Dragged by the Dogs

According to the National Weather Service the Mississippi River should reach flood level (34ft) on March 24th and crest on March 26th at just under 36 feet. What does this have to do with being dragged by dogs, you may ask?

The incident started when John emailed on Wednesday (March 19) because a flood watch had been issued. Then, soon after, he called seeking first hand views of the river. Dutifully, I hooked my boys into their leashes and headed out in the cold wind and rain for a look. I hadn't changed so I was dressed in my good jeans, heels and black suede & leather jacket. We walked across the bridge that connects our community to the south end of Tom Lee Park and saw that the muddy brown waters had already spread into the fields that line the Arkansas side of the river across from Memphis.

Since it was also time for their late afternoon walk, I persisted with the boys toward Martyrs Park, about a quarter of a mile away. We walk the path at least once a day. But, Fred is a smart dog and has learned that wet weather makes him cold from the paws up so he was not being particularly cooperative. Joe-Joe, as always, was enthusiastic. He's too stupid to mind the weather. He survives on his good looks and perky personality.

We were approaching the park monument when I spied a red fox sneaking up on the bluff edge to retrieve the food left him daily by an old man in our neighborhood. (I won't comment on I what I think of feeding wild animals). So, knowing that the boys would want a chase and I could not let them do that, I quickly turned them around to head home with promises of treats and warm towels.

We were doing well on our way back (meaning both dogs pooped and peed), when up the path I spy another neighbor walking her energetic Airedale and gray wolf, each weighing close to 100 pounds. Yes, I said "wolf" as in real wild wolf. She adopted him as a rescue animal. My dogs go bonkers over that wolf, wanting to tear her to shreds. Fifty pound Fred gets vicious and 22 pound Joe-Joe makes noises, believing he's a Rottweiler. When faced with Fred and Joe-Joe in previous encounters, the wolf just sat and started howling at the sky, lamenting his predicament.

Again, I moved quickly to made both dogs sit as far away from the path as possible without falling over the edge and rolling down the bluff into the river. I squatted and held a harness in each hand. I said soothing commands like "Stay. Yes. Good dogs. Stay." In previous encounters, all that worked pretty well.

But this time, Joe-Joe began to shudder uncontrollably. Fred sensed he had a pal for an attack. Suddenly both dogs ran at the wolf, dragging me behind them. I held onto their harnesses, yelling for them to "stay". My words were useless. I was spread-eagle on the ground holding onto 75 pounds of canine terror. If either broke loose, blood could flow. They pulled me ten feet over the muddy ground, before I regained control and pulled them back. My neighbor quickly passed, Airedale jumping and wolf howling. From my prone position, face in mud, I saw her shake her head. I was sure she thought I was an idiot for using harnesses and not neck collars to control my ill mannered, crazed little dogs.

I was embarrassed, of course, and covered in mud. My hands were bruised, sharp pains radiated from the left side of my rib cage (Fred's side) and my arms dangled on the ground. Now that the wolf was gone, my two hellions turned around to look at me, sensed my frustrating anger and sweetly sat as if nothing has happened. Fred laid down at the point of my finger for he knew he was in trouble. Fred said, looking up at me pathetically, "Mom, I'm really, really sorry. It was all Joe-Joe's fault. He got me all excited. I couldn't do anything about it. It was my instincts working." Joe-Joe, on the other hand, said, "Hey Mom. Wasn't that just the best fun! Can we do it again? Can we do it again?" What is it about kids and dogs?

I was close to throwing both of them in the churning river, but I pulled myself together, retrieved my shoe, and gave them a strong reprimand. I refused to talk to either of them the rest of the night and they kept low profiles just to be nice. The next day I took off their harnesses and started hooking the leashes to their neck collars. They'll get a smart jerk that will flip them over if they try that again. And, yes, I'm searching for a trainer as I write.

Joe finds a home

Last Friday night my life was seriously disrupted when my new brother, Joe-Joe, arrived. At least he wasn't some squirrelly mutt or some big ol' smelly lab. Joe-Joe has good lines. When you see the pictures, I think you will agree. Luckily, he weighs only 23 pounds so I can take him down if I need to. Thank God he doesn't yap. His bark is good. His growl is better.

Joe-Joe wasn't allowed to invade my house right away. Dad had the sense to have us meet on leashes out in front of the house on the boulevard grass. He also made sure I had a chance to reinforce my 'A' dog status. He rolled the little sucker over on his back and give me lots of time to sniff his privates. Mmmmmm. He smelled pretty good. I didn't have to bark or bite to get the message out.

This little guy is younger, and hence, more energetic than me. He's springs up off the ground all the time and has few manners. Being cute doesn't get you very far in this house when it comes to obeying the rules. I've got to teach him basics like sit, stay, heel and lay down. He's got a thick head. For example, the first night he kept breaking the bedtime rules -- when Mom and Dad are in bed together we are not allowed on the bed. I think they pulled him off at least six time before he got the message. I still don't think he gets the message in that little pea brain of his. Every night we seem to repeat the same routine. I've given up and just gone to bed. It's Mom and Dad's problem. Last night I spied him about 3 AM sneaking up on the bottom of the bed as the both of them were snoring away on their new Sleep Number bed. Guess it works as they usually wake up at the slightest movement. I just don't care. I know where I belong. I know how to ask permission to get up on the bed in the morning. Joe-Joe will have to learn that too sooner or later.

However, he does play well and is not afraid of me. I agreed to share toys, my water dish, my sofas, my couch, and even my floor bed. We curl up together sometimes, but I do like my privacy so we sleep mostly in separate spots. I told Joe-Joe that if he has bad dreams I'm here for him. He came from a bad situation just like I did so we are both grateful for Mom and Dad. I just don't dance around so much. That drives me crazy sometimes!

There is some controversy in the family and Auntie J over his name. Dad's adamant that his name is Joe-Joe. Mom tends to call him 'the little one'. I would have preferred something a little more southern like Auntie J wants, but Dad was firm. As long as they don't start calling him Fred and forgetting that I'm the first and foremost dog of this house, I can live with Joe-Joe.

Joe-Joe is pretty healthy, but he's got an ear infection. Mom got him ointment from the vet and gives it to him every day. Boy, does he like the attention. Mom plays like she is giving me medicine too by rubbing my ears, but I know she is just trying to make me feel included.

Our only issue here at the house (beisdes my sometimes peeng in the crate when Mom and Dad are gone) is food. I would love to eat Joe-Joe's food as well as my own. He's a slow, picky eater, not a chow hound like me! That means I have to hang around waiting for him to get done in the hope he'll walk away from the bowl while food is in it. He actually has the audacity to growl at me as I pace around his crate while he eats. Yes, Mom tricked me. Rather then putting the bowl next to mine where I'd have a decent shot at it, she put the bowl in the critter's crate just to make it difficult. How could she do that to me? Seems like it's only fair that the oldest and toppest dog should have a shot at his little brother's food. He gets yogurt too for his yeasty ears. Yummy. Yummy.

Well, it's getting toward late afternoon and I need my beauty sleep out here in the office. The runt has the new couch (Mom almost bit his head off when he started to chew one of its pillows) so I'm here in the better spot on the floor right next to Mom as she tries to work on the website for the International Children's Heart Foundation. She has no patience for detailed work like that so there's lots of sighing and swearing. It's good for her. Keeps her out of trouble. Now if she can only get to that book she keeps saying she wants to write. Ha! I'll believe it when I see it.

Anticipation

It’s Saturday morning and the air is exceptional for a Memphis July day. The temperature hovers in the low 80’s and the humidity is a mere 30%. It’s breezy and sunny with only wisps of clouds high up in the sky. It’s a flawless day, in my opinion -- a great day to get adopted.

I’m sitting here in my crate, all perky, cleaned up and tidy. At three years old, I look younger than others my age, a real advantage when you are trolling for parents. Everyone says, "What a cute puppy," when they see me. My handsome muzzle framed with big brown eyes just gets to the ladies in some magical way. The only down side of my gorgeous looks is my hair cut. After running with two labs in the streets for a couple of weeks, my ash blond hair got disgustingly matted so the rescue team gave me this crew cut. Feels kind a naked to tell the truth, but I could pass for a baby Springer spaniel. So, maybe I’ll so lucky today.

My name is “Joe Cocker”. Someone was being clever when he gave me that name. Must have had visions of that 60's something gray and balding English rock & roll singer. I'm a Cocker Spaniel who happens to be named Joe, the name I much prefer. Joe fits my ‘cow dog’ swagger that entices the ladies. Just ask Lulu, the gray terrier in the crate next to me. We tried to get it on earlier this morning when we were out on the grass together, but that white haired caretaker, Miss Cindy, kept pulling me off. She’s such a prude. Can’t a guy have any fun at all? With balls like mine, you need to keep’m exercised.

It’s me and four other dogs here under the “adoption tent” on the edge of the Memphis Downtown Farmer’s Market. I think I’m the best looking dog of the lot. Lulu is an okay little thing, but just get a look at her tail. It’s too long for her size – never got a proper trim. I look pure bred. The others are definitely of suspicious parentage, although I can't blame theme for it. They seem nice enough.

Lots of people are stopping by to look at us now that the dew if off the grass and the market is filled with music and noise as folks weave among the couple dozen stands of local fruits, vegetables, flowers, bake goods and the like. There’s oohing, awing, and pats on our heads, but no takers yet. One lady is asking Miss Cindy about my upbringing…like she’s going to know. Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen (oops, that's a song isn't it?) and I’m not telling anyone anything, except to say, I don’t pee in my crate. I don’t want to live with people so concerned about how I behave right now. Hell, I'm trainable!

Wow! Look at that black and white Springer walking over to the tent with his parents. He's is absolutely stunning. I could definitely swing with him. Look, hey guy! Over here! Come on over and smell my butt. You’ve got a crew cut too! Let me out! Let me out! I gotta meet this dog.

Well, isn’t he the cat’s pajamas. Calls himself Fred, a good 'guy name' like mine. However, he seems to think he’s in charge. Just because he weighs 50 pounds and is twice my size, doesn't mean he gets to be top dog. Really, how presumptuous of him. He's got to stop that growling when I hump him. Shucks, Fred, I’m just playing around. Why don't we stop this silliness and work out the pecking order later. I've got to pay attention to your parents if I want to go home with them.

Here, Mom and Dad look at me! See, I can sit! I can roll over so you can pet my belly. I’m not very heavy – maybe 20 pounds, tops. You can pick me up and carry me around! I don’t hardly bark at all! Mom is really interested in me; she’s making eyes and saying nice stuff. Be careful there or Fred will get cranky. I get your message. Ouch…Fred just turned on me growling again. Dad is shaking his head. Sorry, Dad, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! It’s just my instinct. Remember I’ve run with some really tough dogs so I don't see myself as a little guy.

Well, the good news is that they signed the papers and paid the $95. Looks like I’ll have a new home. Goody, goody. The bad news is I can't go home with them today. Mean ol’ Miss Cindy says I’ve gotta be “clipped” first. Ouch, that’s going to hurt. But if it’s the price I have pay for a good home, I'll do it. It's the ladies loss. I just hope Fred learns to like me. I’ll even let him be the A dog, if that makes him happy. I just gotta get off the street. It's too much stress and too hard a life.