Help Wanted

Like anyone would tackle that job. Foolish Nigel.

But the post title is right on. After what has been a whirlwind summer, we have a few tricks up our sleeve for this fall and winter. More on that next week or two. In the meantime, a proposal...

Life With Dogs is seeking a bibliophile. A literary critic, if you will. A number of publishers have reached out to us with a chance to get a sneak peak of dog related books prior to release. I'm sitting on review copies of great books that I know I will never have the time to read. Many of these books have value for the vast majority of dog lovers, and just because I prefer coloring books and eating paste have an unreasonable schedule, there is no reason some of these treasures should go undiscovered.

This is not a for-pay position. Not yet. Accomplished reviewers will want to look elsewhere. It is anticipated that this will convert to a paying position in four to six months. So consider it ground floor. Like the basement. That said, if you have the chops and and have always wanted to try your hand at reviewing books, here is a chance to get your feet wet and be part of a growing venture that exists primarily to crank the fun factor up with regularity. Expected volume is three to four books per month for the first two months, with an accelerated schedule to follow. Reviews should be thorough but brief.

I've said enough for now. Just in time for wordless Wednesday.  :-p

If this is of interest - or should you have any general questions, please send inquiries to lifewithdogs@ymail.com

This Little Light of Mine

Wordless Wednesday 30

The Kung Fu Pizza Kick

Nigel struggled briefly with one of the ten commandments this weekend. I issued a stern warning to Mrs. Author when I noticed him coveting her pizza as we ate lunch Sunday. His demeanor shifted from typical slacker to intense observer. This is a rarity, and often signals that trouble is to follow.




It did. A few bites in Nigel tired of his spectator role and made the transition to participant with a poorly disguised fake stretch, followed by a perfectly placed left rear paw that sent a bite flying off the fork and straight to the carpet. This story ends in delicious irony: Before Nigel was able to depart the couch and enjoy the fruits of his labor, a certain Labrador Retriever made a cameo appearance from around the corner of the coffee table and absconded with his snack, flying down the hall. She returned shortly to stretch out and sleep off her meal, but not before issuing a solitary belch that rattled dishes in the kitchen cabinets.

And the winner is:




Good, good girl.

Watercooler Talk pt. 2

Swimming, $100

The extended cold rainy spell that threatened to ruin our summer finally moved aside just in time for a bona fide hot spell. Once the temps pass eighty the dogs engage in a game of stare down that quickly drives me insane, so a good portion of the weekend was spent soaking our troubles away.

It seems impossible that we well see leaves changing color soon. With this in mind, and while we still may, we drink in every last bit of summer that remains. The dogs are experts on the subject, always the first to turn up the fun factor. We follow their lead, and find ourselves enjoying a near perfect day.

The Labs waste no time finding deep water. It's too hot to just soak paws, so full immersion is required.



Of course, no visit to the river is complete without Nigel running an equipment check.




I was too busy laughing at Nigel to notice that Truffles had found a stick, and was giving Sola a serious case of stinkeye in order to prevent theft.




Nigel was kind enough to remind me that the best views were to be had a few feet away from the water's edge.




It was simply quixotic. I took in the smells of a truly hot summer day, smells that had almost faded from memory. The forest surrounding us was dank and mossy, and gave off a distinctly earthy smell that quickly fades as the cool nights of September approach. The sun shone right through me. I perched on the bank of this glorious river, surrounded by beauty. I watched my incredible, beautiful, kind-hearted wife and loving, wonderful dogs bask in the light of summer, and I knew complete happiness.




Once the dogs were thoroughly waterlogged we made our way up the banks and headed for the back porch to dry off. Twenty steps from the house I stopped walking and apologized to Mrs. Author. She gave me a puzzled look as I reached in to the pocket of my now drenched shorts. I handed her one fully submerged, non-functioning pink Motorola Razr.

There's a new cell phone in town. It seems to get along with Mrs. Author's headset quite nicely, so I suppose it is here to stay. Like it's predecessor, it is not waterproof. So each time the dogs stare me down and urge me to throw on the bathing suit, I will remember this moment: one utopian summer day when our family was at peace, none of us had a care, and the glass was categorically, unequivocally, and indubitably more than half full.

Wordless Wednesday 28

Watercooler Talk

*guest starring Chester Hoover

Brunch Blunder

One Man's Trash

What does the word hero mean to you?

Do you picture a caped crusader? A knight in shining armor? Perhaps a sports star? No matter your definition, the word alone is enough to conjure up a variety of strong responses from each of us. We love our heroes, idolize them, strive to be like them. Heroes inspire us, and influence our actions.

We build our heroes up to be more than they are. It is better to believe them infallible than to acknowledge that just like us, they are human. We need our idols. The inherent danger in this practice is apparent when a weakness is identified in someone who has been labeled a hero - the media and the insecure masses love to jump in and see them torn down.

This explains the "manufacture" of heroes. As stories age, the passage of time allows for omission of fact and embellishment beyond reason. This cocktail makes for the perfect hero - one who is so far from reality that we must put our faith in the story and believe all that we are told. Additionally, mass media is under constant pressure to go bigger and better, to get that giant scoop - and "find" heroes to bring back to their respective viewers, or readers.

If you are anything like me, the cynic in you sees through these sleights of hand, and after a while, it is impossible not to question the assignment of the label. After all, have we not seen the fall of many modern day heroes? I am sure that Michael Vick was a hero to some just a few years ago. Any takers now? I think not.

None of this could have been further from my mind last Saturday as I prepared myself for one of my least favorite weekend chores: the dump run. Our urban and suburban friends enjoy the convenience of curbside trash pickup. We are not so fortunate. Our rural location makes pickup prohibitively expensive, and having just bought our home in October, we continue to work our way through projects that produce refuse too large for trash cans. So every other Saturday, I finish my coffee, give the dogs a scratch and shuffle to the garage, feeling a familiar sense of dread come flooding back in.

I would rather be anywhere this morning. The sun has made a rare appearance, the strength of it warming me to the core. From the other side of the house, just beyond my sight, the river babbles, calling me to abort my mission and soak away my troubles. The dogs stalk me from the house: faces pressed to glass with the hope that I will break all of my promises to responsibility and just take them out for a swim. They encourage me to walk the path of least resistance, for which I require no map.

I open our SUV and start collecting my payload, making my way to the shed that holds our recyclables as my pulse quickens. Sweaty palms slip on plastic as I struggle to lift heavily laden trash bags in to the the back of the truck before locking up for the trip. I back out of the driveway and take a deep breath, steadying my nerves; careful not to back in to oncoming traffic, my view blocked by the bags surrounding me. In a matter of minutes I arrive at my destination, the seven miles that separate us from the local landfill disappearing in a blink.




Today, like many Saturdays before this one, I will face an antihero of sorts: the Dump Cop.

Have you ever known a person who can make you feel completely guilty of something, even when you have done absolutely no wrong? You know, kind of like that feeling you get when you pass a cop car doing the speed limit - and still get that heart in your throat feeling because you are convinced that no matter what, you are still going to be pulled over for something. I had a teacher with such magical powers in high school - I could be head down in an assignment, minding my own business when said teacher would walk by and give me that look - the look that says I know you are not doing anything wrong, but if and when you do, I will always be here to call you out. I would blush under the pressure of her stare, cursing her under my breath for making me feel guilty of... nothing in particular.

Dump Cop possesses the same power. And she knows it.

As I pull the truck close to the booth at the entrance of the landfill, I see Dump Cop go to work on the patron ahead of me. Dump Cop has two important jobs: intake, and supervision of disposal. The intake process consists of the following. Unsuspecting driver pulls up to booth. Dump Cop leans out of booth, exposing a giraffe-like neck as she barks questions, her head nearly circling the car as it helicopters, eyes scanning the contents of the vehicle. "Is that a regular kitchen bag or a leaf bag? You know, a leaf bag costs a dollar more. Are you sure that's not a leaf bag?" Before the driver can respond, the questioning continues. "Is that a foil lid I see still attached to that yogurt cup?!? Unacceptable recycling practice. Please pull the vehicle aside for inspection."

I note the fear in the eyes of the driver before me as he pulls over to the holding area for what promises to be an unpleasant inspection. I have never seen the Dump Cop pull a cavity search; but this morning she seems very much invested in her work, and I consider that there is a first time for everything when I realize that the gods of fortune are smiling on me. As I clench the wheel and approach the booth of scrutinization, I am spared as Dump Cop is relieved by one of her counterparts. She departs hastily, clearly excited to get back to work on disposal patrol.




Once I have paid my way the real challenge presents itself. I speak positive words of encouragement to myself under my breath as I pull forward and enter the dragon's lair. It is not long before I spot her. In what is the best henpecking pose I have seen to date, Dump Cop is perched on a platform high above the two main dumpsters, hands on hips, neck extended, binoculars dangling crazily from it. She's working the crowd hard, her voice easily carrying across the parking lot, ringing in my head. "For the love of Pete, don't you people know your trash rules?!? Maybe I should go to your house and put your socks in your underwear drawer!" A frenzy of activity follows every crack of the vocal whip.

This constant abuse does have an upside. People haul ass through the dump while she administers punishment. Lines are rare. It is not uncommon to see folks changing in to running shoes just before they enter, using the fence to stretch their legs as they ready themselves for a short and painful sprint. On this morning the crowd is energized, weaving madly through the parking lot, desperate to unload their unwanted goods without suffering interrogation, or even worse - apprehension. I look for an opening as I shoulder a bag of trash, Dump Cop bellowing orders to the patron on my left. "Does that look like household trash to you? Well, does it?? Don't just stand there with your mouth open, find your way to the metals bin and dispose of your trash properly."

I take a step forward, fully prepared to feel her wrath. Just as I cringe and wait for her to tear in to me, Dump Cop is distracted. I see her eyes darken as that impossibly long neck whips around to focus on another customer, and that is fine with me. I do not hesitate to hurl the remaining trash that I carry in to the confines of the compactor with a giant sigh of relief. I am not in the clear - I still have recyclables in my possession, and recycling is Dump Cop's passion. I keep this in mind as I grab another bag and drag it behind me, inching up to the corner of the truck for a peek.

I should have bought a lottery ticket that day. Luck was on my side again. I realized that Dump Cop already had a perpetrator in her clutches. I lowered myself like a hunting dog, inching closer to the dumpster that would free me once I had made an offering. Dump Cop tore in to the perp. "See that bag? That bag has a waxed liner. Waxed liners are not recyclable, they are trash and you have to pay for trash. Now get that bag away from my recycling!"

I did not question my luck as she went up one side of this poor patron, but I froze as she went down the other, my bag of cans and wrappers falling to the ground, spilling at my feet. He had turned to take the walk of shame from the recycling dumpster to the trash compactor, after offering a humble "Yes ma'am." I had to blink a couple of times in order to believe that the person in the clutches of the dragon was none other than a hero of recent fame, Captain Richard Phillips of the Maersk Alabama.




That's right, the same Richard Phillips who had survived giving up his ship at gunpoint, and spent days in a lifeboat as a pirate hostage, only to reach freedom by narrowly escaping a few very well placed sniper rounds. This brave and humble man was taking one for the team. All of us non-heroes were enjoying a mini-vacation at his expense, merely walking with our trash, stopping to ask those around us if they could use a hand. The usual, frenetic pace had slowed to a near standstill, cars backing up at the gate. I could not comprehend what I had witnessed. As Dump Cop squawked one last "you should know better" at the captain, I actually ducked slightly, expecting to hear the crack of a sniper rifle. Sadly, all was silent.

One thing was crystal clear. The hero label fit. Not only had Richard Phillips survived an exotic, nearly unimaginable danger in a far away land. He had stood toe to toe with the Dump Cop, and he was not shaken. His humility never broke under the weight of anger as a small minded person from a small town got in his space and made a big deal about nothing. He did not mention his name, protest in any way, or even throw out the tried and true "Do you know who I am?"



I let all of this sink in for a minute while I chastised myself for leaving my camera sitting in a drawer in the kitchen. I had escaped the Dump Cop without assault or scrutiny. I had seen a real hero in action. If only I had captured the moment in pictures. None of this was lost on me as I watched Richard Philips reach up to the dumpster to rid himself of the one piece of trash that had cost him dearly that Saturday: an empty dog food bag.


Some heroes seem larger than life; some smaller. Some heroes are made, and some are manufactured. And some heroes just are. Richard Phillips is the real deal.

As for Dump Cop, some things will never change. She remains parked atop her perch, passionately lashing out at fools with food stuck to their jelly jars. I desperately want to take her picture. I want to tell her this story, and beg her to take a walk on the lighter side. Oh yes, I could do that. And for the rest of time, every other Saturday, Dump Cop would be all over my junk.

Blogs.com (The Wednesday Ten)

Where did the Friday Five disappear to the last couple of weeks? Nowhere, really. I attended to my surfing duties, started to compile a list, and was completely thrown off track by an e-mail that arrived in the process. It's been that kind of month.

I am glad I answered that e-mail. This has been a fun project. You'll see a few of repeats from the Friday Five - I was asked for a cross-section of the dog blog world and needed to fill a gap or two in a pinch. In any event, there will be many of these lists to follow. I would have done a top one hundred list if they would have let me. :)


Please enjoy...

Life With Dogs' Guest Top Ten List on Blogs.com



Tomorrow, we share a remarkable experience.

Search Party and Farewell

I am always curious about what brings new people here. I don't know about you, but I like to take a look through visitor stats, and you'd be surprised by the way some people arrive at your blog. Aside from googling "worst blog ever" here are some of the ways that the unsuspecting have found their way to our little corner of the internet. These numbers are subject to fluctuation.


Spay remnants. #5

Finding Truffles - Vermont Chocolate. #1

Nipples of Mardi Gras this one has moved from page one to three, and it's about time!

Sexting Dogs #2 gets you here eventually.

Hippie Dog Vermont #7, likely to climb. :)



On a less fun note, we had to say farewell to an old friend last week. Our long term guest, Strange P has left the building. After months of inhabiting our garage, all has returned to normal - if you can call us normal to begin with! The best no-kill shelter around has taken him in, done a wonderful job of settling his nerves, and is ready to start letting him meet potential adopters.




This was bittersweet of course. We miss caring for him - but he had reached the point of feeling safe, and we had made him healthy and strong again. It is his turn to get a new shot; and had we not trapped an angry, starving cat on a cold spring evening, I'm not sure that he would have made it.

Wish him well....

Monday Musings and the Blog Feed Mystery

This week will be different. That is good.

First, let me answer a question that some of you have been asking with regularity. For many who have followed us, we do not show up in their readers, or blog following lists. I know why this occurs. It is because I changed the blog name many months ago. I was foolish enough to believe that I would find a way to defeat this technical issue. Many posts to the blogger knowledge base crowd returned nothing. I cannot find a fix. So here is the solution. Replace the feed you have for our site with the following: http://feeds2.feedburner.com/NigelSolaCo

Works like a charm.

We may just be cartoon free this week, if you can believe it. I may not be able to make it to the Friday Five until next week, but hope to have another list to share with you instead.

In the coming days, I am receiving review copies of two books due for release in September. I'll share a little more about them when they arrive. I also have a review copy of a dog training DVD arriving soon, and it looks promising. I have received an offer that I will share with our Facebook friends - if you live in Florida you may want to connect with us on Facebook. How is that for ambiguous? :)

We'll be here at least through Thursday, and you never know what might happen.

July Contest Winners

Your dreams have been answered!

In your dreams, Nigel Buggers.

Ok, well maybe I am prone to the slightest exaggeration at times, but still, this is fun!

Time to say thanks to a couple of randomly selected readers. Let's not waste any time, the weekend is coming!

Princess Eva and Brice, congrats to you - you have won the collar of your choice from www.TheUnrulyHound.com Go have a look, take your pick and let them know we sent you. We'll pick up the tab! Of course, you may have to share. :)

I had to laugh when I saw this name come out of the pile, because Stella is always first to call Nigel's bluff. How appropriate that he try to butter her up. We all know that won't work.
Stella, you have won a $20 gift certificate to Clay Greys. Don't let the name fool you - they work with all breeds to make you an adorable custom ornament in the likeness of your pet. A little Stella, if you will.

Drop me a line at lifewithdogs@ymail.com if you have any questions.


As always, our thanks for visiting. Hug your dogs for us and have a perfect weekend.