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Don’t call me FiFi
Let’s get this out of the way: I’m a poodle, and damn proud of it.
To be specific, a standard poodle, the size from which all other poodles (miniature, toy, and teacup)… well, uhmmm, shrank. They were the Johnny-come-latelies, but I’m one of the originals.
My Dad and I get a lot of guff (“why’d you get a poodle instead of a real dog?”)—and we’ve learned to let it just roll off our backs like saltwater in the surf. And that brings up a good point: poodles were originally water retrievers (fetching birds instead of the ratty tennis balls I chase today). We worked for a living!
And we’re not French, by the way: we’re originally “pudels” from Germany (those French fries are the ones who started dolling us up). And the goofy looking haircut was designed by hunters way back to help us swim, while the big balls of hair were to protect organs and joints in the cold water. You try chasing after a damn wing-tipped green head duck in freezing water and patches of ice!
Now, Dad didn’t name me Moxie for no good reason (though I am originally from Maine, the land that spawned that crazy/nasty drink of the same name). He took one look at me rough-housing with some other “pudels” and the name just seemed to fit.
My other four-legged buddies here in the office are good guys and gals, and sometimes we think maybe things would be better if we ran the place and our owners stayed behind gates and in kennels.
So, please come visit and say hi. Callie, Dylan, Knightley, Bella, and I will welcome you with open paws (especially if you have something good to eat in your hands).
And, remember, I’m not the foofy one (I’ll keep it a secret who really is until you come give me a pat).
Categories: Quadrupedal Posts
Mixed breeds
It’s only so often that I make a visit to the office (thus my “cameo canine” moniker)—probably every month or so. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me, these infrequent visits. Seeing my Sametz Blackstone humans and canines but once a month makes those few, great hours of social time on otherwise quiet afternoons particularly special.
Usually Momma keeps me banned to the 5th floor where she works, which is fine: I get to visit with Mr. Knightley (and steal his rawhide chews). When Momma isn’t looking, I try to escape downstairs so I can visit Callie and Moxie and Dylan. I love my downstairs friends, not to mention racing down those five flights of stairs! What isn’t fun about that?
But really, just look at me: have you seen a dog that looks more like an embodiment of fun? And if Dylan’s involved, I’m downright flirty.
So, yes, while I generally love everybody and everydog—except for those “baby” humans in their rolling carts and one, rather freakish-looking dog in my neighborhood—what’s great about coming to work with Momma is that everyone seems to like to visit and play with each other as much as I do (though I have noticed that they generally don’t share chewies).
Whether standard poodle (Moxie) or Tibetan terrier (Mr. Knightley), the man that leads the office (Momma calls him Roger) or the one that feeds me snacks (Will!), I mingle with everyone, and everyone mingles with everyone else, too. All of my canine pals come from different places (which means, I guess, the humans do, too)—I’ve never even heard of some of the parks they frequent!—but at Sametz Blackstone, it’s like their, and their humans’, second home.
Now, if only Mr. Knightley would go back to those other rawhide chews….
Categories: Quadrupedal Posts
Food for thought
I lovelovelovelove cookies. And you know what I love about coming here every day? Everyone else loves cookies, too! (Apparently I love cookies a little too much, so says my vet….)
Adam, my human office mate, likes to make me work for my cookies, though. I’ve never had much patience when it comes to sweets. Or anything edible, for that matter—but Adam’s helped me improve that. And while I’m not sure I appreciate his approach, the cookies make it all worthwhile.
Truth is, I actually enjoy my cookies more when I have to wait. The more I wait, the more I get to savor them. Rather than wolfing them down without chewing (which does a number on my stomach), I actually CHEW the cookie. And when I take the time to chew on something, I process it much better. Sooooo tasty, sooooo good.
I never used to understand why my owners take their time with dinner. All that talking and chewing and funny faces they make with their scrunched foreheads.
But maybe they’re just chewing on something and letting it process the way it’s supposed to. Maybe, like me, they get more out of it that way. Maybe there’s a reason they sometimes slow down and enjoy things.
Especially cookies.
Categories: Quadrupedal Posts
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