Velveteen Doggie

Today I took Lola to get the second haircut since she's been with me. Since it's forty-seven bucks a pop, I try to leave it as long as I can between haircuts, and then get it cut as short as I can without her looking completely ridonkulous. The girls at Petsmart were really nice and agreed to pose for before and after pictures.

Before:


After:


They gave her pink bows with green dots to match her collar :-D

Right after a haircut, Lola becomes what I call the Velveteen Doggie. Her coat is short and soft, with no curl, and it's like stroking velvet.

Here is a picture of Lola eating, because that's the only time I could get her to stand still. Her head looks ridiculously huge compared to the rest of her body.


Of course as soon as the camera flashed she came towards me. She has an odd fascination with the camera. Also, did you know that Lhasas are prone to having problems with being bow-legged? I guess I'm really fortunate that Lola doesn't seem to be affected!


I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.

Evolution of a Cat Nap

Stage One:
Hi, I just wandered over to sniff your purse. Which you can't see because my big fat body is in front of it.


Stage Two:
Yawn.


Stage Three:
What are you lookin' at?


Stage Four:
Excuse me while I lick my butt for a moment.


Stage Five:
Hello again, purse.


Stage Six:
Ah, much better. As you were, everyone. Carry on.

In Memoriam, with the greatest respect

My dog books say that you should 'train' a dog for ten or fifteen minutes a day.

The books lie. What they actually mean is that you should pretend to train your dog for ten or fifteen minutes a day. The evidence:

Me: Want to see Lola do a trick? She knows Sit and Dance.

My Mom: That's two tricks.

Me: No, it's not. I've been teaching them together.

My Mom: Maybe she would learn them better if you taught them separately?

Me: Oh yeah? Lola -- sit!

[Lola sits and I give her a treat.]

Me: Now you tell me how to get her off her ass so I can reward her for Sit again.

[Lola, still sitting, watches me intently. She is clearly not going to move. Having her butt on the floor means a treat. She is not going to jeopardize the possibility of more treats by doing anything other than Sit. As my mother put it, she could sit for Britain.]

Me: See? This is why I have to do two at once. Lola -- Dance!

[Lola remains sitting.]

Me: Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance! Dance!

[Lola jumps up onto her hind legs and I give her another treat.]

Me: Good girl! Dance!

[Lola sits.]

Lola is a big fan of Sit. Sitting gets her a treat, setting gets her harness on so she can go outside, sitting gets her brushed. You'd think she'd also be a fan of Dance, since I make her do it before I give her food, but apparently not. Tonight, I randomly alternated Sit and Dance commands while using Lucky Charms as treats. She chose Sit as her initial response every time.

And I couldn't help but think, "What we have here, is a failure to communicate!"

A New Nickname

People have told me that a dog should have two names: the first, a meaningless nickname that you don't need the dog to respond to, and the second, an actual 'command name,' the word which precedes each command, so that the dog knows she's supposed to pay attention.

My last roommate did this. Her dog was technically named Jackson, but she called him Pickle most of the time. Oddly enough, Pickle turns out to be a rather fitting eponym for a blonde Chihuahua-Rat Terrier mix.

But I've never managed to make this concept work with Lola. She's mostly just Lola. After all, when I was choosing her name, I deliberately picked one that was fun to say. And although she has a few other nicknames -- Silly Little Girl, Scruffbucket, Ragamuffin, Princess Poo-Face the Second -- those tend to be the kind of nonsense words you say when you're doing tummy rubbles.

But yesterday, Lola managed to earn herself a new nickname. Internet, I present to you a play in three acts, entitled: "Lola: A Play About A Nickname."*

ACT ONE:

Lola awakens in an incredibly energetic mood. I decide to take her out to Walnut Creek before breakfast so she can burn off some steam. We drive up there and do the mile-long hike we enjoy, and meet up with an older gentleman named David and his two medium-sized dogs. Lola pretends that she is part of their pack, even though it's clear she doesn't have a chance of keeping up with them. We have a nice outdoorsey forty-five minutes. I think that I've tired her out a bit.

ACT TWO:

I get a phone call from my apartment complex. "Hi. Did you call in to report that your breaker blew, and all the power is out except for your kitchen?" "Why yes, yes I did!" "Well, our maintenance guy is over there now to try to fix it, but there's a problem with your dog. She won't let him in."

She won't let him in. A thirteen-pound Lhasa-Poo is keeping a grown man at bay. She is adorable and fluffy. She is the complete opposite of threatening. But apparently, in my absence, she takes her protector duties very seriously. My dog rocks.

I manage to swing by home before work so that the maintenance guy can flip the right breakers. "Yeah, she really didn't like me being here before," he says.

ACT THREE:

I now have to leave for work. I give Lola a Teenie Greenie to occupy her while I slip outside. Despite this distraction, she darts out the door the moment it opens more than an inch -- I swear, I did not think the door was open enough for her to fit through it -- and she then prances around and around my car. You could practically hear her singing "Chitty-chitty-bang-bang, we love you!"

Since I was (of course) already late for work at this point I put on my most commanding voice. "LOLA. LOLA COME. LOLA COME. I MEAN IT. LOLA COME. Goddammit--" as she prances behind the car again. "LOLA COME!!!"

Eventually she did actually obey me, whereupon I tossed her back into the apartment without ceremony, saying, "That's right, and you stay there, you -- you Snickerdoodle!"

I have no idea why I called her a Snickerdoodle. The best explanation I have is this:

- Cookies are my favorite sweet dessert-type food. Forget cake, pie, brownies, anything. Cookies are the best. I had one of those big cookies from the Great American Cookie Co as my birthday cake for at least four years that I can remember.
- Snickerdoodles are a crappy kind of cookie which I do not actually enjoy. They suck. It's because of the cinnamon. Cinnamon is a stupid spice and I have never met a Britisher who enjoyed it. Even my Scottish roommate refused cinnamon gum.
- So it's sort of like saying, "I really love you lots and lots, but right now you are being really annoying!"

Or, as Lola's Daddy pointed out, possibly it's just because it rhymes with poodle.

Anyway, Lola can now be referred to as the Snickerdoodle. But probably only when she's been a bit naughty.

*Ellie, you would be the only one to get this incredibly inane reference, except that the play happened my freshman year. It was a decent play. One of Phillip's weirder set creations.

You Want What?

A young guy, maybe twenty years old, asks if we have a certain book. I walk over to the right section with him and we look -- nope, sorry, we don't have it, thanks for trying us, would you like to call our other locations because we all have a different inventory, thanks so much.

And then he says, "Where can I find wood?"

"Wood?"

"Yeah."

"Actual wood. Not a book called wood."

"Yeah."

"So, not something that we would have in this store."

"No. Real wood. We're going camping. We're from Dallas. We're going camping at [stupid campsite] and when we called they said there wasn't much firewood around."

"Well, there's a Home Depot a few exits down the freeway."

The punk has the nerve to say, skeptically, "And they'd have wood? That you could use for a fire?"

No, but I have a back-stock of paperbacks that you are welcome to use as kindling. I have officially run out of patience. "I don't know. Where would you go for firewood?"

"Walmart?"

"I don't live near here. I don't know where the closest Walmart is. Do you want me to google it?"

And then a customer chimes in. "There's a Walmart one exit up the freeway. What are you looking for?"

"Firewood. Wood chips."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I mean, it's the end of the summer in Texas. Maybe you should try Home Depot?"

Boo-yeah. I totally win.

The Difference Between Cats and Dogs: Part 1

To set the scene: I'm sitting in bed, Lola is sprawled out on the kitchen linoleum, and Banzai is curled up on my rollaboard.*

If I get up, Lola will immediately jump to her feet, tail perked up, head tilted to the side, looking at me expectantly, as if to say, "What? What? Are we going somewhere? Am I getting food? Do you want to play? Do you want to pet me? What's happening now? This is so exciting!"

Banzai will lift his head and cautiously open one eye, as if to say, "Woman, I'm nice and cozy, and you better not bother me."

It's nice to have one of each.

*I had to google how to spell rollaboard. My parents are English. I always thought it was Roller-Board. Which, come to think of it, doesn't make much sense.
** I also read Nancy Drew novels before I had ever heard the word "alibi," so I thought it was pronounced "uh-LIE-bee" until about tenth grade.
*** For the benefit of Lola's Daddy: my rollaboard is my brown suitcase-thing, on wheels with a handle. That is the name for this newfangled kind of equipment.

Can't Trust Those Stereotypes

Today, a tall, beefy guy in a Detroit Lions football jersey bought "Opera 101: A Complete Guide To Learning and Loving Opera."