The Ordeal of Socks

November 28th, 2017

Here Comes My Treat

There was a time when I could put on a pair of socks in the morning and by evening, they were relatively clean.  Living with a Newfoundland dog has meant getting use to wearing wet socks or changing into another pair.  I enjoy dry, clean ones for about 20 minutes at the start of my day.  Once I bring Bailey in from her first business stroll of the day, the condition of my socks drastically changes.  I spend a few minutes training Bailey once the snow is removed from her paws at the front door.  She looks forward to this time with much anticipation.  Her successful response to a series of commands means enjoying savoury treats.  On this particular day, the treat was dried salmon chunks.  I waited in the kitchen for Bailey to perform the last two commands – come and sit.  She came faster than usual, drawn by the fish scent.  Bailey sat beside me.  CloserI signalled her to move in closer to my leg.  As she did, her eyes locked with mine.  Bailey lifted her front right paw and leaned in closer to the treat coming towards her wide gapping mouth.  Unfortunately for me, she shifted her weight onto the paw as it connected with my badly sprained toe that had recently started to heal from swelling and bruising.  I gave Bailey her treat and pushed her over.  But, it was not far enough.

Drool FlowsA long rope of drool dripped down to land on the top of my sock that contained the aching toe.  I could see more of it coming.  The closest drool rag was hanging on the fridge door, a few steps away.  I limped quickly over to the door.  However, when I went to grab it, I failed to notice a pool of drool dropped by our girl on her way into the kitchen.  But, I did feel my sock come in contact with the gooey substance.  I lost my footing and began to descend into the splits.  I never could do the splits as a teenager.  It was certainly not going to happen in my middle age years.  At the last minute, I rolled to one side – helped by Bailey.  Seeing that no more treats were coming, Bailey had decided to retreat to the living room for her early morning siesta.  Our kitchen has only one exit.  She squeezed herself between the fridge and me.  The fridge obviously wouldn’t budge.  I had to make room for her to get by.  While the drool rag hung still on the fridge door, she gave a slobbery wet nuzzle on my cheek as she passed.  I was left wedged between the fridge door and the garbage can.  I slowly picked myself up.  I looked at the condition of my left sock.  It was wet and slimy on the top and bottom. I  resorted to using the drool rag not on the Newf but, on myself.  It wasn’t worth putting on a new pair.  After all, my right sock was still looking good.  I then noticed Bailey’s kennel water dish lying on the counter and decided to take it out to the kennel.  Halfway across the entry room tile, I hit another goo patch with the right sock.  I did an unexpected lunge as my right sock slide forward.  I could see it was time to throw in the socks and start fresh with another pair.



Drag Queen

November 21st, 2017

Everyone in our household has experienced being dragged by Bailey since bringing her home.  Other Newfoundland dog owners have shared their own unfortunate drag stories with us.  There’s comfort knowing you are not alone.  As she matured and became better trained, these unpleasant incidents became less frequent.  But, once in a while, Bailey will take us by surprise.  Last week, I was shocked to learn that my walking partner had such a mishap with our girl.  It’s no longer only a family affair.  We were hiking our usual trail route in the afternoon and had just turned around at the end of the second sandpit.  The numerous snowfalls combined with the lack of snowmobilers to pack the deep snow down made going further impossible.  My knee was acting up again from slogging through drifted snow over the past few days.  So, we turned back, knowing that our two dogs would be short-changed on distance.  They were just happy to be off-leash.  We watched as they chased and tackled one another. Perhaps, we got too comfortable with the status quo.  The two of us became engrossed in our conversation when suddenly it was interrupted.

Cas, an almost 50 pound lab/husky cross, barked and took off up the side of the sandpit towards the road overlooking the area.  He leapt over the snow with grace.  What had caught his attention?  To our horror, he was heading towards a lady and her two dogs who themselves were off-leash.  Our dogs are not allowed on this road which is used by snowmobiles going at high speeds.  Cas and Bailey lack any road sense.  Before I could get Bailey back on leash, she was eagerly chasing after her pal.  My friend tried to reassure me that Bailey would not get far up the steep embankment covered in deep snow.  She was wrong.  Our girl was not going to let an almost 70 degree angled slope discourage her from reaching Cas and his newly found friends.  No matter that she stands forever in front of our two wide steps leading from the garage into our home’s entry area.  I often wonder if she is waiting for me to lift her. A nudge or two usually does the trick and she clambers up.  Obviously, this steep slope didn’t deter her.  Bailey bulldozed her way through the snow.  She was determined.  I blew the whistle to no avail.  Both of us realized that they were not coming back anytime soon.  My friend volunteered to climb the slope to get them.  But, I knew the two dogs would be a handful especially when one of them is an excited Newfoundland dog.  She began trudging up the embankment.

I decided to go back where we had come from and work my way over to the road.  Then, if the woman continued on her walk with Bailey trailing behind, I could meet up with them.  Since my knee surgery last year and almost an entire year of physiotherapy exercises, I have not regained the ability to move fast.  I attempted to speed walk which became impossible through the deep snow.  With a grouping of densely packed trees between me and the entourage of dogs, I lost sight of what was happening.  I cursed Bailey and my bad luck as I huffed and puffed along.  I stumbled a few times sideways which did not help my knee.  Each step became more painful.  Yet, my concern for the dogs drove me to continue.  I finally reached the road and saw that the woman had waited.  Although I could not hear what was being said, I noticed that Bailey had responded by sitting down in front of my friend.  By the time I arrived, everything seemed under control.  I apologized to the woman who seemed unfazed by the whole experience.  We were lucky.  My friend was leashing her dog as Bailey looked up at me, pleased with herself.  I struggled to leash her as she tried a last ditch attempt to get to the other dogs.  The lady finally moved on with her two dogs.  I could tell that Bailey was disappointed that the fun was ending.

My friend filled me in on what had happened in my absence.  She had made it up the hill with some effort.  For safety reasons, she decided to use her leash to restrain Bailey.  My friend is like a second mother to Bailey and didn’t want to risk her getting in the way of a snow machine roaring by.  Unfortunately, her leash is attached to her waist – not a problem with a smaller dog.  However, it is a cardinal rule never to tether a Newfoundland dog to one’s body.  She soon found herself flopping on the ground behind Bailey who was eager to be a part of the dog crowd.  The fact that she weighs a few more pounds than Bailey made no difference.  My friend could not stand her ground.  I reminded her that Bailey had no trouble dragging my husband who is much heavier than Bailey.  I remembered that the lady had her phone out when I got there.  I hoped that the sordid incident was not recorded to become a viral sensation on the web.  My friend assured me that Bailey’s indiscretion had not been filmed.  Whew!!!  She had managed to get herself up and using a very stern voice, commanded Bailey to sit. Thankfully, our girl listened. The whole event has shown me that more training is needed. For now, Bailey will always be our “Drag Queen”.


Cold Shoulder

November 14th, 2017

Dog House

Someone is in the “dog house” and the cold shoulder treatment by Bailey doesn’t seem to be fading quickly.  Something happened at our house that has never occurred since getting Bailey as a 10 week old Newfoundland puppy.  At 9:20 pm, Bailey is always let out into our attached garage for a drink of water.  Our girl is a creature of habit and looks forward to guzzling about half her water bucket.  Afterwards, she is taken on the last business stroll of the night at 9:30 pm.  My husband is once again home with us after working at a mine site in Ontario.  He resumed this nightly ritual for the past two weeks until Sunday night.  I can’t really blame him because he went out later in the evening to shovel snow.  Labrador West had been under winter storm conditions since Friday night.  It left us with lots of snows drifts due to 96 kph winds.  He came in and Bailey was let out for her water.  The other members of the family turned in for the night and he bade us goodnight.  He returned to working on the newspaper’s Sudoku puzzle before heading downstairs to catch up on computer work.  In his mind, he was finished for the night.

I rose up at 5 am on Monday morning as usual.  I soon noticed that the outside front door light was still on.  Although unusual, it has happened before that we forgot to turn it off.  I went about my chores – one involves putting Bailey’s towels and sheets away.  As I was placing a sheet to capture Bailey’s fur snowballs on the front door entry rug, I noticed light coming through a tiny crack in the attached garage’s door frame.  I thought it was odd.  Normally, Bailey sleeps in her garage kennel with a nightlight on and the main lights off.  Clearly, my husband had forgotten the lights.  Then, my eyes fell to the deadbolt. It was unlocked.  The situation began to slowly dawn on me.  Bailey had not been taken out since 5:30 pm on Sunday night.  I wondered if her iron bladder could hold it for the last 12 ½ hours.  From the scent that greeted me as I opened the door,  Bailey had failed.

I found her lying outside her kennel and a large puddle seeping into the cement wall and underneath the rubber flooring.  It wasn’t her fault but, I could tell that she was upset about peeing in her kennel.  Thankfully, my husband was sleeping.  I had time to cool off as Bailey was quickly whisked outside much to her relief.  We returned and I noticed her water bucket had only an inch of water remaining.  She had filled herself up to the max.  I sopped up the pee pooled on the rubber flooring in the kennel.  I was thankful that I had procrastinated with cleaning her kennel on the weekend.  Snowshoeing on the local cross-country trails seemed more inviting to me.  Now, I had an incentive to wash the walls and flooring down after a very wet and muddy fall.  It was going to be a bigger job than normal because the rubber matting had to be pulled out.  The job could wait until I had my second cup of coffee followed by the daily morning hike with friends.

As I sipped my coffee, my husband came out to say good morning.  I summarized “my morning” to him.  I knew he had not done it intentionally.  We agreed to tackle dismantling the kennel when I got back.  But, he was feeling guilty.  I seized the moment to request crepes for breakfast upon my return after the hike.  When I arrived back, the kennel was dismantled, the boys were fed and hot crepes were waiting for me.  All was forgiven by me.  Our girl was another story.  Bailey didn’t go to him like she always does with her tail wagging.  She remained lying down and ignored him.  Bailey was miffed and the cold shoulder treatment wasn’t stopping anytime soon.  Tonight, Bailey showed some signs of warming up to my husband as he scratched under her chin.  I don’t think Bailey has to worry about him forgetting about her again.  She’s better at working the guilt than I am.


Wasn’t That A Party

November 7th, 2017

Too Late.jpg

Our girl had her first sleepover party.  She lives in a singleton dog household.  So, it should not come as a surprise that Bailey was excited about sharing her turf with another four-legged friend.  It was a test run.  We wanted to see if her best pal, Cas, would be comfortable staying with us.  If so, he will spend 3 days and 2 nights at the end of November while his owners are away.  Both families were curious to see how the two dogs would behave while spending the night together.  Friday night came and the pals enjoyed their nightly playtime at the ball field.  They seemed a little confused when both of them returned to our house.  Since Cas was familiar with playing in our garage, we let them chase one another around.  Our friends tried to quietly sneak out with no luck. Cas was on to them.  They did finally manage to squeeze out the door without him.  Thirty minutes of active play appeared to work at tiring the two pals out.

Bailey peeked out of her kennel pen to watch me groom Cas including doing his teeth and ears.  I couldn’t believe how quick it was to groom him.  Cas is a short-haired black lab/husky cross, weighing in at just under 50 pounds.  Everyone in our family has picked Mr. Light-As-A-Feather up and marvelled that we could.  Our days of carrying Bailey ended long ago.  I think around 5 months.  Bailey is hefty and needs two people to heave her into the bathtub.  My husband pulled his shoulder on the last occasion.  Needless to say, she doesn’t get bathed inside very often.  Once he was finished, Cas scampered into the house from the garage.  He was preoccupied with the new scene and took little notice of Bailey flopping down in the entry area for her nightly spa treatment.  He scouted out the kitchen and spotted the heavenly smelling roaster before trotting back through the dining area to the living room.  A glass door separated them so Bailey could enjoy her groom without distraction.  She snored happily as I brushed out her coat.  Cas pressed his muzzle up to the one of the glass panes, eager to see his pal.  The few whines that escaped from his mouth did not register with our sleep comatose girl.  It wasn’t until she was flipped over onto the other side and facing towards him that Bailey realized Cas was in “her” house.  She jumped up quickly, a rarity, and charged to the door.  I called her back to finish grooming – another 30 minutes passed before the sleepover could get into full swing.

The SnacksBailey barrelled into the living room, ready to play and tussle.  I squashed that idea with a simple, yet sternly given command of “down Bailey’s blanket”.  She stretched out alongside the sofa.  With his playmate out of commission, Cas resigned himself to laying down in front of the loveseat.  We began watching a movie which was interesting but, Cas had other plans.  Several whines and a couple of quickly interrupted howls of misery from Cas later, Bailey gave him the “stink-eye” as if to say, “Just go to sleep.  It is way past my bedtime.”  The situation reminded me of a sleepover where there is always one child who refuses to go to sleep much to the disgust of those wanting to sleep.  He settled down for a while but, started whimpering again after half an hour.  We tried to reassure him but, Bailey, sensing her friend’s distress, moved closer to nuzzle him.  Her efforts helped greatly and he relaxed.  Sleepover PalsAround 9 o’clock, they were taken for one last business break before returning to the kennel.  Bailey was wagging her tail at being locked in with Cas.  Cas appeared shocked that he would be spending the night with his big, woolly mammoth friend.  The two friends peered out from the kennel at us, illuminated by a nightlight.  “Good night”, we said as the garage door closed.  I slept fitfully as I dreamt of what Bailey and Cas might get up to.  I need not have worried.  Do Not WorryThey were fine.  Both of them were wagging their tails in anticipation of going outside for an early morning romp.  My son and I got them ready and headed out for a walk around the block.  Once the walk was completed, I gathered his stuff up and walked him down to his house for homecoming celebration meal.  I returned without him and Bailey needed no encouragement to lie down.  She made it as far as the front entry rug before crashing. It would appear that not a lot of sleep took place at the party.


Mona Lisa Newf

October 25th, 2017

Bailey Head Shot.jpg

It is funny how one discovers features on electronic devices.  Way back in the good old days before the internet, these items came with written manuals.  Nowadays, you are lucky to get a pamphlet explaining operational features because most manuals are found on-line.  I learn best when I see it in hardcopy rather than on a screen.  So, I never figured out how to use the special features on my digital camera.  What usually happens is that I have just taken a photo and suddenly a screen appears offering options.  I don’t have a clue as to what button was pressed.  On the viewer screen, the photo has been enhanced using techniques like fish bowl or paintbrush.  I sometimes like the effect and manage to save it, although I couldn’t tell you how.  As luck would have it, I snapped a recent photo of Bailey and the paintbrush option came up.  Bailey’s photo was transformed instantly into a watercolour portrait.  The reality is that she would never have posed long enough for me to paint her.  That’s assuming that I could paint and I can’t.  Technology offers hope to those of us who lack artistic talent.  This photo of our sweetness won’t adorn a big city gallery wall.  However, as a screen saver, she is greatly admired by her adoring fans.


The Mellow Yellow Lick

October 17th, 2017

Tongue Licking Good

The north is often associated with the call of the wild.  In our house, it is the “Call of the Butter Wrapper”.  Bailey can be in a deep sleep, more or less dead to the world, oblivious to anything going on around her.  Bailey Sleeping DeeplySuddenly, she bolts up at the sound of the wrapper being peeled off the butter block.  No matter how quiet that I try to be, her ears are genetically-trained to hone in on this noise.  Bailey is quick to make her way to the kitchen in the hopes of licking the wrapper clean before it is no longer available.  There was a time prior to Bailey’s arrival when I saved these butter wrappers by storing them in the freezer.  They accumulated faster than I could use them to grease baking pans.  Nowadays, the stash is non-existent due to Bailey’s insistence of licking them clean.


Today was no different. I spent the latter part of the morning making pumpkin raisin muffins.  Butter was needed in the recipe.  So, out came the butter.  Bailey was sleeping belly up and barely on her blanket.  She was exhausted from her morning trail walk and romp in the snow with dog pal, Cas.  The crinkle of the wrapper awoke our butter enthusiast from her slumber.  By the time I had unwrapped it completely, Bailey was waiting with drool pooling on the floor.  I pulled down the dishwasher door and placed a towel in front of it to minimize the clean-up.  The Wrapper LickHer tongue darted out and within seconds, the wrapper was spotless.  Of course, I had the task of wiping the drool from her muzzle, ruff, and legs.  Bailey headed back to her still warm spot on the blanket and settled in for more Zzzs.Is There More

I have discovered only recently that Bailey’s mellow yellow passion extends beyond butter.  As I alluded to in the post, “Breathing Down My Neck”, Bailey was attracted to my face.  The source of her fascination was my new shea butter lip balm.  Since wearing it at the start of September, this balm has become somewhat of a challenge to keep Bailey’s tongue at arm’s length away.  The recent cold weather and snowfall has meant that I am applying the balm on my lips daily. I  am usually in close proximity to our “licky lips” newf – bending down to wipe her paws, putting on her collar and grooming her.  The opportunities to sneak a quick taste are numerous.  I have resigned myself to being slimed on some of these occasions.  I have no idea what these two butters have in common but, our gal clearly loves both of them.  I can’t help wonder if opening up a butter wrapper on the trail rather than blowing a whistle might elicit a faster response time to the “Come” command.  One of these days, I will have to put this idea to the test.



A Festive Aroma

October 10th, 2017

The Canadian Thanksgiving holiday weekend has now past.  Our waistlines are slightly larger after days of feasting.  We celebrated on Saturday night, a day earlier than the family normally does.  We invited friends to share in the harvest bounty with us.  The layering of smells began on Friday with the making of the partridge berry sauce – the North’s version of cranberry sauce.  By Saturday morning, I had flaxseed dinner buns baking in the oven.  Some family members were disappointed to learn that the smell of fresh buns was all that they could enjoy.  I specifically clarified that every bun had to be accounted for at dinner – no sampling.  It was a difficult feat for my bun-loving crew to perform.  The next smell to permeate the house was the cooking turkey complete with garlic-flavoured stuffing and roast potatoes.  I almost forgot to make the wild rice with dried apricots.  Fortunately, I remembered with just enough time to spare.  By late afternoon, I had prepared the steamed broccoli and could take a well-deserved break.

Bailey was not oblivious to these wonderful smells lofting through our home.  Her muzzle was on high alert in case any tidbits found their way onto the floor.  She flopped herself down in the kitchen which forced us to step over her to get to the other counter.  Bailey was well aware that a turkey dinner meant a night of licking plates and the glorious roaster.  Our friends were bringing their own contribution to the meal in the form of partridgeberry apple crumble as well as butternut squash lentil stew.  Their arms would be full so we decided to divert disaster from Bailey getting underfoot as she gave her own special Newfie greeting.  Bailey was fed her usual dinner fare in her kennel, located in the attached garage.  Bailey didn’t seem to mind as she followed her food dish being transported out there.  However, she certainly realized the state of affairs when the doorbell buzzed and the voices of her favourite visitors were heard.  She woofed as if to say, “Don’t forget about me?”.  Clearly, Bailey had found herself on the wrong side of the door.  Dinner was ready and people were hungry.  Our girl was without an invitation to the feast which the rest of us enjoyed.

Between the smells and voices, our girl plotted her invasion.  Our tummies needed a break before sampling dessert.  One son began clearing the table and I loaded the dishwasher.  My husband worked on serving the dessert.  Things were going well.  I asked my youngest son to take the pop cans to the garage for recycling.  Bailey was patiently waiting until my unsuspecting son opened the door.  She suddenly charged past him before he could stop her.  “Let her in,” I called.  After all, she had been good.  Bailey circled each person that she encountered on the way to the kitchen – slobbering and whipping her tail back and forth.  As she went through the living room, I heard my eldest son exclaim that Bailey smelt bad.  I asked for clarification from the kitchen and was told it was a poop smell.  I am not quite sure who suggested that she might have stepped in poop while playing with my son in the backyard before dinner.  A quick thinking person opened up the living room windows and sliding glass door.  Our girl had successfully stunk up the house. When Bailey arrived in the kitchen, I caught a whiff of her aromatic scent.  I was rapidly losing my appetite for dessert.  Bailey soon found herself being escorted back to the garage.  Her smell lingered a bit longer even after her departure.  Ironically, our sweetness did not appear to have poop anywhere on her fur after a quick look.  She would need a thorough exam later.  Bathing Bailey seemed unavoidable at this point.  I pushed that thought out of my head for the moment.  Our party once again sat down at the table to sample the fruit crumble.  Of course, it was delicious despite the recent mayhem.

The last of the dishes were placed in the dishwasher and the remaining food was put away.  My friend and I prepared our dogs for the nightly walk.  Try as I might, I could not find the source of Bailey’s pungent odour.   The nightly grooming session was my last chance to solve the mystery.  As I lifted up her tail to brush underneath it, I heard her.  My girl had gas.  I had forgotten about the chopped up broccoli stalks in her dinner.  I had given a very generous portion to her.  Bailey had contributed her own festive aroma to our Thanksgiving Day celebration.  It was a ripper of a good time.