Some time ago, a new neighbor moved in next door.  There was a soon-to-be-Mommy and a stay-near-home-Daddy.  They wedged their new home into a spot that I really didn’t think there had been room to build.  But they did it, and it seemed to be pretty sturdy.  Neither rain, nor wind, nor the size of the hail seemed to knock it down.  We never really got a chance to meet the new neighbors.  They kept to themselves most of the time – preferring to hide or take off whenever anybody got too close, so I’ll just refer to them as Mommy and Daddy.  Mommy and Daddy got busy and it wasn’t long before the twins were born.

From our viewpoint, they seemed to be fairly dedicated parents.  They took turns feeding the kids.  One would stand guard while the other fed them.  After dinner each night, Daddy would disappear into the darkness and wouldn’t reappear until shortly after the sun rose above the horizon the next morning.  And then their routine would begin again.

For as protective and guarded these two were with their kids, it’s surprising to note that they built their house such that anybody could easily peer into their private lives and watch them as they went about their business.  From our house, we could easily see these parents dote on their kids as they fed them, cleaned them, and brushed the tops of their heads.  But the operative word is guarded.  They guarded their home as if they expected something bad to happen.  They never let the kids venture outside.  They never let them visit with other kids their own age.  Perhaps they had a premonition.  Perhaps they were just overprotective parents.  Perhaps they had brains the size of a pea.  In any case, it was just creepy how they would watch our every move from the safety of the shadows around their home.  Probably just a creepy as they felt when we would watch them.

Then it started.  Last week a small child wandered into our midst.  He stayed for a few hours, playing and frolicking as he went.  But his presence caught the attention of the local troublemakers.  This is never a good thing.  They were on him like flies on dog poop.  Every move he made was met with sharp and decisive blows to the head and torso.  Hearing the commotion I went out to find out what was going on, just in time to save this wee small life from these bullies.  Sadly he died from his injuries a short time later.

Having tasted blood, the troublemakers were in a heightened state of awareness and busily set about patrolling their empire looking for their next victims.  Almost at once they spied Mommy and Daddy bravely going about the business of caring for their children.  Every day the troublemakers would walk their perimeter; Every day they would watch Mommy and Daddy guard their kids.  For most of a week, it was a very tenuous standoff.

Saturday dawned.  Mommy and Daddy and the kids were up with the sun.  Perhaps this was the day that they would let their guard down.  Perhaps this was the day that Mommy and Daddy would challenge the troublemakers.  Perhaps this was the day that would end badly.  In any case, for the first time ever, the kids were out of the house.  They were playing together in the yard with Mommy and Daddy standing guard nearby.  If they were worried, they did a great job of not letting their kids see it.

But it was only a matter of time before the two troublemakers arrived to see this family playing quietly in what was clearly their backyard.  Suddenly almost faster than thought itself, the troublemakers rushed the family.  There was screaming; there was violence; there was a fight.  Daddy was beating one of the troublemakers about the head and torso while Mommy was trying to convince the other one to leave.  Suddenly almost as if by instinct, the once separated troublemakers were together again and both racing for cover.

Mommy and Daddy won the first round.  But there would be other rounds.  This clearly wasn’t over.  Not by a long shot.

I heard the noise in the house.  I came out to see what was going on and escorted the troublemakers out of the area.  But they would be back.  After all, they had every right to believe that Mommy and Daddy were trespassing upon their grass.  Mommy and Daddy knew or at least should have known that the troublemakers would be back.

A few hours later, they did return.  And the fear instilled by the first encounter had given way to curiosity and instinct.  Immediately there were screams; there was a flurry of activity.  I was there, witnessing the violent attack first hand. CRUNCH.  A crunch loud enough to have been heard from 20 feet away.  Lots of screaming; CRUNCH; and then silence, except for the screams of Mommy and Daddy.  I moved in closer to get a better look.  I picked up the lifeless body of one of the twins and Mommy and Daddy began circling me, and crying and screeching at me – as if I had committed this horrible act.

Defending myself against Mommy and Daddy’s anger and violent attacks, I swung wildly at the air and hit nothing.  One troublemaker went after Daddy.  Daddy managed to zoom over a fence just as one of the troublemakers managed to relieve him of a few tail feathers.  In the meantime, the other troublemaker had discovered the other twin hiding in the shrubbery nearby.  Another ensuing scream; Mommy was left to defend her baby alone.  One scream followed another, followed another and another.  I pulled the troublemaker off the baby and rescued his nearly lifeless carcass from the troublemaker’s continuing attempts to play with him as if he was one of their stuffed toys.

Here was the perfect, slightly overprotective family;  living, growing, and finally venturing out into the world. BAM, some crazy madmen wiped out the entire family in a bloody free-for-all that leaves one baby robin dead, one baby robin critically injured and unable to fly, and one Papa robin missing a few tail feathers.  For the next several hours, Mommy, Daddy, and a few of their closest robin friends squawked and carried on as they circled the yard in an attempt to protect their last injured offspring, now safely, relocated by me, outside the fence and waiting patiently the arrival of the coyote pups when darkness falls.  I also moved the dead twin to a spot in the front yard alongside the baby bunny that got pummeled to death earlier in the week.

For now, the troublemakers are free to wander and patrol their yard and look for pets from unsuspecting, dangling hands.  Mommy and Daddy Mockingbird are working building their second nest of the season in the top of the rose bush in the backyard.  I guess when you’ve got a brain the size of a pea, intelligence isn’t among your strong suits.  The two troublemakers have been watching the Mockingbirds intently, having injured the couple’s first baby last month as it tried to learn to fly.  And when you’re a Golden Retriever with an instinct for hunting and tracking, you’re only doing what comes naturally.  And then you look for a cool place to lie down, like on an air conditioning vent in the kitchen.

A few hours later, while I’m sitting at my computer, my wife came downstairs to use the exercise bike and the Nordic track, thus honoring her New Year’s resolutions. Outside there is glorious sunshine, but temperatures in the single digits (F) which preclude a taking the dogs for a much-needed walk.

While my fingers dance on the keys and my wife chugs along on the exercise bike the sounds of dogs bounding across the main level permeates the basement ceiling. It sounds like a herd of elephants crashing their way through the house. Ginger and Mya, our now 11-week old golden retriever foster puppies, are locked in the kitchen using a doggie gate which they haven’t managed to climb over yet.

We discussed the commotion upstairs for a few minutes and decided that it was Jasper and Amos playing “run and chase” in the parts of the house that the puppies cannot get to. Jasper and Amos have run of the house when we’re not home because they never tear up stuff that they shouldn’t. The puppies do not have that luxury because they will tear up anything they come in contact with, so they are confined to a crate when we’re not home or to the kitchen when they cannot be directly supervised.

The dogs upstairs are obviously having a blast. Up the stairs to the second level, back down faster than I can run, slide on the vinyl floor, only to turn around a go back up. Having lived in this house for 16 years, we can pretty much tell where people and dogs are by listening to the thumps and shudders of the house, from the basement.

When my wife finally finished her workout, she hesitated before going back upstairs. We learned a long time ago that things change when the situation changes. The dogs are clearly having fun bouncing around the house. But when my wife goes upstairs, the game will end immediately because the dogs’ situation has changed even though they wouldn’t have gotten scolded for it. It always frustrates me when a dog does something really cute, but when I want to show somebody, the dog won’t do it….because the circumstances have changed….somebody else is in the room.

Finally, my wife headed up the stairs. At the top of the only flight of stairs that leads out of our basement, she quickly discovers that the door won’t open more than a half inch. Wait a minute! “What do you mean you can’t open the door?” We live alone with our dogs. If we’re both in the basement and the dogs are upstairs, then why won’t the door open?

Up the stairs, I went. Uh-oh. She’s right, the door won’t open. Uh-oh. We were wrong, the puppies are not confined to the kitchen. Somehow, the doggie gate had gotten knocked down and was now leaning at a 45-degree angle across the door. The bottom was still tightly wedged between the two walls. But, like I said, when circumstances change, the dog’s activities change. As I went back downstairs to sort through my tools looking for a long screwdriver or another tool that would fit through the half-inch gap that I could use to lift the doggie gate and open the door, the dogs ran past the basement door as if to say “Hi” and flattened the doggie gate to the floor. This, in turn, closed the door further and my half inch gap was the width of the thickness of a knife blade. Argh!

Now I needed a something different. Among all of the junk in the basement, there has to be something that will fit through the crack. Ah-ha! I found something. I found a hanging file bracket which fits file drawers which do not have their own built-in hanging file brackets. The metal strip was less than an eighth of an inch in thickness, 3 eighths of an inch wide and 18 inches long. “That should work.”

Gee, that would have been too easy. Meanwhile, the puppies are freely tearing through the house with the big dogs hot on their butts. Yep, they were having fun! But only the kitchen is truly puppy-proof. There is the partially disassembled Christmas tree that makes for a great hiding place until the big dogs discover their ability to knock it over. There is the big dogs’ water bowl filled with a gallon or two of water allowing the puppies to drink all that they want. Young puppies rent food and water. Whatever they put into their mouths, comes out the other end within a few minutes. Draining the water bowl, with its gallon or two of water means 35 trips to the 15-degree backyard during the afternoon. Further, there are rolls of paper towels, and rolls of toilet paper within easy reach, once they’re out of the kitchen and running free and dozens of things that are downright bad for them.

Working with the hanging file bracket, I quickly discovered that it wasn’t going to work. The bottom of the doggie gate is just an inch or two from the gap between the door and the door frame and it is still wedged tightly between the two walls. I can’t take to door off its hinges because as long as the door is closed, removing the hinges won’t let the door open either. Besides, they’re not on my side of the door. I could take the doorknob off and lower a hook down to the gate, but the screws to remove the knob are on the other side too. Except for a few small basement windows six feet or so off the floor, this door is our only way out of the basement.

Okay, I guess it will have to be the window.

Opening the basement window, we thanked our lucky stars that even though it’s cold, there is no snow on the ground to crawl through and we didn’t have a deep window-well around the window which might prevent my six-foot-five-inch frame from twisting through the window and out the window-well. Unfortunately, opening the window as far as it goes, only creates a 3″ opening. I had to take the window out completely. Removing the window I found myself thinking happy thoughts about the house alarm being turned off at that moment. What could be better than crawling out the basement window just as the cops showed up? We’ve set the alarm off by accident a few times over the years. On average, the cops are there in 4 minutes or less. It was going to take that much time to climb out this window. Thank God the alarm is off.

Standing on the chair, I discovered that I still wasn’t quite tall enough to fold my chest over the bottom of the window and crawl out. I had to jump a bit, without hitting my back on the top of the window or my head on the rafters. After a few minutes, I successfully crawled out the window; walked around the back of the house and used the keys already in my pocket to unlock the back door and walk back into the house.

Once inside the kitchen, dog heads started peering around the corner from the other side of the downed doggie gate. One pup rounded the corner, hopped over the gate and trotted up as if to say “Hi, are you going to spoil our fun?” With one swift move, she was out the door looking at life from the cold backyard. Game over.

I picked up the gate; I let my wife upstairs; I replaced the window in the basement before my basement office turned into a refrigerator; then we searched the house. Yep, they tore up paper towels, toilet paper, newspaper, tissue paper used for wrapping gifts, a couple of bows; and they drained the dogs’ water bowl and relocated it to the family room, upside down. 🙁

Tell me again why we foster puppies?

On a brighter note, we have adoption applications to review, people to talk to, and dog introductions to conduct for both Ginger and Mya. Perhaps these two puppies will go to their forever homes, to make way for the Christmas puppies that usually arrive in March and April because despite everybody in rescue’s plea to not give pets as Christmas gifts, people still do. And then they discover that puppies grow up, require training, begin to shed, and aren’t as cute as they were in the pet store window.

Our two 10 week old foster golden retriever puppies made the trip to northern Illinois with us, but they were quietly sleeping in the crate at the foot of the bed. Amos was sleeping soundly on his bed of pillows that we brought with us. Jasper was presumably hiding somewhere in the darkness.

As my wife searched the room for Jasper, from the comfort of our bed, the room is filled with a muffled whimpering. No Jasper. The bedroom door is closed; So he hadn’t left the room. The closet doors are closed. Looking down at the side of the bed, my wife discovers the top of Jasper’s head. OMG, HE IS STUCK UNDER THE BED!!

After several futile attempts to pull him out, without leaving the comfort of our bed, my wife awakens me and tells me that Jasper is stuck under the bed and she doesn’t know how long he’s been there, although the logistics of the situation suggest it’s been at least an hour or two. She has managed to get his head out, but that is all.

Unlike my Mother-in-Law’s dog, a West Highland Terrier who can and does run under the bed all the time — usually to escape the rougher play of the big golden retrievers — Jasper is a 90-pound Golden Retriever whose torso is nearly as wide as the distance from the hardwood floor to the bottom of the bed. I get up, crawling off the foot of the bed because my side is pressed tightly against the wall and walk around to my wife’s side of the bed. What I see reminds me of a horse-on-a-stick toy.

Jasper’s big head and 3 inches of his neck are visible with the rest of his torso hidden beneath the bed. His feet are pointing inward and not visible. His right eye is staring upward and watching me.

“Jasper, How did you get under there?”

Jasper just lays there, totally motionless, except that his eye follows me. He is clearly happy to see me; I can hear the muffled thump, thump, thump of his tail against the wall on the far side of the bed.

I reach under the bed and grab a handful of dog hair in the middle of his back and quickly pull him toward me. He slides easily on the hardwood floor, so I’m not hurting him with my tug on his hair. It takes only a few moments to get him far enough out that I could get my hands around him. I wrap my hands around his torso, I pull him the rest of the way out. When he is completely out from under the bed, he just lays there, unmoving.

“Jasper, Did you hurt yourself? Are you alright?” He lays there totally motionless.

Slapping his butt gently with the verbal command, “Okay” he pops right up. Clearly, he had been under the bed long enough that he had stopped struggling to get up and didn’t know to try again until I told him to. Immediately he is licking my face and trying to climb into my lap. Jasper is clearly upset. Pointing to my spot on the full-size bed and he hops right up and snuggles in next to my wife. He does his best to keep her awake while I work out a solution to prevent him from doing it again once I go back to sleep.

Over the years we have frequently had to deal with the dogs getting their backs under the bed with their feet stretched into the room, but this was the first time that his feet were pointing under the bed and the first time that he was completely under the bed. Generally, our dogs sleep on their side, with their backs pushed up against something — the bed frame, the wall, me, my wife, etc. — with their feet extending outward. As they stretch in their sleep or run in their sleep, they slowly push themselves under the bed — but never more than their head or two or three inches of their backs. Jasper had managed to push himself completely under the bed, and then turn around so his feet were pointing toward the far side of the bed.

I placed a row of pillows, end to end, on top of a blanket and folded the blanket over the pillows. Then I wedged the whole thing tightly under the side of the bed. Now, he could lay on the pillows and when he moved to the cool floor, the pillow wall would prevent him from going under the bed. It worked! Once I coaxed him out of my spot and back onto the floor (this bed isn’t big enough for my wife, my big golden, and myself) we were all able to go back to sleep for a few hours before the puppies’ built-in air raid sirens went off signaling time for morning potty.

It’s 5:50 am, the sky is dimly lit; the sun has started its morning rise, but it hasn’t yet seized the sky.  Ginger and Mya, the 6-week-old golden retriever puppies that we are fostering on behalf of Gateway Golden Retriever Rescue are awake and pleading to go outdoors to potty.  Nearly a week ago, Ginger, a 6.5lbs golden retriever puppy, with her big sister, Mya at 9lbs, arrived into our home.  But like most puppies, they grow fast.  In the week since they arrived from Springfield, MO, both are noticeably heavier, much brighter, less subdued, and into absolutely everything.

The 24 hours in our home was downright brutal.  All afternoon, and all night they had to go outside and potty every 30 to 90 minutes.  They had to be carried out to prevent them from discovering alternate locations for their business.  The first day and night they had diarrhea.  The last thing that puppies should ever learn is that they can do it in their crate.  It is far more difficult to potty train a dog that will pee or poop where it sleeps.  Working with rescue, we have fostered more than one golden retriever puppy that had no qualms about pottying in their crate and then sleeping in it.  So, all day and all night, every time they’d cry, somebody had to carry them out.  My wife handled most of the trips during the day, and I got the night shift.  With each passing day, they could go longer and longer between potty breaks.  They could stay out of their crates longer and play more.  But still, they had to be carried out.  Friday night they managed to make it from 10:30 pm to nearly 4 am.  So, last night we put them out a little later with the hopes they’d sleep a little later.  Success!  They made it to nearly 6 am.

As their little screams pierced the darkness and became more insistent with each passing second, I quickly got up and prepared to take them out.  Unlike the night with Jasper a few weeks ago, the outdoor temperature is in the low 20s and a flimsy bathrobe just won’t suffice.  There are certain truths about puppies. 1) They have the attention span of a flea jump.  2) They are easily distracted.  3) They will potty anywhere that is not their bed.  Unless I want a carpet puddle or something nastier on the floor between the crate and the door, Ginger and Mya still need to be carried from the crate down a flight of stairs, through the foyer, through the kitchen, into the garage, and finally out into the cold night air.

I picked them up, one at a time, but carried them together.  Ginger was on the outside facing to my right, and Mya was squeezed tightly between Ginger and my chest facing the same direction.  But, recently having learned to walk up and down our stairs, and run into their crate on their own, these girls didn’t want to go for a ride.  They wanted down; they wanted to go out on their own.  All the way down to the back door, they pushed off me, tried to stand up, and squirmed and struggled against my hold.  At the back door, I had to reposition them.  Both arms and hands are tied up trying to control these little girls, but now I’m faced with an alarm to disable and two doors to unlock and open.  I moved little Ginger a bit lower, lifted Mya up but still tightly pressed against my coat.  This was their chance.  They waited for it.  Squirm harder.

I got the alarm turned off.  I unlocked the first door and went into the garage.  I unlocked the second door and into the cold night air, we went. 1 foot, 2 feet, 3 feet out, okay, time to put them down in the grass.  Mya seized that opportunity to push off my chest with every bit of strength that she had.  She vaulted herself up and out of my grasp.  SHE WAS FREE!  Of course, she was also 5 feet off the ground; a reality that I was sure she wasn’t prepared for.

Still holding onto little Ginger, little Mya caught her foot on Ginger’s head as she sailed past her little sister into the blackness.  My own Golden Retrievers like to jump off the 5-foot high railroad tie retaining wall in the back and they almost never get hurt.  But Jasper & Amos are nearly 5 feet tall when standing on their back legs.  These little pups are each smaller than my each of my feet.

Mya did a graceful somersault in the air and landed upside down on her back with her head resting quite uncomfortably on a raised concrete stepping stone.  My own unsuccessful attempts at grabbing her as she fell the 5 feet to the ground were not nearly so graceful.

Mya was instantly screaming at the top of her lungs, a scream that will haunt me for the rest of my life.  She was clearly injured and in a great deal of pain — I was freaking out.  Almost immediately after sticking her less than graceful landing, Mya was on her feet, but she was still screaming.  I was sure that her screams woke every living thing within a mile — not that I cared at that moment, I just knew I needed to get to her and check her out.  I put Ginger down and scooped up Mya.  She continued to scream at the top of her lungs as I pulled her close to my chest.  She didn’t struggle and she didn’t try to escape.  Jasper and Amos were immediately in my face.  They poked at Mya with their noses and licked her.  They too were clearly distraught.  In fact, in their enthusiasm, I was sitting on my heels, they pushed me over.  As I tried to protect little Mya and stand up, Jasper and Amos started jumping on me in an effort to get closer to Mya.  As I struggled back against their intent and worked my way closer to my feet, Amos hit me full-on in the chest and knocked me off my feet and back hard into the wall of the house, where I fell into a pile on the ground at the base of the wall.  At a combined weight of nearly 170lbs, Jasper and Amos can be a powerful force to be countered.  While on the ground, both dogs continued their desperate attempts to get to Mya by climbing on top of me.

My cries for them to sit or lie down fell on non-listening ears.  My attempts to push them both away while holding onto little Mya were largely unsuccessful.  As I fought to protect Mya, who was still screaming at the top of her lungs, and get to my feet, Amos came in again and was immediately met with my knee in his chest to deflect him and push Jasper back at the same time.  After successfully getting to my feet, a full 30 to 90 seconds after Mya’s fall I could start to assess her injuries.  At the same time, my wife appeared on the scene and Amos disappeared.  Her first words, right after, “what happened?” were, “Where’s Ginger?”  I had no idea. She was gone.  Hopefully, she hadn’t been scooped up by a passing owl that heard the dinner bell cries of a wounded animal or was underneath me when my boys knocked me down.  I held Mya close to my heart, inside my coat, and headed for the kitchen where I had enough light to check her out, as my wife headed out into the dark to find Ginger.  Jasper didn’t leave my side.

Upon reaching the kitchen, I heard Ginger start screaming, just as sister Mya was doing now.  But Ginger only screamed for a few seconds.  My wife found her at our other back door, trying to claw her way through the glass.  Ginger was apparently terrified and started screaming when my wife tried to pick her up, but she quickly settled down after snuggling into my wife’s hug.

In the light of the kitchen, I turned Mya over and over and over but couldn’t find any injuries.  I held her close to my heart and talked to her.  She is still crying but the blood-curdling chalk-on-the-blackboard-at-120-decibels is giving way to a calmer, quieter cry.  That too ended in a few more minutes.  I returned Mya to the backyard because I knew she still needed to potty. To my shock and amazement, she ran full-out to my wife when I put her down beside Ginger.  Then the two pups tore into the backyard and took care of business.

We let them run and play for a short time — mostly because we wanted to see if there were any ill-effects from Mya’s fall — Mya appeared unhurt.  After about 15 minutes we tried to pick them up to take them back to their crate, but they wanted no part of me.  They wouldn’t even let me near them — running away from me and to my wife each time I tried.

I got the message, and my wife took the pups back to bed, while I went to find Amos.  I’m sure my knee to his chest hurt his feelings.  He just wanted to help; he didn’t know that he was preventing me from checking Mya over; he was just doing what came naturally.  I found Amos upstairs on his bed.  When I went to pet him, he got up and left the room.  I felt really bad.  I couldn’t even bribe Amos with one of his favorite dog cookies.  He was mad at me.  Amos gets mad easily, and will sometimes hold a grudge for a day or two.  We’ve found that it’s often best just to leave him alone until he gets over it.

For the next hour, we sat up and played with Mya.  Ginger slept peacefully in her crate, and Mya was anxious to join her.  But we kept her up and playing.  We watched for any signs that she wasn’t okay, reviewed a book on the treatment of dog injuries, and debated calling the emergency vet.  She continued to act unhurt, so we put her to bed beside Ginger and she was snuggling with Ginger before we got the crate door closed.

It’s now late Sunday afternoon.  Mya has been playing with Ginger all day, getting love from friends who came to see the pups, and generally acting like nothing bad ever happened.  Amos is still mad at me.

It’s now much later, Sunday night.  Amos isn’t mad at me anymore.  I was in the backyard with the pups a few hours ago.  Amos came over to me and put his head against my hand.  He wanted me to pet him.

It’s a very eery feeling. My wife is fast asleep on the other side of the bed. I can hear Amos stirring on the floor in his bed at the foot of our bed. When I went to bed, Jasper was sound asleep on the floor in his favorite spot next to our bed on my wife’s side.

When we were first married, and we first bought our house, it was very quiet in the house. My wife would wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that she thought somebody was in the house. I’d have to get up and check all the doors and windows before she could go back to sleep. In 1995, when we got our first golden retriever puppy (Cody), who was always tuned into the sounds of the house and the neighborhood. He would frequently pop up in the middle of the night to growl at something and then go back to sleep. After Cody arrived, I would only have to look over at him when my wife would wake up because of a noise. If Cody was sleeping soundly, there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Jasper and Amos both learned to guard the house before Cody passed away. So, to this day, if there’s a sound in the house that shouldn’t be there, Jasper and/or Amos will sound the alarm. If they’re quiet and sleeping, then there’s really nothing to worry about.

Everybody is clearly asleep, so there’s nothing to worry about. But still, something is there. And I can’t see anything in the pitch black. Quickly, I reached under my pillow and pulled out my $2, fits-in-the-palm-of-your-hand LED flashlight and my cell phone. I don’t have a clue what possessed me to pull my cell phone out, but I did.

And then I stared blankly into the blackness beside the bed. Turning on the flashlight, I quickly discovered that I wasn’t imagining the presence, THERE WAS SOMETHING THERE. Standing ever so patiently; totally motionless; waiting for something.

“Jasper! What are you doing here?” “You were asleep.” “What do you want?” He stands there motionless. “Did you do your business before bed?” Nothing. Could have been a statue. “Do you have to pee?” Tail wags. “Do you want to go out?” Tail wags faster. “Jasper, it’s 3:30 am! I gotta get up in 2 and half hours. Go lie down.” He starts to wander away, and I turned out the light. Moments later…I can feel it, he’s back. I turned the flashlight back on: Jasper puts his front paws on the bed; pushes his nose into my face. Now it’s 3:45 am. Jasper is more insistent now. “Okay.”

I got up, threw on a bathrobe…its cold outside….downstairs, disarm the alarm, open the back door; Jasper trots out into the cold night air, he gets to the end of the sidewalk, stops and looks back at me.

“Well, go on, go do your stuff.” Jasper just looks at me. Just great! Out I go, barefoot and wrapped in a flimsy bathrobe, into the 40-degree (F) night air. I walk to the end of the sidewalk, pet Jasper on the head and point at the yard. “Go on”, I say. Jasper trots over to our prized rose bush, lifts his leg for 3 seconds, puts it back down and returns to the sidewalk. That’s his way of telling me, “Yep, Dad, I know what you want. But I don’t need to go.” Argh!

It’s now almost 4 am. I’m cold. I’m outdoors when I should be sleeping. Jasper wants to go back into the house…and in he goes. The back door opens into the kitchen. When I reach the kitchen, on my way back to bed, Jasper’s pointing the bag of Old Roy meaty dog cookies.

Now I understand. In the wee small hours of the morning, I can be pretty dense. Jasper didn’t want to go out. Jasper remembered that the night before when I went to bed at 4 am, he got a cookie before bed. He didn’t get one tonight. And he wanted it.

“Jasper, you’re spoiled!” I grabbed two cookies, locked up the house, turned off the lights and headed back upstairs to bed. Jasper sat patiently on the floor next to the bed and waited. He always gets his cookie just after I crawl into bed. That’s his signal to settle down for the night, it’s time to sleep. But I cannot give Jasper a cookie without giving one to Amos, else we’ll repeat the “go out” routine with Amos in the next 30 minutes.

Amos hopped up on the bed to eat his. Jasper devoured his on the floor, and then hopped up into bed between my wife and I. He likes to sleep with his head on our pillows where he can look out the window at the head of our bed. His body stretched nearly the length of the king size bed, and he was happy.

Jasper, You’re Spoiled.

My goldens, Jasper & Amos, have very good manners while they’re in the store. They sit to be petted. They never create unwanted puddles. And Jasper will even sit quietly beside the shopping cart while I load his 37.5lb bags of dog food into the cart — without me having to hold onto his leash.

Amos started life in a puppy mill. We fostered Amos and his littermate Casey together. They spent every weekend for 2 months — Amos for 4 months — visiting the Banfield veterinarian at PetsMart as we worked to get them healthy enough for adoption and socialize them. Casey found a great forever home and is living the dream. Amos chose to stay with us. That was a bit over 4 years ago.

Today, Amos has somewhat regressed back into his former fearful self when he’s out in public. He’s afraid of the automatic doors. He’s afraid of the shopping cart. He’s very uneasy the whole time he’s in PetsMart. It could be a result of the recent onset of his epileptic seizures, or it could be something else altogether. In any case, we find ourselves taking Amos out more than his brother Jasper.

But recently, during my last trip to PetsMart, it was Jasper that got to go. He was ecstatic. He likes to ride with his front paws on the console between the front seats of my little SUV and his back paws stretched out into to the back (with the rear seats folded down). Jasper was very patient during the car ride; but when we drove past PetsMart in our quest to find a parking place, he went nuts — whimpering, crying, jumping up and down — until he was leashed up, out of the truck, and pulling like mad toward the front door. But no, not yet. I walked him up and down the grassy strip and waited until he found just the right smell to relieve himself. Did you know, excitement creates urine? He watered an unsuspecting bush for what seemed like an eternity. Even Jasper had to put his leg down before he was done. When he was done, we headed for the front door.

Inside, his nose glued itself to the floor and he started tracking. First, it was the gerbils and bunny cages and birds! I had to pull him away from the display when he tried to use his paws to free them. In the dog food aisle we grabbed two of the 37.5lb bags — do pet food manufacturers really think we don’t notice the missing 2.5lbs? — and Jasper sat patiently beside the cart waiting for me to pick up his leash again. We wandered up the toy aisle as Jasper checked out each of the toys and tried to grab the everything that remotely smelled like food. Jasper is no stranger to food. When he was 1 year old, he tipped the scales at 107lbs. Golden retriever? Yes. Standard? No. Rescued because somebody didn’t want him 9 weeks old? Yes. Over the years, we struggled to keep Jasper’s weight from going any higher — low-fat foods, green bean diets, etc. It wasn’t until Cody passed away this past January that Jasper’s weight plummeted 18 lbs. Anyway, now we’re wandering up the toy aisle and Jasper would love to have a few food toys that would contribute to his waistline. And then there was the little boy, who came out of nowhere with no Mommy or Daddy in sight and sat down to pet Jasper. Jasper was the perfect gentleman — he sat for him and except for the occasional ear lick that would elicit a just the right amount of squeal from the little boy, he remained motionless. Jasper was in heaven — and I think the little boy was too. It wasn’t very long before an exasperated mother appeared at the end of the aisle looking for her lost son. She found him doing exactly what she said he does every time they come to PetsMart. Jasper was a bit put out when she walked her son away from his doggy prize. But I quickly redirected his attention in the treat aisle.

We like the little 10 calorie bone shaped puppy treats. You get a modest bag for $2.19 and it lasts a long time. But Jasper’s nose discovered a little 1-pint milk carton shaped cookie box with some kind of liver treats inside. He knocked the box off the shelf. I thought it was an accident, but every time I put it back on the shelf, he knocked it off again. Finally, I put it back on the shelf and pushed it back in a bit, and we went to another part of the aisle. But as we walked past the same spot a few minutes later, he knocked it off the shelf again. Okay, I understand. I put it in the cart. It was more expensive than what I like to pay for treats.

Finally, we’re done. It’s time to go up front and calculate the damage to my debit card. But wait, something caught my attention. Cheap toys. Cheap enough that it doesn’t matter that its life expectancy in my house is less than the time it will take me to put it in the cart. As I’m verifying that the price on the bin actually goes with the price of the item in my hand; Jasper followed his nose. He found a display of clothes for the very much smaller dog. Something has his undivided attention. And then horror of horrors!! Jasper, How could you? Jasper raised his leg and peed on the display of clothing. OMG. JASPER! I pulled him away from the display while telling him NO!; Put him in a SIT and DOWN and STAY and went back to survey the damage. Jasper knew he’d done something wrong. His ears were down; he hung his head; he was immediately submissive. And he stayed. Back at the display, I discovered that he managed to get urine on two garments and the floor. Thank God he didn’t have time to empty his bladder. I was embarrassed. My dogs NEVER do that. They know better.

I took the $12 worth of wet items and put them in my cart. On the way to check out, the cheap toys and the $4 milk carton box of treats found their way back onto their appropriate shelves. Hindsight has shown me that perhaps Jasper was just doing what came naturally. He wasn’t really going potty, but rather covering up another dog’s scent with his own. Ah-Ha! On the way out of the store, I petted Jasper and told him he was a good boy. He sat at the curb without pulling and without having to be told and patiently waited with me for the traffic to clear. All was right again in Jasper’s world.

The moral of this story? When buying items at a pet store, wash them before allowing your dog to play with them or chew on them. Not everybody is as good about buying the merchandise that their dogs damage. Judging by the reaction of the clerks when I told them, I don’t think anybody else would have removed the items, either, if I hadn’t bought them.

Saturday was a nice day. I left the back door open so my golden retrievers, Amos (5) and Jasper (7) could wander in and out at their leisure. Amos has developed a habit of always wanting to be outside when he’s inside or inside when he’s outside. He will bug me to death to put him out, and then he’ll bark (He loves to hear himself bark!) frequently at the neighbors or the squirrels or whatever catches his fancy; so he’ll have to come back in. We have discovered that its often easier to just leave the back door open when we’re home. When he barks too much for too long at something or someone, I only have to call his name and he runs into the house and is quiet for a while.

By late afternoon, on Saturday, I hadn’t seen the boys for several hours — they hadn’t bugged me at all which I found odd. I trudged upstairs out of the dark dreary basement where the server sits and walked outdoors. Nope, no dogs. I checked their favorite haunts along the fence among the shrubbery, where they can watch the world without being seen. Nope, no dogs. Back in the house and up another flight of stairs to the second floor and into the bedroom I went. Ah ha! I found them. Amos was on his bed — a pile of old pillows and blankets neatly arranged on the floor, not far from our bed, to provide maximum comfort. Jasper was on our bed. His head was on the window sill of the window at the head of the bed and he’s oblivious to anything going on in the room as he guards his house against the perceived threats from the world outside. The window faces the street in front of the house and there is almost always somebody doing something somewhere in front of him. His body is stretched across the pillows and he’s pulled the dry-clean-only comforter into a nest around him.

As I walked into the room, I started talking to them like I always do — “Well here you are. I thought you’d be outside playing! And you’re here sleeping!” — like they’re kids that truly understand what I’m saying. But then again, in our minds, they DO understand. Jasper spins around on the bed, without actually standing up, and starts sniffing at a spot on the comforter and looking at me. I walked over and lay down on the bed beside him and began to pet him. Amos hopped up and lay down across my legs. And while Jasper was clearly thrilled that I was there and petting him and scratching his ears, he was clearly trying to show me something. Slowly I looked over at the spot he was so incessantly trying to show me. I’m sure it’s going to be a toy he wants me to use to play with him.

Whoa, there’s a mat of something. That’s not a toy! “Jasper, did you get sick on the bed?” I got up and walked around the spacious king size bed for a better look.

OMG, IT IS a MOUSE — dead, and thoroughly drenched in dog slobber, with its fur slicked tight to its little 4″ long body. Jasper pushes it around with his nose and then proceeds to lick it and wag his tail incessantly. Jasper is so proud of himself! I’m freaking out, there is a 4″ long, skinny, dead mouse on the bed. My wife’s gonna kill me! As I start to rethink the idea of giving the dogs free control to run in and out of the house without supervision, Jasper starts to play with his prize. He is clearly anxious for me to use it to play with him. He could hardly contain himself. He picks it up in his mouth, tosses it into the air, and then drops it on the bed again. He wants to play. And Amos does too. As I bend down to talk to him, he licks my face! OMG, I KNOW WHERE THAT TONGUE HAS BEEN 15 SECONDS AGO.

He was so proud of himself, how could I possibly be mad at him? He followed my every move as I quickly disposed of the mouse. I petted him and told he was a good boy — he likes being told he’s a good boy. I guess my computer problems could wait a few hours while I played with the boys. They were happy about that. I guess they showed me what was important in life!