Training Tips

Over the years I have trained Ollie to love oatmeal cookies (no raisins, of course).

For breakfast he enjoys bits of buttered English muffins with blackberry jam, or banana bread if we are out of muffins or jam. After all, fruit is important.

Salmon (or tuna) with mayo and pickle relish – sometimes on crispy crackers – is a good lunch, while roast chicken remnants with mushroom risotto is a preferred dinner entre. It hardly bears mentioning that corned beef and potato portions are standard fare on St. Patty’s Day.

In a pinch, he is fine with Progresso’s Chickarina soup as a stand-in lunch or dinner, as am I.

It has been a lot of work expanding his diet, but soooo worth it. It is just so convenient to have a dog that loves all the same foods you do, right up to the Rita’s gelati run on a warm summer night (vanilla soft serve layered with rootbeer ice). It makes life so much easier, and we all enjoy meals and outings together that way.

Of course he eats dog food, too. He would prefer to think of it as a mere supplement, so let’s just leave it at that, okay?

Ollie will be twelve this June, and he is as healthy and active as ever.

I know it’s our diet of fab favorites that is keeping him that way.

Good boy, Ollie.

Following the Sun

Our middle child is a plumber, and in visiting houses for a living, he meets a lot of great dogs. He told us about an old dog who passed the time lying on his dog bed on the back deck, warming himself in the sun. Every now and then, the dog got up to reposition his pillow back into the sunlight’s shifting path across the deck, then plopped back down to nap. Waking to find himself in the shade a few hours later, he’d rouse himself again, drag the cushion to a new sunny spot, and sink back down to warming slumber.

I was thinking recently about which room is my favorite room in our house, and this story of the dog came to mind. I realize that I am the dog on the deck. My favorite room is the room where the sun is.

That would be the kitchen in the morning where we sit at the breakfast table each day, watching the sun rise in the east over our mugs and plates, surmising the day’s weather by the tinge of color the sky offers: pale pink for stormy, light blue for cloudless.

Midday, the sun streams through two windows framing the living room fireplace on the south side, so that’s where you’ll find me then. Even the dog finds a good nap on the sunny swatch of sunlight falling onto the carpet there. Like minded, we two.

Late afternoon has me swing open the big old front door to let the sun stream in through the glass just beyond, and also there, through the dining room windows on that same side. This part of the day gets a little tricky for the front porch that spans the width of the house tempering the light coming from the west. But step outside on the porch in such a case, and there you go! Bright and beautiful with just enough warmth, but not too much. After all, it is late in the day and the yellowy orb is lowering in altitude and intensity.

If you wonder where I’ll be sitting with my favorite book, you’d best check the time because honestly, I’ll be following the sun.

Chances are, the dog will be there, too.

A Tail of Two Lovers

I cracked the door open and “WHOOOSH!”

In streaked a ball of white fur, nearly knocking me off of my feet. Tearing several laps around the dining room table, pausing at the near end, paws planted wide, tail wagging and tongue lolling, she announced herself with a single bark.

“ARF!”

Scarlet is here for the weekend.

Oh boy.

Scarlet and our dog Oliver have been dating exclusively for almost eight years now although no formal announcement has yet been made.

She is his foil, and he hers.

She is exuberant, friendly, adventurous, ditzy, and driven by her great love of affection. He is reserved, cautious, grounded, reticent, and motivated by his great love of food.

If she could dress herself, she would accessorize flamboyantly with fire-engine red nails, large hoop earrings, and a rhinestone studded collar. He would prefer an understated smoking jacket (earth tones – of course), silk ascot tucked at the neck, and a tobacco pipe to puff on.

Miss Scarlotta and Professor Fuzzles.

Alter-egos.

Yin and yan.

She once coaxed him out from hiding under a picnic table at the local dog park.

He once saved her from a threatening vacuum cleaner.

She once ran to his house unaccompanied at 5 a.m.

He once lunged at a vagrant dog near her front yard.

She shares duck breast jerky at her house.

He shares chicken wrapped sweet potato niblets at his.

Scarlet and Ollie.

Ollie and Scarlet.

They met years ago on a neighborhood walk, she romping clockwise around the block, and he snuffling counter-clockwise along the same perimeter. Predictably, she ran to him; he stood his ground, not knowing if it was wise to advance.

It’s been that way ever since.

They sparked a friendship that grew to include their human families who – over the years – have worn a comfortable footpath up and down the street, to and fro, carrying casseroles, good reads, and bottles of wine for barbecues, book discussions, and summer nights on the back deck or the front porch.

Ollie and Scarlet.

Scarlet and Ollie.

Little in stature but so big in heart.

And so remains to this very day.

Beach Reach

Yesterday, we nixed our chiropractic visits (no appointment necessary) at the eleventh hour and took the dog to the beach – a stroke of spontaneity for which my husband is famous and I am not. The Jersey shore in March is not always where you want to be, but yesterday was a gem of a day after a week of overcast skies and frigid temperatures. Dogs are allowed on the beaches through March 31, so our chances for a threesome beach day were dwindling with each passing weekend.

Tossing a blanket, water bottle, and bowl in the car we headed out. I was excited to see how our middle-aged Ollie would embrace a new environment that was the backdrop of so many of my summer vacations years ago. In less than an hour, we were there.

Picture perfect, we were solitary beachcombers enveloped by a cobalt blue sky. Collecting shells and romping about, we walked, touching the chilly surf and warm white sand. Eventually we sat on a beach log, soaking in the salt air, the sun, the time together.

I had thought about going, and had mentioned it weeks ago, but would have stuck to my Saturday plans; I’m a planner after all. He is my fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy, the one who tosses a Saturday schedule aside with ease to embrace something unknown, instead.

A big stretch for me, this trip was an easy reach for him.

A beach reach.

A day to remember.