Heart Healthy

There is so much talk all the time about being “heart healthy”.  As mom shoves another chocolate chip cookie in her mouth and then yells at me for taking Sophie’s dinner, I hear it all the time.  I know…I’m on a diet…I’m ALWAYS on a diet.  But I hear things like “good for the heart” and “he’ll feel better if…”   I don’t understand this medical heart healthy thing.  In my world Heart Health means something far different and, more importantly, better.  But before I go on, could someone put another scoop of creamy mashed ‘taters in my bowl please?  Oh sorry… I digress.

What do they mean by Heart Health?  Is it dry kibble only or a raw diet?  Is it exercising every day?  Is it eating less or eating differently?  Is it the miracles of modern medicine (that sadly isn’t a miracle if you think of who they really tested it on…I could have been one of those dogs in a cage, you know.  But again I digress).  No, I submit to you that Heart Health has nothing to do with any of that.  Heart Health is all about happiness.   My heart might beat better or longer if I took a pill or lost 5 pounds.  But will it be happier?  Is a healthy heart a happy heart?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  But I maintain that a HAPPY heart is always a healthy heart. 

What makes my heart happy?  Well, eating does, but you know that by now.  My friends make my heart healthy.   The people I have met and their dogs I get to play with.  The toys I get to chew on and the smiles my mom gives me.  The love that surrounds me and the love I get to give back.  I never knew being “popular” could be so much fun (mom says she was never in the “popular” crowd, so she’s living ‘vicariously’ through me…whatever that means!).

What else makes a heart happy?  Simple pleasures.  Curling up with mom and dad and watching a movie while she pets my furs.  Snoozing in front of the fireplace on a blustery day after a long walk in the snowy woods.  Chasing a wave and trying to catch it.  Taking a nap in the sun on the grass on a warm spring day.  That’s what makes a heart happy.

How about laughter?  A psychologist said, "We don't laugh because we're happy -we're happy because we laugh."  And so are our hearts.  Us dogs can laugh you know.  We do it in different ways.  Most of us wag our tails but in my family we don’t have tails.  We smile wide.  We howl.  We bark happy barks.  We can laugh and do so often when we’re excited or having fun.  Isn’t laughter one of nature’s best medicines?  Well then how can that not be heart healthy?

A happy heart is a heart having fun.  If it’s not fun why do it?  It’s fun to chase rabbits.  It’s fun to catch a Frisbee.  It’s fun wrestling with each other.  It is fun going for rides and meeting new people.  It can even be fun to see the doctor?  Think about it in the right way.  We’re locked in a room with someone who will pay attention to ONLY us.  How can that NOT be fun?

These are all the “medicines” that make my heart healthy.  Of course each and every one qualifies for a blog topic in and of itself: friends, family, fun, simple pleasures, food.   Especially food!  (*HOWL*).   My heart is big and it’s happy.  I will always have heart health.  And your dog will too.  You should join him or her someday.  

How’s your heart?  What makes your heart happy and healthy?  Please tell me.  Maybe it’s something I haven’t thought of!  And, thanks for reading everybody.  Hope you were ‘Bearmused’ today!

“Who Loves Me Will Love My Dog”

Mom and I have a lot of time to chat while we’re cruising in the Dogmobile.  On one of our trips we got to talking about how similar she and I are, in terms of the characteristics we share.  And we started comparing all the dogs that have passed through our house and how funny it was that each dog reflected one or two of mom’s personality traits.  How often have you heard the expression “people start to look like their dogs”?  Or, “dogs and their owners end up looking alike”?  Sometimes it’s really true.  You have all seen the professional photography demonstrating that effect.  Well, I want to take this concept just a tad farther.  I want to propose that we dogs tend to reflect our owner’s personalities.  Or maybe, it’s vice versa.   Are you smiling yet?  If you know my mom, I’ll bet you’re laughing already. 

Let me illustrate.  Take me, for instance.  If you’ve met me, you know I’m not a petite guy.   I’m big.  I have curly hair.  I love to eat.  And I love to talk.  And not necessarily in that order.  I’m not sure what I love more—talking or food!  You’ve seen pictures; you’ve heard stories.  So…anybody know my mom?  Ever see her miss a meal?  With the exception of the curly hair (well, she used to pay big cash money for curls), you can really tell we’re related.  She’s pretty chatty.  And sometimes I hear her use an expression describing herself like a brick building and a potty!?  I don’t get it but maybe you will. 

Then there was Dakota.  Dakota was an absolute sweet, loving dog.  But don’t cross him.  And don’t come after his mom.  He’d literally and figuratively rip your face off.  Uh huh, you guessed it.  Don’t cross momma either, especially before she’s had her 2 cups of coffee.  And whatever you do, don’t do anything to her family!   Dakota had a long “fuse” but when it blew—watch out.  Mom?  Well put it this way…I wouldn’t go takin’ mom’s treats away from her!

Then there’s Ditto.  Ditto is often aloof.  A friendly guy who loves to greet strangers and talk to them, in the long run he’d just as soon go outside and oversee his “land”.  He likes it when he can be outside, undisturbed, and surveying his surroundings.  Away from the pack.  And you know?  Mom’s not too far from that, too.  She loves to visit and see people and be social, but in the end, she’d just as soon sit on the deck, look over “her land” and contemplate the world.  Kind of funny, huh? 

Now, here’s where my thesis goes a bit awry.  Sophie.  Princess Sophie.  I’m not seeing much resemblance between the two.  I’m not quite sure I’d call my mom a princess. Mom doesn’t care about her nails.  And she sure doesn’t mind getting rained on.  Yet, y’know, Sophie’s kind of bossy.  It’s “her way or the highway.”  Sigh.   And, shhh, don’t tell, but I think my mom is a little similar.  She can be pretty bossy when it comes to following what she says.  So, I guess they share some idiosyncrasy don’t they?  Dad calls them, “pushy females”.    *HOWL*

Is it all that bad that we’re similar?  I don’t think so.  I think mom would like to be more like me – forgiving, unconditional, happy all the time-- although since we’re both on a diet I’m not sure she wants to be like me in every way!  And there are times I’d like to be more like her—at least on the physical side—be able to have opposing thumbs, talk—real talk—and live longer than 15.  But I’m happy we’re a family and we can share our quirks and relish in them.  To me?  They’re virtues. 

So what characteristics do you share with your beloved pup?  Please share.  And…thanks for reading everyone.  I hope you were “Bearmused” today!

Euphemisms

Going on a diet. We’ll see. Maybe. Skibs. Slurpy. In a minute. Beauty parlor. OK. “O-U-T”. Last trips. Foster sister/brother. TR’s.

Do you know what any of those mean?  I’m sure “Going on a Diet” is familiar to 99.99% of you. Sadly, it’s now familiar to me. *Whine* And you might think you know what “Beauty Parlor” is or “We’ll See”. But y’know what they are in my house? Euphemisms. That’s right. Do you know what a euphemism is? Here’s what the dictionary says:

A substitution of an agreeable or less offensive expression for one that may offend or suggest something unpleasant to the listener; or in the case of doublespeak, to make it less troublesome for the speaker.

Uh huh. Less offensive. Right. Well, in some cases, that might be the case and in some cases it’s not really an issue. But, thanks to one of my loyal Facebook friends who pointed this out, the euphemism is absolutely a substitution for a less pleasant word. Frequently, the euphemism is used in lieu of? Anybody?  Bueller?   The word we all hate: NO. N-O. I just don’t like that word. For so many reasons. But…I digress (bad habit, I no..I mean, know).

So today we’re gonna talk about the euphemisms used in MY house. Some are funny. Some are supposed to be a trick so that we (my siblings and I) can’t understand—right mom. But I’ll share with you some of our euphemisms and hope that you appreciate my world a little better. Mom didn’t know I had so many of these figured out, but I do! So we’ll start with the worst one of all to me:  “GOING ON A DIET”.

Because, that means I starve. That means mom doesn’t feed me enough. My belly is empty. I have to forage for scraps out on our walks. I have to force myself to eat Sophie’s dinner. Yeah, I’m not a fan of “GOING ON A DIET”. I think those of you who read my Facebook posting figured that out already. Mom and my doctor say I have to shed a few pounds. Well, gee, I only thought I had to shed furs. But no….I have to “cut back”. *HOWL*. That’s just downright hurtful. I think you know what I mean. So “Going on a diet” means starvation at my house!

Which, of course, leads me to Skibs. And Slurpy. Skibs is another word for food. Weird, huh? Yeah, this is a mom-ism. I am told that it came from when she had her true love, Beasley. Seems initially Beas ate Kibbles and Bits. (Ew, Mom…thankfully she learned). From Kibbles and Bits it went to Kibbles. From Kibbles to Skibbles. From Skibbles to Skibs. Yup, we are asked two times a day, “are you ready for skibs”? Duh, mom. Wanna take a gander at what “slurpy” is? Yup, it’s water. Seems this same dog used to be kind of sloppy; rather, he slurped, in a rhythm of three’s, his water. Slurp slurp slurp. Mom, from there, somehow and some way, switched water to “slurpy”. Now those are two euphemisms that aren’t painful. Just a tad weird, but so is mom.

Another painful euphemism? “Going to the beauty parlor”. Now most of you girly girls out there like doing that. I guess you call it a “spa”. Well, in my land, it is….THE GROOMER. Now our groomer is very nice, but I am not thrilled to be there. I don’t like getting brushed. I don’t like getting bathed. And while, in the end it feels good, I really don’t like getting shorn like a sheep. So when I hear “beauty parlor”, I run.

Two less than pleasant euphemisms are “maybe” and “in a minute”. Mom thinks it will assuage us. Pacify us. Ditto gets it a lot. Here’s how it goes: “Mom, I gotta go out” is followed by “in a minute Ditto”. Then guess what? She doesn’t let us out. Repeat. Guess what? Ditto has to yell, then she gets mad, and we finally go out. Y’think after all these years she’d know we really have to go out. Shuh.

Our Facebook friend gets “maybe”. In other words, back to the second worst word in the world, “NO”. We don’t get “maybe” very often, but we know what it means when she says it. However, it's one of Dad’s favorite euphemisms. Maybe and "we’ll see". Most of you practiced parents out there know what I mean. Both of those terms mean forget about it. *sigh*

Ooh, “TR’s.” TR’s are mom’s attempt to spell words instead of using them. But she forgets how smart we are. TR’s are treats. An oxymoron to “diet”, TR’s are great. Often provided after “Last Trips”, which is the word for “we better go potty now because it’s bedtime and you’re gonna have to hold it.” This is usually associated with “O-U-T”, another attempt by mom to spell, thinking she’s tricked us. But where she slips up is when she puts “OK” with anything. ‘Cuz when we hear the inflection in her voice as she says OK, then we know it’s time to MOVE and usually to the o-u-t doors. Silly mom.

Foster sister/brother is simply a smokescreen. It’s a euphemism for “great, mom now has one more dog to pet and dote on, and less time and less hands for me”. We all know it. And she thinks we’re ok with that! *big sigh*.

I could go on and on. Mom’s got all these trick words. However,  we’re pretty smart in our house and we’ve got her figgered out. But that’s ok. We love her as much as always and we know that she’s just trying not to hurt our feelings or make it more fun for all of us. I just wish she’d lose the “diet” one….

Do you have any euphemisms in your house? If you do, please share with us.. And thanks for reading everybody. I hope you were “Bearmused” today!

HEART....

Is where the home is. I know, I know, you’ll say I have the ‘spression backwards. But for us dogs, this is how we think and feel. And maybe, you humans could take a lesson from this. I mean, think about it. What does the original saying really mean? Home is where the heart is. That, even though you might be in a good place, it’s not home because your “heart” isn’t there. Your heart isn’t in it. That’s sad, because you can’t enjoy where you are because you’ve left your heart somewhere else.

This subject came up on our car drive “home” the other morning. Home, being Dayton, but “home” has been, to Mom at least, Marquette. And she gets sad, sometimes, when she thinks of “home”. I barked at her about how silly that thought is, though. I mean, isn’t home where WE are, and where dad is too? She just growled at me. I was actually pretty hurt. *Whine* But I think I made my point.

Mom and Dad have some friends that have lived in the same town two times, each time for several years. They own a house. Their best friends are here. But their hearts have always been in another state. So to them, that is “home”. And they’ll never be content because they’re not “home”. However, sometimes people don’t leave their hearts in a certain place. Their heart is always in their home because they take it with them. They call home every place they go because they don’t long for something they’ve left behind. That’s a good thing…

Now, us dogs? Well, reverse the expression. Heart is where the home is. We are so grateful for a home, for someone to love us, that we will put our heart into the home that is given us. I was reminded of it recently when we had little, tiny Eliza Doolittle stay with us. Poor Eliza. Who knows what her real name was. Mom picked her up from a pound on the day she was to be euthanized. She was found at a donut store. No tags. Pretty skinny. No hair. Very smelly. “Not adoptable” said the pound. Not adoptable? That’s just wrong, but I digress, as always. Well, some nice people in Canada saw her on the internet and begged for her safety. Mom went and got her for them.

And renamed her Eliza because, as mom said, she really will be a pretty little thing and has a lot of potential…she just needs work. But y’know what? Our home became Eliza’s and she gave us her heart. Heart is where her home is. She was really affectionate. She was grateful. She was playful and happy. She didn’t pine for something in the past. She didn’t leave her heart somewhere else. She gave it to us. So when it was time to send her on her way, we were sad (well, not really, but mom sorta was), but Eliza was ok. ‘Cuz Eliza was going to give her heart to her new home. And when Eliza goes on her way again to her final home, she’ll give her heart to them. Because….her heart is where her home is.

Just the other night, we saw Sydney and Boomer again. Syndey, he’s had it pretty tough. He, like my siblings, is still showing signs of a hard life. But as Sydney’s mom and I discussed, he’s doin’ pretty good right now. It is due to having a great home. And his heart is there. Doesn’t matter he’s been in a bunch of houses or places, his heart is where mom and dad and siblings are now. His heart is where his home is.

And that’s no different for any of us in my home. It was tough on all of us to be bounced around. The first day I was at mom and dad’s house (my second home) I ran away. Poor baby Ditto went from home to farm to kennel to home to mom and dad’s, all before he was 6 months old. He was so scared. Sophie lived on the streets for at least a year if not more, raising pups and foraging for food. To this day she can’t eat normally, like me (then again, no one eats like me!). Gracie, our current foster, has been abused, scared, yelled at. But all of our hearts are here, even Gracie’s. Our hearts are where our home is now. The day will come when our foster Gracie will go to her new home.  Her heart will end up there…..

We live in the present, enjoying each moment. We don’t pine for the old home, the other family, the way it was, even if it was, at one time, good. We love who we are with now and what happiness we have now. For many of us, who knows what tomorrow will bring. And for many of us, yesterday is gone—good or bad—it’s gone. So…heart is where the home is…and we’re very happy to give it away to the home we’re in. So…where is your heart?

Thanks for reading everybody. Hope you were “bearmused” today.

When bad things happen to good…..

Dogs. With all due respect to Harold Kushner, we’re talking about bad things happening to dogs. And I’m not referring to situations like mine, where I was mauled almost to death by 5 pit bulls, or like what happened to my foster sister Gracie, who was most likely physically but, for sure, verbally abused. No, what I’m barking about is what causes bad things to happen.

Have you read Garth Stein’s book, “The Art of Racing in the Rain”? It’ll be a subject for a longer discussion on another post some day, but for today we are referring to what Enzo, the dog narrator, says in the book, “That which we manifest is before us”. Ponder that. To me and my mom it means we create our own reality. That which we MANIFEST….that which we create. That which we show. That which we reveal, make obvious….it is before us. Having to listen to all of the audiotapes that mom listens to in the dog mobile, I was privy to this book and heard this statement. And it makes sense. And last Thursday, it was crystal clear.

Mom and I had a disagreement as to whether to post this. You see, I was attacked again. No, it’s ok. I wasn’t hurt. Well, my ego was bruised, but I was unscathed. Mom…she was a wreck. This time it was in an enclosed dog park in Chicago. But what made it worse was it was a golden retriever that came after me. Can you imagine? Humiliating. But this time, the owner was able to call the offending canine off of me, and rather quickly, thankfully for mom’s sake. But something very interesting happened as the situation unfolded. The guy, as he was holding back, via a very strong leash, his other golden retriever that was snarling and lunging at my brother, Ditto, made a statement that took us all aback. “This always happens at the gate”.

This always happens at the gate? Why? Well, y’know, American Telephone and Telegraph, and Thomas Edison, would KILL for the transmission quality that a leash has between the human and the dog. I can almost guarantee you that one time, some time ago, something bad happened at the gate that affected those Goldens. And I’m as sure as treats are good that it wasn’t the dog’s fault at all. But I’ll also bet that their human got upset. The man got upset—angry, scared, frustrated. And the golden’s, out of absolute in-tune-ness with their owner, learned that whatever happened at the gate is bad. So now, every time they are at the gate they sense their owner’s trepidation, and react. Of course nothing happened at the gate that overtly affected those goldens, but the man was scared that it would. The dogs read that and went after me and other dogs. “That which we manifest is before us”. This man created his own reality by telegraphing to his dogs that there is a problem at the gate. But there was no problem. My three siblings were resting under a tree, mom was talking to a friend, and I was about 10 feet away looking at everyone, and, well, I must admit—talking. There were other dogs running and playing. No one threatened these dogs. But his owner non-verbally told them otherwise.

Mom tells a story of when she got stopped for—shock—speeding by a State Policeman. Have I told you we call mom “lead foot”? He also, fortuitously, happened to be a Canine Trooper and his German Shepherd was in the back of the patrol car. Also, fortuitously or not, our Dakota Dog and baby Ditto Dog were in mom’s Jeep. Prior to this, mom had been having “issues” with Dakota. Seems he had started biting. In particular people who came to the door. So as mom and Trooper Phil were talking, Trooper Phil asked if he could pet Dakota. Seeing instant jail time, a state trooper with no face, and not enough money in the world to get a bond, mom said, “um I’m afraid he’ll bite you”. Trooper Phil then gave mom and Dakota the lesson of a lifetime. If mom doesn’t act nervous, Dakota will be fine. Not wanting to argue and really wanting to get on her way, mom acquiesced and immediately felt her heart in her throat when she saw Trooper Phil darn near crawl into the back of the car through the window. What did Dakota do? He kissed Trooper Phil all over, and got his wig-wag going at pretty high RPM’s. Mom was floored. Duh, mom. Took a speeding warning (not only did she get a lesson she DIDN’T get a ticket *HOWL*) to learn that SHE controlled the situation. That Dakota was so in tuned with her that he could sense her every emotion. When she got nervous, Dakota thought he had to protect her. From that day on, Dakota never bit another person (well except the one time the Fed Ex guy scared mom accidentally). That which we manifest…

We have a friend who has a golden retriever who is SO in tuned with her emotions, so perceptive of how she is feeling that the golden became physically ill during the time period her owner was in a bad relationship. It wasn’t until months later that our friend figured out that her golden got sick after she and her boyfriend began dating and got better after they broke up. That which we manifest….

So, while I didn’t want to have my ego even more bruised by sharing my story, mom and I both felt it was worthy, if anything, to get you to realize that you have to think about how you’re feeling or acting because “That which you manifest is before you”. And your dog knows it. It’s not bad dogs…it’s when bad things happen to good dogs.

Thanks for reading everyone. As always your comments are welcome. Hope you were Bearmused today!

Subsets

With a nod to mom’s inner anal retentiveness, and a wink to her being what we call “a few french fries short of a Happy Meal”, we’re going to talk about subsets today. Subsets? Yes, subsets. Obviously she was influenced by yet another grade school teacher—this time a math teacher. Subsets, which I guess new math calls “Venn Diagramming” are entire sets of things that are subsequently grouped into sub categories depending on their similarities. Mom, for whatever reason, is always noticing the subsets in our family. (Well we know the reason….she’s a bit “odd” so to speak. Doesn’t mean we don’t love her, but she’s a tad strange, y’know? Now you know why I cock my head when she speaks. I’m like, “huh”? *HOWL*).

Here’s how she subsets our family. There are 13 animals, including our foster sister. That’s the set. Now here are the subsets. There are two humans. There are 4 dogs. There are three cats. There are four horses. But there’s more. Let’s talk color subsets: there are five black and white animals. There are two blond animals. There are three gray animals (mom and dad refuse to enter that subset yet). There are two “red” animals. There are two “dun” animals (not quite blond). There is only one “bay” (brown) animal. Then there are sexes. We have boys and girls: 8 boys and 5 girls. Then there are the color variations. We have, as what is referred to in Aussie land as “tri-colored” and “merles”. We have a black tri and a red tri (one subset) and a black merle and a red merle (the other subset).

For whatever reason, our subsets are always acting in subsets, too. For instance, me ‘n Sophie, the red subset, like to bark and like to play in water. The black and white subset of dogs, Gracie and Ditto, always eat lying down. They also don’t like to play in the water much. The merle AND female subset, foster Gracie and sister Sophie, are very needy and push everyone else out of the way for attention. Mom and me and Patches are always talking—the chatty subset. And so it goes. Within sets there are multiple different subsets and mom manages to point that out, too. *Sigh* On a walk, we have dogs, girls, merles, tri’s, reds, and black/whites. Watching TV, the girl subset of Sophie, Gracie, Patches, and Mimi are ALWAYS together with mom (oh and have I mentioned that this is ALSO the “Homeless Girls Club”, a source of perpetual resentment in our house? Perhaps another blog rears its head with that line.). But the TV watchers are also cats and dogs, black/white and merles, and the rogue tortoiseshell and blond….

The point you ask? Evidently mom needs more focused activities in her life. Or maybe she should volunteer at remedial math classes. But really, I guess it’s that while we all fit into one subset or another, we’re really just one big set in the end. And you humans are too, you know. We’re all part of the bigger set and so are you. We’re all mammals. We are living, breathing organisms, creatures that feel love, pain, fear, and happiness. We get hungry (well, I do a lot and so does mom—hey there’s a subset!) And we all like being part of a pack—the bigger set. You have two legs, and your colors are different than ours. You have different hobbies (you act different), and you have opposable thumbs, we don’t. But in the end, we’re all family, even the horses, we’re one big set, and we like that. Everyone’s a subset, even of one, of the bigger set. And that’s the neat thing. We’re alike but different, even us dogs.

So, that ends our math lesson for the day. And I’ve exhausted myself being philosophical. Need to go eat now. But please share: are there subsets in your house?

Thanks for reading everyone. I hope you were bearmused today.

Monikers

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet."

Ok, I’m no Juliet—I’m not even a girl! And I surely am not a Shakespeare aficionado, nor is my mom, but at least her Sophomore English Teacher got through at one level, so she says. Me? I like to listen. Reading’s not my strong suit. Mom tells stories and I just love to listen. Like me, she talks a lot. Some will say (my dad for one) that’s where I learned it. But it’s really not true. When mom picked me up from my first home I was chatty and, well, I have never stopped.

But alas, I digress. Sorry. Srsly. (That’s an inside joke that I’ll explain at another time). Today’s topic is NAMES. Why, you ask? Well, mom, heavily influenced by dad, loves to come up with names for us. What do I mean? Ok, for instance, my given name was “L’il Bear”. Um, for those who have met me, that’s not an accurate description of me. So first thing mom and dad did was to change my name to Pooh Bear. Ok, I’m cool. “Winnie the” was a super guy and well I have no problem having his moniker. And, funny, I sorta look like him. But it didn’t end there. Oh no, we now have MORE names for me. Like, Pooh Bear Dog. Or, Poohsie. Poohsie, you ask?

I have a human niece, who, several years ago, was studying Greek mythology. Mom was playing along (she does that a lot) and came up with Poohsis. The Greek God of fuzz. If you ever saw me in my full winter regalia, you’d understand. So I became Poohsis for awhile and, of course, it was shortened to Poohsie. When I get shorn like a sheep every spring, I become Fuzzles. Fuzzy Wuzzy was a Bear? You get the picture. So then it became Poohzles. (I told ya mom was weird).

But my names are pretty benign if you compare me to my brother Ditto or my sister Sophie. Wanna hear those names? You’ll feel sorry for them by the end of this posting. Well, let’s start with Ditto. He got his name because his face is an almost exact duplicate to the cat Patches. Plus he was my mom and dad’s second Aussie, so he became “Ditto”. Sadly, it didn’t end there. As a pup and young adult Ditto used to prance. A lot. Back to mom’s bizarre imagination, he became Sir Prancelot. He was called Precious Pup (mom and dad’s first “pup” since the beloved Beasley and well, dad likes cartoons) and as a pup, he went potty A LOT. Dad called him Ditto Cadiddlehopper—have no idea where THAT came from—and it evolved (or is it devolved?) to Cadiddlehopper Cuss, which further morphed to Cussy Buster. Don’t ask, I’m running out of space! So in the end, his full name became “Sir Prancelot Peepin’ Poopin’ Precious Pup Ditto Cadiddlehopper Dog”, otherwise known as Cussy Buster”. Our other human niece, when she was a young pup, thought that to be hysterical. Say it again, Auntie! Us? We just sighed and went back to sleep.

Dakota used to be Dakota Opie Wigwag Dog. Wigger Wagger. Koter man. Rig Rag.

And poor Sophie. Well, I’ll just say it and know that it’s born out of all of her antics. Her names are: Princess Peanut Pantaloons Pogo Poutie Pusser Prairie Pup. Otherwise known as Sophie-ona Peanut. Itsy Bitsy Pogo Sticksie. (Have you picked up on the fact that mom was terribly influenced by that sophomore English teacher???)

So, what’s in a name? You figure it out. Terms of endearment for sure. And probably a mom who has not been channeled in the right direction. But the best part is that she talks to us and calls us those names and the sound of her voice is the sweetest sound in the world. In the end we really don’t mind at all. Call me anything you want just don’t call me late to dinner—hey, another topic for another blog!

How about you? Do you have special names? Please share, I’d love some company to my “misery”. *HOWL*.

And, thanks for reading everybody. Hope you were “bearmused” today!

Welcome to My Blog!

Hi Everybody! Welcome to my Blog. It’s hard to believe it’s been 3 months since I was attacked on Easter morning, but it’s sure been an interesting journey. If you’ve “friended” or became a fan or “liked” me on Facebook you know I have A WHOLE LOT to say. I love doing my daily postings on Facebook, but realized the next logical step was a blog. My wish is to have even more fun, meet even more friends, and talk a bit more in depth about different topics. Don’t worry, though. This will be a weekly thing for now, and I’ll still do a daily post or two on Facebook! *AWOOO*

Where did Bearmuse come from? Well, I can tell you. According to dictionary.com, to muse is “to comment thoughtfully or ruminate upon”. To amuse is: 1. to hold the attention of (someone) pleasantly; entertain or divert in an enjoyable or cheerful manner. 2. to cause mirth, laughter, or the like 3. to cause (time, leisure, etc.) to pass agreeably.

Furthermore, to bemuse is “to bewilder or confuse”. Similar words are “distract and befuddle”.

To Bearmuse is to entertain, to make you laugh out loud, to cause you to ponder, to distract and confound, to help brighten your day, to maybe change how you look at something, and, most of all, TO HAVE FUN. Hence we have Bearmusings. And since I’m only 25” tall at my eyes, well, it’s my look at life from that elevation!

This blog does not have to be all about me. Of course there will be my stories, my commentary, links to my videos, and there’ll be pictures, but I’d love to have feedback. Suggest a topic. Offer to guest blog (mom has to approve, of course), but I’m not the only one with great thoughts. Wanna share dog treat recipes? How about good books (mom’s crying through one right now!). Want to tell our friends of a neat place to hike or camp? Need a place to show off your dog’s agility skills or herding skills? I’m open to most anything. There is only one rule. We play nice. No growling. No biting. No attacking. We might put our ears back and give “the look” but this place is not for any nastiness. The world is too full of that as it is. This is a happy place, with only the occasional sprinkle of seriousness.

And of course I will dictate all of this to Mom. I have a new email set up so you can talk to Mom off of the blog if you wish. It’s BearDogMom@gmail.com. But this is my site and you’ll only know my mom as “Bear’s Mom”.

So welcome one and all. Share this with your friends. I look forward to hearing from you and I really hope you were Bearmused today!