One hot dog!

                                    

My mom thinks she is so funny. DO I tell her she isn’t? Yesterday she came up front all excited about my latest fashion accessory, I know I am not sure why I need more then my collar but I guess I do. Anyway, she came up front and excitedly announced that I am officially a hot dog! I don’t know why I needed a scarf to punctuate this fact but whatever. Mom then produced this scarf that looks like it was designed by Jesse James and the crew of West Coast Choppers or Ed Hardy. It is black with flames all over it, hence the hot dog remark. Then as if one hot dog was not bad enough she produced a second scarf for Rome. Now she has 2 hot dogs. Well this whole phenomenon of the need to dress up your pet made me wonder how do other pet parents dress their four legged members of their family. Turns out this industry generates million of dollars annually, all so that people can dress there pets up as bumble bees and pirates on Halloween and as Gucci wearing, studded leather jacket wearing canines and felines the rest of time. I was online last night and I found everything from cowboy boots to swim wear for pets. I don’t know if I should feel offended by my new hot dog scarf or slighted that I didn’t get an astronaut suit complete with a full re-breathing set up in case I need a day off from the VOG.

Honestly, I really had no idea that there was so much I was missing out on. I was not excited when I got my new fancy behave collar but at least it doesn’t jingle like the 3 piece band that hangs around my neck on a regular basis. I also didn’t know that there are stores filled with every imaginable shaped animal made just to chew on. They also have hundreds of different types of treats. Sometimes it is better to be in the dark, I am allergic to beef and all sorts of other things so I get stuck with the HYPO-Allergenic adventure brought to me by Hill’s Science Diet. The other day my brother went to the giant pet super store and he said if he dies he wants it to be in the ball isle. There is a ball isle really? He said not only that but there are whole bins filled with treats and they have all sorts of different reality programs playing. They have the turtle channel, the bird channel, and two separate fish channels; fresh water and salt water for those interested in the more exotic things in life. They also have a furry critter channel, and you can watch rats sleep and guinea pigs eat. He also said they have a whole isle filled with pet clothing. He then said not to worry he didn’t see anything in my size, unless I decide to become a miniature poodle or some other small dog, I am safe. That is assuming my mom doesn’t decide to become the next Ralph Lauren and design island wear for the long legged canine set...

I wonder what I would look like in a nice crisp pair of linen pants and an a Aloha shirt and a little fedora, laying on the beach in a hammock, like you see in the Tommy Bahama catalogs..... just me wind blowing through my hair sipping a nice tall drink of water with a splash of carrot... Wait a minute, what am I saying. I am a dog, not a model for Gucci, geez Pike back to reality.

It is interesting though to think about of well dressed pets, waiting each day for their mom and dads to dress them out in the posh pet finery. I don’t want to say I feel neglected by not getting fawned over in the morning while getting dressed for the day. There is something to be said for just making sure I don’t wet my fur (sometime I fail at that). Maybe my mom does know best and realizes that despite my abilities sometime less is more and in my case that is probably true. I am glad that my “hot dog” scarf is all I have to contend with, I have so many other things to think about each day, choosing what to wear would most likely be to much for me. I have wondered when I see all of our clients dressed in normal clothes, why my parents never dress like everyone else. Everyday they put on the same thing the only choice they have is what color is clean and out the door they go. There is a simplicity to this type of lifestyle that is nice and when you consider the cost of regular clothes vs. scrubs maybe my parents are on to something. My mom has on red scrubs today and while red can be an alarming color, she wears it well. Maybe I could loan her my flaming scarf as an accessory then she could be one cool cat. RUFF!

Blast OFF!!!

T–minus 10 seconds and counting. 10, 9, 8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1 blast off!!!!!

Every day he blasts out of his kennel rolling and yawing out into the yard, where he manages  to complete his morning maneuvers with the grace of a ballerina strapped to the back of a London bendy bus going 60 miles and hour in four lanes of traffic. He comes back in doing his best to defy gravity despite gravity beating him at his own game, Rome is never one to quit trying. He races back into the house to the open front window where he barks out to the other neighbor dogs that he is the master of this domain and the ruler of his destiny. He stops briefly to survey the days bounty at the bottom of his bowl filled with kibble and gets distracted by the bright yellow ball he spies under the sofa. Forgetting his bounty he wedges him self under the couch to the retrieve the ball. Success! He returns to the bounty only to find that the bowl fill with his morning meal has been moved to higher ground so that his faithful companion Pike doesn't eat it.

Then he is distracted again by his dad. His dad has his work shoes in hand which means Rome is going to leave soon. He bounds around the house in excitement and jettisons himself towards the door and out into the rocket ship(car) with dad behind the wheel. This is the moment he has been waiting for all morning as he stand ready by the window just waiting for dad to roll it down. Rome thrusts his head out the window head long into the wind, ears flapping and nose poised to receive the crisp morning Intel. He smells his dog friends from the neighbor hood and the rain from far off places. He tastes the pollen and an occasional bug as his lips flap in the breeze. Rome knows he has to take it all in quickly and as dad approaches the highway the window will go up and he will be left with all of the delights of his morning  swirling in his head.

 

When he arrives at work he greets his staff with a happy bounce, he will trot through the treatment area and out into his yard where he can gobble up a morning snack of cockroaches. He will come in and settle into his kennel and sleep for a few hours, dreaming of the places his nose has just taken him. Is he dreaming of far off lands and friends he knows, is he playing in the ocean and running on the beach? When he wakes up mid- morning he will stretch and bark for his dad to come and play with him. Dad will oblige sitting on the floor tossing the ball and the rope back and forth through the treatment area. Rome will go outside for a little time in the sun where he will lay on the hill and rest his weary eyes. When he comes back in he knows he is free to roam around the hospital for the the next couple hours while his dad and the staff perform surgery and procedures. He wanders around checking on their progress wishing just once he would be allowed into surgery( it is strictly prohibited) and making sure they are not missing anything. He peeks in on all the patients sleeping or resting in their cages, knowing to avoid certain ones and welcoming the chance to see other. He waits for his afternoon treat and then settles back in for a nap before his next car adventure home.  

Rome waits while his dad prepares to leave the office for the day. He knows as soon as dad picks up his satchel that the day has come to an end and his journey home is only moments away. He bounds back out to the car and climbs in, turning quickly to rest his head on the window seal. Dad starts the car and Rome starts his senses, capturing the event that have transpired during the day. He points his head out into the air, hot and warm from the day. He taste the traffic and the bustle of the Kona as it lingers in the heavy thick air. His dad rolls up the window and he settles into the evening drunk on the last smells of the long day and excited about seeing the smallest members of his family. He checks in with Pike when he gets home making sure the household was safe and barking out from the front window to let everyone know the big dog is back in the house. He settles in for his dinner and lays by his dad keeping a watchful eye in case he is needed. 

As night draws the day to a close Rome picks himself up off his bed and goes down stairs to his kennel. He climbs inside and rest his weary head. Soon dad will come down and close the door protecting the shoes in the house from his "sleep chewing episodes". He drifts off and dreams again about the what the morning light will bring when he blasts off again into the great beyond.

I can't win.

Well, it never seems to fail, but I am incapable of getting through a week without at least one calamity if not two....or three....or f o u r, ahhhhh. Now, in my defense, I am a dog and, although I am held to higher standards than most dogs, in recent days I have fallen short of the mark... again. Where do I begin?

First off, when I stay home I have a tendency to lay around, on the sofa, on the bed (I prefer my mom and dad’s, but my brothers’ and sister’s beds work just fine). Let sleeping dogs lie, I say. I guess my family doesn’t really care to lay in a soft blanket of Pike fur. But, I think it is amazing, if I do say so myself. Granted, I am biased, but PETA can’t complain if you wrap yourself in fur, if said fur is your birthday suit, right? Why my family takes issue with this fur that I come by naturally is beyond me. Sure, I understand that dog fur in the popcorn can be disgusting but the bowl says everything is better with cat hair.... wait a minute, how come the cat can contribute to the culinary magic of Orville Redenbacher but I can’t? I get yelled at and told to “stay off the bed, Pike,” “get off the couch Pike,” “Pike, get out of the chair.”

DO they really expect me to lay around on the floor with Rome? He is a dog dog like the real kind... thank you, but, NO!

Then, as if it isn’t enough that my family thinks they can order me to get down off the objects in MY house they add insult to injury by assuming they can tell me what to eat. Sure you can fill my bowl with Sensitive Skin dog food and I will gladly eat my 2 cups a day but if you refuse to give me snacks, there is no reason, no reason at all that I can’t help myself to the ESCARGOT ala slugs in our yard.

I am capable of learning, you know, 2 slugs plus dinner ok, 3 slugs plus dinner ok, 10 slugs plus dinner, not ok. Lesson learned. In my defense I didn’t know that when you vomit them up they come up black and green and slimy. They certainly didn’t go in that way. I also didn’t realize my family is nuts and would actually sift through the debris at 10:00 at night and count my indiscretion and then remind me of it for the next 20 minutes while they cleaned it up. Had I known there was a limit to the amount of slugs a 40-pound dog can consume. I would have stopped. I mean, I am sure I would have...maybe. But, that is not the point. Whose idea was it so sprinkle salt on the slugs in the yard in the first place.... dad? It was like a pupu platter for 10 out there; did you want me to let them go to waste?

Then, there is the whole “Pike ran away again” issue that seems to be plaguing me all week. Let me ask you this, my faithful readers, what is the point of a dog license if you can’t go anywhere? I mean you can’t go to the beach. You can’t just cruise the isles at the grocery. You’re not welcome in most places in Hawaii and I for one am fed up. I am a fully vaccinated, slug-eating, rabies-free, licensed celebrity for cat’s sake. I should be allowed to go where ever I want and if I want to run around our neighborhood in the morning and greet the day why can’t I? I heard my mom tell my dad she is worried about me getting hit by a car. Why would she even put that out there into the universe? Is she crazy? On second thought, don’t answer that last part. I won’t tell if you won’t.

Finally, as if this week of let down couldn’t get anymore complicated, I managed to humiliate myself by getting stuck under the sofa. I figured if I can’t lay on it, then, by cat, I will lay under it. Well, the getting under there was easy. The getting out...not so much. When mom and dad came home they called for me and I, too embarrassed by my situation, didn’t respond. They searched all over and thought I must have gotten out when they weren’t looking... admittedly it wouldn’t be the first time. After several minutes of them searching for me I managed to stick my nose out a bit and mom saw it.

My dad lifted the sofa up (he is very strong) and I crawled out. I was, however, plagued by my nagging bladder issue. I was so very excited and scared that I began to pee at the first sign of my freedom. Then, in my traumatized state (not really, but it makes for better reading...) I jumped up on the sofa (the aforementioned sofa) and continued to pee (did I mention it is a down filled sofa mom bought when my family lived in Colorado?) Well, mom freaked. Dad tried to get me outside, but my bladder, already in the on position, stayed on. When I did get outside, I could hear my parents pulling the sofa apart to try and save it!

Figuring they could handle it, I took a walk (ok, so I ran) down the hill, around the corner and over to see my good buddy Olive (who is actually Rome’s friend, truth be told). I heard mom and dad yelling and knew I was in huge trouble and there would not be a get out of jail free card this time around. I was headed to that big plastic crate up in the living room. I spent the rest of the day in a Kennel. Rome’s, to be exact, and for the record, he is disgusting. It is with much resentment, uh, I mean hesitation, that I will say this: I guess laying around like a dog, eating dog food only, staying in my yard and not letting curiosity get the better of me are the lessons I need to learn. However, that kind of lifestyle does not make for very good reading. They say an artist often needs to sacrifice for their work. I have an adoring public to think about, so to this, I say, “bring on the slugs.” RUFF!

Life is like, buckets of papaya trees.

We are going to start out with a riddle.

What do you get when you mix three papaya trees, three 5-gallon buckets filled with dirt, 2 dogs and an SUV?

Answer: A Pike’s Corner

Everyone knows that I hate to ride in the car. The only thing worse is having to get in the car when it is raining outside. Imagine my horror when I went to load up in the pouring rain and realized not only would I be riding home in Mom’s SUV, but I also got to share the space with the King of the Space Cadets (ROME) and three buckets filled with dirt and plants. This is like the plot of every nightmare I have ever had, only this was my reality. Mom loaded us up and walked back inside. I tried to close my mind to

what was sure to be the cross between death and dismemberment and a re-run of Nightmare on Elms Street. Rome settled down for a snack. Apparently Papaya tree was on the menu and, from the looks of it, he was enjoying it very much. I waited for Mom to come back, panicking about the car adventure ahead.

While my brother from another planet snacked, I tried to get as close to the seat as possible. I did my best “Elasta Girl” impression and wedged myself between the buckets and the seat and prayed that the Dog Gods would take me in one quick motion. To my surprise, my dad got behind the wheel, which luckily meant we were going straight home and not all the way up to get my sister at preschool. Thanks to the universe for small favors.... nope, I spoke too soon.

About halfway home, I heard the tell tale signs coming from Rome that perhaps papaya trees are not the best snacks for dogs.

My dad heard it too and I could tell that the car sped up a bit as Rome vomited up the contents of the fleshy tree that had stood so happily in the bucket, just moments before. I was thankful I was out of the splash zone ensconced behind the white buckets and pinned against the seat. This is self-preservation at its finest folks.

When dad got home, he was very thankful for Mom’s foresight. She had covered the whole back of the SUV with a blanket, protecting the floor, the seat and everything in between. I was between a seat back and a bucket with a sea of Rome’s dietary indiscretion in front of me, so I stayed put. Dad unloaded everything and pulled the blanket out, spilling me onto the concrete, clean and physically undamaged. As for my mental state, I may need to take a day off for some couch therapy to put the whole incident behind me. Captain Idiot, unfazed by his latest vomiting episode, bound out into the yard, looking for his next great adventure.

When Mom got home, Dad explained what happened and pointed out the papaya trees. One of our staff, Lyndsey, brought the banana trees home from the office for my mom and dad. Why Mom didn’t think to send the whole lot of plants with her is beyond me. I guess Mom wasn’t thinking about Rome the Destroyer. He won’t eat a piece of banana but can’t resist cockroaches and whole papaya trees... um,okay! My mom laughed and grabbed the shovel and pick ax and set to work planting the trees in the pouring rain. Dad interviewed a doctor over the phone and I surveyed the action from inside where it was dry. With four new banana trees and the two remaining papayas planted, Mom headed for a shower and Dad made some dinner. I laid down in my soft bed and closed my eyes, glad that the last hour was behind me. Rome took a nap and did his best impression of a dead cockroach as we drifted off to sleep with the sound of rain falling outside. I wished for sweet dreams and, for the record, I prefer mangos. RUFF!

New habits!

Well, as you have all heard, my family recently adopted a bird. When Pineapple arrived, I thought it was an interactive toy.... NO PIKE!!!!! Then I realized that this little bird could be good for the whole family. My human brother gets a new friend to love, my sister gets to watch this new little feathered from from a far. Rome is very interested in watching him. This is good for me because now he is not bothering me as much. I also realized in this last week of bird discovery that if you stand by the cage while the little bugger is eating, it is like being at a parade with

someone tossing out treats right and left. My mom said we should put Pineapple’s impression of a snow blower on YOU TUBE. He gets inside his little feeder and the seeds just go flying out the back end. Oddly, this seems to be the norm for this odd little bird. I watch as the the bird hops around his cage, cheep cheep cheeping. Then the birds outside start cheep cheep cheeping. Let’s put it this way, it is like a symphony of birds only instead of a scheduled concert, this is an impromptu adventure at six in the morning. What is it with new pets and their need to disrupt my sleep patterns? I just don’t understand. Overall I guess I can say that this bird has been a welcome addition to our family.I am curious how bird seed can make that silly bird poop every 15 minutes? My mom looked it up and yes they really do go that often. I guess it will make my brother think again when he complains about back yard scooper duty.

Now, I doubt my family will be taking him to the schools for the Animal and Aina program they do, what with all of Pineapples “habits”, but then again, I didn’t think Rome would be a good candidate either but, according to the teachers and our staff, he did an amazing job. Of course, how hard is it to behave on a leash right? Hummm... obviously, since I didn’t get to go this year, it does raise the question, doesn’t it? The second graders at Konaweana Elementary School had a great time this year. They got to learn all about taking care of dogs and cats. They got to watch my brother get his teeth brushed for five days in a row (better him then me). He actually really likes to get his teeth brushed! I on the other hand, really only like the poultry-flavored toothpaste.

The second graders got to learn about whiskers and how they work. They learned about how their ears, nose, and eyes work and how they compare to us animals. For the record, even with my one eye, I still see better then a human. Maybe not as good as a cat, but I would never admit it. It is plausible deny-ability. I learned that term on CNN this week and I like it.

Overall, I guess this last week or so has been pretty great. I think my family is healing from our loss and experiencing all kinds of new adventures with our new bird, Pineapple. My mom and Stacia a gearing up for another round of school programs for the next school year and me, well I am going to use my imagination and pretend I am an anteater... only my sticky tongue is going to be hunting bird seed. This shouldn’t be too hard. Oh where do I start? Wait a minute... MOM!!!!! Did you vacuum while I was writing my column? Cats foiled again. I was so looking forward to a little more plausible deny-ability. RUFF!