Me: Mum, I’m getting giddy from going around and around.
Mother: One more time Romeo, WEAVE!
Me: No Mother. I don’t want to do it anymore.
Mother: C’mon boy. It’s fun!
Me: Explain to me how weaving through your legs is fun.
Mother: It’s like dancing!
Me: But you just stand there.
Mother: We do it with me standing first, then you weave through my legs while I walk! So cool right?
Me: Mum, I’m getting giddy from going around and around.
Here’s a brighter video of the door closing. Mother is very eager to fade out the pink coaster target because I have developed a liking for Blutack.
My Mother is getting lazier and lazier. She’s taught me how to close doors. Sigh.
This was done by “targeting” a pink coaster stuck to the door with my nose. Mother taught me first to target the pink coaster held in her hand first with my nose. Then she moved to sticking it at random places and sending me to target it from a distance. THEN she stuck the pink thing on the door and we worked to get me to push it with more force (I slammed it once – it pleased Mother greatly). The results are in the video below.
Mother is now going to “fade” the pink coaster by cutting is smaller and smaller until it is no more! She says next time she wants me to target anything, she’ll use a clear plastic square or circle instead and use a marker to draw and colour in a circle. That way, she can draw the circle smaller and eventually it’ll just be the clear plastic, which is, duh, see through, so taking it away will be easy peasy! She gets to save the earth this way and not destroy so many pink Ikea coasters.
I also want to apologise on Mother’s behalf for the crappy lighting. There is actually a spotlight right above the door, but Mother, being her forgetful self, didn’t turn it on and the video came out really dark. I’ll get her to do another brighter one. Don’t forget to turn the sound on! You can see the shiny gold lock on the door move AND hear the door close!
Mother loves to read and sometimes she can get quite obsessive. Since she’s got me, she has been trying to devour as many books as possible (this was especially so when I was a pup because she wanted to set the right foundation, up till about 6 months old then she toned down abit). She’s collected a number of books and she’s still adding to that library of hers! She’s not read all of them but is slowly going through each book, one page at a time (with highlighters and post-it flags on hand). I think this is why Mother prefers too eat in in the office – so she can read! She’s also got some DVDs, not many, but I think that will be a growing number too. They have all helped in shaping her relationship with me and her understanding of me and dogs in general, some way or other! Mother gets most of her books from Amazon or Cleanrun. A few from the local bookstores (but they don’t carry many dog books!). She’d like to shop on Dogwise (and spend her entire salary there) but they don’t except Singapore credit cards! She actually reads the reviews and recommendations there then buy them elsewhere! Silly them! She might use that Citibank-DHL service soon to buy from Dogwise soon.
BOOKS
DVDS
“To buy” list:
Mother is not pleased with me. She says my adolescent craziness is driving her up the wall. This weekend I have completely regressed in the area of paying her attention in the dog run – she said “You know boy, this weekend it’s like mummy didn’t exist to you! I could have gone home, watched a movie and returned to pick you up from the dog run and you wouldn’t have noticed I was gone!” Which is.. er.. probably true.
When Mother called out “Romeo come!” this weekend, all I did was turn my head to her, then I’d turn the other way and find something interesting to sniff. It wasn’t like she was 60 feet away either, more like 6 feet. I think I hear Mother sobbing away and ranting on a forum now. I really can’t control meself you know! Mother read somewhere that ”every ‘trained’ behavior will constantly be deteriorating and will need to be ‘refreshed’”. How very frustrating that must be for Mother! She’s got to live with this until I’m 1 and a half years old at least! She is hoping her Control Unleashed DVD arrives soon so she can get a better visual on how to put Leslie McDevitt’s techniques to use (uh-oh for me?) and hopefully be able to better manage me. I think the most important thing for Mother to understand and remember always is that we all have our bad days!!
My rude teen behaviour continues. Mother took some short videos of what I was doing to other dogs (tho’ they don’t fully capture the extent of it!) – particularly one Jack Russell Terrier and a mixed breed. The JRT had a sister who was fiesty! She would come in aid of her (bigger sized) brother (at whom I was barking, and nipping and annoying) and clamp down on the fur on my back (Mother thought this very funny because she said it’s like a taste of my own medicine). The mixed breed actually (surprisingly to Mother) benefited from my nagginess and persistence. This dog was originally dog shy and didn’t like it when dogs came close to it. But, Romeo comes to save the day! The black dog must have eventually realised I meant no harm and we had a bit of a game on the grass.
I found this story online – written by Suzanne Clothier, a well known and respected dog trainer in the US. It’s called “He Just Wants To Say ‘Hi!‘”. I hope many of your mums and dads will read this and understand that sometimes it’s not you that is aggressive (or that sometimes it’s you just being really rude!). Mother recognises and understands my teenage behaviour and always tells the owners whose dog I am harassing and is snapping at me, that it’s because I am rude and it’s ok that the dog is doing that. She’s right you know, sometimes I do deserve a good snarl and a quick snap. I’m a wild and unruly young boy!
For those of you with mums and dads interested in understanding basic canine behaviour, here’s a pictorial guide from the American SPCA. It’s very simplistic, but at least mums and dads out there will start to realise that we communicate via body language and hopefully they will start observing and noticing our signals! Funny how we don’t have this here. There’s a lack of information and too many ignorant people!
We were at the West Coast dog run again on Saturday and Sunday and the weekend before that!! Mother’s been complaining that she’s not getting any sleep because she has to wake up super early on both days on the weekend to take me there. Suck it up Mother! Father was like “Why are we celebrating Valentine’s Day in field of poop?”
We FINALLY met Chow Chow!! He’s a handsome lion looking one! We didn’t play much. I think I’m a bit of a girl because I don’t play macho like Chow Chow does! We also met Yuki, a Japanese spitz that is (surprise surprise!) born one day before me AND she came from the same pet store! We were probably neighbours there and didn’t know it!
Last Sunday I was picked up by an ah pek. A middle aged man came into the park with 2 dogs. One he unleashed, the other he tied to a tree. Mother was near the middle of the dog run (she’s doing this thing where she ignores me now because she thinks if she stops watching my back, that will make ME watch HER back. Hmm.) and I was near the gates. This man stopped to pet me (and I’m nice so I let him). Next thing I knew he lifted me up under my arms and carried me 2 meters away before putting me down again. He didn’t even support my ass! By this time I could hear Mother screaming “PUT HIM DOWN A**HOLE! WHO THE F*** SAID YOU CAN CARRY MY DOG!” I could see the steam coming out of her red face from where I was. She was MAD. So was I! What the heck! Don’t you know how to carry a dog, damnit? You support his rear end! I don’t care if you carry your dogs that way (Mother saw him carry his dog that way then sort of threw him onto the ground and was commenting to Grandpa that’s so wrong when next thing she knew, I WAS BEING HOISTED!). You don’t carry ME that way ok! Mother marched up to him and yelled at him and told him if he touched me again she will bash his head in. She said he had no right to pick me up, and I was minding my own business and it wasn’t like I was blocking the gate – the stupid man wasn’t even on his way out! She then yelled that even SHE doesn’t carry me the way he did (she really doesn’t. She gave everyone in the house a lesson on carrying me) so he had NO DAMN RIGHT to do that. You go Mother! The dumbass just stood there and said “okok” in a slighty cheena way with a sheepish smile on his ugly mug.
Mother is very protective and territorial. She’s cool with people petting me and all, but carrying and carrying IMPROPERLY, she cannot tolerate. There was no reason for it in this case. She won’t carry another dog unless she knows the owner wouldn’t mind, and she will only carry puppies never adult dogs. Mother was telling Grandpa she thinks she’s gaining some sort of reputation at the dog run because she’s yelled at people and would yell at dogs (usually huskies) to get them to back off when they posture over me and I’m clearly overwhelmed. But she says she doesn’t care, and I don’t too, so long as I’m kept safe!
That man is weird anyway. He kept one dog on a leash the WHOLE time, tied to a tree! And whenever other dogs ran towards it, he would yell at his own dog. And he kept holding the dog’s leash so tight. Grandpa says that he must think his dog is aggressive and is afraid it will bite the other dogs. Mother says, well, then don’t bring it to the dog run! But she says it’s unlike the dog is aggressive just really wants to meet other dogs and that the holding back isn’t helping but making him more aroused and excited. Oh well, sucks to be him.
Mother is shopping for me again because she wants to get something for my first birthday and she found some doggy stuff and showed them to me for my opinion:
What the? This thing monitors your heart rate and can tell your mum if you’re sleeping, running, walking, etc in real time! Can you say “Big Brother”?? I’m not sure why Mother would want this when she’s got that webcam of hers to spy on me and make sure I do my homework anyway.
I’ll pass!
My portrait
Ok, THIS I don’t mind! I’d love to have my handsome self immortalized on canvas! There are some great painty artists and digital artists out there! I’m sure Mother won’t mind doing one of me for each of my birthday then hang them all over the house! Afterall, I’m so gosh darn goodlooking and she loves looking at me! She always makes me Watch her anyway. It’s about time we switched places!
Here are some great places to do doggy portraits!
I told Mother that I want this! It’s so cool! At least now I can take pictures of her instead of her always taking pictures of me! I know I know, I love having my picture taken, but c’mon, 492 pictures on average a day??
I found out recently that I am an adopted child. No wonder I look so different and don’t stand on two legs! Mother says all dogs are adopted – adopted from their furry mums, usually when we are mere pups.
Mother says I was born in Melbourne, Australia and that she doesn’t know who my real parents are. She tried to find out from the pet store where she saw me, sitting behind the glass, looking all cute and forlorn, but to no avail. The pet store has been, to date, extremely unhelpful. The only clue Mother has is on the vaccination card that she was given the day she took me home.
The vaccination card named a man, with a Chinese surname and had the name and address of a veterinary practice in Sunshine, Victoria in Aussieland. After numerous calls to the pet store, Mother managed to get out from a stupid employee that this named man is an agent from whom the pet store buys dogs, and specifically most of their shelties. Mother has since done a company search of the pet store and has the home address of the owner. She’s not sure whether she should write to the owner formally (bypassing his idiot staff) to request that he assist her in finding my parents or hunt down the agent herself. A quick search of the “yellow pages” of Australia produced only a handful of people with the same surname as the named man in the Sunshine and surrounding Ardeer area in Victoria, Australia. Mother thinks that the agent must live near the vet and that he must go to the same vet all the time to vaccinate the pups he buys for the pet stores. I’m not sure, but I think when Mother goes to Australia, she will make a trip to Sunshine/Ardeer and visit the vet and try to find the agent. She’s worried about where I might have come from having seen a video on puppy mills.
Puppy mills are factories producing pups. They are either unregulated or escape/evade being regulated, depending on where these mills are located. In comparison to slave quarters of yore, puppy mills look alot worse. They are probably more comparable to medieval dungeons. What could you expect from people who don’t treat the dogs as living breathing creatures but as objects that can bring them economic gain? Why should they care that the dogs, my fellow brethren, can feel pain and sadness so long as they can be sold and profit can be earned?
Well, they don’t. Dogs are kept as breeding machines in filthy and deplorable conditions. Living in tight cramped cages (some having developed mental disorders from being in a tiny cage with no stimulation throughout their lives), with their waste as their bedding and bugs as their constant companions, these dogs have one purpose only – to breed – to manufacture pups. If they are ill, injured or have a broken leg, it doesn’t matter, they aren’t taken to the vet – it’s too costly! why add to the overheads! – so long as they can hump or receive humping, that’s all that matters. It’s ok if they are scabby and covered with mites and matted hair if they can still breed! If they are dying, in severe pain, again, euthanize? Why? It’s expensive! Plus, what if the unresponsive dog survives? It can still be sold! Don’t throw away a product if it’s faults can be hidden! That makes no commercial sense!
Money is all that matters to the owners and operators of puppy mills. The consequences of such an operation doesn’t just affect the dogs, the MACHINES, that spend their life in the factory. The pups suffer too, having little contact with their parents and growing up without the necessary learning it should have gotten from the mother, or getting diseases and other genetic defects that could plague them for the rest of their lives begotten from such ill considered breeding. Even if you don’t care about the dogs (shame on you), the people who end up with such pups also suffer along with the poor animal. Vet bills, supplements, extra training, behavioural issues that need to be dealt with (if the pup survives that long). Not to mention the feeling of loss when your pup dies days after you get it.
Puppy mill people try to mitigate their losses by auctioning off dogs/pups that can’t serve their purpose any longer or don’t look like they’ll make it much longer or if they have “overruns” and “surplus” or if they want more breeding stock. There are videos on the internet of such auctions. The dogs are treated like things, like an armoire or table. It’s horrible. AGENTS buy from such auctions. Mother wonders if I came from an auction or a puppy mill.
A lot of people don’t know where their dogs come from. Even pet stores don’t always know. We could be indirectly funding the abuse and torture of the poor doggies in puppy mills.
Mother says if she discovers that I came from one, she will expose it and she will rescue my parents and find good homes for them (or convince Father to let her keep them). Mother says she feels incredibly guilty for having probably funded this horrible industry but she will do what she can to bring it to light if she discovers I’m from one. She actually wanted to give up the search for my parents at one point, but then she thought ignoring the niggling feeling I’m from a puppy mill would be as good as shoving a poor dog into a tiny cage herself. She told me she might hire a private investigator to find out more but the PI must be an animal lover too.
Mother wanted me to tell everyone that puppy mills aren’t just found in the US. There are puppy mills in Europe and Australia too, where most dogs in Singapore pet stores are from. Heck, I think some of the dogs in those farms we drive by when we go to the dog run at Pasir Ris probably have the same deplorable standards for their dogs. They aren’t afterall regulated by the same regulations that apply to pet stores because they are classified as farms. They probably aren’t as large scale as the ones overseas, but in their own way, they are like puppy mills right in our own backyard.
Last night we went for our usual walk but bumped into a caucasian girl (she looks about 7 years old) and her brother (who looks like he might be 5 but behaves like he’s 2). They were out looking for the (ick) cat, a black and white thing that apparently hasn’t been home in 2 days. They mustn’t love the cat very much because they stopped searching and came running to me saying “Ooh! COLLIE! I love Collies!” Who the heck is a Collie?? I’m not a Collie darnit! I’m a SHETLAND SHEEPDOG. Get your facts right, girl! Still, she petted me and the boy started screaming in a happy hysterical way, which made my body drop into a playbow. For some reason, I wanted to play with that hyperactive screaming PJ clad boy.
Minutes later tho’, a small black shadow came hurtling down the pavement towards me. It was a french bulldog. The kids’ dog, Frankie. Frankie the Frenchie. I like French bulldogs. They can look quite cute (a little more so than their English cousins), but this one, Frankie, had little life or intelligence (to me) behind his beady black eyes. The kids got him in November and haven’t been able to toilet train him. DOH. C’mon Frankie, how hard is it to pee and poop in just one place? Frankie also lacked social skills. That one chased me around trying to get his head under my belly to sniff my sausage and eggs. What the?? Lay off buddy! We just met! Go easy! I didn’t want to scare the dude so I just ran around Mother in circles causing us to get entangled (oh yes, the girl went to get his halter and leash sometime during our meeting). It really amazes me when I know “Drop It” better than a human child. Mother kept telling the boy who was holding on to the leash to let go because we were so entangled and I was clearly not enjoying the face to face tango Frankie and I were doing. Except, that vapid boy just held on! When Mother says Drop It, YOU DROP THE LEASH you stupid child! Also, did I mention that the father of the children was standing there the whole time talking on his mobile?
I think Mother is too tolerant of kids because after that episode she continued to stand there and wait while the girl ran home to get Frankie’s treats to show Mother what Frankie eats (or actually doesn’t eat, according to her). Well, I sure helped him. I took everything she had! Then she asked about the clicker Mother was holding and asked if she could try clicking too. I wanted to scream “NO MOTHER! NOOooooo!!” but it was too late. She handed the thing to her and explained how to use it. Thankfully, the girl isn’t too daft. She clicked once as I sat and got my treat, but then clicked again and Mother scrambled to stuff something in my mouth. I really should have seen this coming. No, MOTHER should have seen this coming – the BOY now wants to click too! “Ooh! Can I click? Can I click? Can I click?” OVER AND OVER while Mother tries to calm me down (coz you’d expect that when I heard that I went abit nuts). Such an annoying child. I also don’t know what was going through Mother’s mind when she HANDED THE CLICKER TO HIM. Oh my dog, kill me now. No prizes for guessing that the peabrain boy happily clicked away while Mother hurried to pop treats into my mouth. I could see Mother got a bit annoyed with him (it was about time!) and she took the clicker back. Except, again, should have seen this coming, the boy kept saying “can I try again? can I try again?” NO YOU MAY NOT YOU CRAZY KID! Wait, what? Mother no! You hold it while he clicks? Are you sure? Ok ok. Fine”. One final click from the jumping screaming monkey while Mother held the clicker and she said “We’ll let you know if we see your cat. BYE NOW.” and left.
We went home, me slightly flustered, Mother slight guilty (for putting me through kinder-hell). So we trained and she played games with me, like this one in the video where I have to use my super nose to find which hand holds the treats!
Chow Chow tagged me! I have to go open a document or file folder, click on the fifth folder and then the fifth photo. Then I have to post the photo and describe it. AND tag 5 other bloggers *rubs paws in glee*.
This was what I found. A big coincidence that it was also a picture of a dog (not me tho’ sadly! I love to talk about myself - I would describe myself as handsome, suave, debonair, handsome, and did I say handsome already?).
This picture was taken on 2nd of April 1963 (Mother took a picture of a picture). It’s of Susie, a little dog that was owned by my Grandma’s mum and her mum’s sisters. Back then my Grandma’s family owned one of those shophouses in Chinatown.
The story goes that one night when everyone was asleep, a fire broke out somewhere in the house. No one knew, no one woke. But little Susie did! She barked the house down – jumped on my Grandma’s aunt and did all she could to wake her. Great grandaunt got up and roused the whole house and all were saved. If not for her, someone could have gotten trapped in the fire and tragedy could have struck. Susie was well loved by all in Grandma’s family.
This little pup is an inspiration to me. I hope that if something like this happens, I’ll know to wake Mother up too! Altho’, given that I’ve been snoring through her coughing fits and blowdrying of her hair in the mornings, I will suggest installing a fire detector, just in case. Hee!
TAG! You’re it! You guys (listed below) gotta show me a pic! Remember open a document or file folder, click on the fifth folder and then the fifth photo. Post the photo and describe what it is then tag 5 unsuspecting people to do the same!
