Aunt Cathy

Well..It was all kinda of a false alarm...no real reason for panicking.

Where they took me: to the kennel. And was picked up the next morning by Cathy, a woman whom I had never seen in my life who claimed was my aunt.

Here the highlights of what happened...narrated by me with the collaboration of what I think must be her voice in the third person:

Saturday, 3:57 PM

Simon is picked up by Aunt Cathy who suddenly realized Simon has only met Aunt Cathy once. Questions she realized she SHOULD have asked run through her head such as, " does Simon bite?"

Car ride "home" goes well even though Simon seems he would prefer to vacuum the car with his nose than sit still. When ever he does lay down he gets a ,"good boy" which in Westie obviously translates to "get excited."

Sworn to secrecy I roll down the window and let Simon stick his melon head as much out the window as he can attached to his seat belt bondage device.

Once at Aunt Cathy's he ignores an ice cube but guzzles water and has a milkbone.

Two more questions come to mind...1) how does he like his pillow arranged in his holding pin? 2) how do you free him from his harness?

3:30 PM Simon is introduced to "Meerkat Manor" and Aunt Cathy is introduced to the realization that at least this dog CAN see TV!

4 PM Simon explores the pool area and Aunt Cathy waits to hear a splash.

Up next...nap time with or without Simon???


Monday, 10:32 PM

Day 2 and 3 in captivity....

Aunt Cathy fussed at me just because I was barking in my kennel. Sure I was barking, have you seen how small it is? I need an upgrade.

I have been very nimble around the pool. I have had a few very exciting encounters with a squirrel that climbs on the pool screen. I jump and jump but I can't reach him! Tonight on my walk I saw a bunny. Aunt Cathy said something about "bunnies are our friends." She also says I pee like a girl dog, what's that mean???

Oh, guess what! I went on a covert mission and found a bag of toys that belonged to the last doggie that lived here. Aunt Cathy couldn't find me or figure out where the new toys came from. I'm so tricky.

Hey, tell her to stop trying to comb my hair with that comb...it hurts when she pulls my hair. I'm not a girl so I don't have to be pretty.

See you soon!

Simon


Wednesday, 8:43 PM

So much to tell, so much to tell. Where do I start?

Well I've decided I only need about 4 hours of sleep a night so I have started announcing that I am awake and ready for the day at 3:30 AM. Aunt Cathy hasn't jumped on board with this idea yet. The first night (morning) she made me go back to sleep with her. The second night she told me to be quiet!!! How rude is that? I decided to see if 5:30 AM worked better for her- it didn't. She said she would just let me sleep with her if I would be quiet but was worried it would mess me up when I got home.

And then there is my covert mission! Aunt Cathy thought I was chewing on a bone but I was really getting something out of a jacket pocket...part of a cereal bar in the wrapper!! She caught me and took it away (she is so mean!) but she put it in the bathroom trash. Guess what, I got it anyway. All she saw was the empty wrapper.

Oh, what's a "pedicure"? Aunt Cathy says I need one.

Miss you, come home.

Simon


Saturday, 11:19 PM

This is my last update. I'm so excited to see the humans I live with tomorrow but Aunt Cathy says she is sad and that I can come and live with her if I want too. She's nice and we go on lots of walks but she's not the object of my affections.

Aunt Cathy says I have a puppy eating disorder just because I will only eat my food from the floor or her hand, not from my bowl (that's if I eat at all). One day I REFUSED to eat my dinner. The next morning I was really hungry and ate all my breakfast. When Aunt Cathy came home I had thrown EVERYTHING up on her new love seat. Luckily she had put a sheet over it because she suspected I would get on it while she was gone (busted). She didn't even yell at me.

Aunt Cathy took good care of me and followed all of your rules except one....she let me sleep with her so I would stop waking her up. I wasn't suppose to tell because she said she will get in trouble because now I may not want to go to sleep in my crate.

I guess that's all. I have to go to bed...something about donut duty early in the morning. Hey, what's a donut and can I have one?

See you soon,

Simon

Panic Attack

"Hey, Simon, let's go out for a ride."

That's all I was told.

My excitement could not be contained. My heart was beating very fast at the thought of taking a ride in the car. Where could we be going? The dog park? The vet? PetSmart? It didn't matter, just a chance to see beyond the four walls of my kingdom.

But once I got inside, I realized it was too late. A chilling feeling ran through my spine all the way to my tail.

Those who are familiar with the mafia jargon know the subtle message that an invitation of this nature carries within: "from this one you won't come out alive"....

The worst part of this story is that I trusted them and got in!

Yes, I did! I got in the car! How could I be so naive?

My first panic attack took place when we stopped at the gas station..I thought it would be my last chance to cry for help...



My cries were useless, there were no other dogs around in sight. Someone, anyone who could help a comrade in trouble.

The car followed the sunset and got off at exit twenty-three.

We stopped at another gas station.."It's the end -I thought- Now I am over..tell my squirrel toy that I love her very much"



They got out, wore their jackets, opened the door and said in very cold way "Out". I thought for sure that was the end. I obeyed. They escorted me to a secluded area behind the convenience store...

They looked around to make sure there were no witnesses and then the woman said "Get busy". And boy did I get busy!...I emptied my bladder completely.

We got back to the car, they offered me fresh water and then started the engine and kept driving..driving into the night...

Whew!

Lazy Sunday

I love to grab the Sunday newspaper and read the comic strips. This one, which was published today, left me laughing the whole morning:

What breed does this dog belong to? Does anybody know? One thing I know by instinct is that a real westie would never root for cats, pick up food dropped out of the table in order to give it back, rationalize the coming of the postman, have good breath, share his toys (and much less a chew toy) and wave at a rabbit that is passing by... What the fur is wrong with this dog?

The name of the strip is "Pooch cafe" by Paul Gilligan. If you're up for a good laugh check it out here