My Life Under the Desk

While this picture is old (or at least shows me in my younger years), it represents how my days are spent when I am a "working dog" hanging out under my mom's desk at school. It's not all I do, but lets just say, I don't have free rein in the classroom.

I read with students, which is fun, but does require me lying down; I wander around following my mom doing errands, teaching, and visiting the copy machine; and on occasion, I sniff around the room and eventually snuggle up by some student's feet and fall asleep.

But there are times during the day when sleeping under my mom's desk is exactly what I need. No one accidentally steps on my tail, I don't fall victim to dropped goodies -- cookies, candy, or colored pencils -- and frankly, in-line with my innate nature to seek out caves like my wolf ancestors, I get to feel more comfortable with a roof over my head.

It's an exhausting life really, though no one has any sympathy for me since I am surrounded by girls who pet me incessantly or play tug with me when I'm bored or find my ball when I nose it under the file cabinets. Still think about it for a minute: This is my pack and I must stay diligent in protecting them from intruders. Some of the "flock" stray and I must alert the "authorities" that someone is lagging behind or racing ahead. Running in the halls, screaming with delight, and even the occasional argument all need my attention.

And I am attentive. So attentive, in fact, that after a full day at school, I am bushed. Completely. Totally. Bushed.

The Poser

We went to the river this weekend. A long car ride followed by a romp around the cabin smelling all the animal life that had passed since my last visit (a year ago). It was warm and sunny and I felt compelled to pose on the bench by the river. No prompting, no commands, just the desire to be higher up, posing. If you click on the picture you'll see the perfection of this picture is marred by a pine needle on my whiskers!

And then the shot by the river. I was desperately waiting for someone to fetch my blue ball that had dropped over the embankment, through a snow patch and lodged itself next to a rock. I was unable to wiggle it free so by posing stoically by the edge of the river, I knew I'd get someone's attention some time soon. It worked.

Finally today...they ate lunch and I cooled myself on a mound of snow. We'd hiked in the heat and my belly on the chill of white was a perfect way to end a perfect weekend.

If you look closely, you can see my blue ball at my chest between my legs. I never travel without it!

The Games We Play

I know I'm a lucky dog. I have lots and lots of great toys. They're kept in a woven basket in the family room. I ignore them most days, but every once in awhile, a toy calls to me.

And so I dig.

Inevitably, the toy calling is at the bottom of the basket and though its scent is strong, I must work very hard to find it.

I bury my head in the basket, locate the specific toy, and then toss out the ones in the way.

This can take quite awhile and though my moms are intent on watching the NCAA Women's Final Four Basketball game, I dig and sniff and dig and toss until I find the exact toy I want.


Occasionally, I lift my head to take a breath. It's hard work though it may not look like it. My moms aren't really any help. They just sit on the couch, watch the game, and throw out some encouraging words like, "Good dog" or "Keep digging, fella!"

But finding the toy is up to me and me alone. It's Zen in a way. Sole focus, in the now, dogged determination...(a puppy pun that is!)...and eventually, eventually I get to the bottom of that basket to find my nemesis...the toy calling my name.


This time it was a bone, one my best friend Monty had chewed on the night before. His scent was still on it and, in fact, it was his scent that knew my name.

Oh, the games we play.