Scrappy New Yaire!

May 2016 kick the legs out of 2015 - stay warm, healthy, happy, and safe out there my friends!

Love,

Bogart

Something Naughty, Someone Nice

Well, the naughty bit could never be me - that's not really my style.  I mean, others may describe my behavior as naughty, but really, what do they know?  I can bring the full-on naughty if and when I desire, and I choose not to.  I am that good.  So see?  Back to good, all the way round from naughty.

I want to wish everyone happy holidays and the hope that you got all of the sticks and tennis balls you asked for (and to remind you to step away from my stash).

Love,

Bogart

Leaving My Mark

Twas a wee bit frosty out this morning, the first I have encountered here in Pittsburgh.  Yes, winter is coming and I am preparing by ignoring mama as she starts to pull my sweatshirts, coats, and the dreaded booties out of storage.  

During the morning's stick-catching frolics, I laid down for a moment to catch my breath.  To be fair, I was running for quite a stretch, uphill, and that's not super simple for a gentleman of my maturity and stature.  So I laid down, caught up, and then it was off again.  But I left behind this note-quite-snow-angel, more like a frosty-handsome-devil.

Love,

Bogart

We Stand With the People of Paris

Never let hate win.

Love,
Bogart

November in Pittsburgh

Have I mentioned that not only did we move to Pittsburgh but that I live RIGHT NEXT TO A MASSIVE PARK FULL OF STICKS, BUNNIES, AND DEER?  No?  Well it’s true.

I’m sadly not allowed to chase ’em – the creatures and critters – I know it’s for my own good.  So I shall comfort myself with piles and piles of sticks.  And pose majestically.

Love,

Bogart

The Bed is MINE

… unless you wanna cuddle. Then the bed can be ours (well, mostly mine, I am gonna stretch out and make myself comfy, but you can have a small spot too).

Love,

Bogart

Exploring Lake Carnegie

Hey, there's water over there! Unexpectedly, in the middle of Highland Park! Are we lost? Probably. But not entirely this time.

We found Lake Carnegie, a small body of water in the midst of Highland Park alright. It's a little small, kind of stinky, and apparently full of carp (with signs all over saying do not fish, the carp are needed to keep the water clean, which were completely ignored by the 2 people we saw with fishing poles).

And you know what else I saw? GEESE. Lots and lots of geese.

That dammit I couldn't reach, no matter which end of the lake I tried. Rolling in their poop would have been acceptable, except mama put a stop to that. Killjoy. Until next time, my feathered friends, when YOU SHALL BE MINE

Love,

Bogart

Best in the World

Yep.  That's me.  And that's my newest park treasure.  The incredibly annoying part is that I cannot bite a basketball.  I try, and I try, and I try, but still it resists the sweet bursting that a soccer ball so readily submits to.  Very satisfying.  But a basketball is just too big to get my mighty jaws around and sink my teeth into.  So mama just has to keep kicking it out from under me, and I chase it, capture it in my manly paws, shove it back through my muscle-y haunches, and then the fun starts all over again.

Love,

Bogart

Learning Your B's and D's

Out of nowhere in my latest favorite park, these giant letters appeared one foggy morning. Actually almost all of the letters of the alphabet appeared - giant, brightly-painted wooden letters.

I am nothing if not inquisitive. But I draw the line at putting my head through so you can take a funny picture. It just ain't right.

Love,
Bogart

Meeting Mister Mole

... well ALMOST meeting Mister Mole.  I TRIED.  After taking off in hot pursuit of my very first mole, I managed to get my snout stuck in a bunch 'o burrs.  I will spare you the photo of me with my eyes burr-d shut, and my snout burr-d together.  This is what it looked like about an hour into my 

 de-burr-ing:

That's right, mama pulled out everything in our arsenal to try to de-burr me.  The Furminator, a slicker brush, safety scissors, and a can 'o spray Pam.  Honestly the Pam did help a bit, but I was NOT open to her taking hours to pull out each and every damn burr.  So I gave her the OK to snip away with those safety scissors, and now I look like this:

Still handsome, but a little less full and fluffy in the beard and 'stache area.  Hoping it grows back soon.

I can't promise I won't run into another bushel 'o burrs (oh who am I kidding, OF COURSE I WILL), but I have heard that baby powder helps to remove 'em, so maybe we'll try that next time.

Love,

Bogart

Park Found. Can Relax Now.

All is right with the world now.  We made it safely to Pittsburgh, all of our stuff is slammed into our new apartment, and so it was time for the important stuff.  FIND MY PARK.

Luckily, just down the street is an entrance to Frick Park, one of the big parks here in Pittsburgh.  Grassy areas for those lazy days, and wooded, forest-y areas for when one feels the urge to hike.  I AM IN HEAVEN.

And sticks... did I mention that there are plenty of sticks? 

Love,
Bogart

Bye Philly!

Well, we've gone and done it again.  On the road, hauling all of our stuff to a new city.  This time it's Pittsburgh!  We are scared, exited, oh the entire range of feelings.  But it was time to move on, so we just keep on truckin'.

Stay tuned!

Love,
Bogart

Run Wild and Free, Kermit

You just know that a one-eyed Airedale has a STORY.

My buddy Kermit passed away today and I am super sad.

Kermit was the one-eyed bandit, urban explorer, hot dog and beer aficionado, and most patient dog in the world (to me when I was young and hump-y).  I spent many happy hours chilling with you in your yard, following your lead, and learning how to be a cool Airedale from you.

Run wild and free Kermit - give Klaus, Robin, and Jupie (all sadly RIP) a big kiss for me (I'm sure there will be beer and hot dogs waiting for you).  I will miss you, my dear friend.

Dad covered in Airedales (that's me standing in front).  These were the bestest days.

Love,

Bogart

Saturday Morning Stickebana

A work of art, indeed.

Love,

Bogart

Three Happy Words

Idiopathic Vestibular Episode. The lovely neurologist at Penn Vet examined Bogart today and didn’t find evidence of anything more serious. In other words, we don’t know what it is, what caused it, or if it will happen again. But she doesn’t think it’s a brain tumor or anything horrible, and didn’t recommend going forward with an MRI at this time. WHEW!

Love,

Lulu & Bogart

At the Emergency Vet... Again

Just returned from the emergency vet.  I had another neurological episode where I was having trouble walking. Still not sure what’s going on (I had a much bigger one last November), we’re scheduling a neurology visit this week to figure out the next steps.

Of course afterwards I walked out, shit like a champ, and hopped into the Zipcar like a boss.  MAMA SAYS, STOP SCARING ME BOGART

Love,

Bogart

Getting Up in the World

It was time.

Time for a raised feeder.  A tall boy needs a tall feeder.  I’m not a huge gulper, nor do I eat super quickly, so that wasn’t the impetus to purchase this fine feeder.  No, it was just that I looked like a giraffe trying to eat Skittles whenever I would have to bend all of the way down to the floor to eat.  And that’s not a good look.

I enjoy my new feeder.  Much comfier.  Still giraffe, less Skittles.

Love,

Bogart

Haire Cuttery

While I prefer the wild-and-wooly-wildman look, some times things just have to be done.  DAMN YOU HEAT OF SUMMER.  As you may recall, I am not a huge fan of the clippers and will let no other humans touch me other than mama, so hairecuts are a very interesting time.  I usually allow mama a few precious moments with her safety scissors so she has to think quick, and cut quicker.

Today I allowed a little trim on my face and neck.  

Admittedly I do feel a little cooler, and think I look handsome.  But don’t tell her that.

Love,

Bogart

Miss You, Dad

Hey Dad, wherever you are, me and mama miss you.  Hasn’t been the same since you passed away 6 years ago.  But we’re a DAMN FINE TEAM, and I’m doing the very best I can to take care of crazy mama.  Just to let you know on your birthday that I’M THE MAN OF THE HOUSE and I’m doing almost as good of a job as you did.

Still miss you like crazy.

Love,

Bogart

Morning Raspberry

 

Yep.  MORNINGS

Love,

Bogart

Stickebana

I am a creative sort.  A dreamer.  A dog who revels in the natural world, the seasons, and sticks at every opportunity.  Luckily mama understands my nature and encourages me to constantly improve my stick-arranging-talent.  So each day, we leave our apartment with two or three sticks to start.

Sometimes I add to the arrangement, other times I leave a sub-standard stick behind.  But I always aim for an artful carry of my sticks in what I’m calling “Stickebana”.  See how I clearly have 3 sticks in my mouth, yet you can only see 2 sticking out on one side?

THAT’S (my) ART, KIDS.

Love,

Bogart

Movin' on Up

Why yes, I do know that it's been some time since I properly updated my blog.  Thank you for noticing.

I suppose that I didn't realize how heavily I relied on mama and her opposable thumbs to keep the world updated to my adventures.  We've had a rough year.  I had all of my medical issues.  She's been depressed.  And she's been trying not to let her being depressed make me depressed.  But it's tough - we're an attached-at-the-fuzzy-hip kind of team - so whenever one of us it out of it, so too is the other.

I am pleased as punch to announce that we will be picking up roots once again (OK, I'm not thrilled about moving but am thrilled about new possibilities for sticks) and moving this July to Pittsburgh!  So for those keeping track, I was born in Virginia, flew to Los Angeles, drove to Portland, Oregon, drove to Philadelphia, now it's on to Pittsburgh.  We are hoping that a change of place may help bring on a change of attitude, still on the east coast and still near plenty of sticks.

So hang on for the ride, will ya?  I promise to be here more often, sticks in mouth, and Airetitude turned up to 11. 

Love,
Bogart

Daddy Hannibal Update

Just a quick update to let you all know that my dad Hannibal made it through his surgery and is doing well!  Of course he's supposed to be resting now, but like the fine Airedale that he is, he's already trying to chase cats and use those big, brown eyes to manipulate everyone in sight.  I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear that he's made it through such a dangerous situation (stomach torsion is no joke, and it's usually fatal).

I am proud to be from such fine stock.  I can see such a family resemblance!

Big kisses to you Dad - LOVE YOU!

Love,

Bogart

Hannibal's Hope

This is Hannibal, Bogart's father.He is still in very serious condition with stomach torsion, but is defying the odds as only an Airedale can! I am so happy to know Bogart's family, they are great people, and every bit counts for them!  Click on the photo to go to Hannibal's Hope, their GoFundMe page, and if you can, contribute a little to his care! 

http://www.gofundme.com/uvjvfh9

Love,

Bogart

Spring Cleaning

Grrr.  That dreaded time that rolls around every year when the weather starts to get warmer, and the grass starts to get greener.  HAIRECUT TIME.

For many years I was handstripped by mama and dad – always retaining a bit of my signature scruff, but less, and shorter fuzz.  In the last few years both mama and I ain’t got no time for that, so first comes just a bit o’ rippin’, then it’s mostly a scissor cut.  Because I hate the damn expensive fancy clippers that she bought.  Too damn loud.  And scary.  And EVIL.  So in order to give me a good, old groom she has to bust out the safety scissors (so I don’t get poked!) and snip away.

Yes, this takes a long time.  Yes, she has the grooves in her thumbs to prove that she does it.  But if it’s the only way, then damnit we will do it.

Except that I’m not a fan of the long, full groom.  You have to ease me into it by doing one area of my body at a time (occasionally two, but lets not get crazy).  Sometimes we start at the head, other times we start at the butt (so that the world won’t easily notice that I only have a partial hairedo, or think that I look a little nutso).  This years festivities began at the head because apparently I had a few beard-dreadlocks that needed attention.  So be it.

I figured I’d give her around 10 minutes or so to clip away furiously until I got really annoyed.  Which generally means that one side gets a little more attention than the other.  Mama says that now I don’t have so much of the mad-scientist look that I was working hard all winter.  Only she would notice that one side isn’t quite as chopped as the other, and that my ears always look a little funky, but still the end result is still pretty handsome so I approve.

Next up will be my ruff – that full scruff of fuzz extending from my head to my shoulders which makes me look like I don’t have a neck.

Love,

Bogart

One Year On

Who would have thunk it?  One year ago I was rushed into emergency surgery because I had a big, honking tumor attached to my spleen (and taking up way more space than anything else in my abdominal cavity).  Big decisions had to be made.  At 5AM, mama and I had to rush out into the Philadelphia darkness, find an agreeable cab driver who would take us across the river, as well as remember to grab the credit cards and phone and haul ass to the emergency clinic.  The wonderful folks at Penn Vet laid it all out - exactly what was going on, and what would have to happen, right away, to save my fuzzy butt.

And so off into emergency surgery I went.  That pesky 10-pound (!) tumor had to go, along with my spleen.  No way to know if it was cancerous or not until it was removed.  And while they were investigating they noticed something wonky around my prostate and the boys.  So, sadly, the boys also had to go (I am still a man, damnit).  A whole lotta surgery in a short period of time.

For me it was all mostly a blur, until mama showed up that first night with my chicken soup.  I wasn't able to really tell her how much that meant to me (other than some serious leaning and face kissing because hey, I was still seriously doped up), but damn it was good to have home cooking.

I was able to go home 2 days later to begin the healing process and the horrible waiting period to find out if I would be dealing with cancer or not.  Because Penn Vet is a teaching facility, we had agreed to be part of a study of a new drug that would have hopefully helped both me and other dogs with cancer, so I did get one dose.  And then we waited.  And I hauled my butt up and down the stairs everyday for my walkies and my "business" (the King of Terriers does NOT poop or pee in the apartment).  They said I might not be able to do stairs (they were wrong).  They said I might not pee or poop for a few days (they were wrong).  They said I wouldn't have much of an appetite (oh boy were they wrong).  It was really hard for mama.  You could see how much she wanted me to feel better.  Even the kitties seemed to be pulling for me.

And then the call finally came.  The gigantic tumor was NOT cancerous!  I had beaten the odds!  And then another piece of news.  My boys WERE cancerous, but luckily they were removed and that usually takes care of that.  HOLY CRAPAMOLE

Friends from all over the world helped us with their love, thoughts, and donations.  If any of you are reading this right now, you need to know how much you saved all of our lives and our sanity.  Getting me (us!) through this was a definite group effort.

And now, one year later, I stand before you a big, honking Dale with a little extra padding and a lotta extra love.  And appreciation.  And gratitude.  And AIRETITUDE.

Love,

Bogart

At the vet... again

While I am not exactly a fan of the vet (yes, I am the dog who needs to be muzzled just for the vet to get a feel anywhere on my entire body because DON'T TOUCH ME DAMNIT) I have been spending a good amount of time (and mama's money) with the fine folks at the Penn Vet emergency room.

Some weird thing has happened twice now where I just kind of stop, sit, and stare. The last time the thought it might be neurological (checked out just fine), orthopedic (checked out just fine - but damn, do those orthopedic doctors give you a workout), and last night, they thought it might be food bloat. So I spent the night there watching them watch me. I got fluids and lots of attention, but ultimately also didn't get a diagnosis. It's very frustrating for mama who of course wants an answer as to what's going on, and who has a sneaky suspicion that these episodes may be caused by my errant "street eating" which she tries to thwart at every opportunity. I of course have the advantage in that my face is much closer to the ground and all of the yumminess and she's too damn tall and it's hard to bend that far that fast. To her credit she's gotten better at distracting me, but both of these "events" happened within a day of my snatching something probably extra disgusting, so with no better theory, that's what she's going with.

Anyone else have these kind of episodes? It has been pointed out to me (and not that delicately, by the way) that I am a tad overweight and could lose a couple (and we are now doing the mama-and-me-lets-eat-less-crap-on-a-daily-basis-and-go-on-longer-walks regimen), but otherwise all of my tests always come back big, honkin' healthy. Especially for a dog who had a big chunk of tumor, my spleen, and damnit my balls removed last year.

Slowly feeling better today after a kind of restless night (mama was thrilled at my every-30 minute request to go outside, but damn all of those fluids they gave me had to go somewhere!) and had a good walkie. That's a good sign for me.

Love,
Bogart

Chillin on a Chilly Saturday

Damn, it's cold outside. Not too cold for a fine, refreshing, LONG walkie this morning, but even I noticed that it was a bit chilly by the time I dragged mama back home. Time for some fine reclining, Airedale-style.

Love,
Bogart

Auld Lang Sticks

Out with the old, in with the new (sticks, that is).

I've spent the last few months collecting all of these tasty sticks, and alas with no fireplace or other repository for them I found myself collecting them in a big pile just outside of my door.  Which must go.

Ah well, cleaning out 2014 (which was a pretty tough year) to make way for 2015 (which had better be a fantastic year).

Happy 2015, all!

Love,

Bogart

Hello 2015

Well, hello 2015.  Looking forward to a year full of HEALTH (no more times at the emergency vet!), WEALTH (more money for cookies), and HAPPINESS (more time running in the park, exploring, and eating crap I'm not not supposed to off of the street with mama!).

Love,

Bogart