Two little bulldogs

There were two puppy bulldogs, 4-month-old Hamlet and 5-month-old Harley, at the Northern Tail Dog Park today. What are the odds? Made me really miss Tugboat, particularly when he was that piglet-sized. Harley got into the spirit eventually, and frolicked with Hamlet, who really likes chasing (at a quick speed for a bulldog) the other dogs. Along with SusieQ, two pugs named Lily and Louie (not sure of the name spelling) and a boxer of unknown moniker, it was a brachycephalic night. That translates to lots of squishy-faced dogs!

Business cards

I had some business cards printed with this blog's URL so folks who frequent Northern Tail can post announcements, rave, complain or whatever here. It has Tugboat's precious face, of course! Anyway, the announcement for Aug. 15 is: It's skanky on one end, but dry at the entrance! Plus, a few tennis balls have survived last weekend's rains.

When will it stop?

I still cry over Tugboat. When I think of him and the goofy things he used to do--writhe on his back like a overturned crab, bark at the bathtub faucet until I turned it on, sit under my big shrub like a jungle dog--I tear up. I still can't believe the Tugboat Years are over.
There better be a Rainbow Bridge!

Josie and Pigeon

Josie is buds with Pigeon the pitbull terrier. Here at the Northern Tail Dog Park, they are looking at something--I don't know what.

Dog park photos

It's hard to shoot photographs of dogs at the Northern Tail Dog Park. They move too quickly. Still, here are a few: SusieQ, safe in a "cave"; Boris the Airedale terrier; and my Sloopy. Certain dogs connect better with other dogs, such as my Josie with Bella the French basset hound and Sloopy with Sassy. I haven't quite figured out the doggie dynamics yet, but my research continues.
Other regulars at the "Tail" are Pete the Clod, the Labrador retriever who is unaware of his surroundings and is always knocking into someone or something; Carter the Labradoodle who resembles a large sheep; Aramis the Belgian sheepdog who covets his tennis balls; Bella the French basset hound (one of Josie's faves) and Bella the Wheaten terrier, who resembles her owner; and The Goose, who's just...The Goose.

Local dog parks

I hear Meridian Township is working on a dog park at Legg Park off Van Atta Road. That's a bit far for me, but variety is good, and if I'm on the east side, it might be worth checking out. I think Twitter has some information on it, coolcitydogs if I remember correctly.
Haven't been to the Soldan Dog Park lately, but might be worth a visit soon. There are more dogs there than my regular haunt, the Northern Tail Dog Park by the East Lansing Aquatic Center, but more amenities, such as potties for humans, a pond, an actual walking trail and a drinking fountain. Still, Northern Tail is much closer for me, plus really, all I want are an enclosed area, a pleasant natural setting, dogs and responsible owners.
However, a gazebo and coffee kiosk would be nice. Maybe someday I'll write my bestselling novel and buy these attractions for the park.
More later...

Four dogs in a car.

Four dogs in one vehicle, even little canines, is a bit much. However, I drove through a carwash this evening, and little SusieQ got nervous, having to nestle in my lap. Digby was in the back seat, Josie was a little more alert and Sloopy, I think, enjoyed all the extra noise. Figures.

Sloopy

OK, I changed Snoopy's name to Sloopy because Snoogy, dang it, is a beagle's name!
It has been determined that Sloopy, after being groomed, is probably a schnauzer, not a cockapoo. Sloopy, although adorable, still is rambunctious.

Snoopy

Snoopy, a cockapoo (not a beagle), is our newest foster. He is friendly to the point of being underfoot almost ALL the time. Unfortunately, Digby is jealous and growls at the poor dude ever time he gets close to me, particularly when we're sitting on the couch. Not fully tapped into Digby's psyche, I assume he's very protective of me and/or wants me all to himself.
This is my main challenge now. Also, walking four dogs on leashes makes for a few tangles.
More updates to come...

New photo of SusieQ

This was taken early this morning. I swear, her eyes bugging out this much makes me nervous.

Back from kennel

I'm picking up the girls and boy at the kennel today. I wonder how three little dogs fare in one pen. They seem to do all right in short spaces. However, being in a different environment adds a kink to the mix.
Tugboat always loved the kennel...doggy camp!

Full house

I'm babysitting Otis, a puggle that gets along very well with SusieQ. Digby, the new alpha of the household, isn't taking to him much yet. Well, it's only a week. I look at SusieQ, and think, "Oh, there's a half-Otis!"

My column on Tugboat

This is appeared in the Ingham County Community News a few weeks back:


SEVERAL WEEKS AGO I didn’t expect the sight of my right kitchen chair would spur tears. Sure, the wooden rods sometimes slipped off, and it was hard to dust between the spokes. Still, it wasn’t a major tragic occurrence in my life.
Then came the early morning hours of Feb. 17.
Tugboat, my beloved 9-year-old bulldog, was quite chipper the previous evening at the Northern Tail Dog Park in East Lansing. He even was getting “amorous” with other dogs and wobbling about like a brindle-and-white Jell-O mound just released from its mold.
Then around midnight he started getting chest congestion, followed by a nasty rattle and vomiting spells. Tugboat had been ill before, except he didn’t have a rattle, and that worried me.
I contemplated taking him to a 24-hour veterinary clinic, money be hanged. I didn’t like to see my poor boy suffer.
I felt a little elated when Tugboat hopped into the bathtub for a drink. Tugboat never did take to drinking out of the water bowls on the kitchen floor, preferring to sip from the very hard but very c ool running water from the faucet or the spigot on the outside of my house.
After getting his drink, Tugboat pushed himself out of the tub and walked to the hallway.
Those were his last moments.
Tugboat then collapsed on the hardwood floor. Picking him up, I saw that his eyes were open and he wasn’t breathing. In a moment of total denial, I hoped it was temporary and that I would be able to shake him out of it. I remember saying, “Tugboat, wake up! Wake up!”
It didn’t happen.
My lifetime of a happy, sometimes goofy co-existence with the love of my life was over in an instant.
Tugboat’s big heart just had enough.
And no longer would he rest his big head on the bottom rods of my kitchen chair, cooling his expansive belly on the floor. No longer would I see his pudgy, crossed back legs sticking out from under the table.
Even if he were in deep slumber in that chosen sleeping spot, which he often was, it was enough to know he was in my house and part of my world.
Heartsick
I was told later that it was good Tugboat went quickly and with me near him. I still couldn’t help but second-guess myself. What could I have done differently?
If congestive heart failure caused his respiratory problems and eventually stopped his heart — which is what I think happened — there was little I could have done. It was just Tugboat’s time to pass over the Rainbow Bridge, a term people use to describe a poem about “doggy heaven” and the fact they’re waiting there, healthy again, for their owners.
My neighbor hauled Tugboat’s lifeless body to the backseat of my car, and several hours later I transported him to my vet to be later cremated. One of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced — and probably will experience — was leaving Tug physically as he lay there on the table.
I knew that after I left the vet, I never again would touch him, or wrap my arms around his sturdy, barrel-like physique.
When he was alive and I sat there with Tugboat on numerous occasions, on my lawn, the living room floor or whatever, I contemplated that someday he’d be gone and I wouldn’t be able to caress him again. I knew that I’d long for the chances to experience these “Tugboat moments” again.
Unfortunately, I can’t burn these moments on a CD and relive them. And as much as I have these memories seared in my memory, it’s just not the same as actually living them.
Now I’m seeing and hearing things differently, post-Tugboat … the last time I heard this song, Tugboat was alive; the last time I drove past this building, Tugboat was alive. It’s like there’s this imaginary dividing line in my life, a before and after.
Now what?
I hope Tugboat and I will be reunited again, because I miss him terribly now and my grief is sometimes almost unbearable.
In strict anatomical terms,Tugboat was just a dog, 73 pounds or so of flesh, bone and fur and surprisingly not that much slobber.
In more humanistic terms, he was my soulmate, the dog who was with me when I was in despair one night after losing a longtime job. The dog who as a puppy reportedly fell asleep on a bag of pretzels. The dog who until he got used to riding in a car barked “Yowit! Yowit!” (Translation: “I don’t like it! I don’t like it!”)
I have several other dogs who will continue to keep me company, so I won’t lead a dogless existence.
However, I don’t plan to clean my kitchen chair anytime soon. There are a few drool marks on it, marks that contain my Tugboat’s DNA.
If there’s any more precious substance on Earth, I don’t know what it is.
Christie Bleck can be reached at (800) 543-9913, extension 504 or cbleck@gannett.com. She will continue to talk about Tugboat at www.bulldogdays.blogspot.com.

I miss my boy.

The residual sadness is beginning to kick in. I keep thinking, when I'm at certain places, how Tugboat would have liked them. And I really miss giving him his "hello butt rubs" when I came home from work.