Blitz Ball

Blitz loves balls. Every morning, I throw the ball, he chases it. Brings it back. Whether he drops it or not is a tossup. 

If Blitz doesn't let go of the ball, I wait a few beats, then generally go back into the house and resume whatever I was doing before the game began. He often lays down on the deck chomping on the ball or simply holding it securely in his mouth. 

I check on the situation periodically and one of those times it's likely Blitz has left the ball on the other side of the door ready to throw. And then I spot him out in the yard waiting patiently for me to hurl it his way. And of course, I do. Clearly, Blitz has trained me to play his very own version of fetch. 

There could be three or five or even a dozen more rounds of the game -- me throwing the ball, Blitz chasing it, retrieving it, returning to me with the ball in his mouth, but then refusing to give it up. Then me going back to the house, checking on the ball's status. Picking it up when it's been left for me. And throwing it all over again. And so it goes.

Eventually the game comes to an end. Sometimes because Blitz has decided a squirrel needs chasing. Or deer have appeared in the picture and must to be moved along. Or maybe just because.

But whenever the game of not-precisely-fetch comes to an end, the ball is most often abandoned somewhere in the yard. It could be in plain view, ready for the next morning's session. Or it could have seemingly disappeared amid the pine straw and leaves.  

That means I'm the one that will be searching for and retrieving the ball for the next day's session. It's  how the game is played. 

  

Every Day was a Gift

Sending Reacher across the Rainbow Bridge nearly three years ago was tough. And sending Vega on her way last Friday wasn't any easier. 

The three of us were walking partners, logging hundreds of miles along the sidewalks, in parks, and down the trails for years. We walked every day. Sometimes more than that. We all loved it. We also trained together and played together. 

I was right by Vega's side when she had a litter of eight puppies on September 28, 2012. And I sat by her side, encouraging her to hang in there and nurse those babies when it was clear she'd rather get up and walk away. 

She had several health concerns over the years including perianal fistula and a low platelet count. She took Cyclosporine for years to keep the perianal fistula at bay while the treatment for low platelets was a steady dose of prednisone. The prednisone almost killed her. It made her listless, affected her walking and ability to go up and down the steps. She stumbled down the deck steps once, skinning her snout. Then she also developed a skin infection. And a UTI. 

It was hard to watch her decline, so I made an in-home appointment for a vet who performs euthanasia in people's homes. I just wanted to have a discussion and prepare myself before I made a decision whether or not it was time.

Ultimately, I told my vet we had to get her off the prednisone and take a chance with low platelets. She bounced back from the brink of death by prednisone slowly but surely. And several months later we were walking the neighborhood again. That was five years ago. 

The platelet crisis was five years ago when Vega was 10. Since the average lifespan for a GSD is 10-12 years, I was grateful she made it. As the years went by, she slowed down. But by 12, still we walked. Just not as fast. Or as far. 

Yes, she had arthritis and began to lose muscle. But we were happy here at home even on days when she wasn't up for much of a walk. Vega kept going, and the clock, kept ticking. 

She began walking like an old lady. But still barked and chased deer along the fence line hop-along style. She went up and down the stairs with effort, but on her own. She was able to lie down and get up, also on her own.

I was sure Vega would reach her 15th birthday, November 1, 2025, no problem. I was wrong. 

Last Friday started out as usual. Breakfast, outside, back in for a nap. At 11:30am I heard the problem before I saw it. Vega was struggling to get up off her bed. She couldn't get her footing. She couldn't remain standing even when I helped. Her legs were slipping out from under her in four different directions. She was floundering, panting hard. Her tongue was pale. 

It was time to head to the vet. After an exam, the vet said she likely had a stroke. This wasn't the same as the prednisone days. There was no bouncing back from this. So, I scratched her ears and stroked her side, as she headed across the Rainbow Bridge. I like to think she and Reacher are chasing each other around doggie heaven like they used to do in their younger days.

Vega didn't quite make it to her 15th birthday. But every day past age 10 was a gift. 

I Smell a Rat

More accurately, it's Blitz who smells a rat. He and I are training for and competing in a dog sport called barn hunt. Despite the name, no barn is required. But the dog is definitely on the hunt for a rat. 

It's called barn hunt because the competition takes place in a barn-like setting, complete with a good supply of hay bales with one or more rats hidden safely among them. 

That's right. The rats are completely safe. They aren't scurrying around with a barking, snarling dog and in hot pursuit. The furry little rodents are housed inside a sturdy tube with plenty of holes so they can breathe. Think of it as a large, heavy-duty PVC-type pipe. The rat tubes are hidden among the hay. 

It's the dog's job to sniff out the rats and alert the owner when one is found. The dog might bark, paw at the hay and uncover the tube, pick the tube up in its mouth, or offer any other signal that says, "I found it!" 

I could go on. But you've got the general idea.

Blitz is a very enthusiastic ratter. Standard Schnauzers were originally bred as all-purpose farm dogs used for ratting and other jobs. So, it's no surprise he's in his element. 

At this point, obedience and rally don't seem to be his forte. But that's okay. As one dog trainer told me, the important thing is to have fun with your dog. And right now, for Blitz and I, barn hunt is where the fun is.

Accentuate the Positive

I had lots of plans for this puppy. But mostly I was looking forward to taking Blitz on long walks in the neighborhood, shopping at dog-friendly stores, and enjoying a meal at restaurants with outdoor dining. In other words, I was looking forward to taking Blitz with me wherever dogs are allowed to go. As it turns out, Blitz is, what professionals in the dog world call leash reactive. In other words, he totally loses his sh*# when he sees another dog when we're out and about. 

We're working on it. Hard. And we are making progress. I no longer dread taking him on a walk, but I am still hyperaware of our surroundings and prepared to use all the strategies I've learned to keep Blitz under threshold when we see another dog heading our way. 

If I'm honest, not being able to walk him where and when I want is a huge disappointment. I'm hoping with continued training things won't always be this way. 

In the meantime, I've decided to accentuate the positive. Blitz hasn't chewed up one shoe and he doesn't eat socks. He doesn't sneak off when my back's turned and get into mischief. He doesn't mind the rain. Or a bath. He's good with my grandkids. He hasn't even eaten one of their toys. He's a perfect passenger in the car. Even on road trips. And he settles down for the evening not long after dinner. When it's time for bed, he's happy to get in his crate and sleep through the night. 

Plus, Blitz is a very happy go lucky guy. He puts a smile on my face every day. And often makes me laugh. Would I like a better walking buddy? Yes. But nobody's perfect. 

Showering My New Puppy with Love and Other Stuff

When I found out I was definitely getting a puppy from my chosen breeder's fall litter, I talked about my soon-to-be puppy to anyone who would listen. A good friend suggested she throw me a puppy shower. "Wow, thanks," I replied, "But I've been a dog owner for so long I already have everything I need." 

It was true, I did have everything I needed, but I soon realized it just wasn't going to be good enough for the newest member of my family.   

Yes, I had a dog crate that would be be serviceable. It even had a divider so the space could be adjusted as the puppy grew. But instead, I decided I needed a just-the-right-size crate when my boy came home. I also realized that a half cup of puppy chow would look so lonely in the food bowl I had from my previous Boxers that I had to have a smaller one. Of course, it came with a matching water dish. And the bowls were even on an elevated stand to provide an ergonomically correct eating position. Definitely a plus. Only the best for my puppy!  

Of course I already had a collar, a hand-me-down saved after my last puppy outgrew it years ago. But it was brown leather and my black Standard Schnauzer was the green collar pup of the litter. Naturally, nothing but a new green collar would do. 

Add to all of the above, must-have stuffies and chew toys, balls and pint-sized bones. I would need soft training treats and specially formulated puppy food. The breeder trained the litter to use puppy pads, so I added those to my list. And wouldn't my little guy love a set of fleece puppy blankets in a paw print for his new crate? Yes!! 

I may have turned down a puppy shower, but a deluge of  puppy essentials was still headed my way. 

It's the Little Things

It's been more than a year since Reacher crossed the Rainbow Bridge. And there are still so many things that remind me of him. 

There are the obvious signs like his leash and collar still hanging by the deck door. And pictures of him that pop up as memories on my phone or on Facebook. There's his name in black marker I see on the bottom of  a food dish, if that's the one I happen to be using for Vega that day. I know some of his hair must still be woven into a carpet, upholstery, or blanket.  

But there are invisible reminders, too. The other day, I spotted one of the neighborhood deer lying in the exact spot Reacher would post himself in the front yard as he surveyed the action across the cross street or at the bottom of our hill. And every time I see my neighbor in his backyard, I remember the way Reacher used to rush to the fence announcing his presence loud and clear in hopes of a treat tossed his way. And tonight when I returned home, the belongings in my work portfoilio weren't strewn across the hallway even though I left the closet door open. That was Reacher's MO. 

The Boxer I saw clowning at the dog park had all the markings and fun-loving attitude as my boy. I knew it wasn't Reacher, but it looked so much like him in his younger days.  

Reacher's no longer here. And he's not coming back. But I still feel his presence in the little things almost every day. 

A Long Way Home

If someone had told me they traveled across the country to pick up a puppy, I'd have thought they were nuts. But last year, I was that person. 

Before traveling from one coast to the other, the longest trip I had ever made to pick up a puppy was about 90 minutes. This puppy pick-up was a two-day affair that involved a five-hour cross-country plane ride, an hour on a shuttle bus, and another 30 minutes in the car. Then, less than 24 hours later, i repeated that same trip -- in reverse, with said puppy in tow. 

I came armed with an airline-approved crate that could be placed under the seat in front of me, a couple of puppy toys, a collapsible water dish, some puppy pads, and a few tips from a travel blogger who often brought her small dog with her on vacation. I told myself if things didn't go well, and by that, I mean if the puppy yipped or whined nonstop on the shuttle, in the airport, and/or on the plane, it was likely I would never see any of the other travelers ever again. Whew!

Fortunately, things went better than anticipated. To my fellow travelers, I apologized in advance for any possible disturbance caused by my nine-week-old puppy. Most told me not to worry about it. After all, they said, "He's just a baby." Nonetheless, I was grateful the fur baby didn't press our luck too far. 

In fact, he performed like a champ for most of the adventure. The travel blogger had advised skipping any designated doggie potty areas at the airport and instead, taking the pup into the handicap stall in the restroom, placing a puppy pad on the floor, and having the dog or puppy do his business on that. The breeder had used puppy pads in her kennel area, so I had my fingers crossed my puppy would know what was expected when I took him out of the carrier and put him on the designated spot. Surprisingly, success! 

He slept in his carrier on the entire flight home! And even better, he didn't have an accident. 

After a six-month search for just the right puppy, weeks of trip planning, and a long two days of travel, we finally arrived at our home sweet home!  

The Search is On

Once I decided a Standard Schnauzer was the breed for me, selecting the right breeder was the logical next step. My search began last March and I soon found out finding a Standard Schnauzer that met everything on my wish list wasn't going to be easy. 

Standard Schnauzers come in two colors - pepper and salt (gray) or black. Some have docked tails and cropped ears. Others have natural tails, but cropped ears. And still others have natural ears and natural tails. The breed standard allows all of those combinations. After looking at lots of photos, I knew I wanted a black Standard Schnauzer with both a natural tail and natural ears. It turned out to be a rather tall order. 

Standard Schnauzers in general are not always easy to find since they are not bred in great numbers. In fact, during my research I found there are only about 500 new Standard Schnauzers registered with the AKC each year. In addition, black is not the most popular of the two colors. 

The SSCA breeders' list currently includes 59 breeders. Only 11 breed black, exclusively. I emailed the breeders closest to me and filled out numerous puppy applications. The best breeders don't breed often and they typically have a waiting list of interested people. It became obvious; I wouldn't be bringing home a puppy anytime soon.

In April, I found a black-only Standard Schnauzer breeder with a website that featured two Standard Schnauzers with natural ears and tails. Even though she was located on the other side of the country, I decided to reach out. At her invitation, I called her after submitting a puppy application.

She answered all of my questions and provided lots of good information -- including many things I hadn't thought to ask. I asked her to put me on her list. She planned to breed her female, Gypsy, that spring when she went into season. In the meantime, we continued to talk, as well as exchange text messages and emails. 

The wait was longer than anyone anticipated. As the weeks, and then months, ticked by, I considered a couple of other litters that had recently been born. However, the puppies’ tails had already been docked which happens just a couple of days after birth. Even though both of those breeders were also on the breeders' list and considerably closer, I wouldn't be getting a puppy with a natural tail. So, I continued to wait. 

Ultimately, the inevitable happened. Gypsy went into season and was bred in early July. Five black Standard Schnauzer puppies were born on September 4, 2023 (only four pictured in the photo below). And one of them would be mine! 

Who's Next?

I will always have a dog. So, after losing Reacher to bone cancer early last year and Vega fast approaching 13, I decided to begin the search for my next four-legged companion. 

I decided I should downsize when choosing my next dog to make any future lifting easier. I was also interested in a breed that would excel in dog sports which I planned to pursue. In additon, little to no shedding was a must-have for me. I've been living with a German "Shedder" for a dozen years and counting. Boxers also shed a good bit even though their coat is shorter, so I was determined to find a breed that would allow me to cut WAY DOWN on vacuuming.  

A dog trainer I had worked with in the past considered my wish list and suggested a Standard Schnauzer, the original of the three sizes of schnauzers. According to the Standard Schnauzer Club of America (SSCA), the Standard Schnauzer is a handsome, robust, squarely built medium size breed known as an excellent family companion. The Standard Schnauzer is also outstanding as a working dog excelling in conformation, obedience, agility, tracking, herding, and therapy. In addition, the coat is harsh and wiry with minimal shedding and is pepper and salt or solid black.

These guys checked all the boxes. 

I happened to discover a couple in my neighborhood who had recently gotten a Standard Schnauzer after previously owning Giants. They invited me over to meet 5-month-old Riley. He was super friendly and excited to meet me, but after about 10 minutes or so he settled down and allowed the humans to have a conversation without interruption. I was impressed. 

Coincidentally, I was acquainted with another woman who had owned German Shepherds most of her life and who had recently chosen a Standard Schnauzer after losing her last Shepherd. She and I trained our dogs together years ago. So, I called her to get a first hand perspective. 

What she told me fit right in with the description I found on the SSCA website: "Like a mishievous and very bright child, they need consistent rules and a firm, but not rough, hand. They will get away with whatever they can and will rule the roost before you know it, if allowed." 

That sounded like a Boxer to me. So, a Standard Schnauzer? No problem.  

Let the search begin! 

 

  

Hot Dogs in Heaven

I've had dogs my entire life, so it's natural that I've experienced my share of good-byes. None of them were easy. But the hardest one so far, has been Reacher. At 11-1/2 years of age he was the longest living and healthiest of my three Boxers buddies. 

His problem started with a limp and eventually resulted in the loss of function of his right rear leg. My crazy Reacher, didn't let that faze him. In short order, he learned to go anywhere he desired as a tripod. He traveled up and down the stairs with ease and even attempted short sprints around the back yard.

His appetite never wavered. That boy was always ready to eat and continued to give me the stink eye as he had done every day during his nearly a dozen years, to let me know meal time was fast approaching. He was drinking water like always and the rest of his bodily functions continued to operate as usual. All except of course, that right rear leg.

At his age, the vet and I agreed not to do a deep dive into his issue which was likely a torn ACL or possibly something more nefarious. In either case, the goal was to keep him as comfortable as possible. So, that's what we did. 

After several weeks, it was clear Reacher was feeling the pain and on a Sunday evening I even noticed some swelling high on his leg near the hip. I knew it was time for a decision. On Monday, the swelling was moving down the leg and I called a vet I know who provides euthanasia services in clients' homes. She came on Tuesday. 

At that point, even Reacher's foot was swollen and getting around wasn't as smooth as it had been. The vet told me, the useless leg accompanied by the swelling was likely a result of bone cancer. And the only treatment was amputation. Which wasn't an option for my "senior" boy.

So, we sent Reacher on his way to the Rainbow Bridge as I fed him chunks of hot dog, one right after the other. He looked at me with those big brown eyes and gave me one last Boxer smile. It was clear, he was in heaven.    

Red Crayon or Black Rubber Bone, It's All the Same to a Dog

Dogs can be a lot like kindergartners. No matter that there's enough red crayons for every student in the class. Kids always want the same one their friend has.

Vega and Reacher are much the same. No, they aren't two artful canines who create masterpieces with their paws. I'm not actually talking about red crayons here. I'm talking about black rubber bones.

Last week I ordered one Kong Extreme black rubber bone to make sure it withstood the Boxer jaw test. If a toy can hold up to Reacher's chompers, it will pretty much hold up to anything. I am happy to report this rubber Kong bone passed.

Of course, for the few days when there was only one black rubber bone, it was the most sought after toy in the house. I get it.

So, when the second new Kong Extreme bone arrived today, there were two bones, two dogs, two satisfied customers. Right?

Wrong.

Vega wanted the new bone. Reacher wanted the new bone. And only the new bone. The Kong Extreme original was within sight. And well within reach. But neither seemed to care. Just like the kindergartners and the red crayon, I don't get it.

Both bones are black. Both rubber. Both the same size. Both make the same wet, squeaky rubbery sound when chewed. And although I have no personal experience, I imagine they must taste pretty much the same.

The only difference? They arrived three days apart. Big deal.

And yes, apparently it is to a dog.

Bad Luck and Trouble

It's bad luck when I leave the house and haven't done a visual sweep of the kitchen counter to look for napkins, paper towels, produce, plastic bags or anything else within paws' reach. It's equally unlucky when I may have checked the kitchen counter but overlooked every closet door in the house to make sure it's shut tight.

Bad luck always leads to trouble.

Bad luck.

Take today, for example. In his never-ending quest for mischief Reacher managed to find a slightly open closet door and then helped himself to part of a strap plus the front of a sandal while I was away. And not just any sandal, but the left one of a pair that I borrowed from a friend.

Trouble.

So there you have it. Bad luck and trouble. Which coincidentally is the title of the 11th book in the Jack Reacher series of novels by Lee Child.

According to the author, "He (Reacher) obeyed only the rules that made sense to him." 

The same goes for my Reacher character.

And Then There Were Two

Where's Panzer?

My son and Panzer recently moved into their own place. So the three amigos are now down to two.

Lots of people have been asking what it's like without Panzer in the house. Honestly, it's a kinder, gentler place.

Panzer, no doubt about it, was the alpha dog. Reacher was at the bottom of the heap, trying his best to live under the radar every day.

So, I believe Reacher is enjoying this two-dog arrangement. He and Vega have rekindled their playful relationship. He loves playing tag and doesn't even mind when she catches him.

Vega may steal Reacher's ball or snatch a bone. But the difference is that she's more polite than Panzer ever was.

Of course, Panzer isn't here to roughhouse with Vega. There's no more dragging each other down the steps. Or slamming into a wall during a wresting match. There's no more Panzer to throw Vega to the floor. Or vice versa.

If Vega misses some of that she's not complaining either.

So now the house is back to two dogs plus a lady. It's a kinder, gentler place around here. But it's still a long way from an empty nest.

The Silent Type

Of the three dogs, Panzer is the boisterous one of the bunch (see August 31, 2014 post). Vega barks with purpose. And Reacher is mostly mute. It's not that he's unable to bark. He just doesn't.

Any man, woman, child, dog or combination thereof, who passes by our house gets a mouthful from Panzer and Vega. But not Reacher. He simply stares, silently praying at least one of them will stop to play.

If there's an unexpected knock at the door, the two German Shepherds bark out a scary warning that's loud and clear. Reacher just waits to see who the visitor might be.

Deer grazing on the other side of the fence? Grab your earplugs. Panzer and Vega are about to go berserk. Reacher, on the other hand, is content to sit and study those white-tailed wonders.

Reacher never complains out loud when Panzer steals his bone. He stands quietly at the door and waits to be let outside. He doesn't sing for his supper. Reacher is simply the silent type.

In a house with a pair of barking manic German Shepherds, my two ears are grateful for that.

The Mouth of the South

A rare quiet moment 

Nearly two years ago when Vega had her puppies, one of the things that surprised me most was the  noise eight little black fur balls could generate. It was as if she birthed a chorus! I am convinced Panzer was the lead singer.

He is the most vocal dog I've ever encountered. His repertoire goes way beyond the typical barking, growling and whining most dogs do. Panzer also squeals, whimpers, yelps, howls and shrieks, depending on his mood and the circumstance.

He launches into a full blown growling, barking frenzy whenever man and/or beast walks past the house. As for wildlife in the backyard, yelping and shrieking are his sounds of choice. Deer, squirrels, chipmunks and birds: Beware!

He squeals like a stuck pig when he believes he's being unfairly detained in his crate. And if he's happy to see you, there's plenty of whining, with a little whimpering thrown in for good measure.

He's also been heard howling in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. It seems Panzer even talks in his sleep.

 

Partners In Crime

Reacher and Panzer are definitely not best buds. That's because Panzer takes every opportunity to show Reacher who's boss. This involves the evil eye, the threatening growl and occasionally the full-on attack. Needless to say, much of Reacher's day is spent trying to live under the radar. 

Recently however, the two of them have found common ground: crime. While Reacher is known for snatching muffins, tomatoes and anything else on the kitchen counter that strikes his fancy, Panzer is self-restrained. At least in that regard.

Reacher started things off earlier this summer when he snagged the butter container from the kitchen counter. There's something about the sound of a plastic container slapping on the tile floor that got my attention so I headed downstairs.

When I rounded the corner to the living room, I caught not only Reacher, but Panzer enjoying the spoils. Together! Neither was too happy when I broke up their puppy party and took the empty butter dish.

A couple of weeks ago, the two of them teamed up for something completely different. Digging a hole under the deck. Together! If two hands are better than one, four paws are definitely better than two. The hole was amazingly deep.

Since then, I've caught the two of them sharing the crumbs at the bottom of a nearly empty cereal box and eyeing - but not eating - a jar of peanut butter.

Friends? I doubt that will ever happen.

Partners in crime? Now you're talkin'! 

Assigned Seats

Vega's favorite office spot.

Maybe I should have said unassigned seats. You know what I mean. In college lecture halls, the same students always sit up front, while you can count on others to be perpetually in the back, or on the aisle or smack dab in the middle of the row. Ditto for church pews on Sundays and bleachers at summer Little League games.

It's pretty much the same in the dog world. At least at my house.

Find Panzer here in the evening.

Of course, with dogs it's mostly spots on the floor that I'm talking about. In my office, Vega's got my back. She lies against the wall behind my desk chair. Reacher is either under the desk or under the table because he must believe it offers some protection in case Panzer decides to launch an attack. As for the wild man himself, Panzer always choose the spot near the door so he can be the first one out each time he hears something (or thinks he does) that requires his frenzied attention.

The three of them have worked out similar arrangements in the kitchen. Vega is in the corner behind the table; Reacher is just outside the kitchen proper in the living room; Panzer is closest to the door. Of course.

In the evening, the dogs go in different directions, but always to the same spots. Vega keeps watch at the top of the stairs and Panzer lies outside my son's room. As you can see, Reacher prefers my bed at the end of a hard day, which is definitely not the spot I have assigned  him.

He thinks he deserves to be here.

Homegrown Tomato Trouble

Reacher's Favorite Tomatoes from
Nell's Farmers Market-Alpharetta, Georgia

Most weekends, I head to the local farmers' market. Loving-life Reacher is the dog who usually gets tapped for this outing. He's the most gregarious of my dogs and loves the crowds of adults, small children and pooches who often want to visit.

He's much more interested in all that attention than the watermelons, tomatoes, spinach and other fruits and vegetables for sale. Or so I thought.

Fast-forward to today:
When I returned from running errands, I noticed Panzer licking the carpet. Upon further investigation I discovered a definite wet spot tinged with pink. Hmmm.

Panzer led me to another spot. Also wet. Also pink.

Pee? No.

Blood? No.

A quick scan of the kitchen counter showed the peaches were still present and accounted for. Ditto for the plums. But .... the bag of tomatoes was nowhere in sight.

A more careful scan of the living room revealed a bag, sans tomatoes, under the coffee table.

The culprit? The only dog who has the run of the house while I'm away -- Reacher, aka the "Muffin Man" (see the July 12, 2014 post). Apparently, now the "Tomato Snatcher" as well.

On our next trip to the farmers' market I guess I should buy my big Boxer boy some Big Boys or maybe a Beefsteak or two, of his own.


Other farmers market finds fit for dogs: pumpkin, green beans, sweet potatoes, apples, peanut butter, baby carrots, eggs, blueberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, asparagus and brussel sprouts.

Never give your dog: chocolate, onions, grapes, raisins, yeast dough, artificial sweeteners, macadamia nuts, avocadoes, alcohol, or coffee.

WrestleMania

Always ready to rumble!

When my two sons were younger they were fans of Atlanta-based WCW (World Championship Wrestling) featuring the likes of Hulk Hogan, Diamond Dallas Page and Randy Savage. Little did they know that all these years later, episodes of WrestleMania would be taking place live at our house every day.

Two Germans, Shepherds, that is, are the featured attractions here: "Panzer Man" and "Vega Mama." They wrestle whenever the spirit moves them in whatever place they happen to be -- hallway, kitchen, office, backyard, it really doesn't matter. They are always ready to rumble.

In canine wrestling, there is no ring, no bell, no referee and naturally, NO RULES! The two of them go head to head, jaw to neck and teeth to legs with plenty of growling and gnashing of teeth. Often, one or the other gets slammed against a wall or pinned to the ground. Neither are ever down for the count. It's always a wild, raucous, loud event. But never brutal.

After all, just like professional wrestling, this WrestleMania is not a true sporting contest, simply pure entertainment.

Muffin Man



 

The scene of the crime was recreated.

I wouldn't call myself a baker, but this summer I have whipped up a couple of batches of muffins. My guests and I are not the only ones who ones who've enjoyed them.

 

The dogs weren't offered any, of course. But Reacher decided to help himself. To both batches.

 

If you read the recent "Home Alone" blog, I am proud to report that Reacher continues to be on his best behavior when I'm not around. It's while I'm in the house that he gets into trouble. 

 

Both cases of muffin snatching happened while I was only rooms away. And both times, the bags of muffins were far back on the kitchen counter where I assumed they were safe.

 

After the first incident, I wisely placed the ziplock bag of leftover muffins in the pantry. My big mistake was failing to put them back behind closed doors after enjoying one -- or two -- at breakfast. Instead, I slid them to the rear of the counter and went about my morning routine. 

 

Apparently, that was the opening Reacher was waiting for. I didn't see him devouring his bag of loot as I walked back down the steps. But when he heard me coming, he quickly left the crime scene and peaked around the corner. His guilty face told me all I needed to know.

 

Reacher didn't have time to finish all the muffins. He did have time to create lots of crumbs and leave plenty of his Boxer slobber. I won't be eating any more.

 

I learned two things from this latest incident: Food left on the kitchen counter closest to the backsplash is still only a paw's reach away. And the name Reacher is quite fitting for this muffin man.