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Category Archives: favorite kid

Hey there hot stuff

It’s a Gentle Leader, people. See? I can still
stick my tongue up my left nostril.

I trudge up three flights of stairs to be met by a museum security guard. 

Excuse me, ma’am, she says, stepping into my path of the exit. We were wondering why your service dog is wearing a muzzle.

Ok, that was three flights, chick. Up. To claim I’m out of shape would imply that somewhere in the recent past I was once in shape. I am intent on breathing through my nose so that I won’t actually pant like a black dog in the sun. But great. Now I’m expected to talk in a coherent and sane manner.

And I just hoofed it up here because I got the gotta-potty-please look from Yaxley. We’re on important and urgent business here, security guard person.

But wait . . . just a sec here. Who is this “we” anyway? We were wondering . . .? So the collective security guard force has been talking about me and the dog? Huh.

Isn’t he a handsome fella?, I start off with. Because it’s true and I say this to everybody. You know, he’s not wearing a muzzle. Actually that’s a head collar, a Gentle Leader.  It’s a training tool we use which gives the handler better control of the dog by controlling the head.  

Ok, now read that again, but pause between every three words or so. I’m making a sincere effort to not suck in air like I’ve had my head held under water. Which is only making it worse, really.

See?, I hold open Yaxley’s mouth to show his pearly whites. He is still able to eat, drink or bark with the Gentle Leader on. It’s not restricting in any way.

Oh, we’ve had the Gentle Leader 60 Second Training session many a time. Every CCI puppy raiser has, I would wager. Instead of being frustrated with the muzzle doppelganger issue, I try to see this as an educational opportunity.

As in I taught someone something today! My work here is done, kinda thing.

The security guard is an all business gal, but polite enough. She assures me that she’s not being confrontational. (I do believe she may have misunderstood my labored breathing as some sort of panic attack.) And continues on to share stories of small dogs smuggled in purses and attempts to bring ill-behaved pet dogs through the museum because it was too hot to leave them in the car.

I’m courteous in return, wanting to keep things all sunshine and rainbows here. Yaxley and I strive to be good ambassadors for CCI.  But this valiant effort will be all for naught if I don’t get that sloshing canine bladder out that door rather soon-like. I’m anticipating a double-duty event, actually.

Double. Duty. #2 doody, get it?  Bwa ha ha [snort]. Alrighty then, moving on.

We make our apologies to the security guard. I could stand and talk about dogs all afternoon with her, really I could.  But I need to toilet the puppy, won’t you please excuse us and all that kinda thing.  No worries though, Yaxley and I have a system down on this toileting thing with body cues and mind waves and stuff.  We make it in plenty of time, bag it and tag it, and are back in the museum refreshed and ready to roll onward.

With our final weeks together quickly coming to a close, I thought it good to walk Yaxley through the multi-sensory environment that is the Cincinnati Museum Center at Union Terminal.   I was especially interested in checking out the Day in Pompeii exhibit that had been enjoying some rave reviews.

From the Cinncinnat Museum Center’s website: 

The Roman city of Pompeii was frozen in time by the catastrophic eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 A.D. Pompeii’s archeological treasures rarely leave Italy, and this national touring exhibit marks the first time that these rare treasures will come to the region. Room-sized frescos, marble and bronze sculptures, jewelry, gold coins, and hundreds of priceless ancient artifacts join body casts of the volcano’s victims, eerily preserved in their final frantic moments. Don’t miss this glimpse through a unique window into the ancient past.

So a double-duty trip, so to speak. Ugh, no not that duty. You know, checking off two things in one event. Honestly, people.

Yaxley was his usual rock star self. Staying by my side and alert for what I needed him to do next. Sit, Down, Let’s Go, all that went well. We watched a short film on the destruction of the city of Pompeii by the volcanic eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Complete with a surround sound effect of booming noises and vibrating walls. Yaxley? No problemo. I can’t say he’s bomb-proof, but he should be pretty stable around a volcanic eruption.

Is it hot in here or is it just me? heh heh

The last feature of the Pompeii exhibit leads us into a darkened room with the body casts of victims from this disaster of 79 AD.  Rather somber and serious in this room. I’ve read about this event over the years in various magazine articles. I recall the striking photos of the natural  phenomena that created these ashen body casts. It was more than surreal to be standing in front of them now. I could have reached out to touch each one. But I didn’t of course. Not with the security team already whispering about me on those little headsets of theirs. That just wouldn’t be prudent.

The room was blanketed with an eerie silence as folk moved through. A reminder that it is a tomb of sorts. I noticed that Yaxley showed a sense of curiosity here. He observed everything, his nose twitching as I stopped to read each placard. What does a dog think when in the presence of such things? I wonder.

And then we came to the dog.  The brave creature that was chained to his post as a guard dog to his owner’s fuller shop. The body cast revealed the studded collar, the chain that held him to his fate. All the funereal body casts were hard to look at and I found this just as hard to process for what it was. An image can be found on Wikipedia’s Pompeii page.

I saw that dog, Food Lady. I need a hug.

In the silence, a voice. Don’t look! she says, looking at Yaxley. Ah, humor. Thank you kind lady, we needed the break. I shield Yaxley’s eyes and we move along.

The exhibit ends as all have before them. Into the bright, clear lights of the gift shop.

Ha! I’m stepping on our house. And Canada gets a special view.
Full moon tonight, eh.

As the day’s still young, we have time to explore the Natural History side of the museum as well.  On to the Ice Age for us for a meetup with a prehistoric wolf.

Back off, ye dire wolf. One more step and my
laser eyes will vaporize your shaggy self.

We slip further back in time to the cretaceous period for a face off with an ankylosaurus. Sure it’s a plant eater, but just look at that beak, willya?  Even get tagged by a cockatiel or some other pet bird? Yeah, times that by about fifty and you’re gonna lose more than a fingertip.

But that’s nothing to the brave Yaxley. He’s all bring it on, parrot head.

Because I’ll just shoot my laser eyes at ya [pow pow] and you’ll be stuck dating Barbie.

________________________________________

The Husband, Yaxley and I enjoyed the company of my favorite kid and his lovely girlfriend. Derek and Sam pose in front of the Cincinnati Museum Center, formerly the Union Terminal.  Yaxley is between them to keep an eye out for ill tempered dinosaurs.

If you have a nagging feeling about that familiarity of that art deco architecture, then you may have to embrace your inner geekness for all to see. This design was indeed the inspiration for The Hall of Justice for the Justice League (DC comics). 

Which I think is way cooler than it probably is.

Wordless Wednesday: Iditarod dogs

It’s Iditarod time. folk!  Iditarod 2012 starts this weekend on March 3.  Check out Iditarod.com for more info on this year’s mushers and to keep track over the next few harrowing days as these teams race for Nome.

Photo above is from Iditarod 2005. The kid is a junior dog handler, helping to bring Rick Swenson’s dog team to the start line. Derek is the guy in pink and black near the front.  See him?  Yeah, he also has a white ballcap on.

Anyone who wonders if these dogs really want to run this race, just check out the wheel dog, second up from the sled.  On two hind legs and rarin’ to go.  These dogs love to pull.  Which is also why it takes a human team to handle the lot of them at the start line.

Derek with legendary musher Charlie Boulding

The kid took captured this serene Alaskan landscape. I sent him off during a hike at Thunderbird. Between the altitude and my general out-of-shapeness, compounded by a chronic case of the clumsies, I didn’t dare venture off the trail.  Instead, I handed the camera over to the boy scout and let him have at it.  The kid has an artist’s eye, indeed.

Wordless Wednesday: Fat Tuesday Hangover

Do we want to know what the dogs did to earn those beads?  Right, probably not.

But knowing the cat, he’ll rat them out. 

Or not.

Guess I don’t know the cat like I thought.

Actually, we borrowed the beads from college boy’s bedroom. And how did he come about owning these? That story, my friends, is indeed one I don’t need to know.

Wordless Wednesday: Sled Dog Whisperer

Long before tough dogs were being whispered to on national television, we had, in my opinion, the first fella to perform such derring-do.

This is my favorite kid in 2005 at the Iditarod restart in Willow, Alaska. He’s coaching Rick Swenson’s sled dog team to do their best over the next thousand miles of wilderness trail.

The only five time winner of the Iditarod? Oh yeah, that Rick Swenson

Huntin’ season for trees

Ma!  I like this one!

In the days when the Husband and I were oh so very new with this parenting gig, we thought it paramount to put our personal spin on the family Christmas traditions. You know, the warm and fuzzy memories of his suburban childhood mixed gently with my rustic farm livin’ upbringing. (Alternatively called “You’re Not Doing That Right.”) Then we would offer up these experiences for the kid’s memories. And someday when he has his own family, he will carry these traditions with him and tell his kids, when I was little, my rents . . .

It seemed like a wonderful idea, we thought.

So the first Christmas after the kid became self-aware, we donned him in his winter gear and rumbled off in the Ford pick-up for the local Christmas tree farm. Let’s go cut down our own tree! we exclaim, we’re gonna make you some memories today, son.

We park the truck and drag toddler boy out for his first ever tree hunt. Dang, we say, pulling on our gloves and stamping our feet, it’s flippin’ cold out here.

Fuzz-lined gloves are poised above our eyes in an attempt to see clearly out into the fields of evergreen. We discover our conifer of choice, the soft-needled white pine, is . . . where?  Holy cow, really?  Well, that’s gonna be a hike.  Maybe we should have packed a lunch.

But no matter, we’re actually in pretty good shape to get out there. Got our walking shoes on and dressed warmly enough.  We’ve got time and the attitude to do this.

We had an affectionate nickname for the kid at this phase in his young life. When my cuddle bunny melted into a hungry, thirsty, and tired toddler, he was referred to as Bio-Boy. And two-thirds of the way out to the north forty we found ourselves challenged with the insistent biological needs of a toddler. (Where’s the diaper bag? Ah, back in the truck. greeaat . . .) I scoop up my little adorable bio bundle and we trod on with a renewed sense of purpose to find the Perfect Tree for this year’s Christmas memories.

Husband says, how ’bout this one?  I dunno, the needles are a little yellow on the ends.  This one?  Don’t you think the trunk is too crooked?  He grips the handle of the hacksaw perhaps a wee too tight.  Right.  How’s this one look to you?  Are you kidding? Look at that big bare spot!  Alrighty. This one?  It’s not, well, piney enough.

Ok, look, says the Husband. You know what? I believe you. The Perfect Tree is out there. But, as luck would have it, it’s not actually at this particular tree farm. Please just pick a tree so I can hack the thing down and drag it back over the twenty acres we just walked.

Oh, but I can’t! I can’t choose from any of these inferior coniferous twig beings. I’m not often accused of having high standards, but these pines are just not the stuff of memory making. Sorry, my brave knights, I have failed you. And with hanging heads and lowered standards, we tromp back on numbing feet to the farm entrance. You know, I sigh with resignation, that tree lot at the grocery might have something nice.

We walk past the barn when we notice, well, there’s a barn. Has this been here the whole time? Huh. And through the open barn doors (snicker, sorry), there appears before us a gallery of evergreen, freshly cut and hanging in neat rows.  Firs, scotch pine, white pines – all green and straight and full and all piney smelling. They’re perfect, the whole lot of them!  I walk in to hug a beautiful tree, exclaiming too loudly, I love it! Toss that hacksaw aside, we’ve found our destiny tree!

I know what you’re thinking. You saw that photo of the kid at the top, didn’t you? In spite of my seasonal zealousness, the kid was way too young to really retain any memories of this ill-fated tree hunt of his toddler youth.  And that’s for the best, I think, as the parental dialog was getting a little salty out there on the tundra.

But now, my favorite kid has outgrown me and is off to college. And the Husband and I are left  behind to carry on the holiday traditions we started as a young family.  With a different flavor these days, though.  We no longer have the Ford S-10; we now rumble to the tree farm in extended cab GMC.  And instead of the kid, we take a dog.

Not that we replaced the kid with a dog. It’s important to keep that clear, he keeps reminding me.

Gotcher holiday spirit right here, Micron says.

Yax, my love, I exclaim, put on your working cape and let’s go make us some Christmas memories!

The mighty Micron was our furry and festive tree hunter last Christmas (photo, right). Before we left for the tree farm, he pulled Yaxley aside to give him some pointers on how to get the job done.

Kid, he says, Pick the first one you see.

Great. Thanks a lot, Micron. Now, please turn off the TV and bring up the box of decorations from the basement, will you?

So it’s a gorgeous, sunny December afternoon. Perfect weather for tree shopping. And so we rumble off to the tree lot with Yaxley all jazzed and ready to hunt him some evergreen.


Sniff, snuffle, says Yaxley, here it is! Got one!

My job here is done.

Yaxley, this is indeed a lovely choice, I say, but since the tree is laying right here at the entrance, it probably already belongs to someone else. Let’s dig a little deeper into the lot, shall we?

Luck is ours and we find a beautiful white pine without any fuss or muss. I send the Husband to the other side to untie the thing from the post. Which end do you want, he asks. Which end do I want for what? You mean to carry? Don’t they have people for that?  Ugh, I get The Look. Alright, lemme have the top part. It looks lighter than that big thing on the other end.  You mean the trunk?  Yeah, that.

I’m watching it just like you said, Food Lady. 
What’s it supposed to be doing?

Yup, we untied it ourselves.

Next step is dragging this piney carcass into the house and the joyful joint effort of putting the thing in the tree stand, which is not as bad as wallpapering a room together.

Last Christmas Yaxley was a newborn pup, so we’re sensitive to these new experiences. While he’s trying to wrap his yellow noggin around the phenomena of an outdoor smelling thing planted into a big water bowl, Micron pulls him aside.


This is funny, Micron says. Watch the Food Lady when I drink from the big water bowl. heh heh.  Now you try it. See, she sounds just like the red squeaky ball, doesn’t she?

And then you put lights on it?

And so continues our holiday traditions.

This will be our fourth Christmas with a CCI puppy in our home.  In 2008, we celebrated the season with the lovely Inga. This gorgeous pup was five months old on her first Christmas.

Inga shares her wish list with Santa, while the jolly elf wishes she’d move that front paw from his, um, chestnuts.

We brought home the mighty Micron the week before Thanksgiving in 2009.  A ridiculously adorable puppy that looks like he smells like sugar cookies. As is turns out, it’s actually a scent reminiscent of mushroom soup, but that didn’t dampen  the warm welcome into our home.

All this puppy goodness was too much to keep under the radar, though. The mighty Micron has graced the Canine Companions for Independence holiday cards two years in a row. And his handsome puppy mug has been included in the 2011 and 2012 CCI Calendars

Just the way timing worked out, we enjoyed a second Christmas season with Micron in 2010.

And he continues to be the life of the party.

I didn’t bother to send this next photo in to CCI.

And now that this cuddlebug is a CCI college drop-out, we find ourselves blessed to have yet another Christmas with him.  Just proof that we must’ve done something good to get this kind of karma happening for us. 

More on that later. But now, I need to check on the tree. I think the cat just discovered it.