Our Maggie

Once upon a time there was a Plott Hound who adopted a special Mom, Susan. Unbeknown to Susan at the time, Maggie was a gourmet with an odd penchant. She had a fondness for tennis balls. Not just any tennis ball mind you. Chopped tennis ball, much like chopped liver, was particularly desirable.

Our Maggie has gobbled down more than her fairshare of chopped

tennis balls at the dog park. Twice Maggs has found herself sliced and diced from stem to stern in order to facilitate the removal of an over zealous gorging spree of chopped tennis ball. Our Pack members keep a close eye on Maggs and you can hear numerous "Susan, Maggie has something"s followed by "Maggie, drop it!" We're all pretty good about watching over her but sometimes..... Sometimes conversation gets in the way, other cute dog behaviour gets in the way, odd human behaviour gets in the way, things just get in the way and Maggie "gets away" with purloined chopped tennis balls. Such as Sunday afternoon.

I wasn't there late Sunday afternoon, I had to get back home to prepare for the Lost finale. (don't say it) Shortly after I got to work Monday morning an email from Susan popped up with an attachment. Getting attachments from Susan is always exciting because she is such a phenomenal photographer. I clicked open the file and GASP! There was Maggie's most recent sneak attack. Even the outer fuzz was gone! Maggie had presented Susan with the evidence early this morning. Retch #1, retch #2 and retch #3 was the charm, up they all came. I don't know how Susan stays sane with a tennis ball scrounger like Maggie. I would have gone insane by now trailing along behind The Prince or The Pauper. The Prince garbage hunts along the fence line and The Pauper enjoys sucking on rocks but neither of them has ever eaten anything like that. We are more vigilant than ever now. Everyone has learned how to converse, laugh and debate with their eyes glued to the ground. We find ourselves becoming toe dexterous, prodding suspicious looking items out of the ground, eyeballing bits of green, trimming our waistlines bending over and inspecting. All the while our Maggs pretending no one is looking, hoping beyond hope that no one will notice and she can again gulp down that delectable of all delectables, chopped tennis ball.

The one saving grace is it is now Bunny Season. Nests full of furry, squirming baby bunnies trump chopped tennis balls any day of the week.

SQUEAK!! SQUEAK!!

Deep Sigh.....

I have found that my Bull Shit tolerance level has decreased with age. At times I regret that fact and other times I find it quite appropriate. Case in point:

Yesterday was not a banner day at work. Lot of stress, lot of worry, lot of bad news coming down the pike and my tolerance level was at an all time low. My Pooch Park Pack is my salvation on days like this. You can't come to the park and stay mad or sad. Good friends and good dogs make things oh so much better than they were before you got there. And then..... Then there's Jerry. Jerry, JJ the A.D.D. Short Hair Collie's dysfunctional Dad. Now look, I know in my heart Jerry is not a bad person. He was someones son at one point in time. He's a father and husband. He owns a dog. But DAMN! *deep sigh*

For more than a year Jerry has been bringing JJ to the park and while he provides us with hours of entertainment watching him trying to catch JJ, he also drives us mad. Jerry is one of those stinky stoggie smoking old men who turns a deaf ear to any sincere advice given by people who care about him and his dog. We have all told him that a kind word, spoken in a kind voice, enhanced with a delicious treat, on a consistent basis will earn him a compliant and happy dog. He nods, grins and says "I've tried that" and then when it's time to go..... One "Here JJ" in a mildly threatening tone and away JJ goes, weaving around Jerry in ever widening circles. In the beginning Kim, park princess Sophie's mom and Jim, park pick pocket Henry's dad, showed Jerry how easy it was to catch JJ with the appropriate style. He would nod, grin, say "I've tried that", leash JJ, say "Thank you", wave and leave. Over and over again, he's been kindly shown how this is done and over and over again he DOES NOT GET IT. My question is does he not get it or does he not WANT to get it. I digress.... Now we've grown weary of "showing Jerry" how it's done so we stand there and shake our heads, giggle and watch the show until either some uninitiated kind soul catches JJ or Jerry finally corners the poor dog, leashes him up and leaves.

Last night the inevitable happened.

Bad day to begin with then Winslow pooped in the bushes at the park forcing me to battle my way thru the brambles to the prize, scoop it up, toss it away and make my way to The Pack who had quarantined themselves in the agility area to avoid "fluffy dogs", better known to our canine members as "prey". As I approached the agility area gate there was Jerry screaming at JJ who was huddled against the gate, frantically looking past his "loving" Dad for any means of escape. Too late, Jerry nabbed him by the collar, scolded "Bad dog!", leashed him then bent down, asked for a shake from JJ and said, "There now, you like me now, don't you? We're friends now, aren't we?" Friends, relatives, neighbors and anyone else reading this.... That was the final straw for me. In one swift instant I lost all reason and opened my mouth. Out came a torrent of screaming demands, "JERRY!!! SIT, STAY! JERRY, COME TO DINNER RIGHT NOW AND SIT DOWN!!! JERRY, SIT DOWN!!! JERRY, I SAID SIT DOWN!!! RIGHT NOW!! BAD JERRY!! STAY!!!!" *deep sigh* At that point I didn't know who saw this insane interaction and didn't care, I was focused on Stoggie Smokin' Jerry. All of a sudden Jerry became JJ. His shoulders slumped, his head was down and his eyes were darting everywhere looking for any means for escape. Too late, there was no where to go except thru the gate and past me. I opened the gate, stepped in and said, "Jerry, how did that feel? Like you wanted to sit and stay or like you wanted to run away? That's how JJ feels every time you unload on him when it's time to go home. He wants to run away. It's no wonder you have such trouble catching him, he has no incentive to come to you." As his head hung, I walked on into the agility area to my *at that point, hopefully* friends. His parting shot to me was "Thanks for the advice" and then he was gone. Did he get it? I don't know. What I do know is he got a real live taste of his own medicine and my great hope is it was bitter and made an impression. Do I like Jerry? No. Will I reach out to him the next time I see him? Maybe. Because right now I'm not so proud of what I did. I feel bad about it in all honesty. Why? I don't know. Maybe I embarrassed myself. Maybe this incident was a long time coming and was needed, I don't know. My greatest hope is Jerry GOT IT. It might not have made a difference and maybe he will continue to be a stinky stoggie smoking old fart but at least someone said what needed to be said, whether it felt good or not.

It's done and I hope I can feel better about it soon.

A Picture Perfect Day

A pictorial story of our day at Prairie Wolf

Enjoy,

Julie, Beauford and Winslow