Bringin' it all back home

The beach, that is.

I went to the woods . . .

. . . because I wished to live deliberately. -- Henry David Thoreau

. . . to chase my sister. -- Izzy

The Bot Speaks

What I Did On My Summer Vacation, by Isadore Levine

Summer is very hot.  Especially at the beach.  Especially if you're wearing a black fur coat.

Me, on the beach, inappropriately attired.

In spite of the fact that my brain was baking, I learned a trick.  I learned to jump onto my foamy box and sit there.

Makin' it look easy.

The best thing about learning a trick is that you get lots of treats.

Queen of all she surveys

A 9.5 from the German judge

Izzy's a jumper, a springbok in a dog suit.  Call him, and he'll run at you full speed and launch himself into the air about six feet from where you're standing.  He flies toward you looking straight into your eyes, mouth wide open, four legs splayed in five directions. Just as your amygdala screams "Duck!"  to the rest of your brain, he lands at your feet, finishing with a perfect sit. He always sticks the landing.

Ecce canis!

A Night to Remember

Izzy turns two today.  Today-ish; we don't know his exact birthdate, but April 15th is the date his namesake, Isidor Straus, went down with the Titanic.  Isidor's wife Ida was lost too, because she refused to board a lifeboat without her husband.  "I'm not getting in the boat," she was heard to say, or more probably, "Ich komme im Boot nicht!"  Now that's liebe.

Izzy's original name was Colby.  We changed it to Isadore because he is adorable.  And because, like the Strauses, he knows how to love.  And because no self-respecting dog wants to be named after a cheese.  Unless it's Wensleydale.

And now, a few words from our heroine:

Apparently something called "the bar" has been raised around here.  I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but it seems that good behaviour, for which I used to be paid excellent chicken jerky morsels, just isn't good enough anymore.  So it goes when you're workin' for The Man.  Or in this case, The Woman, since Daddy is still a pushover with the treats.

Among the new rules:

• Sit politely when people come into the house (and when they make off with the silverware?)
• Allow myself to be petted by friendly strangers (what can I say?  I'm Garbo-esque)
• No forging ahead on leash walks (2 legs, 4 legs; <heavy sigh>)
• No pushing Izzy around (I've always thought of it as "providing much-needed direction")

And apparently just being fluffy and cute no longer counts.

-- Sadie

Fly, Izzy, fly!

Dogs then and now

When I was a kid dogs were simple.  They stayed in the yard (without a fence), you played with them, they followed you everywhere (without a leash).  Little Rascals, minus the lisps.  We asked no more of dogs than what their instincts and 10,000 years of natural selection had given them: that they protect us, work with us, be our boon companions.

They communicated as they always had, with their mouths.  Everyone knew a dog who snapped or nipped, and we learned to give them the space they were clearly asking for.  My friend Joannie Bindrim's big golden retriever disliked being petted, and reminded you of that every time you tried. We kids were his personal Everest; sometimes he nipped us just because we were there.

Dogs who had training seemed like circus performers.  They wowed us with their "tricks", but they and their owners were clearly a different ilk.  Our next-door neighbour had a gray standard poodle, and when she came to visit one day the dog came along.  Into the house!  It lay politely at her feet, not interested in anything but her mistress.  It didn't sniff or pee or seem to care about doing either.  I was dumbfounded.

* * *

Sadie was a backyard dog, living outside in Tennessee.  It explains her fondness for pickup trucks and lawn mowers.  She'd obviously had plenty of experience with children and none with leashes.  Protecting her domain from interlopers was her mission, her calling, her raison d'etre.

From Tennessee to the shelter to Manhattan.  Our country girl learned to navigate revolving doors and escalators, up and down.  She figured out the elevator, though she sometimes got off a floor too soon.  The doors would close before she could correct her error, and I would have to finish the ride up and then go back down for her.  I always found her staring at the elevator doors, head tilted in puzzlement.

She knows Sit, Down, Stay (in both Sit and Down), Left Paw, Right Paw, Two Paws (that one still needs work), Touch, Look, Leave It (doesn't apply to chicken bones found on the sidewalk), Wait, Steady, Tummy, Jump, Jump Big, In, Out, Off, and Dance.

Just don't try to burgle the joint.  A calling is a calling.