Dogwalking 101: A Day In The Life

For today's post I figured I'd walk everyone through what a normal day in the life of a Home Treat Home dogwalker. In bulleted list form. With some pictures that may or may not have anything to do with said list. Ya know, in case my prose doesn't keep your attention.

• Wake up. Get out of bed. Drag a comb across my head.
• Make coffee. I don't want to sound like a Cathy cartoon, but you DON'T WANT TO SEE ME WITHOUT SOME COFFEE IN ME LOL ACK ACK ACK.
• Prepare backpack. This usually includes my bike lock, an extra sweater if it's cold (which it ALWAYS IS), an umbrella in case it rains (which it ALWAYS DOES), my keys, some notecards, and of course some Poop Bags™.
• Grab bicycle. I typically bike every day—I look at it as one of the perks of the job actually. Unless it's absolutely pouring (refer to second bullet for frequency of rain in Chicago recently), in which case it's foolish to ride unless you have completely laminated your body to waterproof it. At this point, I typically check my tire pressure, chain, brakes, medial fringulator, and all that bike stuff. Today I actually had a flat, so I had to waste precious minutes that could have been spent hanging out with dogs changing a lame ol' bike tire.

Cooper looking pretty god damn happy.

• Bike to first dog's residence. Yes, I always refer to it as the dog's residence because from my perspective every dog is a bachelor or bachelorette living in their own pad, on their own, doing their thing, maybe sometimes with a canine roommate sometimes not. Also it's funnier. Today my first dog was Nola, a grand ol' dame of a black lab. I can't recall if I've written a bio about Nola yet, but I definitely need to. She KNOWS things. I'll typically get the rest of my route sorted on that first walk.
• Leave a nice note/text owner. A hallmark of Home Treat Home's business is communication. If you're one of our clients, you already know the pastel notecards that we leave behind (or, as is true in some cases, the pastel text message that arrives on your phone after walks). If you're not a client, you should look into it. The notecards are fetching (LOLOLOL).
• Bike to rest of dog's residences. Bet you didn't see THAT step coming! Most of my clients live in the same general area, so my route is pretty easy to plan. It's nice being able to take in a swath of the city, especially on vibrantly sunny days like this. Another perk of the job is that whilst on this journey, I meet a wide variety of mailpersons, other dogwalkers, shop owners, kids that want to pet the dogs, and of course your garden variety crazy folks that scare the dogs with their slightly tilted personality and often loud approach.
• Lunch? Sometimes I will stop at a local eatery and grab some potables. Sometimes I eat a big enough breakfast and drink enough coffee to get me through the day. You can really slim down doing this job, what with the walking and the biking and the not eating. Another perk! Although when the dog biscuits start to smell appetizing, it's usually time to calorie up.
• Finish day/run errands. When I've walked my last dog, I usually run a few errands since I'm already out and about. I've found that dealing with even the most menial crap of 21st century life (going to the cell phone store, the bank, grocery shopping, returning library books) is delightful when you've been imbued with the naive joy of the dogs you've walked all day. Yet another perk!
• Bike home/write Doggy Blog posts. After I'm all done walkin' dogs, I head home full of ideas for these very posts you read. When I worked at a desk, I would often feel a sort of malaise deep in my bones at the end of the day—a gray, deadening sort of deep soul thrombosis. No real inspiration to do much after 5. Now, with the near constant exercise and the novel experiences that fill my day, I am delighted to park myself in front of my laptop and tap out these flights of fancy. WOWOWOWOW ANOTHER PERK!

Juniper, illustrating a elasticity of spine that would make all of Cirque du Soleil blush.

Some notes that don't really fit in the bulleted list:

• Headphones are a necessity. I listen to music, podcasts, or audiobooks throughout the whole day. It's a great way to pass the time, but if you're pursuing this line of work definitely only listen with one headphone in so you can keep plugged into reality and the dogs. This is a good tip for any public headphone listening to be honest. You don't have to completely tune out the world to listen to some cool shit when you're walking around.
• Water bottle! Gotta stay hydrated, y'all. The job—obviously—includes a lot of walking (often more than 8 miles a day or ~18,000 steps according to my probably not very accurate iPhone) and you're losing a lot of water. Even if it's cold.
• Sunglasses. A must when it's sunny. A shamanic talisman summoning the sun when it's cloudy.
• A good book. You should just always have a good book with you. Whenever you don't bring one, you end up needing one. Trust me.

Enough rambling for today! Enjoy your weekend!

Sean

Lucky Luigi

Luigi marks the second wire fox terrier that I've had the pleasure of meeting and subsequently writing about—you may recall Captain from my much lauded column titled "O Captain My Captain". From this (rather) small sample size, I've found that wire fox terriers have a deep wellspring of bouncy energy and a naive understanding of the world and its goings on. Whereas Captain's naivete takes the adorable form of walking to the hinge side of the door—instead of the side that, you know, opens—nearly every day or leaping at that squirrel that is roughly 15 feet up in a tree believing that today will be the damn day he gets it. He's a dog of routine, with no concern at how ineffectual that routine may be.

Luigi's energetic naivete takes the form of mindless spinning in counterclockwise circles any time we slow to a walk like that will somehow get him back to his preferred speed of "wagon rolling down steep hill" or trying to walk through every single puddle we pass by, often changing direction to achieve this perverse goal. I would NEVER call a dog dumb, because I truly believe that if I were canine I would be the one bumping into chair legs or jumping like a spaz and landing on my side after attempting to bite a leaf, but Luigi does seem a tad...dim. In the most endearing way possible. I believe that his eyes do him ZERO favors in this respect.

Luigi has these teeny black button eyes that make him look like Ralph Wiggum in most situations. Just these lil specks of black in a sea of tangled white fur that scream "What do you mean I can't eat my own leg?" This may be a bit too specific of a reference, but there is an episode of the animated Pokemon series that aired when I was a child where the squad runs into a Ditto, the Pokemon that can transform into any other. However, when Ditto transforms into other Pokemon, it keeps its small pencil point eyeballs. I thought this was absolutely hysterical as a child, I hope this mirth transfers to 2017. This is also the first thing that I thought of when I saw Luigi's eyes.

Enough talk, the pictures below will speak for me:

I hope that gallery worked, first time I've done that. Brief description of the pics in case the conclusion isn't obvious. First picture is of normal Pikachu. Very cute. Second pic is Ditto-fied Pikachu, still cute, but...off? Third pic is of Captain, eyes similar to the first Pikachu. Last pic is of Luigi, with wee little points of blackness in his face. Still cute, but perhaps a bit...off.

Anywho, I don't mean to cast stones at Luigi, he's a nifty lil dog that just wants to hang out and lick faces—who can't identify with that? He has been taught, I presume by Captain, the value of carrot sticks. He has not quite acheived the panache with which Captain jumps up and grabs them out of the air, opting instead for a creative technique where he smacks the carrot stick on his head and sends it flying across the room. Also sometimes he doesn't move at all and the carrot stick just bonks him on the head and falls to the floor. It's all so very sweet and funny.

Last but not least, he and Captain definitely have some pugilist in them (note that I didn't say "boxer" so as to avoid the obvious dog pun). These doggos can TUSSLE. They usually each get a mouth on a toy and then have a tug-of-war match that does not end until I physically separate them. I honestly believe it would literally go on for hours if I didn't pull them apart. They utter these low growls, in bizarre harmony, when they're doing this as well so it likely sounds like the gates of hell have opened to any neighbors close enough to overhear. I can imagine Captain is just trying to teach the young buck some manners. And some lessons come at a bit of an expense. Unfortunately, given the pair's reluctance to remember or learn anything, I fear that this will be a Sisyphean task. I can tell that deep down they like eachother.

So that's Luigi! See y'all Thursday!

Sean

Four Scores and One Dog Year Ago

“HELLO! Our names are based off great leaders and writers. Of course we rule.”

— Lincoln and Winston, dogs/luminaries

Christmas, 2016

These are my Wrigleyville Boys. They may look innocent, but these guys can be ruff n'tuff. Their names are fitting. Much like Abraham Lincoln and Winston Churchill, they are smart, loyal, and loved by many. When I first met these fellas, I had to walk them separately. They are strong and I needed to build that trust with them—also similar to my relationship with Honest Abe and Churchill (long story) . Now, I walk them together and they are very obidient. They listen to my whistles and respect my "authorita" (said in traditional Cartman voice). It's quite empowering being able to summon the loyalty of two great world leaders, separated by years, nationality, temperament, and body shape. Well ya know, in canine form at least.

Winston, Fall 2015

This is Winston. He is a capital "D" Diva and I love him for it. Despite his broad shoulders, muscled up haunches, and microwave oven–sized head, he is a total softie. Momma's boy for sure. Winston always has a smile on. He brings me such joy when I walk through the front door. Winston's energy level is intense, and like Winston Churchill, he does have a strong opinion on politics, war, and helps inspire change into people's ideas of what it means to be a pit bull. We've had many a conversation lasting late into the night, over glasses of sherry and Cuban cigars. A jolly chap to be sure.

Lincoln & Winston, Summer 2016

The guy up there with the tiger stripes is Lincoln. Lincoln is the world's biggest baby. Even when he is happy, he looks sad. He is such a ham. I also want his coat in faux-fur. I want, more deeply than I've ever wanted anything before, to be twinning out with him on our walks. See example below:

What do you think? Def a choice bargain if you ask me.

These boys have taught me a lot about patience and tolerance. They like to wrestle a lot, which can be tough to handle since they both weigh as much as a husky middle schooler. But ya know, they smell better and are a bit quicker on the uptake. Also, like many of their canine peers, sometimes they tear up things when nobody's home. Shoes, papers, books; you know the deal. You always know when they've done something wrong. They are excited to see you, but are hesitant to come in for the petting sesh. Tails firmly placed between their legs, but wagging like mad. Classic!

Lincoln & Winston, Spring 2017

What can I say? These pitties make me look like a baller! 🤘 Love walking them around Wrigley Field and everyone looks at you like you're somebody famous. The paparazzi tailing behind you. Damn! A girl can dream, can't she? Although we do get some serious attention. Here's to my Wrigley Boys! 🍻

Josh

Three Young Sluggers at Wrigley Field, Fall 2016

Large Marge, the Darge in Charge

Marge in extreme close up. Easily the most common picture of her that I have.

NOTE: In the title, "darge" means "dog." Sometimes one must bend language to rhyme.

Marge is a pit bull terrier mix. Unclear what she's mixed with, but I have a hunch that it's pure unleaded gasoline. That is to say: Marge has some energy in 'er haunches, and she ain't afraid to make that known. Interestingly, she IS afraid of a lot of other things. This makes for a volatile, yet invigorating, walk.

Things Marge has stopped dead in her tracks and then pulled with the power of fully loaded eighteen wheeler in the opposite direction of:

• FedEx trucks. It seems to only be FedEx trucks too, not UPS or garbage trucks (to which she is oddly attracted). Perhaps it's the arrow that is formed betwixt the E and the X, pointing away, and Marge is simply following what she sees as legally posted road signage.
• Noises from the general vicinity of the sidewalk/street. This could be, but is in no way limited to, people talking, cars going by, leafblowers, leaves, the slight drone of insects, and wind interacting with physical objects in any way. Marge definitely likes to stay in her lil courtyard as much as she possibly can, and I respect that.
• Tennis balls. This one is frustrating because I have gotten Marge JUUUUUST to the cusp of playing a complete game of fetch. A short vignette to illustrate this:
  • I mime throwing the ball. I say "Marge" and clap my hands on my thighs. I mime throwing the ball again. I throw the ball. Marge sprints after the ball. Marge sprints past the ball. Marge comes to a dead stop right before the fence. Marge begins eating grass. I say "Marge" again and clap my hands on my thighs. Marge saunters towards the ball. Marge jumps at the sight of the ball. Marge saunters past the ball. Marge accelerates to a full on sprint. Marge sprints past me. I walk to the ball. I pick it up. Repeat.
• Other dogs. This one's tough, because Marge seems to enjoy the company of other dogs but she is too skittish to navigate the complexities of long term canine relations. She's sorta like that spazzy kid that we all went to high school with that was always really nice but was unable to make small talk, was kinda twitchy, and just sorta freaked you out. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was that kid. Marge's apartment building has a line of row houses right next to it that all have huge bay (bae?) windows. Marge and I have to walk past these houses to get to the dog run and almost every one of them has a dog perched somewhere in the windows. It's like a creepy gallery of dogs, silently watching and judging us from huge dark windows. Marge notices every single one of them as well, grateful that they are held at bay (bae?) by the thin sheets of glass.

Marge, recieving television signals from all over the world.

Which brings me to the story of Marge and the dreaded cone. Marge was in a small accident (don't fret, she is fine and totally back to normal) and needed to have the plastic cone of irritation bestowed upon her head. She reacted much as I suspect I would if I were a dog: willful igorance of anything being different at all. A perfect example of this would be how long Marge spent licking the inside of the cone thinking she was licking her leg. It was an amazingly long time. In fact, she'd probably still be licking that cone if I hadn't quietly and politely informed her of her mistake.

The cone also acted like a sort of scoop for...well, everything. This proved quite interesting in our ever evolving game of fetch. As I mentioned before, Marge typically sprints past the tennis ball but she sorta divebombs the thing. Her head basically skims right past the ground, which is typically fine, but the cone obviously changed the circumference of her head. So now she would scoop up the tennis ball into her conehead, which proved extremely confusing for her and hilarious for me. Marge actually seemed to enjoy it as well, so it was a win-win!

In closing, Marge is a great doggo, full of vim and vinegar and very curious (albeit skeptical) about the world. Walking her also provides an excellent arm and shoulder workout for me, which combined with the fetch playing is pretty much a full trip to the gym. Good on ya Marge!

Sean

Marge pretending to be a cow on the farm.

Dogwalking 101: Comparing American dog culture to that which exists across the pond

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of dog, it’s too dark to read.”

— Groucho Marx, noted humorist

Hello all, it's so grand to be back writing for you! I've been abroad, taking in some European culture and doing instensive research on international pooches of all shapes and sizes. My journey took me to France and England, both absolutely chock full of dogs and dog lovers alike.

Some highlights:

• The French do not appear to have any leash laws—to be fair, they're pretty light on all laws—which resulted in a cavalcade of loose puppers romping around the City of Lights.
   
• A particularly righteous Jack Russell was patrolling the grounds right outside the Eiffel Tower chasing all manner of sticks, birds, irritating tourists taking selfies. He was also getting fed quite well, as almost everyone was picnicking. Smart boy.
   
• There's a park in London called Hyde Park—the irony was not lost on me that I'd travelled 3000 miles only to again arrive at a Hyde Park containing ecosystem—that was absolutely CRAWLING with doggos. Probably saw about 100 doggos running about the park, off leash and absolutely loving it.
   
• There is a large pond in the middle of Hyde Park—Round Pond—replete with all manner of aquatic fowl that was a focal point for quite a few of the park doggos. A lot of retrievers gazed intently at the water, waiting to engage with their genetic heritage and bound into the water to...retrieve...the birds. Unfortunately, the size and aggression of the swans that filled/owned the pond served as insurance that that would not happen on this day.
   
• A cocker spaniel was sitting at the table behind me at a pub called the Churchill Arms, likely enjoying a pint of bitter with his owner, when a waitress went over to them and started lightly howling. As she got a bit louder, the cocker spaniel began to howl with her. Clearly, this dog and its owner were regulars and this had happened many times before. It was the cutest thing in the entire world.
   
• Interestingly, the only English bulldogs I saw were stomping around the Jardin des Tuileries in Paris and the only French bulldogs I saw were somersaulting through Hyde Park. Unclear what this means, but I'm sure there's something deep to it.

The only real comparisons I can make between American dog culture and European/UK dog culture are of the same hue as comparisons between human culture. America is an overly litigious country—meaning everyone sues everyone here. Europe and the UK are not. Thus, you can have dogs off leash everywhere, dogs in pubs, dogs drinking wine, dogs driving on the wrong side of the road, etc. etc. The people seem freer and thus the dogs seem freer. With this freedom comes a necessity for well trained pups, and this was certainly born out in my experience. All the dogs I met, whether on or off leash, were super friendly and responded to their owners' commands perfectly. It was beautiful.

Don't get me wrong, I love all the doggos in America—especially Chicago. But I do think that we could learn a thing or two from the dog culture abroad, perhaps just a more open perspective on life with dogs. I know I'm preaching to the choir here, all of Home Treat Home's clients are exquisite dog owners and their dogs would totally fit in across the pond and be runnin' the place in a matter of weeks. Apologies if this was a lil rambling, I'm still jet lagggggged.

Sean 

Dogwalking 101: So your pet decided to make a REAL MESS of things

This is something that turns a good day into a bad one. I dread these encounters and I honestly don't see them often, but when they do happen it can be damaging to one's good spirits. These "messes" can range from the simple pee break on the kitchen floor to throwing up on your new Nikes. Or worse, just throwing up your Nikes.

Notice how none of their toys have been chewed/torn to bits, yet they managed to find time to tear through your New York Times Best Seller.

Some of you have perfect angels and have never experienced my list of messes. Others may have their own items to add to this list, and if so, please let us know on Facebook or in the comments here. 

Here are the top five messes I see every so often:

• 💩😷💩 , these are the worse of all messes because not only do they stink, but they are a real shit to clean up. Guilty party usually is hiding or begging for forgiveness when I arrive.

• 👠👞👟, the inevitable lost sole. Most of us love our shoes and the fear of telling you that your Jimmy Choo is now Jerky Chew makes me want to hide the evidence and pretend I never saw anything. But of course, the truth, much like the newest collection of Yeezys, must come out. 

• 🕶☀️👓, unfortunately, I have a sunglasses fetish and have seen many a pair go missing because someone thought my Burberry sunglasses were an expensive, oddly shaped, plastic rawhide. 

• 🗞📰📓, newspapers, magazines, and books are always easy targets for mass destruction. Paper bits everywhere. See attached photo for reference.

• 💻📱⌚️, electronics are very rare, but I've seen many remotes destroyed. Plastic and rubber does taste like chicken. 

As all dog owners know, puppies are the most guilty of said messes, but some dogs never grow out of it. In which, you must crate them or barricade them in one room. Do. Not. Feel. Guilty. That's why we are here, to release them from captivity for 30 minutes for some romping and frolicking without them damaging your belongings. For many dogs, too much freedom sans owner can be overwhelming and scary, which is often why things get chewed up in the first place. If crating them means I don't have to clean up your Time Out Chicago magazines—now (counterintuitively) a larger and simultaneuously much smaller collection—I am thankful. 

Luckily, these are all material objects and can be replaced. We love our fur kids unconditionally. Even if they swallowed your brand new Apple Watch whole. FYI, that's never happened. It was just an old Timex and part of your old phone. Same difference really.

Josh

Sweet Lou

Lou means business. And Lou is a wild card. I know these two things because I once read a quote from a very esteemed public figure. I believe I have a copy of that very quote:

“I mean business. And I’m a wild card.”

— Lou, dog

The face of a canine that definitely knows what "business" means.

Jokes and japes aside, Lou is your prototypical "good boy." Lou falls into the category of canines that I call "dictionary dogs," meaning that if you looked up "dog" in the dictionary you would find a picture of Lou. And yes, this works for every dog that you think it would work for—don't ask me how, but the dictionary is a magical instrument and knows what you're looking for. At least mine is and does.

I've heard tell that some think that Lou can be a bit abrasive. I've also heard that he has a bit of a "guard dog" mentality. These are bald-faced lies from people that are likely scary strangers with evil in their hearts. Though it is true that Lou is a bit of a prickly-pear at first blush, once he gets to know you he will ride with you until the very end. I suppose this doesn't bode well for FedEx deliverypeople or mailpersons or that kindly old lady with her bag of groceries (although why would an old lady need that many baguettes in the first place...her teeth are probably soft as brie at this point...seems suspicious...good work barkin' at her Louboy) but it certainly gives me a comforting sense of security. Not that I would ever use Lou's powers for any base reasons, but having a kneehigh, quadripedal peacemaker at your side is not something to turn one's nose up at.

How could you not be abjectly terrified of this face?

Also, Lou only barks at strangers if they try to speak to me, which to be fair, I also sometimes want to do. As long as we give a polite head nod and don't break stride, Lou and I always just cruise on by. I've ran into friends while walking Lou before and had to pretend like I've never met them, walkrunning right past them while muttering something about the weather. It's led to a lot of conversations about whether I am in fact, a incredibly secretive twin, which has proven quite useful in my day-to-day deceptions and doubledeals. However, to obviate the need for such conversations, I've taken to smearing lipstick all over my mouth, wearing a mauve headscarf and the sunglasses they give you after cataract surgery, and sitcking headphones that aren't connected to anything in my ears. It's...working?

Oh, one more Louism: he is very attached to his family and will loose a haunting, plaintive howlcry if he catches even the briefest of glimpses of them while we're out on our walk. It's best to avoid this, because that eerie lilt turns even the lushest, most verdant grasses burnt and brown and weakens the knees of the toughest roughnecks. I'm pretty sure the sun briefly went out last time Lou offered his chilling lament. It's very touching though. Sort of like that feeling you get when you walk over a grave at midnight. Overkill? Let's move on.

Lou, making sure I haven't fallen down/been attacked by a streetperson/burst into flame.

He's a grand walker, save for the occasional barks. Ne'er really comes to a full stop, has all of his bathroom manuvers sorted out and as regular as a German train schedule, and perhaps most cutely, regularly looks over his shoulder to make sure that I'm doing alright on our walks. Maybe he thinks that he's walking me? He sorta is I suppose. Other than that, what else to say about Lou that hasn't been said/fabricated already? He's a loyal, slightly nervy, family-oriented dog that, once you break through his tough candy shell has a pleasant nougaty center. A tale (tail?) as old as time, that. Good boy, Lou. Good boy.

Sean

Dogwalking 101: What to do if your dog LOVES eating street refuse

Trying out something new on this Thursday edition of the Doggy Blog: Dogwalking 101. Peep the nifty graphic that totally took me hours to design!

As consumate walkers of dogs, Home Treat Home employees pick up many tips and tricks that people that own dogs already probably know but hey, it's fun to write about anyways. Today's topic is the canine tendency to consume any and all random items on the ground no matter their source, chemical composition, size, or shape. In order for Home Treat Home to remain "hip," "young," and "trendy," this post will be presented in "listicle" format (a word which is a portmanteau of "list" and "article" even though it sounds quite dirty). This list will cover, in no particular order, a litany of items that I've seen dogs attempt to eat on walks.

NOTE: no dogs have ever succeeded in eating any of these things while on walks with Home Treat Home. We're far too skilled for that.

• Chicken bones. Starting off with the grandaddy of all groundfood, the humble chicken bone. Very common around the city, especially around supermarkets that have hot bars. The chicken bone seems fine—as we've all grown up with the image in our heads of a happy dog chewing on a bone—but it is far from it. When deep fried, the chicken bone loses all structural integrity and tends to "shatter" when chewed, which can be very dangerous for pups. Avoid at all costs.
   
• Small rocks. This tends to be the province of puppies or dogs who don't know the outside world that well. This makes sense because rocks have no detectible aroma, zero taste, don't particularly look like food at all, and are, well, made of rock. Perhaps puppies think they have the digestive system of chickens and need small pebbles, or gastroliths, to aid in crushing up food in their gastric mill. Perhaps they're not thinking at all because they are brand new dags. Avoid at all costs.
   
• Old sandwiches. This category is a bit broad. I've seen dogs go after relatively new looking bits of Subway sandwiches (probably no difference in taste whether on the ground or on a clean plate TBH) and verrry old, verrry questionable looking breadmold colonies packed in triangular plastic boxes. In the scheme of things, probably not a total emergency if your dog eats a recently dropped meatball sub fragment (unless he/she would be breaking vegan/vegetarianism to do so, of COURSE). Hell, I've eaten food off the floor/ground on many occasions and I'm still here. Avoid if possible.
   
• A whole roast chicken. I still feel bad about this one. Can you imagine the unbelievable bounty an ENTIRE ROAST CHICKEN represents to a dog? It would be like a person finding a bag full of money and then being lightly but persistently pulled in the opposite direction by a rope wrapped around your shoulders. Well, to be fair to me, the roast chicken looked quite old and had some suspect green and bluery around its periphery. But still. Avoid if possible.
   
• A lottery ticket. Still confused about this one. Did the doggo think it was a winner? It wasn't. Even if it was, you can't like absorb the power of a winning lottery ticket by eating it. And dogs shouldn't be gambling anyways. My theory is that someone with gravy all over their hands scratched off the ticket, saw that they had lost, poured more gravy on it out of anger, and then discarded it. Avoid at all costs, but likely won't be a problem.

That's all I can think of today. Let me know the weirdest thing your dog tried to eat in the comments (either here or on HTH's Facebook). Have a great Thursday fam.

Sean

Ay, Chihuahua

“We’ve never met a thing we haven’t wanted to bark at. Good thing we’re cute.”

— Nathan and Tucker, small dogs

Nathan in red and Tucker in blue, blissfully unaware of the crazed struggle that was putting those jackets one. 

I have been walking Nathan and Tucker everyday since mid-January, once at 7am and once at 4pm. Coincidentally, today is my last day with that schedule. It's been a learning experience. Not because of the dogs, but rather because in order to get to where they live by 7, I have to be up at 6 and out the door by 6:30. I haven't woken up at 6 since my days working landscaping at a boat marina in Buffalo, NY—and I have to say, I didn't really miss it at all. Being that it is winter in Chicago, albeit a frighteningly warm one, it is dark when I spring (read: stumble) out the door and I get to WAKE UP WITH THE SUN. Sound romantic? It isn't.

Picture me walking/running/sprinting to the bus with one eye coffin-nailed shut, avoiding commuters speeding through eminently visible stop signs/red lights/groups of pedestrians while drinking their coffee/snorting designer amphetamines and texting/sleeping, just getting to the bus stop in time for it to open its bifolding doors to me/speed away in total and complete ignorance of my existence THEN AND ONLY THEN realizing that I forgot my glasses/sanity at home. Perhaps that was a bit hyperbolic. I'm not much of a morning person.

Once I arrive at the pup's place, all of that agita disappears and everything is hunky dory. Nathan and Tucker are chihuahua mixes with a high motor, like the New England Patriots' receiving core, and a healthy distrust of all outsiders, like the New England Patriots' coaching staff. Like any dogs worth their salt, it took a little while for the puppers to trust me, and I braved many nips and bite attempts during those first few days. Now we are quite close.

Nathan, wondering why this treat is rectangular and made of glass and metal.

Nathan is the older, calmer, wiser one, with an inquisitive face that says (to me), "I've sniffed it allll before, kemosabe." I'm not sure if this is a characteristic of chihuahuas or not, but Nathan's nose seems to move independently of the rest of his face, granting him the ability (whether purposely or not) to produce a wide range of expressions. Very cute, two vestigial doggo thumbs way, way up. He is also, and god forbid if he reads this, the plumper brother. He does carry it well, though. He's also not a great fan of being leashed up, but once confronted with the inevitability of walking, he lowers his head and accepts his fate. I'm not sure why he is so reticent to get out there, because once we break the plane of the doorway he certainly seems to enjoy himself—wiggling along at a respectable pace for a pup of his stature. 

Tucker, half listening to me explain that not all squirrels intend him bodily harm.

Tucker is the younger, more manic, more curious brother, with super expressive ears that seem to go on for miles. I have no idea what that means. Tucker will jump up on me the second I walk into the apartment, licking my face and hands as if I were made entirely of processed meat (although, what are human beings if not processed meat?). He has a penchant for treats, and I once walked in on him devouring a small handful of pretzel sticks that were clearly not meant for his consumption. I always give the pups a lil treat (not pretzel sticks) about halfway through our walk and Tucker is extremely skilled at licking his own lips and then jumping and snatching these morsels out of the air—it's a very cute combo.

As I said before, both dogs harbor a healthy distust of outsiders. And they consider many, many things outsiders. Most things really. I've gotten very skilled at non-Euclidian geometry in three-dimensional space attempting to avoid these threats. Here's a general list of things they are skeptical of/bark at:

• Other dogs. This one is fairly normal. They tend to only freak out at dogs that are smaller than them and dogs that are larger then them. So far, zero issues with dogs exactly the same size that they are.

• Squirrels. Again, normal. In this case, they only bark at squirrels smaller than them (we have yet to encounter the rare midwestern "goliath" squirrel (taxonomical classification Sciurus gigantius). The pups have a knack for spotting squirrels from up to a country mile away and just absolutely wailing at them until they recieve a light pull on their restraints.

• Schoolbuses. This one makes sense. Schoolbuses are chock full of the natural enemy of chihuahua mixes: schoolchildren. I think everyone can sympathize with this, schoolchildren are objectively horrible.

• The Metra train. This one is problematic given that Nate and Tuck live DIRECTLY next to the Metra train. Luckily their apartment is mostly soundproof. Outside is regrettably sound heavy, and thus they go nuts every time the train zooms by.

• Airplanes. This one is confusing. They're not that loud and they are THOUSANDS OF FEET IN THE AIR. I appreciate their tenacity, but this one is a bit far fetched.

• Nothing at all. This is one is also surprising. The pups will occasionally just lose their minds barking at a tree or at literally just empty space and look at ME like I'm the crazy one when I ask them what they're barking at. Y'all are the ones screaming at nothing, don't gaslight me. I guess I am speaking to two dogs expecting a cogent answer. I guess this one is a wash.

Despite what you may take from that list, I have had a wonderful time walking Nate and Tucker this last month and change—moreso the 4pm walk rather than it's dastardly counterpart at 7am. The pups keep a brisk pace and complement eachother's personalities very well. As long as you give other dogs/squirrels/airplanes a wide berth, they bop right along. And may they bop right along for many years to come.

Sean

Éirinn go Bárk

I cannot believe it took me so long to write a post about Biddy and Mac. When I was looking through my exhaustive dog files this morning, I was ecstatic to see that these two lil terriers were still in my "SOON" column. That sounds more ominous than it is. I digress.

Mac (left) pondering his mortality and Biddy (right) supressing all such thoughts.

Biddy and Mac are Irish, not by birth or naturalization (could you IMAGINE how long it would take two DOGS to figure out an American customs office? I have HUMAN friends who baaarely got their green cards), but rather by association with their human owner. If you didn't know, canine nationality works by a kind of associative osmosis wherein the doggos absorb the culture and ancestry of their human through headrubs and snuggles. It's all very scientific. More importantly, Biddy and Mac, at least in my head, are also old timey gangsters from the turn of the century: the Lawrence Gang.

If this doesn't strike abject terror in your heart, you have antifreeze for blood, mate.

Mac, the larger white and grey spotted terrier, is the muscle. He is hesitant and careful, not because of any kind of guile or cunning, but rather because he knows the world can be a scary place full of garbage trucks or literally any other dog. A gentle eight-pound giant, if you will. Picture Lennie from Of Mice and Men or Pinky from Pinky and the Brain, but you know, with his head on swivel and a tommygun slung over his shoulder. If you need a door busted in, a rival's knuckles broken, or a stump indiscriminately peed on, Mac is your man. Er...dog.

No one has the cojones to tell Biddy "The Black Widow" Lawrence that she has something on her face.

Biddy, on the other hand, is the brains of the whole operation. Dressed in a jet black shift dress made of the finest fur—a small Derringer pistol concealed underneath, of course—she plans the gang's various capers, heists, and long cons. Notable among such deeds: 

The Bully Stick Robbery of 2016

In which the gang made off with tens of thousands of bully sticks that were left out by the garbage because they are long, tough strands of unspeakable origin that exist in defiance of God. The gang got off scot free because a police report was never filed because ewwwwww.

 

The Great Squirrel Massacre

A 2017 turf war in which no squirrels were actually harmed but were certainly glared at very harshly and timidly barked. In addition, many tense, furtive glances were reportedly exchanged between Biddy and Mac. More of a moral victory for the Lawrence Gang, but a victory nonetheless.

For an analogical cue (that word DOESN'T look like it means "relating to an analogy," but Merriam-Webster insists it is correct) picture Faye Dunaway as Bonnie Parker in Bonnie and Clyde. Actually, picture Faye Dunaway in any role. What I'm saying is that Biddy is Faye Dunaway as a dog—Faye Dogaway. It's all very scientific.

I will—begrudgingly—admit that this elaborate fantasy of dog gangsterdom is spun whole-cloth out of my overactive mind and that in REALITY Biddy and Mac are just two little button-cute canines with no real ties to Chicago's seamy underbelly. To wit, when I first met them, Mac ambled up to me and put his lil paws up on my thighs and gave a big ol' yawn and Biddy, in perhaps the cutest introduction I've ever experienced, was alllllmost completely hidden behind the couch with just her nose and one eye stickin' out. That just isn't the behavior of hardened criminal pups, and I admit that.

In terms of walkers, they're very chill and easygoing. Mac tends to walk a bit, then sniff and stall a bit, then shoot me a plaintive look, then reluctantly walk a bit more. Biddy is a stone-cold shuffler, loosely shambling from tree to fire hydrant to corner-of-building, Biddy does this thing when she wants to go inside where she sorta half smiles, half bears her teeth and slowly oscillates up and down. It's hard to explain. Harder to explain is why my reaction is to weirdly half-smile, half show my teeth back at her. It just always seemed like the right thing to do. Earned a few strange looks from passersby for that, thank you very much.

Back at the apartment, they sit calmly as they are unleashed. Biddy RUNS AS FAST AS POSSIBLE to the other side of the room, and Mac sits dejectedly, preparing himself for his LEAST FAVORITE THING. I haven't touched on this yet, partly because it is a little embarrassing for ol' Mac (although, it's highly unlikely that he'll read this) and partly because is completely dispels the gangster storyline I invested sooo much mental energy in to. You see, Mac has a bit of separation anxiety which results in him piddling if he's left alone for too long. Thus, in what must be the ultimate indignity for a dog (indognity?), Mac must wear a diaper. And Mac doesn't like wearing a diaper. Even sadder, he doesn't even struggle or run away, he just hangs his lil head and accepts that teal pad being velcroed around his midriff. I always give him a treat after this, which seems to brighten his spirits a bit.

To Biddy and Mac, may the road rise to meet you! Or rather, the sidewalk—we all know you're afraid of the road.

Sean