dogs

Moving into the Future

~ Becky Ross Michael ~ 63 Comments
The Jetsons’ Rosie the Robot

Another June arrived much too quickly, bringing a new opportunity to dog-sit for several of my fur grandbabies. Hazel, the large, elderly boxer, isn’t as much of a challenge these days. But the active min pin “R-threesome” – Rubble, Remi, and Reign – can be a handful. We make countless backyard visits, followed by countless reward treats. And yet an occasional potty accident still follows. They probably spend too much of their outdoor time peering under the fence at the dog next door, chasing butterflies, and lying in the sun instead of taking care of their potty business. But all the dogs are fun and affectionate, and they love to snuggle.

This time, I had four Rs to contend with. An entirely new challenge had entered the equation: Roomba. My daughter, son-in-law, and I discussed it. They could have just disabled the sleek, round cleaning robot for the time being. But for a long vacation, I would feel compelled to do some floor cleaning under my own steam. Although I often resist change and was tempted to stick with a broom, dustpan, and mop, I took the plunge, chose Roomba, and took part in a focused training session. Upon completion, I felt confident that I could do this!

Once on our own, we started out fine. I knew the pre-programmed times. Around 8:00 AM, the robot would clean the front rooms, and closer to noon, it would make a clean sweep of the other downstairs rooms. The dogs willingly waited in their crates with the promise of a treat. Daily, I moved any small items that could get in the way, refilled the water compartment, and washed the cleaning pad. Roomba’s voice announced what I had accomplished, then did its thing at the preset times. I slipped a bit when I occasionally forgot to refill the water. No problem. The Roomba would still dry-clean the floor.

I have been known to chuckle at people who carry on conversations with their Alexa or name their ChatGPT “assistants.” But I caught myself talking to this spinning sphere, which I now called “Roamy.” It was like having an additional critter in the house.

Imagine my dismay, late one morning, when I realized Roamy hadn’t completed the cleaning cycle and was nowhere to be found. Could the robot have made it upstairs? Or did it get out somehow when the dogs and I were going into the backyard? Feeling silly, I called its name and, of course, heard no reply. I eventually found the dark disk sitting silently in a corner of the office, not far from its recharging station. It wasn’t hiding, but stuck! I must have moved that corner chair out of position, making the over-achieving orb “think” it could clean back there and get out safely. But no. That didn’t work, and I had to rescue Roamy from its predicament.

And then there was the time Roamy didn’t appear at the assigned hour, and I discovered I had closed the office door. By the time I realized this, the resolute robot had returned to its station. But I pictured it, knocking its determined plastic body against the door, trying to force its way through. Had it called out to me in despair?

But I still faced the biggest challenge yet. One day, soon after virtuously refilling the water, rinsing the pad, and removing some hair twisted around the brushes, Roamy successfully made its rounds on the floor. But then, not much later, the diligent disk detached itself from the charging station and made another round. Maybe I misunderstood my training, and the scheduled times varied by day of the week? Never mind. I redirected the surprised dogs so they wouldn’t interfere and let Roamy do its thing. No problem, or so I thought.

But then, the whole cycle restarted just an hour or two later! There was Roamy, rolling across the floor again. I was getting tired of having to move my feet from under the dining table, where I sit to write and edit. But Roamy was gently nudging my toes out of its path. By the end of the day, I lost count of how many times this confused contraption had made its circuit. I was having trouble concentrating on my work. Something had to be done.

I didn’t want to bother my vacationing family with what should have been a trivial and easily resolved issue. I turned to Google. The only possible answer I found was that I accidentally hit the clean/power button during my part of the device’s maintenance and had confused it. The suggestion was to push and hold the button to reboot. I had nothing to lose, took a deep breath, and pressed the button. I wouldn’t know for sure until the next morning whether I had interfered with or blanked out the set times. Just in case, I closed the office door so the robot wouldn’t roam around the house during the night!

Much to my delight, at 8:00 the next morning, I heard Roamy’s cheerful voice and familiar whirring sounds heading my way. My plan had been a success. All was right with the world. Maybe I CAN roll with the times and move into the future!

As I earlier said, I often resist change, but a major transformation awaited me just around the corner. Later in June, I left Frisco behind and moved to New Braunfels, in Texas Hill Country. There’s no robot waiting to help with the cleaning, but several of my other fur grandbabies (both canine AND feline) will keep my life interesting!

Thanks, Pixabay!

Sweater Weather

~ Becky Ross Michael ~ 84 Comments
Rubble, Reign, Hazel, and Remi

The weather has finally turned chilly here in North Texas. But it wasn’t that many weeks (days?) ago that the temps were still quite toasty. Here’s a little story I wrote about one of those days.

All Safe Inside

The air around us is suffocatingly hot, close, and still. A weak light wobbles in my hand. Smells of doggie breath, spit, and sweat assail my nose. Three of my four charges take turns panting and barking. The fourth snarls and tries to rip apart the small dog bed on the floor. Beyond our confined space, all noises are muffled and faint. I feel my heart beating in my sore teeth. And then a text lands on my phone.

EARLIER THAT DAY…

“Go potty!” I said, opening the door to let my four fur grandbabies into the backyard. Hazel, the senior boxer, immediately lay down in a patch of sun. Rubble, Remi, and Reign‒the three miniature pinschers‒sprinted away to the far corners of the fenced area.

After watering thirsty plants, I sat on a lawn chair, thankful for the beautiful day. The sky was deep blue, with a few cottony white tufts. A gentle breeze cooled my skin. I heard a lawnmower next door, and soon, the smell of newly mown grass wafted over the fence. One of the min pins zoomed past. Dog sitting for that pack kept me on my toes and made the week fly by.

“Go potty,” I reminded the dogs, noting they were more interested in napping or chasing toads, butterflies, and bunnies. Unexpectedly, I heard faint chirps and looked above at the improbably small barn swallow nest. The mud structure was secured under a corner of the back porch overhang. An adult bird swooped in for feeding time. Popping above the edge of the nest were three tiny bird heads, their beaks opened and waiting. Quite a show.

With closed eyes, I listened to the relaxing sounds of the pool’s fountain. I hadn’t brought my suit but considered coming back out later to cool my feet in the water while I read. My smile soon turned into a frown when I felt a slight twinge in my teeth. A recent visit to the dentist had provided no resolution, except for another appointment scheduled for several weeks later.

Just then, I got a call from my vacationing daughter. She asked about the doggies and mentioned seeing that severe weather was expected in the area that night. I know Texas storms can be extreme. I reassured her that I wasn’t worried and would remain weather-aware. I urged the dogs back indoors, promising treats for those who obeyed. Rubble was often the holdout, spending extra time moseying around the perimeter of the yard for anything he missed on his initial patrol of the area.

The rest of the day got away from me, between the dogs and the editing work that always accompanied me on the laptop. Before I knew it, the clock said it was past time for the dogs’ dinner, followed by their last potty break. When I opened the door, I realized the weather had turned. The temperature had dropped, and a strong wind blew. In the sky, angry dark clouds raced across the face of the moon. The baby birds were quiet for the night, and I was happy for the protection they had within their nest. I encouraged the puppy potty party of four to go out and do their business quickly.

“Inside!” I told the dogs as soon as they’d gone potty, promising them treats if they quickly followed my command.

Back in the house, I remembered the blue betta swimming lazily in its fishbowl and sprinkled a few food pellets into the water. I closed the blinds and got ready for bed. Rain spattered the windows. Before long, Hazel lounged on her large dog bed, and the three min pins were up on the bed with me and my book. Suddenly, the shrill blare of weather warning sirens sounded!

Like in my nearby town, that alert meant a tornado or large hail with high, destructive winds. I would take no chances and felt a strong responsibility for my daughter’s dogs. Grabbing my phone, flashlight, and a handful of dog treats, “Come! Treat!” I announced. We headed for the storm shelter, solidly set in the hot garage. Of course, Rubble, being Rubble, needed to make several passes inside the garage before he joined the others in the small shelter. I turned on the flashlight, closed the door, and sat on a low stool. That’s when all heck broke loose. No, not weatherwise. In fact, I could barely hear the wind and the faint pelting of hail. The problem was with the dogs!

As the confused canines tried to make sense of their surroundings, I already wondered how long we’d need to stay in that sweaty torture chamber. Remi and Reign nipped at each other, trying to run around in the small space. Hazel barked loudly, sending her odiferous breath directly into my face. And a snarling Rubble took over the small pet bed on the floor‒not to lie down but to try and rip it apart with his teeth. Time stood still.

RIGHT NOW…

My phone buzzes with a timely text from my daughter. “Just checked the radar for your area! Are you okay?” I assure her we are ALL safe in the storm shelter (except the fish…oops!). “There’s a fan in there,” she adds.

I shine my flashlight into the dark corners, and there it is, right next to me. My savior. I turn on the fan and pick up Rubble. He sits on my lap, whiskers facing into the surprisingly cool breeze. Rubble is suddenly quiet and content. The other three follow his lead, lie down, and go silent. I check my phone for a weather update. My toothache recedes from a steady throb to an occasional twinge.

Tomorrow, the sun will return, and I will start my second day of dog sitting. I can do this!

Boo Boo’s 15 Minutes of Fame

~ Becky Ross Michael ~ 63 Comments

National Walking the Dog Day – Who knew there was a special day on the calendar to celebrate walking the dog?! When I saw this announcement,  I thought back to a newspaper picture from 2012 I had saved in an old, decorated picnic basket. On the day captured above, I took my dog, Boo Boo, for a walk near what was then my home in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. I remember that autumn afternoon in mid October was beautiful…sunny and mild with plenty of colors remaining on the trees and ground cover. I can still smell that musty scent of fallen leaves.

A gentleman from The Evening News drove by and stopped to ask if he could take our picture. I agreed, thinking this would somehow immortalize my aging Shih Tzu. I spelled our names for the man, and he went on his way after clicking this photo. As you might notice, when this was published in the newspaper, my name is misspelled, but Boo Boo’s is not. Seems only right, since it was my faithful friend’s 15 minutes of fame.

I loved taking this sweet dog for walks, even in cold and snowy weather. We both benefited from the exercise and fresh air. It gave us time to be alone. I often talked with him about the things on my mind, and he was a wonderful listener. We had some adventures on our strolls, as well, such as near misses with skunks and snow plows. Over the years, we met many cute kids and sometimes scary stray dogs, who always wanted to come close and say hello. I was lucky to share many hours with such an affectionate and determined little guy and miss him more than I thought possible! I still walk, but it’s just not the same.

Younger Days with a Shorter, North Carolina Haircut

Children’s author, Elizabeth Stevens Omlor, and illustrator, Neesha Hudson, have captured the joys of walking our furry friends in their adorable book, Walk Your Dog. Important themes of teamwork, cooperation, and patience are beautifully addressed. You might want to look for it at your local library or bookstore!

A Canine Christmas Carol

~ Becky Ross Michael ~ 1 Comment

house for blog final 001“Are you there?” muttered the man into his pillow.

The sound wakened New Dog, who had been snoozing downstairs in his own resting place. Is he talkin’ to me?

Others had lived there with the man before New Dog’s time, but he didn’t know very much about them. He caught a whiff of First Dog on the carpet, every so often, and was sometimes tempted to chase his elusive shadow that dodged throughout the plants in the garden.

On occasion, New Dog sensed the essence of a woman moving through the house. She was always just beyond his reach when he tried to follow. These Others occasionally came up in conversation when his person talked and the dog’s ears stood at attention. The man referred to them as ‘Mr. Boo’ and ‘Sweetie Pie,’ but didn’t offer much detail. What was their story?

New Dog slept in a large crate that afforded a clear view of the eating and sitting areas. He had a comfy stuffed animal and stayed safe and warm, even as the cold winds dumped frosty white beyond the door.

A tree with little, sparkling lights had recently shown up in the sitting room, and his man had held up a stocking, stuffed almost to popping, that very night. “Tomorrow,” he had promised, with a smile.

Circling several times, New Dog rediscovered just the right spot and soon settled back into a steady pattern of breathing. The line between wakefulness and sleep turned to a blur.

What’s that?  His head jerked up, and he watched another canine pass his crate on furry paws that didn’t seem to quite touch the floor.  New Dog then realized that his own coat was almost the same dark shade as that of his predecessor.

First Dog kept moving, and he joined a hazy figure that appeared in the food room. He let out a quiet little “yip,” and the shadow of a woman threw him a treat. She smelled of flowers, and her smooth, dark hair was flecked with silver that shimmered in the slice of streetlight shining through a window.

Sweetie Pie?  The woman’s voice was soothing and escaped into the air like music that had been silent for too long.

New Dog blinked and swiped at both eyes with his right paw. Are they really here?  The misty figures still remained when his gaze returned.  Maybe they’ll stay if I keep quiet. Dream or reality, he peeked at them, unmoving, from his prone position. The visitors continued their reunion of nuzzles and hugs.

After a while, his man walked down the stairs to join them, as the dancing snowflakes accelerated outside the window. Content, sleepy and cozy, New Dog had a front row seat to the movie of their used-to-be life. The couple loved and laughed. Bulbs twinkled merrily on the tree. First Dog barked and pranced. Lights on the tree became dim. The people began to argue and then cried. Their dog grew weary and still.

No… New Dog blocked out the sounds by covering his ears with front paws. Darkness overtook him.

When morning sunlight appeared, so did the solitary man, with promises of goodies from the stocking.

As soon as his crate door was opened, New Dog ran from one room to the next sniffing the floors. Not there. His man looked on in puzzlement. The dog returned to each room for another pass and searched in every corner. Gone !

He considered his options and strutted past the man holding the stocking. With no concern for lost treat potential, New Dog sidled up to the tree and peed on the trunk.