life test and it passed. All my plunging and pail emptying and swearing and cursing had apparently worked. Our toilet was back to normal.

So I called the plumber and cancelled the appointment with the caveat that we might have to re-book soon. I’m still not convinced I got rid of the blockage entirely and I suspect we’re still going to be flushing at least some of Oreo’s poop down the toilet. So until such time as I can train him to use the toilet himself, I’m going to keep the plunger, pail and the plumber’s phone number close at hand.

Kids And Dogs

2006-05-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

When it comes to kids and dogs, neighborhoods go through transitions. Sometimes there are lots of children and few dogs. Other times there are plenty of pups but not a lot of kids. And sometimes there are few or many of both.

When Sarah was born eleven years ago, our neighborhood was going through one of those transitions. The previous generation’s progeny were long past the kid stage. Sarah was one of only a handful of kids on our street. And dogs were even scarcer.

But as the years went by and houses turned over, younger couples moved in and kids began to pop up like springtime weeds. Now Sarah doesn’t lack for companions and the trend appears to be an upward one.

That same trend seems to now be happening with dogs. Neighbors across the street just acquired a three-year old show beagle named Angus. He’s a miniature version of a regular beagle which seems to mean that he’s half the size of a regular beagle but with twice the energy.

And the latest news is that our immediate neighbors are getting a Shih Tzu, a small black and white ball of fur that, if past experience is any guide, will be a yapper.

Is this evidence of a newly developing demographic for our neighborhood? As with the kiddy boom, are we now destined for a doggy boom? Oreo will doubtless be thrilled but I’m not sure I’ll adjust quite as well.

If and when the street is overrun with canines and kids, I think I’ll graduate to official codger status. Then I can spend my days yelling at all of them to get off the lawn and waiting for the inevitable kid and dog-free stage that will come, by my calculation, in about fifteen years.

Oreo Escapes

2006-05-24T15:32:00.000-07:00

Last night, I almost sent Oreo to his demise. All this time, I've assumed that he wouldn't sneak out the front door. I've never seen him do it so I figured he just wouldn't. Needless to say, I was wrong.

While I was going in and out putting papers in the black box for recycling, I wasn't really paying attention. When the flyer delivery woman showed up at the same time I was making my third trip out the front door, we scared the heck our of one another. As I held the door open and was apologizing to her and taking this week's armload of flyers for the black box, I guess Oreo must have sneaked out the door.

I went back in the house and about two minutes later I heard the doorbell. At the door were neighbors from three houses down and accompanying them, much to my surprise, was Oreo.

Apparently Oreo was enjoying his newfound freedom by following the flyer lady down the
street as she made her deliveries. Luckily, our neighbors recognized that this was not a desirable situation and managed to lure him back to our house.

Given Oreo's youth and naivete, it's hard to say what might have happened to him if he hadn't been rescued. All I can say is that I'm glad we didn't have to find out.

Spring has Sprung

2006-05-16T11:29:00.000-07:00

Now that spring is definitely here, I've discovered some additional changes that Oreo has made to our life. First, of course, was the discovery of a backyard full of dog poop that appeared after all the snow melted. That wasn't so bad since Cheryl had been making regular poop patrols throughout the winter. Thus, there wasn't that much left when spring arrived and a couple of quick cleanups managed to get rid of most of it.

One minor complication arose from all this waste removal. We are part of a City of Ottawa pilot project for the recycling of organic waste. As part of that project, we get a large, wheeled, green container that we fill with food waste, leaves, yard waste and just about anything that decomposes (short of human remains). Since animal waste was on the list of acceptable materials, I cleverly decided that on the rare occasion that I disposed of Oreo's poop, I would dump it in the green container.

This environmentally friendly approach seemed to be working well throughout the winter. But springtime revealed a minor flaw in my plan. A layer of Oreo's droppings had settled at the bottom of the green container and, after the spring thaw, had managed to congeal there. Even when the garbage collector emptied the container, there still remained an unwanted layer at the bottom.

It was Cheryl who discovered this unwanted gift and spent part of one afternoon cleaning out and disinfecting the container. When I returned home that evening, she advised me (or actually ordered me) never, ever to throw Oreo's poop in the organic collector again.

Spring has also revealed another gift that Oreo has given us - a backyard full of sticks, balls and toys. Last summer, I hadn't really noticed an unusual number of these items in the yard. But with the departure of the snow, it became readily apparent that our dog had accumulated a wealth of things to chew, bite and otherwise play with. Given the number of such items, if I didn't know better, I'd assume that we were running some kind of doggie daycare.

A third gift has been bestowed upon us by Oreo this spring. Thanks to his frequent outdoor urination (which, by the way, I am very thankful for, considering the alternative), we now have a large number of yellow areas on our side and back lawns. Not that our lawn was ever much to look at before. But now we are quickly becoming the shame of suburbia.

A fourth present results from Oreo's racing about the backyard. As he flies back and forth, he inadvertently digs up the flower beds, leaving ruts and holes where his paws have passed. And then there are the holes that Oreo deliberately digs up. With every passing week, our backyard is looking less and less like a candidate for Better Homes & Gardens and more like a set for a war movie.

All this to say, we have doubled our annual expenditures on grass seed, topsoil, fertilizer, mulch and any number of other lawn and garden spreadables. I fear that with Oreo in the picture, this annual fight to retain our lawn is now a losing battle. Perhaps it's time to throw in the trowel and realize my longstanding dream - an entire yard covered with Astroturf.

It's A Dog's Life

2006-05-08T05:57:00.000-07:00

It really is a dog's life. After this weekend, I've concluded that Oreo has a more active social life than I do. While I spent most of the time doing chores and watching TV, Oreo went to a party and had two Sunday excursions.

First, the party. Saturday was the birthday party for Oreo's pal Mickey who had just turned one. Yes, it was a doggie birthday party complete with a meat-based cake and loot bags for the guests. I suspect that an obedience school graduation party can't be far behind.

Although I didn't attend, I got my secondhand reports from Cheryl and my niece Shayla. While five dogs played in Mickey's backyard, the owners socialized inside. Everyone enjoyed themselves and there were no fights or injuries. The dogs also got along well.

Sunday's first excursion was a trip to the local dog walk. The only difference from past visits was that I went along for the first time. It was an interesting outing from my perspective as I got to see Oreo play and interact with dozens of different dogs. There was everything there from a Mini Schnauzer to a St. Bernard.

Oreo would run ahead and check out the next dog he met. That involved the mandatory sniffing of body parts and, if the other dog was willing, a bit of wrestling and running. On occasion, the playing would get a bit animated and we'd have to call him and move on.

An hour walk around the area managed to tire Oreo out. But that wasn't the end of his event-filled day. Later that afternoon, Cheryl took the dog on a hike with friends and family to the Gatineau Hills. That involved a two-hour walk and lots more exercise for the pup.

By the time Cheryl and Oreo got home, he was dead tired. Although he doesn't usually lie down for the night until 9 o'clock, this time he was out for the count by 8. As I headed off to bed at 10:30, I looked in the living room and saw Oreo lying on his big doggie pillow with his head flopped over the edge onto the floor. Apparently it's true that a dog can have too much fun.

Oreo And Me

2006-05-03T05:40:00.000-07:00

Last night while watching the hockey game, Oreo and I had a long, overdue chat. I complimented him on his generally satisfactory behavior but I made it clear that he had become a very expensive dog and that things would have to change.

I took from Oreo's silence that he was a bit put out by my criticism. Nevertheless, I continued with my admonitions. I urged him to avoid any unnecessary medical trips to the vet. I patiently explained that by taking adequate precautions, he could steer clear of infections in his eyes, ears and urinary tract. I also reminded him that avoiding nails, fences and large, nasty dogs would significantly cut down on the need for stitches.

Oreo seemed to be receptive to these warnings. He stopped brooding and asked to play fetch with his chew toy which I took to be a sign that he understood what I was telling him.

Once I got on to the financial matters, however, Oreo quickly lost interest. He simply didn't want to hear about the continuing expenses that his presence has incurred. I urged him to seek employment or otherwise help to defray the costs of his room and board.

Oreo's only response was to bark repeatedly. Apparently this was his way of saying "I'm still only a puppy and not in a position to earn any significant money. You're a writer. Why don't you get off your butt and write a bestselling dog memoir like Marley and Me?"

I patiently explained to Oreo that books are not easy things to write and that any such venture would require his cooperation. At that point, he turned and walked upstairs apparently wishing to give me the message that this was essentially my problem.

As it stands, I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree.

One Tired Pup

2006-04-28T05:49:00.000-07:00

Last night, while the family went to a potluck supper at Sarah's school, Oreo had a three-hour playdate with Mickey. I wondered if the two of them could play at their usual pace for that long. Well, it turns out that they can't. When Cheryl picked up Oreo at Mickey's house, Mickey's owner said that they would play, then rest for awhile and then play again. So even one-year old dogs apparently have their limits.

When Oreo arrived home, he was one tired pup. Dishevelled and lacking in energy, he spent most of the evening just lying around. Every night when I'm sitting on the sofa watching TV, Oreo will come around with his chew toy and insist that we play tug-of-war and fetch for awhile. Last night was no exception but the poor pup didn't have his heart in it. When I threw the toy to the other end of the room, instead of bouncing over to get it like he usually does, he slowly walked over to pick it up. And instead of the usual two dozen rounds of "fetch the chew toy", last night's game ended after three tosses.

Oreo's playdate with Mickey definitely took its toll. Long before his usual bedtime, I spotted the pooped pup curled up asleep on his dog bed next to the piano. The lights were still on but for Oreo it was definitely lights out.

Last night underscored my dad's favorite maxim: "Raising kids is much like raising dogs." There's a lot of truth to that observation. If you want your kid/dog to go to bed early then run him ragged and he'll be asleep before you know it. The problem is that if you have to be the playmate, you'll be in bed by 9 o'clock, too.

Dog Bites Boot

2006-04-25T08:33:00.000-07:00

Like death and taxes, it was inevitable. Oreo just destroyed his first pair of footwear. Luckily for me (and him), the footwear was not mine. Sadly for Sarah, it was hers.

Apparently Sarah forgot to put her fancy new black boots back in the front hall closet. And that's all it took to tempt Oreo. By the time his misdeed was discovered, the boots were history. Not both boots, mind you. Just the left one. But he might as well have devoured the pair whole considering the damage he did.

At first glance, it looked as if there was just a minor tear on the left boot. But on closer inspection, it turned out that the minor tear severed one of the zipper tracks. I suspect that the cost of repairing the tear and replacing the zipper would be more than the original price of the boots.

Sarah is upset and disappointed. I think she was even a little angry at Oreo. But, of course, her anger didn't last. She truly loves her dog.

I, on the other hand, am now living in fear. Like a vampire's first taste of blood, I suspect that a dog's first mouthful of shoe leather just whets his appetite for more. Starting today, I am redoubling my shoe surveillance efforts. I know Oreo will strike again; I just don't want to be his next victim.

Support Your Local Vet

2006-04-24T05:39:00.000-07:00

My daughter Sarah is ten years old but is already wise beyond her years. For the last few months, she has been carefully mapping out her future life. She already knows what size house she wants (three bedroom), where it will be located (in our current neighborhood) and what type of furniture it will have (probably IKEA).

As part of this ongoing exercise in planning, Sarah has also considered what career she should pursue. So far, she has thought about becoming a lawyer, a personal shopper, a professional dancer and an aesthetician. Her latest career choice is pediatrician.

All this is fine and good. But after last week, I am strongly urging Sarah to become a veterinarian. Once again Oreo made a trip to our local vet. It seems part of his recent scratching episode was due to an ear infection.

Cheryl took the pup to the vet last Friday. This time it was for what I assumed would be a quick diagnosis and some medication to put in Oreo's ear. So I was surprised to learn that the bill came in at $220.

It turns out that the latest bill also covers costs for some ongoing medications that all dogs need. But still, most of the cost was for spotting and treating a simple ear infection.

In a little over a year, we've already racked up vet bills totalling about $1,500. And it's not as if Oreo has experienced anything that unusual. There was the neutering operation and the stitches for his puncture wound. But everything else was just routine puppy medical maintenance.

So from now on, when Sarah wants to discuss her future employment plans with me, I'm going to stress to her that three-bedroom homes don't come cheaply and that she might want to consider a career as a vet. Especially if she ever hopes to be able to afford to own a dog.

Mickey, The Dog Not The Mouse

2006-04-20T05:25:00.000-07:00

While rummaging through Cheryl's photo collection on our hard drive (Is rummaging the right word for computer browsing?), I came across this picture of Oreo playing with his friend Mickey. Mickey's owners live on a nearby street and occasionally Oreo and the Mickster get together in one of their backyards for a puppy playdate.

It's a treat to watch these two overgrown pups play. They wrestle and growl and nip at one another without stopping for as long as an hour. At times it sounds like a battle to the death but for dogs, it's all in good fun. After they're finished, Oreo comes home exhausted and, because he's a furry breed, coated in dog drool. I'm fine with the former which means no need to walk or play with a tired dog but the drool I can live without.

Mickey has introduced me to another in a seemingly endless series of anthropomorphic dog activities. Not only do owners dress up their dogs, feed them human food and otherwise treat them like people. Now they also throw birthday parties for their mutts.

Oreo has been invited to Mickey's first birthday party next month. Apparently there will be a gathering of several dogs in Mickey's backyard and I believe there will be presents and perhaps even an Alpo cake. No word yet on whether an aging, alcoholic, chain-smoking dog will dress up as a clown and provide the entertainment. Stay tuned.

Update on Oreo's behaviour: Perhaps I spoke too soon the other day when I said that Oreo's a well-behaved dog. This morning I came downstairs and found a small stuffed toy mouse dangling from his mouth. The toy's right foot had been severed and the small beads from its innards were spread about the living room carpet. Apparently someone forgot to close the door to Sarah's bedroom. Oh well, this is not the first casualty from Sarah's menagerie and it's not likely to be the last. I'm just thankful she doesn't have one of those giant teddy bears whose stuffing could likely cover an entire room.

Not A Bad Dog

2006-04-18T06:21:00.000-07:00

Although I suspect all dogs misbehave somewhat (especially those that are only a year old), I'm beginning to realize that Oreo is really not such a bad dog. Of course he manages to occasionally unwind the toilet roll and pilfer food left too close to the edge of the table and not come when called. But overall, he's pretty good.

Oreo is even-tempered, mild-mannered and reasonably well-behaved. He doesn't bark when people come to the door. He doesn't knock visitors over. And he's great with kids. That's pretty much the canine trifecta as far as I can see.

I got to observe Oreo in a social setting last night. We went to my in-laws for Easter dinner and Oreo came along. Although there were twelve people present, he didn't get overly excited or make a nuisance of himself.

At one point, he tried to snatch a game piece or two from a board game. But after several warnings, he seemed to get the idea that swallowing a Trivial Pursuit wedge wasn't a good idea for us or him. One other faux pas ('faux paw?') occurred when someone left their piece of cake unattended on the dining room table. Oreo managed to get in a couple of good licks before the cake was rescued.

Oh yes, there was one more minor violation of the social code. Generally hosts expect their guests not to lick the silverware. But when a dishwasher door is opened and no one is looking, it's hard to blame a doggie for wanting to help with the cutlery cleaning. Oh well, at least I won't be eating there tonight.

Fleas, Please

2006-04-13T05:09:00.000-07:00

Here's a photo of Oreo from his extra-cute puppy days. As with children, one tends to occasionally get nostalgic for those supposedly simpler times. Except that they weren't simpler times. Puppies and babies are pretty much the same. They eat, poop, cry and sleep and the sooner you can get them past that stage, the better.

But there is one thing about Oreo's puppyhood that I miss: the absence of scratching. For some reason, the poor guy has taken to scratching himself frequently of late.

Cheryl says she's going to take him to the vet which is probably the sensible thing to do. But going to the vet is much like taking your car to the garage. Just walking through the door is going to cost you at least a hundred dollars and, more often than not, you'll end up forking out several times that amount.

A quick trip through Googleland on the Web revealed that, as with most things canine, scratching is not necessarily a simple matter. Yes, it could be fleas. But it could also be allergies, any one of a number of dermatological ailments or even a psychological condition requiring the services of a pet psychologist and a new line of credit at the bank.

All that to say that for the first time in my life, I'm hoping that Oreo has fleas. It's treatable and for relatively little expense. And in the world of dogs, that's the best that you can hope for.

A New Dog

2006-04-11T06:17:00.000-07:00

The photo on the left gives you a good idea of what Oreo usually looks like. He's a handsome dog with a full coat and a definite doggy-like demeanor.

Unfortunately, Oreo no longer looks like his picture. Yesterday was haircut day and our handsome PWD now looks like a cross between a poodle and an overcooked weiner dog.

It seems that Oreo's fur gets easily matted. And unless someone (namely, Cheryl) finds time to brush him hourly, he is destined to experience the heartbreak of tangled hair and probably even split ends. Not that Oreo really cares. Like most dogs, he is virtually ego-free.

But this matting business means that when Oreo goes for a haircut, the person who does the job (trimmer? shearer? stylist?) has to give him something resembling a doggy brush cut. So our once substantial, proud dog all of a sudden appears to have lost half of his mass and half of his nobility.

The final insult is that the doggy stylist leaves the end of Oreo's tail uncut. Well not exactly uncut. She forms his end-of-tail hair into a giant ball like the ones seen on poodles and certain car radio antennas.

It is a sad sight to see our once proud dog walking around half naked with a poodle puff on the end of his tail. Cheryl trimmed the ball down to a smaller size but the effect still remains. Sadly, only time will grow Oreo's fur back and restore the proud Porty we once had.

The Porty Walk

2006-04-10T04:29:00.000-07:00

No, the Porty walk is not the Lippizanner-style prance that Oreo affects when he proudly trots down the street. The Porty walk is a monthly gathering of Portuguese Water Dog owners at the local dog run.

This event takes place the second Sunday of every month and Cheryl has been meaning to join in for some time now. Yesterday she was determined to finally take Oreo to meet his fellow PWDs. And for some strange reason, I decided that I wanted to go, too.

First off, I'd never been to the local dog run. It's a place called Conroy Pit, a name that conjures up images of an abandoned mining site or a giant chasm for disposing of dog poop. Apparently it is neither but is simply a wooded trail where dogs can run and play off-leash.

And second, I was intrigued by the possibility that Oreo might meet one of his siblings on the Porty walk. Since there is only one local PWD breeder, it stands to reason that Oreo would meet some relatives and maybe even one or two members of his litter. I was curious to see how he might react to such a meeting.

As it turns out, we didn't make the Porty walk. Other things came up including the requisite Sunday afternoon nap. So we'll have to wait for next month's gathering of PWDs and hope that we can finally facilitate a family reunion for Oreo.

Today is Oreo's grooming appointment and, since he has some matting, he's likely to be shorn to the bone. So at least by next month's gathering, he'll have some hair back and should again look like a Portuguese Water Dog instead of an anorexic poodle.

How Much Is That Doggy In The Window?

2006-04-06T06:18:00.000-07:00

As I backed out of the driveway this morning, I saw Oreo looking at me through the front curtains. Which begged the question: "How much is that doggy in the window?"

Well, it turns out that I recently made that calculation. In a moment of pique after some Oreo mishap, I sat down at my desk and toted up the expenses we had incurred on Oreo's behalf over the last year.

First there was the $1700 that Cheryl spent to acquire the pup. Then there was the cost of the new backyard gate, the carpet on the stairs, the baby gates in the kitchen, the dog crate, the dog toys, the dog bowls and the dog food. In the past year, there have also been several vet visits including two involving surgery, medication and coneheads. Finally, there was the stay at the doggy resort (more about that later).

When I added everything up, I was surprised, shocked and angered to discover that we had already spent $5,000 on Oreo. This was one expensive puppy.

Just to torture myself, I imagined what we could have had this year instead of a dog for the grand sum of $5,000. A vacation? A new bathroom? A big-screen TV? Ten cats?

Actually, scratch the cats. If forced to choose, it's an easy decision: I am NOT a cat person. So, if we had to throw away $5,000, I guess I'd rather have one dog than ten cats. But, so far, I still would have preferred the big-screen TV.

Dressing Your Pet

2006-04-05T05:51:00.000-07:00

After reading my entry for last December, my friend Lucie sent me this picture of another dog burdened with a Santa hat. I don't know if you can tell from the photo but it's clear that this poor little mutt is not enjoying the experience.

I spoke to Oreo last night about this whole treating dogs like people business and suggested that we form a new organization to fight this unwarranted harassment. I took his silence as a sign of assent.

This anthropomorphizing of animals has gotten out of hand. As Lucie says, the only thing dogs should wear is a bandana and I'm not even sure about that unless, of course, it's a macho bandana. Then again, after this spring's experience, I may be willing to make an exception for rubber boots for dogs so long as they're not pink.

I raised the possibility of making our new organization all-inclusive so that it would also cover cats and other pets. Oreo's repeated barking suggests that he is of the view that cats can look after their own.