The Hundred Years War, but with bulldogs

Today, as our really quite bad 29th president Warren G Harding (although his stock may rise by one spot in roughly 4 years) said in the run up to his 1920 presidential campaign: it is time for a return to normalcy. Although he was speaking of the country, I believe this can also apply to a humorous dog blog. Historical records are murky regarding President Harding's love of dogs and/or access to the Internet, but I think we can safely assume he would have enjoyed reading the Home Treat Home Doggy blog in between massive scandals. What this means for today's entry is this: no long narrative about a black lab working as a soothsayer in New Orleans or a sordid tale of two Irish gangster terriers running their block, just a regular story about two bouncing balls of bulldog. Note: we'll get back to the weird stuff soon, but the fact that it's been raining for 3 days straight in Chicago has this blogwriter in the creative doldrums.

That point notwithstanding, this post is a bit of a long time coming. I dogsat for these two international dogs of mystery about a month ago, and the memory is just as fresh and buoyant as it was those many days ago. Some brief introductions: the English bulldog is, perfectly, named Angus; the wee Frenchie puppy is, somehow also perfectly, Lola.

Angus (English bulldog) and Lola (teeny French blip) going for a walk.

They might seem like a bit of an odd couple, but I assure you they fit together like two canine puzzle pieces. Two puzzle pieces of completely different sizes. And colors. And temperament. And drool reservoirs. But somehow, it works. The basic relationship dynamic seems to be Angus as protector/big brother/role model and Lola as precocious tween/ball of energy/small boneless furry blob. Here's an example of a day in the life of dogsitting Angus and Lola, in tried and true Home Treat Home bulleted list fashion (we're currently trying to patent the dogcentric bulleted list, bear with us):

• I enter the domicile.
• Angus bulldozes down the stairs (he was always upstairs when I arrived, GOD KNOWS what he was doing up there) and begins droolin' and shakin' all over my lower half.
• I attempt to get Angus in his harness and leash, which is like trying to put a diaper on a greased bowling ball while someone is trying to bowl with it.
• I feed Angus and triumphantly walk him to where Lola is waiting in her crate.
• Angus, outraged by the imprisonment of his teeny French ward, begins droolin' and shakin' all over my lower half.
• I spring Lola from her oubliette and attempt to feed her. This is only possible by filling her food dish and then immediately looking away, as if the mere thought of her sucking up those mahogany pellets disgusts me. I fear this may be a burgeoning eating disorder for Lola, but then I remember that I've seen dogs eat leaves/garbage/cat excrement and relax.
• I attempt to corral Lola long enough to attach her Byzantine harness and leash, which always has varying levels of success. It felt like the orientation of the harness/leash changed every day, as if enchanted by the malevolent ghost of a disgruntled PetSmart employee.
• I eventually solve the Gordian knot of Lola's leash, and we exit the domicile.
• Angus weighs, roughly, 100 Lolas. However, Lola has the energy of 100 Angii (Anguses?). This causes my left shoulder to PULL FORWARD with the weight of Angus's stout frame while my right shoulder begins to rotate like a Shimano fishing reel with the manic energy of Lola the puppy.
• This continues for the 30-40 minutes of our walk. We weave in and out of trees, fire hydrants, fences, and basically every other impediment we can find to the point where it sorta feels like I'm on a very specific episode of Ninja Warrior.
• We wander back to their house and Angus bounds up the steps as I holster Lola like a furry lil pistol and carry her up to the door. I loose both dogs from their chains and release them into their chambers. They ramble around for a bit and then I massage an unwilling Lola back into her crate. Angus, seeing everything is up to snuff, somersaults back up the stairs into his dimension.

Angus, in his natural state.

A few bits of flavor text that didn't fit in those bullets: Angus likes to set the pace and direction of our walks and in super cute Frenchie puppy fashion, Lola clearly imitates him and follows his lead. She literally makes the same movements as he does. If I had ovaries, I'm sure they would be glowing with radiant motherly energy. Lola ain't no follower though. As you can see in the first picture in this entry, Lola LOVES to grab Angus's leash in her mouth and essentially walk him around. I don't have the heart to tell her that if he wanted to, given the laws of physics, Angus could slingshot her into the troposphere if he wished. Let the wee Frenchie dream. Lastly, Angus had to have a pill thrice daily, which was administered by me with a healthy dose of peanut butter. I know dogs and panut butter have a healthily reported history, but I wish something made me as HAPPY as peanut butter makes Angus. Well...to be honest, I guess peanut butter makes me as happy as peanut butter makes Angus happy. Those with low standards can NEVER be disappointed! All hail George Washington Carver and his edible happiness salve!

Lola, trying out her brand new facial expression: "bitewinking".

Woah, almost went back into that weird territory. Glad to know I still have that gear available. Anyways, I had a wonderful time with these two kooks. If you see them out, give them a stoic head nod from me. And maybe some peanut butter. In fact, if you see me, give me the same.

Sean

The Big Easy: Nola's Grand Adventure

I'm happy to introduce you all to Nola, one of my favorite doggos to walk. She's a fine ol' Southern belle of a black lab who, in true New Orleans fashion, loves eating green beans. 

A not very great photograph of a very great dog about to enjoy a healthy snack.

To be totally honest, I've never checked to confirm if Nola's name is in any way related to the deeelightful burg of New Orleans. However, in true Doggy Blog fashion, I have constructed an elaborate narrative about Nola's early life in the antebellum South and her subsequent escape to a new life in north side Chicago. Let's dive in with a beautiful bulleted list—also in true Doggy Blog fashion!

• 1867 AD, New Orleans, LA. Nola is enjoying life as a soothsayer in the French Quarter, trading her mystical abilities for green beans. She comes from a mysterious lineage, known for magical abilities and looong lifespans. Her business is booming in the recently upended Southern cultural and economical ecosystem, as many citizens seek a new direction in the occult. Nola, as any sound businesswoman would, expands her business into the apothecarian arts: tonic brewing, protective salt crystallization, alchemical tinctures, potion bottling, etc. Things are good.
• 1872 AD, New Orleans, LA. Casie Blount, of the much respected and oft feared Louisiana Blounts, saunters into Nola's now well-established shop looking for a nerve tonic to soothe her jittery hysteria. Nola, aware of the import of this transaction and thus a bit nervous herself, reaches for her popular "Ms. Nola's Pacifying Potion, No. IV". Unfortunately, in her anxious stupor, she accidentally grabs "Ms. Nola's Pacifying Potion, No. III," essentially a diluted rodent poison. She accepts Ms. Blount's bag of Confederate currency and bids her adieu.
• Later that same day. Ms. Blount, after drinking said potion, is poisoned and passes away, hand still clutching the rose-tinted bottle. A mob is formed and Ms. Nola is chased from her shop, and subsequently town. She heads north.
• 1968 AD, Chicago, IL. Nola has wandered the continental United States for nearly 100 years, haunted by the lingering influence of the Blount family. In an effort to conceal her identity, she had become a resolute Democrat and fervent opponent of the war in Vietnam. Running in these circles had introduced Nola to many movers and shakers, many of whom  dabbled in the apothecarian arts that had brought Nola such fame and eventual misfortune. While attending a protest at the Democratic National Convention, Nola was stopped by a policeman. Upon seeing his badge and name, Nola was aghast: printed in bold, san serif font on the policeman's lapel was the name "Blount". Clearly the Blount family passed down a likeness of Nola over the last century, and the officer recognized her immediately. Nola turned to flee, reaching into her pocket for a small vial given to her by Timothy Leary, labeled "For Emergencies Only." Nola ducked down an alleyway and quaffed the black liquid. This, as you probably already guessed, transformed her into a black lab just as Officer Blount turned the corner. Blount, finding no evidence of the Louisianian soothsayer, picked up the kindly black lab and ironically adopted her.
• 1998 AD, Chicago, IL. Over the years, she gains his trust and finally explains her side of the story to Officer Blount on his death bed. He forgives her with his last breath, and Nola feels at peace for the first time in years.
• 2016 AD, Chicago, IL (north side). I begin walking Nola. After several walks, green beans, and head scratches, I gain her confidence and hear tell of this amazing story. And with her permission, and to ease the burden of over a century of guilt and persecution, I now share it with you.

Nola, relieved after telling me her life story after a beautiful springtime walk.

And that's basically the story of Nola the sweet ol' black lab. She's a wonderful creature, wise, friendly, very stubborn in her walking tendencies and not afraid to pull a mere Yankee like me around like a kite with legs.

Here's to many more walks with Nola, a proud ol' Southern belle with a heart of gold!

Sean

As a palate cleanser after that story, here's my fave pic of Nola. She's the cutest.

Dogwalking 101: The Humble Fanny Pack

The fanny pack is an essential tool in the warm weather dogwalker's toolkit. In the colder months, one can put the myriad keys, bags, notecards, sunglasses, treats, etc. in one's jacket pockets. This is not the case in the warm and humid Chicago spring and summer, where wearing a jacket would essentially put you in the same camp perspirationally as a college wrestler trying to suck down those last five pounds. The fanny pack frees you to shed those pesky outer layers AND gives you 4-6 external pockets of various sizes. Now, that is VALUE.

Josh, demonstrating the VALUE of the fanny pack out and about in the city.

Full disclosure: I've been touting the VALUE of the fanny pack for years now, with varying levels of disgust from my significant other, friends, familly, clergy, etc. I believe it started on the rugby pitch, where you are forced to wear pocketless rugby shorts. This isn't much of a problem during the game, but afterwards when you're icing up your knees and drinking a covert beer on sidelines, pockets are a necessity. I took to wearing a fanny pack to rugby games probably back in 2008 and I haven't really slowed down since. I won't lie to you, dear readers, it's taken not a small amount of bravery to continue to man the battlements of Fanny Pack Castle all these years. To proudly wear the fanny pack in the dark years where it was relegated to the realm of nerdy dads and that weird kid from high school that always ran between classes was not easy. But god dammit, a man without principles isn't a man at all.

Still life with Sean's fanny pack, a prime blend of utility and flair. A bit worn down.

However, mine eyes have noticed a recent uptick in the number of outwardly "cool lookin'" guys and gals (sound more like an alien Sean, really) wearing the formerly maligned accessory. Dare I say, the ultimate in hipcentric pocketry is indeed becoming HIP in its own right? GUYS I CAN'T HELP MYSELF, THIS ENTIRE BLOG POST WAS DESIGNED TO MAKE THAT ONE JOKE WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE—bullllllleted list save me from myselllllllf:

Benefits of the fanny pack

• External pockets. I know I mentioned this before, but it needs some more detail. Typically, you get one large main pocket and one smaller front pocket. These are the workhorses of the pack. They'll carry your wallet, keys, phone, notecards, a beer, etc. However, on any fanny pack that is worth its mettle you also get two smaller satellite pockets on the sides. These are the darkhorses of the FP, and can fit any number of interesting itemry. Recently I've found that if you put a roll of dog bags in one and half zip it, you can pull them out individually without the whole roll popping out. LIVING THE DREAM OVER HERE.

• Fashion statement/creative expression. The fanny pack is like a billboard for your pelvis. It gives you another avenue to express WHO. YOU. ARE. as a person through color and assorted pins or patches. Keep it light with the pins tho, dogs hate that Hot Topic vibe (especially golden retrievers—can you imagine a less "Hot Topic" breed than the sunny golden?). We at Home Treat Home recommend you go sporty and fun with your pack: think bright colors, exotic zipper angles, slung low on the hip. However, if you're going to go utilitarian, at least add some flair.

• Unanimous appreciation and jealousy from the public. If I'm not getting stopped whilst walking Mr. Cooper, I'm usually getting stopped by people asking where I got that fly fanny pack. They're all like, "Damn, that fanny is lookin' dope kid!" and I'm like "Thanks BRO!" even if it's a lady and then we do a three-way high five with whatever dog I'm walking and there's a freeze frame and then cue J. Geils Band's "Freeze Frame" and roll credits. I would say, conservatively, this happens every single day.

• The word "fanny". The word "fanny" is amazing. It's childish and antiquated and is probably the politest way to say "butt" (though I've heard different definitions from our friends across the pond). And you don't really ever have the chance to say it—unless you are wearing the pack that proudly displays the term like a god damn badge.

Those really cover all the bases, I think. It's hard to argue with pure utility, radiant creative expression, near-constant public adoration, and the word fanny.

Wrong kind of dog fanny pack.

We at Home Treat Home predict a bright future for the fanny pack, and are adjusting our investment portfolio accordingly. In fact, and I shouldn't even mention this, our diligent Home Treat Home technicians are busy in the lab (pun intended) working on a fanny pack just for dogs. Think of the possibilities. A world of dogs with fanny packs and wraparound sunglasses, playing volleyball on the beach and high fiving. It's almost too beautiful to imagine.

The one thing we need is a fancy name for our new creation. Please comment here or on our Facebook page with your best names for a fanny pack for dogs (not the abomination to the left here, that's the wrong kind). Happy Friday everyone, grab a fanny pack and get out there!

Sean

We <3 Lucy

Lucy, looking like the damn MGM lion.

Lucy is a recent addition to the growing stable of stellar Home Treat Home canine talent, and we could not be happier about it. Shar Peis are not especially common, and especially not shar peis of Lucy's pedigree (she is related to a top show dog but I have been sworn to secrecy and cannot say any more about that ever). Now I should say that we don't treat our dogs like Pokémon and we love and value them all equally—but it is pretty cool to see a rare breed every once in a while. And I mean, they're undenialby cool looking. Foldy faces. Eyes hidden behind said voluminous folds. Billowing lips. Curiously flapping nose. What do the Shar Peis hide under all that extra dermis? Secrets? McGuffins? Mysterium tremendum et fascinans.

Back to reality. I actually walked Lucy several months ago when she was a puppy, but since she was literally a quarter of the size she is now, I did not recognize her when I was reacquainted last week. For hardcore Doggy Blog followers, I walked Lucy with HTH social media stalwart Captain, but before you ask I DON'T HAVE A PICTURE OF THIS BLESSED OCCASION FOR SOME REASON. Needless to say, if you can perform a mental age regression program on the picture at the top, Lucy was extremely cute as a puppy. She's still cute, but the Platonic "puppiness" has matured into that wise, all-knowing radiance that exudes from all corners of her many wrinkles.

Lucy has very little time for puny mortal concerns like leash maintenance.

Related to this, I have been stopped more on the street in regards to Lucy than I have with any other dog. Actually, likely every other dog I've been walking combined—if you take out Cooper from the equation. And bear in mind, I've only been walking her for a week. It's definitely the rarity and resplendence of the Shar Pei mythos that caused this spike in street questioning, but it's been fun. Here's a typical exchange:

Passerby: Hey! What kinda dog is that?
Me: A Shar Pei!
P: A sharpie? Don't smell like no sharpie...
M: No, a SHAR PEI.
P: Oh, you mean the traditional Chinese breed, whose name comes from the British translation of a Cantonese word meaning "sand skin" and whose fierce loyalty and fighting ability made them a particular favorite of Chinese emperors in the Han Dynasty?
M: ...
P: Yeah yeah, that's the one. Did you know that the Western Shar Pei looks quite different than the traditional Eastern breed? And in fact, denizens of Southern China, Hong-Kong, and Macau call the Western breed "meat mouth" or "bone mouth" to differentiate the two?
M: Please don't talk to me or my large adult canine daughter Lucy ever again.

That for sure happened. Actually a lot of that came from the extensive research (Wikipedia and Wikipedia adjacent websites) that I do on these Doggy Blogs. I also learned this fact about shar peis: 

The Shar Pei's loose skin and extremely prickly coat were originally developed to help the dogs fend off wild boar, as they were used to hunt...These enhanced traits made the Shar Pei difficult to grab and hold on to, and so that if a boar did manage to hold on, the Shar Pei would still have room to maneuver and bite back; when grabbed by any loose wrinkle, a Shar Pei can actually twist in their skin and face in their opponent's direction...they would twist in their skin to bite the assailant back.

That's amazing. Arguments about selective dog breeding aside (and there are many, many points to be made on that topic), developing excess neck and head skin to increase manuverability in an altercation is banana nuts crazy. It would be like if a boxer got really very obese, then had liposuction without any skin removal surgery in an attempt to accrue enough extra skin to be able to "twist in his skin" to counterpunch his opponent. It would be like fighting the drapes. Or a man draped in fleshy beach towels.

Well that's just too many weird words there, Sean.

Just one of the best dogheads out there. Now also featuring curly tail.

In closing, one additional fact about Shar Peis that isn't going to rapidly devolve into analogies about morbidly obese and surgically naive boxers. Their tongues are blackish blue. Yes, like giraffes. This is the go to fact I give to passersby when they ask any question past "What kind of dog is that?" One last scenario—featuring a notably different passerby than the earlier example—before I let you go:

Passerby: So now that I've asked you what kind of dog that is, is there anything else you'd like to tell me about this incredible creature that I might not know?
Me: They have blackish blue tongues.
P: WHAT? THAT IS AMAZING.
M: I KNOW RIGHT. Apparently the Chinese believed that the fearsome hue of the tongue was enough to scare off evil spirits. Although I'm sure that that simple explanation has been watered down over the years and forced through the filter of cultural differences. What's ultimately more interesting is why a black-blue tongue would exist in the first place, genetically speaking of course. Although, why do tongues have to be pink? I guess the entire inside of the mouth is pink. Is it the high concentration of blood in the tissues of the head paired with the generally thinner/moister skin? Or maybe...
P: (walked away several minutes before)
Me to Lucy: Hmm. That genial old man must have been INFESTED with evil djinn magic. He left so early into that riveting conversation. Good work shooing him away, Luce.

I think we've achieved the perfect balance of lunacy and dog backstory in this entry! Good work everyone! All praise be to Lucy, First of Her Name, the Unironed, Queen of the Wrinkled and the Draped Men, Pupleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Leashes, and Mother of Drooling!

I am so sorry for that last one.

Sean
 

Dogwalking 101: Raining Cats and...

Note: I couldn't bring myself to complete that pun in the title. I apologize for my lack of moral fortitude in this matter.

Josh and Bernie, in WATERcolor. Get it?!

Good morning everyone! If you live in Chicago, you know that it has been a rainy week so far. If you are a dog owner, you also know how much of a hassle this is when you're out walking your pup. Some dogs Greg Louganis themselves directly into the nearest (deepest) puddle. Some dogs go for a Warrior Dash through the nearest muddy patch of grass. Some dogs revel in the chaotic precipitation and throw their heads up to the heavens uttering exultant WOOFs and beckoning the gods for more sky tears.  Some dogs—and these are the smart ones—have ZERO time for the rain and get done with their business as quickly as possible to get back inside. No matter what type of dog you have, it's always gonna be a bit of a handful when it's raining. Here are some tips that we've found help out in the spring showers:

• Umbrella. This is an absolute necessity for the walker, but with smaller dogs it can also shield a lot of the wet from them. Larger dogs often do not fit, or do not care to fit underneath the purview of the parapluie, but it can be worth a try. Also, an umbrella is just a weird looking object and I believe dogs are mystified by its workings. Use this to your advantage.
• Raincoat. For sure for you, for the dog if possible. If you don't have a raincoat for your pup, it's a worthwhile investment. Not only is it practical, but it makes the dog look like a people. Dog lookin' like a people is always a fun. Note: This holds even if you have an umbrella. The rain will get through. It always gets through. Always.
• Bring a towel (or paper towels if you hate the Earth). This is used to dry off the pups back, paws, back paws, head, belly, soul, etc. However, it is also useful to towel off your boots or shoes if your canine companion has done the patented "post #2 back paw shovel mud kick" and you were unfortunate enough to be in the way. Also, if you are a spectacled dogwalker like I am, you can use the towel to dry off your glasses. I know what your'e saying: "Won't that make your glasses smudgy?" Probably yes. But I tend to give up all hope in the rain, so I don't really mind. Also good if your dog wears glasses.
• Walk at a reasonable pace and seek trees for cover. In my middle school days I recall having many discussions about whether you would get more wet if you stood still/walked slowly in a rainstorm or if you ran as fast as you could home. The thought being that if you walked slowly, your journey would be longer and thus you would collect rainwater on your person longer, but you could more easily seek shelter. If you ran, we theorized, your journey would be shorter but you would be essentially propelling yourself into more raindrops. I have no idea if that is proven out by physics, but it seemed to make sense. I was always a runner as a child, but now that I have joined the ranks of umbrellamen, I tend towards slow deliberate walks. This bears out when you have a dog. Don't try to rush through the walk, you'll get more wet, your 'brella will turn inside out, you will hit more puddles. It's a mess. Walk slow and seek trees my friends.
• Pop your phone in a sandwich bag. This is a good tip for anytime it's raining, but GREAT for dogwalking. You can still use a touchscreen through a sandwich bag but the rain cannot use your phone to make it a useless hunk of worthless glass and aluminium. And if you're clever you can peek your headphones out of the corner and listen to cool podcasts like I do Extra tip: only listen to music or podcasts with one headphone in so you can listen for other dogs/cars/belligerent strangers.
• Bring a waterproof backpack. This is more of a luxury item, but a very valuable one. If you've walked with us before, you know that we leave little pastel notecards with witty aphorisms and walknotes on them. These dissolve in the rain. However, they stay dry as hot sand in my waterproof bike bag. Other things that stay dry in waterproof bags: extra sweatshirt, extra jacket, towel, lembas bread, etc.
• An item to sacrifice to Nimbus, the pagan god of storms. This is a must-have. You should bring some sort of religious idol or artifact to sacrifice to Nimbus, the pagan god of storms, to beg of him to end the rain. This item should be completely burned to ash and then thrown into the Pool of Nimbus (any random puddle).

Well those are all the tips that we at Home Treat Home have for surviving these rainy days. Stay dry friends! All hail Nimbus!

Sean

April May Juniper July

This may alarm some readers, but I am no huge fan of gin. Something about the Christmas tree taste turns me off—although pine is one of my favorite scents, I've never had the desire to grab a cone and start noshing (or quaffing for that matter). After some cursory research, I found that the juniper berry is not actually berry but actually the female seed cone of the juniper tree. Essentially it is a very small, tightly wound pinecone. So you're drinking pinecone tea when you enjoy a gin martini. Congratulations.

Juniper in repose.

So with that educational tirade out of the way, I can now officially say that Juniper the dog is the ONLY juniper that I do currently enjoy. In fact, she's a bit of a tightly wound pinecone herself. Juniper is an Australian shepherd/collie mix of some sort as far as I can tell, with a lil bobbed tail and a penchant for good, long, ACTIVE walkin'. I have just recently began walking her, and it's already quite the lovefest. She's always super psyched to see me wander into her dojo and is super eager to get her leash on and JUST GET ON WITH THE OUTSIDE TIMES OKAY SEAN? Sometimes when she's really very quite too much excited, she can piddle a teeny bit on the floor—but honestly, who among us isn't guilty of that from time to time? On the rare occasions when that does happen it's always barely a thimble full, so it takes roughly one paper towel to clean up and then we're out and about.

The picture above (above and to the right? I'm never sure how this website renders on peoples' various devices) is what happens when we cease our stroll for really any reason at all. First we stop moving, then Juniper sits, then she twists her jaunty lil frame up like a damn pretzel to get some good scratchin' (read: lightly kicking herself in the head and neck) in. It's very reliable and very cute to watch. I always pitch in with some head scratches when this happens. Although, when walkin' a spark plug like Juniper, it's best to keep moving.

Juniper casting her investigatory eye at me, complete with creepy smile.

Juniper takes time on our strolls to investigate every squirrel, construction worker, puddle, pigeon, or presumed morsel of food that enters her range of vision. If you give her too much lead on the leash, she will saunter up to all these distractions and either pounce at (squirrel, pigeon, morsel of food) or jump onto (construction worker, puddle). She's never gotten close to actually getting a squirrel, pigeon, or morsel of food, but she gives it the ol' college try. She has popped up on the legs of a construction worker a few times, but luckily she's so damn cute that no one ever minds. The puddles I'd rather not speak of, given the proclivity of Chicago's skies to open up and curse me with sheets of water whenever I speak ill of them.

Also, related to Juniper's investigatory spirit, if YOU ever have the opportunity to walk her—which is admittedly probably close to a 0% chance unless of course you are her owner reading this—you should definitely try this (in convenient bullet form!):

• Stop in your tracks
• Say "Hey! Hey Juniper!" to Juniper
• Wait as she cranes her neck and beams at you
• Wait more as she gathers the energy to spring up at you like a portly kid with Moon Shoes
• Brace for impact
• Enjoy as Juniper maniacally hugs and attempts to lick you as long as you deem necessary
• Return to your regularly scheduled walk
• Repeat

The three photos above represent the evolution of the bulleted list from above. I was unable to take a picture of her hugging and jumping and licking because my phone was nearly knocked from my hand shortly after the third photo in the series. As I said before, Juniper is a relatively new walk so this jumpy lil relationship should only get better from here on out. Expect a check in with her in the near future, I can't wait to see how she enjoys the actual summer weather in Chicago. I imagine it will be ADORABLE.

Three cheers for Juniper's energetic friendliness!

Sean

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.