Recharging and Interruptions

It was time for a nap and Molly chose really well - with the Energizer batteries that were recharging.

But then I made a whistling sort of sound and disturbed her.  She looks lopsided here and reminds me quite a bit of a white Grover muppet!  :)

She figured out it was me making that sound in short order, though...

And decided that she'd go back to her napping

but then figured she'd best keep an eye on me.

For my personal remembering...

Healthy Pet: Repel Pests Naturally

Authored by CJ Puotinen on Wednesday, 04-25-2012

How to keep your dog comfortable this season

Winter’s over, and all sort of interesting bugs will soon come a-calling. Unfortunately, many conventional flea and tick treatments contain toxic chemicals that can remain on your pet's fur for weeks. Learn natural strategies for keeping spring from, well, going to the dogs!

Q: How can I keep fleas under control?
A: Try spraying your pet and his bedding with natural products containing neem (gentle to pets but toxic to parasites) to prevent infestation. In addition to fleas, neem can help keep your dog free from ticks, lice, mites, flies, and mosquitoes.

Another natural flea preventive is a homemade spray made of 50 percent apple cider vinegar and 50 percent warm water. For best results, use unfiltered, organic apple cider vinegar that has not been pasteurized. Fill a spray bottle with the solution and spray on your pet’s fur daily. Pay special attention to the base of the tail and behind the ears.

A gentle herbal shampoo that helps repel fleas will contain useful ingredients such as bergamot, citronella, eucalyptus, geranium, juniper, lavender, neem, pine cedar, or rosemary.

Q: Are there any natural products that help repel other types of bugs—such as mosquitoes—from my dog?
A: Diluted essential oils of peppermint and lavender are great for repelling insects. Commonsense precautions include always diluting essential oils in a carrier oil (such as grape seed or jojoba) before using them topically. First, apply oils to a small area of your pet’s skin to watch for negative reactions.

Eucalyptus, lavender, rosemary, rose geranium, or citronella essential oil can also be applied to a heavy-duty woven nylon collar or a bandanna. Use an eyedropper to put one drop of 100 percent pure essential oil on the collar each week. If your dog seems to tolerate the smell, you can try two drops per week. (Do not use these collars on cats, as most essential oils are toxic to them. Pregnant women should also avoid using undiluted essential oils.)

Q: What do I do if my dog gets stung by a honeybee? 
A: Honeybees leaves their stingers behind. Gently flick the stinger away or remove it with tweezers. Rinse the sting with cider vinegar or strongly brewed chamomile tea. A drop of full-strength or diluted essential oil of chamomile or tea tree oil can be safely applied to a bite or sting on most adult dogs as long as you avoid the eye area. Do not use this disinfecting treatment on cats, very small dogs, or young puppies.

REFERENCES:

for more information about natural pet care, read The Encyclopedia of Natural Pet Care by C.J. Puotinen ($21.95, McGraw-Hill, 2000)

Photo album!

Our Lady Bug with half a hair cut.  Compare leg sizes!  Hahaha!

My white MollyGirl...  She's so dang cute!  She's always being cute at me, too...

The lovely Yenna, even with matted ears.  It's going to take us a few days to get her ears back to their normal beauty.  Not that she cares.  She's just glad the grooming is over for the day.

Lady Bug after her groom (both sides):

My MollyGirl, in Ansel Adam's style:

It's was especially cold in the house this winter, as you can tell by the "sweatered fluff "sleeping 

in front of the fire:

Molly's fluff was so long, I had to do something so we could see her eyes.

Here's what I came up with.  :)

BlackMolly: Bicycle Built for Two (...or Three or Four)

As an amature photographer, I've treked nearly all the trails on Mount Hood last year, all on foot. I wasn't alone in my hiking and my companion rather enjoyed the fact that we were afoot. Molly, my toy poodle daughter, was on a leash most of the time and wasn't allowed to stray far when she wasn't on the leash. Ok, there's a bit of an exaggeration about all the trails, but only because we didn't know where those other trails were!

Since we only take pictures of things we find pretty or interesting, it helps to have a little faster mobility than just on shoes and paws. We tried the next fasted form of travel, bicycle. I'm sure that was a funny sight to see but I suspect there were more amature pictures taken of us than pictures I was able to take. Trying to juggle a backpack full of Molly (securely tied to the backpack!), a camera case, and lunch must've really been a sight to see! It reminds me of a Dr. Suess tale. Since a large part of our hikes is for me to find interesting or pleasant pictures, it wasn't long before we parked the bike and returned to our slower form of travel.

We have trouble finding new things to interest us, with our limited distance that we're able to hoof it, so we decided to try just driving to new locations. That worked for a short while. The early summer was best for taking drives around the area. It was still cool enough to roll down the windows! Molly had a terrific time getting the wind blown in her face! The airconditioning in the heat of full summer was nice, we both admit, but the thirst to get out and be a part of nature instead of only looking at it drove us to a complete stop and back out on foot after only a few drives. I admit that we now drive to a new location to hike, thus expanding our territory to include the whole of Northwest Oregon and Southwest Washington, but we still hike around the hills for the most part.

We surmised that our main problem was that we were carrying too much stuff. So we left lunch in the car while we took our hike. Still on foot, we set off to find a wonderful adventure out in the forest and capture some shots of beauty at it's best. After a decent hike, we came to a clearing. It was fantastic! Molly leapt in the air and pirohetted about my feet with excitement because I had stopped and was taking pictures. That generally means a quick snack from the lunchbag. What a perfect place to take a lunch break! After looking around a bit, I realized we didn't bring it. Hmm. That idea didn't work too well. Our hike was cut short that day and we haven't left anything behind since.

While driving to work one day, I spotted a wonderful item in a bicycle store that would solve the whole dillema! I even had to drive around the block, and risk being late to work to get a closer look at what was on the other side of the window, set there as bait just for me, I'm sure. The ideal solution to our problem sat inside that closed store. Sleek lines and aerodynamics assured speed and ease of travel. Giant wheels made sure the ride would be smooth. Aluminum framing made it light but safe. The yellow nylon covering most of the frame was just the right color for wandering around in the woods. It had a smokey window cover to keep the sunlight down and a fine netting under the cover, to keep the bugs out of occupant's faces if they're are looking for wind in their face. There were even side window panels so my passengers could look all around them. It was a bicycle trailer! I was thrilled with my find and made a mental note to come back with Molly and look closer that afternoon.

After work, I raced home to get Molly. I found I was also baby-sitting my parents' two poodles, Moe and Tess. Wasting no time at all, I dressed them all in their halters and sweaters. Then we bailed into my Jeep and headed for town.

Once we arrived, they seemed to know just where we were going and what they were supposed to check out. Tess sniffed the wheels warily while Moe pawed at the bike attachment part. Molly scratched at the front window to take a peek inside. We found a seat for human children inside, complete with shoulderbelts and lapstraps. Molly hopped in and started sniffing about. It took her a good 8 minutes to check the whole inside. Meanwhile, Moe had discovered the rear compartment and wanted in. I let her in the rear section and the two of them, Molly in the front, Moe in back, played CatchMe with each other through the seat in the middle.

Tess was simply unimpressed. She sat at my feet, shivering. I tried making her feel better by putting her inside with Molly, but it didn't help much.

With all three poodles inside, I started dragging the trailer around behind me. That put an immediate stop to the CatchMe game and all three quickly had their faces pasted to the various windows the trailer sported. Molly was obviously impressed, although I'm sure she thought the whole idea was for me to pull them around while I walked. There is an adaption kit that will allow me to do that, but that's not what I had in mind.

After getting Molly's approval, I purchased the trailer ($350!!) and we all went home to wait for a sunny day to try it out. It sat in storage for about three weeks before our first opportunity came. I hooked the trailer up to my bike while the poodles (I had Tess that day) watched closely. Molly scratched at the trailer front a little slower than she had when it was in the store. Tess still shivered.

I invited the girls to hop in and look around, after it was all set up on the back of the bike. Molly the Great Adventurer hopped right in and started checking things out. Things certainly looked the same on this inside as she remembered the inside at the store looking. She sat in the seat and waited patiently. Tessa's turn next. Tess just curled up into a ball on the seat and seemed resigned to the inevitable.

I strapped them both in, as tight as I could manage with human-child-sized seat belts. They weren't very tight. Those belts refused to size down to toy poodle size. We did the best we could, though. After they were seat belted in as good as I could get, I pulled down the front bug shield and window cover. Molly started to get a little suspicious at that point and she began uncertainly whining a little. I told her everything was fine, gave her a quick pat on the head, checked the seat belts once more, then hopped onto the bike.

We sailed out the driveway, the wind whistled in my ears as I cut through the still afternoon air. I peddled faster, knowing that Molly likes the wind in her face. When I turned around, to make sure they're having a good time, I found that they're not enjoying this at all! Molly, my little Houdini, was trying to sneak out through a gap she found between two snaps and Tess was nervously dancing about the cab. I stopped as quickly as I could, so I didn't run over Molly and got off the bike.

Needless to say, our maiden voyage turned to a pretty short trip. After I finished getting them adjusted in their seat belts again, I headed back to the house, on foot.

I'm not finished trying this new toy out and I think Molly will enjoy it, once I figure a safer way to travel in it. Molly, I'm sure, just wanted to feel the wind in her face as we traveled. But I think that Tessa would much rather be on solid ground than in that rolling-accident-waiting-to-happen-contraption. 

BlackMolly: Into the Belly of a Whale

I had my usual yuppy coffee, a sugar-free vanilla breve with two shots of espresso, the other day with my parents, an aunt and uncle, a handful of cousins and my daughter, Molly. Molly's tounge flapped as fast as it could at every customer coming into or going out of the cofee house while they made comments like, "What a cutie," and "Awe, it's waving at us. Look at that. Isn't it cute?" My daughter is a toy poodle and full of energy. She loves people and she loves the attention even more.

In a way, I don't mind the comments. However, I must confess that, in my head, I compare how those same people react to my one year old niece. They stop and ask what her name is, how old she is and if she's walking or not. "Oh, what pretty blue eyes. She's going to be a heart-breaker when she gets older." They never talk about her like she's an "it." How hard can it be to ask me the name of my daughter?

The general population of adult humans simply can't, or won't, consider Molly a daughter. I wonder why Gippetto didn't have the same kinds of problems when Pinnochio had ears and a tail. Then again, Gippetto had to go into the belly of a whale and Pinnochio after him before Pinnochio became a "real boy." It would be worth it for Molly to be considered a "real daughter."

Most of the inconsideration I encounter doesn't come from the strangers who say something inaudible under their breath as Molly and I pass by, but from a work level - Companies. My current employer doesn't allow paid time off to take care of my daughter, even though they will for co-workers with human daughters ("real daughters"). There's no option to add Molly to my health policy, though that would be a really nice benefit for those of us who chose not to have human children. In fact, I'd gladly swap my own health insurance so Molly could have it.

Fortunately, I'm one of the luckier people I know because despite the fact that I can't take time off from work to attend to Molly's needs (paid as a sick day or two for having a sick child at home that needed me), I do have a terrific boss and human resources manager that help me when things come up where Molly is concerned. In fact, they figured out a way to allow Molly to come to work with me when I thought she had cancer. We actually moved my whole office to the front so Molly could sit with me while I worked! Those two people are some of the rarest around and I thank them often for their understanding and consideration. Molly was a model work guest and I got the required work done in addition to spending (what I thought at the time) her last days with her. It's always tough when someone is misdiagnosed. I'm just glad the initial diagnosis was wrong.

I suspect that it's only a matter of time before employers start offering benefits like dog health insurance to their staff. Some of the high tech industry companies allow canine children to come to work, as a way to lure those with technology experience to join their staff, right now. They offer groomers' services and on-site parks. Those companies are reaping the benefits of a more loyal, dedicated staff.

It's also been shown, scientifically, that the more exercise a person gets, the more productive they are on the job. What better way to make people more active than to add someone to their life who demands attention and exercise? Animals help lower blood preassure, reduce stress, contribute to better sleep at night, as well as help keep healthy people healthy. Doctors are now inviting dogs to hospitals in an effort to help sick people get healthy, too. Why on earth aren't companies inviting animal-children in more often?

Traditionalists, of course, have a hard time swallowing some of the more relaxed settings offered out in the job market. Being part of that high tech industry, working on the database side of things, I find that I'm looking (not actively, but definately looking) to go to work for one of those companies. I have to say that, once I'm there, it will be terribly difficult to entice me to go anywhere else until I go to work for myself at home.

Human children live longer than their parents, generally speaking. I know that I will more than likely outlive my own daughter and the knowledge nearly brings tears every time I think about it. I can only resolve to spend every moment I can with Molly and continue my search for a workplace that will accommodate our need to be together.

Anyone need an Oracle8 and 8i Database Admin who will be loyal and productive? Benefits should include a steady flow of classes so I can stay on the edge, a health insurance plan for Molly, and an open invitation extended to my "real daughter" to come to work with me every day. 

BlackMolly: The Spice of Life

Just like any parent, I'm always on the lookout for new and better everything for my daughter, Molly, a five year old toy poodle. I look for better health insurance, better ways to train, improved toys, more tools for her dental hygiene (yes, I brush her teeth), and better nutrition. In fact, I've recently been looking into a "new" form of diet, commonly known as BARF.

You want to feed your daughter vomit?? What kind of nutritional value could that possibly have? Actually, BARF is an acronym for Bones and Raw Foods. It's a rediscovered way of feeding canine children, like Molly, which takes into consideration some basics that society seems to have forgotten.

In a world where even humans drive up to a window and order the same processed food nearly every day, I suppose it's easy to understand why we would forget and choose to believe what the kibble manufacturers have been telling Doggie and Kitty Parents for nearly a full century: They'll get all the nutrition they need, all in pellet form. But wait! There's more! It's now available in three different flavors and we've added yellow and red food coloring to make you think you're feeding your kids real food!

The other day when I was refilling Molly's dish, she sniffed at the kibble and looked up at me expectantly. She seemed to be asking, "Kibble again? Couldn't you spice it up with something different every now and again?" That look made me really stop and think about what I'm asking my Girl, the dog I call my daughter, to eat day in and day out.

After all, if I was stuck eating the same food every day, regardless of nutritional value to my body, I'm sure I'd be a whole lot more skinny than I am! I just wouldn't bother eating. Why should I? I'd know what it was going to taste like. I certainly wouldn't look forward to dinner if it was going to be the same thing as breakfast. So why should I be the only one who needs some variety in my diet?

That got me started on a different track of thought. Molly recently went through a sickness that attacked her stomache lining. Initially, my vetrenarian thought it was cancer and I was devastated. I did nothing for four days except spend time with her and just cry. Dr. Brenda and Dr. Sterling, of course, sent blood work and samples of the infected tissue off to a lab to confirm before telling me it was indeed cancer. I anxiously awaited results. It turned out not to be cancer, but Molly was still very ill. At least her illness was something treatable and she got on the road to recovery!

The moral to my story is that if she's getting all the nutritional value she needs from her complete-nutritional-value-kibble, then why was her immune system unable to fight that illness when it was small? There are other things that my daughter has needed to go see the docter about, too. Things that shouldn't have gotten as bad as they did, had her immune system and body really been getting all that she needed. The other dogs we live with, Tessa, Moe, Pepper, and Cody have each had something go wrong with them that never should have escalated to the extremes they did. Tumors, anal gland infections, inexplicable dehydration are just some examples of what we've fought in the past.

I don't have plans to jump in before I know more about canine nutrition that I'll ever know about human nutrition, but I will certainly be researching the topic with the ultimate goal of regulating Molly's nutrition myself. Not only does Molly appear to be missing some key element of the nutritional value from that kibble I give her, but she's also missing out on the spice of life: Variety. 

BlackMolly: My Doghter, My Dog

I don't have any children. But I feel like I do. Most people look at me a little strange when I introduce my daughter, Molly. I have to admit that even the people closest to me still look at me like I'm right near the edge of losing it. My daughter has wonderful soft curly black locks, dark brown eyes, a black nose and a personality that doesn't stop. Molly is a toy poodle. My family consists of my parents, Molly, Moe and Tess (all toy poodles), Pepper and Cody (big dogs). I don't usually refer to them as family, though. They're pack.

It's a little tough being a DogMom because, in general, people don't consider that I could, or perhaps should, be as close and concerned for my furry daughter as they are over their human children. I have to admit that I'm much luckier than most canine parents, as my parents baby-sit for me when I'm at work and make sure that Molly doesn't find any harm to get into (she's good at that) while I'm away. They even refer to themselves as Grandma and Grandpa when talking about their relationship with her.

People grow up, have kids, then proudly show off pictures of what appears a great deal, to me, like a ruddy, wrinkly, kinda fuzzy peach attached to a cotton bag, snuggled deep inside blankets. Then they spend the next two or three years changing diapers and making bottles for that "bundle of joy." With Molly and I, all that baby stuff took a grand total, on the outside, of 6 months. I never had to clean up diapers when she was a baby and her biological Mom took care of the bottles until it was time for weaning.

Molly communicates her needs to me far better than most babies or children I've met. That could be because I don't know baby language or because I loose all patience before I have a chance to learn it, but the fault could easily be laid at my feet for not wanting to learn baby-language.

If babies are hungry, they cry. Of course, if they're wet and need a change, they cry. Then again, if they aren't feeling well or are injured, they cry. And what do they do if they're tired? Oh, yes. They cry. I'm told that a parent learns what their baby needs by the cry. Personally, I have an extraordinarily hard time swallowing that, but I'm not a human child Mom. I'm a DogMom.

When Molly's hungry, she paws and whines at me, then goes over to the food bowl, looks at me, looks at the bowl. It's like she's willing me to get up and put some food in the bowl. Clear and plain as a line of communication can get.

What I don't understand is that when a baby, one who can at least crawl or walk, needs to relieve themselves, they do their business in their diaper. That's the whole reason diapers were invented. That part I understand completely. The next action is what I don't get. Instead of going over to where the spare diapers are, picking one up and waving it around a little at their parents, they sit in that ick and cry. Without going through a number of different "standard" possibilities in order to narrow down to what's wrong, there's no way a parent could know that the baby needs their diaper changed!

Thankfully, Molly normally goes out the back door to the "pooh yard." However, if we're in the car or visiting someplace, she tugs at the leash or gets my attention somehow, then looks at me purposefully, then at the door and whines. Once again, I understand her perfectly. For the record, even non-dog people understand what she's saying to me. They get more than a little nervous about it, too. I simply have to guess they think a canine is the equivelant of a baby. Get a diaper on it, take it outside immediately or you'll end up with business on your shoe!

If I need a simple yes or no out of Molly, I ask her the question, maybe give her something related to the question to smell. If the answer is yes, she gets excited, rears up on her hind legs and waves her front paws. If the answer is no, she does a half snort half sneeze at me. Trust me, I know when the answer is no.

It's true that I'll never hold a conversation with her in the English language. But a few things I'm sure of are more than some humans can say they're sure of. Molly will always love me completely and without any long-term grudges, ever. Molly and I will spend as much time with one another as we can and we won't get bored of each other's company. She will never tell anyone else my secrets. She'll listen to my problems, fears, and joys, all without judging me. She'll want to play ball as soon as I get home from work.

I can't understand why anyone would chose to have human children and bother with the headaches that their continual crying causes. For myself, even with all the strange looks I get from people for being so involved with my Molly girl, I'll stick with being a DogMom. 

BlackMolly: That Used to be MY Lap

The small town I live in was extra quiet last night as I sat in the living room working on my laptop at a steady pace. Molly, my five-year-old toy poodle daughter, sat at my feet and waited for an invitation to my lap. Excuse me, her lap. When I didn't move my computer, she snorted at me, gave herself a good shake and hopped up on the opposite end of the couch. After she saw that it hadn't seemed to phase my typing, she sighed and lay down, resigned.

Shortly after being introduced to the world of technology, my mom gave me a little comic sketch displaying a lady sitting in a chair with a laptop sitting on her lap. At her feet was her dog and cat. The dog was telling the cat, "That used to be my lap."

I used to keep that comic pasted to the monitor of my home desktop system, as a reminder to put the computer and the homework away for an hour or two each day and play with Molly. When I moved back home from college, it got lost somewhere in the shuffle. Come to think about it, that happened to quite a bit of my things from college.

The lure of learning has always been a strong one for me. Amazingly, it's gotten more attractive to me as I get older, too. These days, education goes hand-in-hand with technology and I've fallen into the never-ending circle of learn, go to work, learn, go to work. Even with my photography hobby, I am still sucked into the endless technology training hole and forget to play with Molly. That's not completely accurate. I don't forget to play with her. Instead, I tell both of us that I'm almost finished. Just a couple more tweaks and my project will be perfect. Next thing I know, I've "wasted" the whole evening and it's time for bed. No ball playing for Molly that night.

Sometimes, the pressure to learn more and keep up with an ever changing work environment can be so overwhelming that all I do is study when I get home from work! The whole reason I've got projects outside of work is so I can stay tuned for work. If I think a tool in my toolbox is getting rusty, it comes out and I work on it until I'm sure it's in working order.

All the reasons I should keep going on my work last night flashed through my head. Molly continued watching me, over on the opposite side of the couch from me, and the comic strip popped into my head. That comic was not funny. It's so true that it holds absolutely no humor for me.

I did try to keep going with what I was doing. A few more lines of code, Molly, just a few more. I promise.

A guilty conscience always nags at a person, though, and I found myself thinking about a Star Trek episode I'd watched just a few days earlier, instead of working on my project as I sat there. A man tried to help his people by manipulating time through calculations. His first attempt went wonderfully, but his second attempt wiped out a colony where his family lived. Over time, he destroyed several nations, trying to reverse what he'd done, but he was always one more calculation from bringing them back. He also had had haunting memories of his wife inviting him for walks or asking him to spend time with his family. He always replied that he only had a few more calculations to do and then he'd spend time with them. He promised. Was I doing that to Molly?

It's absolutely amazing how fast the brain feeds all these images and how perfectly guilt works on you when your daughter sits and stares at you, then looks at your computer, then back at you. The picture of that dog talking to the cat kept nagging at me. I was doing that to Molly, only she was telling other dogs about it.

I think the whole self-guilt trip took a whopping ninety seconds before I firmly told myself to stop working on my project. It could wait until tomorrow. Molly couldn't. So I shut down the computer, put it away, and invited her to come reclaim her lap.

Perhaps I should root around a bit and find that comic so I don't do that to Molly again. I will need to make copies of it and put one on my server, one on my graphix computer, one on the family computer, one on my laptop, one on my work computer… No wonder she's so upset with me! 

BlackMolly: Slime Balls

I live in the tiny town of Boyd, Oregon with my five-year-old daughter, Molly. She's not your average daughter, though. Really. Molly's got some fantastic black curly locks and I think she could be a model except for the fact that her ears are too short, and her legs have the same problem. So, she couldn't actually be a model, but as far as I'm concerned, she's the perfect toy poodle.

Molly gets up with me every morning and is at my heels the whole time I'm getting ready for work. She paws at me to tell me it's time to get up. While I'm getting dressed, she prances around in a circle at my feet, hoping I'll hurry so there's time before I leave for a quick game of ball. We go downstairs to the bathroom and she lays on my robe while I get my personal things complete. She's really quite patient about everything, considering she knows it's almost time for me to be gone for almost an entire day.

After my personal things are out of the way, it's time to take care of the daily things for Molly. She still waits, watching everything I do, just in case I reach for a toy to throw.

Then it's time to play! We have about seven minutes each morning to play fetch. The game starts off with a question that I already know the answer to, "Do you want to play ball?" Of course, the answer is yes! She zips accross the living room and bounces off my knees then flies around, looking for the ball.

Once she finds it, she doesn't bring it straight to me. First, she tenderizes it for us. Her tongue has to be at least six inches long and she uses every inch to produce as much saliva as she can to transfer over to our ball. We use a very small version of a tennis ball, about a two-inch diameter, so it soaks all that spit right up!

By the time she decides it's time to pass the ball to me, I don't want to touch it with more than two fingers and even that's pushing it. As I take it from her mouth I could swear (except I have papers to prove otherwise) that she's got a Saint Bernard in her ancestory.

When she gives it to me, there's a line of saliva dangling in the air between that slimey spit ball and her little mouth. It's nice and warm. Of course, it's terribly gooey so I try to think about how much fun she's going to have once I've thrown it, rather than how nasty it is.

I start to draw back my arm with the ball, while her whole body tenses up as she gets into "Get Ready" mode. She crouches down to "On Your Mark" stance as the ball goes up in the air, still poised in my hand. I hold that position for a moment, to watch her eyes sparkle a little in the low lighting. She's so alive and happy! It's the best part of the game for me, sitting with a slime-ball almost above my head to watch her eyes while she's still "On Her Mark..."

"GO!" I fling the ball toward the other side of the house and she's almost on top of it. Sometimes she's even ahead of it so she can catch it before it even hits the floor on the other side of the room!

Split moments after I've thrown the ball, it's back in my lap and my pants slowly start to soak up Molly's slobber. I don't ever seem to notice the ball is so wet until I've thrown it again and the wet dot on my jeans starts to get cold. I really need to train her to put the ball next to me instead of on me.

Seven minutes doesn't last long and it's soon time for me to go to work for the day. We put the ball back into the toy basket, I tell her to have a good day and be a good girl while I'm gone, then I'm off for a busy day at work. Molly, on the other hand, is stuck at home waiting for me to get back home. Perhaps I should look into an automatic tennis ball thrower so she can play all day while I work.

For the time, Molly will just have to wait for me to get home - or talk my Mom into a game when she's home. Sounds pretty boring for Molly, but it's fine with me because I'll get to see that extra sparkle of excitement at the beginning of the game. And the game always starts again when I get home.

BlackMolly: Molly Knows

My daughter, Molly, understands most of what I say to her. She's only five years old, so her grasp of my vocabulary isn't so great, but she still seems to find a way to figure out what I'm telling her. Poodles are supposed to be amongst the world's top four of all dog breeds for intelligence, but it never fails to amaze me that she understands so well.

We keep several different toys and each has a different name. We've a small green porcupine called "Squeeker" that's one of her favorites. There's a piece of fake fur I tied into a knot that she knows as "The Fur." Of course, every dog toybox has a dental floss knot. We call that, simply, "The Knot." Then there's a collection of knots tied into a knot I call "Colors." And we have several different balls. "Big Ball," "Giggly Ball," "The Ball," "Peanutbutter Ball." We have "Bouncer" and "Spike," which are those hard rubber throw toys. That's ten toys listed and I can ask for any of them by name and she'll bring it to me.

But those are just memorized commands I've associated with each toy, right? Not neccessarily. Molly eats at the dinner table with us. She knows that it's ok for her front paws to be on the table but not her back paws. If I ask her if she wants more of something, she opens her mouth. If she doesn't, she opens and closes her mouth. She even waits to be excused instead of just hopping down.

She has a good grasp on a vast array of words, questions, and phrases. For instance, she knows the difference between going to the Park, the School, Grammy's House, Holstien's, and The Pet Shop. When we arrive near the correct destination, she gets excited and starts searching the car for a toy to bring in with her. I can go to several different places that she knows before going to the place I said we were going to and she doesn't get excited until we arrive where I said we were going at the beginning of our trip.

She hates it when I tell her it's time to go to work. She knows that, currently, this activity doesn't include her. She jumps to the top of the chair sitting next to the door and waits for me to tell her to be a good girl, to have a good day, and that I love her. Then I kiss her on the nose and am gone for a several hours. It's not a wonder that she doesn't like that phrase. Come to think about it, I don't like that phrase much either.

Molly races to my room when I tell her it's time to go to sleep. (Actually, I tell her it's time to go asleep.) After I open the door, she leaps into my bed and starts mussing the covers up to have a cozy spot for bed. She also understands the difference between "go asleep" and that I need to "work on the computer and she needs to go to bed." This is altogether different from "going asleep." I sit at my desk and she sits or lays on the desk in her basket, which is "bed."

Even after all this, people still ask me, "If she's so smart, how come you can't teach her to stop licking?" I just smile, shrug my shoulders, and think to myself because if she stopped licking, she wouldn't be Molly.

BlackMolly: Cookie Theory

With all children, asking if they'd like a treat is really a silly thing to do. I have a five year old daughter who's full of life and curiosity. She loves to ride in the bike trailer or the car, loves to go for walks with me while I take pictures, completely enjoys a good romp in an open play area but she'll stop everything for a treat.

Like all five year olds, Molly knows exactly where the cookie jar is. And, like most parents, I keep the jar up high so my daughter can't gorge herself on treats and get an upset tummy. I'm sure she's smart enough to go get them anyway, but she doesn't.

Molly is a registered toy poodle, and she's got so many of the same expressions any human girl can display. From a sound sleep, I can mention to someone else that I'm nearly out of cookies and neet to go get some more. Molly's eyes will fly wide open like she'd never been snoring only moments before. She even manages an extra-excited sparkle in her eye and her upper lip twitches into a smile before she gets up and dances her way over to me then skips over to where I keep the cookie jar.

It's almost like I need to begin spelling out C-O-O-K-I-E J-A-R now. How old are human kids before they figure out that trick? Even now, if I refer to cookie as "those," she looks at me with her head tilted to one side. I don't know of a more direct way to ask, "Those?" She even glances at the cookie jar to see if I react to the question!

Once or twice, I admit to wondering if it's just me living in a wild fantasy world where dogs can understand every word you say. So I test the "cookie theory" with someone who's not a big dog fan. I've yet to meet anyone who disagrees with me on the assumption that Molly knows what I'm saying when I refer to "those." She springs to life and dances over to me like I've said the C-word, then skips over to the cookie jar to wait for me to give her a treat. When the person looks at me like I've got a possessed dog, I smile and explain that the cookie jar is over there and she knows when I'm talking about them.

They admit to being impressed and that it does seem like she knows what I'm talking about when I speak to her (or to someone else, for that matter). Personally, I think the fantasy world of all dogs understanding what I'm saying is a little whacked. It's just too broad an assumption and I'm no Dr. Doolittle. But if the fantasy bubble where to include only Molly and I, yah, she understands what I'm saying and I understand what she's saying.

That's not a fantasy, that's my life with Molly.

BlackMolly: Cookie Bake

Molly, my six year old daughter, and I recently made cookies together. She wasn't quite sure what to think of the whole process, especially the long wait for the finished product at the end. By the time we finished, she had dough in her little black curly locks, between her toes, on the top of her nose and in her eyelashes, but her tongue never stopped! Molly's so similar to other people's children that it's hard for me to remember that she's not viewed that way by the public most of the time. My daughter is a registered toy poodle and people generally can't see past the fur.

My Girl isn't tall enough to see the top of the counter, even when she stands on her tippy toes and stretches as far as she can stretch. Her little nose tells her the details of what's going on up there, though. It twitches and sniffs as she moves her head from side to side to get the best whiff of whatever can be whuffed. Molly is only 9 inches tall at her shoulders but when she stands on tip-toe, she's about two feet tall.

Before we even begin the cookies, I ask her if it's a good idea. It's a silly question to ask, really, but how she answers is worth being considered a little silly. I ask her, "Molly, shall we make cookies?" Her whole body stops all motion immediately and she whips her head around with a start. Wide brown eyes stare up at me for a few moments before she races toward me at a flat run and leaps at me. She bounces off my knees in an effort to get me started in the right direction so I don't have a chance to put it off.

So off we go to the kitchen. The first ingredients aren't terribly interesting to her, at least not separately. She might go ahead and eat the butter, but it's not a favorite. While I'm cutting the butter into to the dry ingredients, she paces about my feet, twining in and out, back and forth. After I get out the eggs and peanut butter, she starts talking to me. My best guess is that she's observed people speaking to one another and tries to copy that. Some of her noises actually sound like words but most just sound like she's singing a song of R's. Her grandma calls the noises budgy noises, though I don't understand why. I think I'd call them ar-ar noises, myself.

Each time we make cookies, I give her a little taste of peanut butter after I've spooned it into the bowl. Some people think it's mean to give dogs peanut butter, since it sticks to the roof of their mouths. I figure it must be like eating a Sugar Daddy or a caramel apple for humans. It's so good that it doesn't matter that it sticks! Molly sits at my feet and lick-lick-licks until the goodie is gone. By that time, the recipe is ready for the carob chips. As soon as the first taste is gone, she begins ar-aring me to get another treat. I give her a taste of the dough without the carob in it.

She doesn't eat the dough in one gulp, like most dogs would. Instead, she plays with it a little first. That's how she gets it in her fur and between her toes. Maybe it feels good to have the dough squish in her pads. While she's eating the dough, I pour in the carob chips, but scoop a few out for Molly before I stir them in.

I roll out the dough and get set to cut the cookies into shapes just about the time Molly's done with her taste of goodie. She starts talking to me again, letting me know that she's out of treat, so I grab a chip and make her sit pretty, then drop the chip from about ten inches above her nose. Everything slows way down while the chip falls through the air to her mouth. Once it's close enough, she snaps it out of the air and gobbles it up, then looks to me for some more. I tell her to be patient and finish cutting the cookies so I can get them in the oven.

Molly's not much of one for waiting. She never has been. After she sees the cookies go into the oven, she sniffs at it, to get the current status scent and begs for the rest of the carob morsels to be doled out.

While the cookies are baking, I wander about cleaning up my mess and doing other things. The whole time, she's a half step behind me, but no more than a half step! Every trip to the kitchen to check on the cookies mean that she gets another carob chip, after all.

When they're finished baking, they've still got to set overnight and get crunchy. She doesn't think this is very fair and tells me about it. The kitchen is kept under close observation for the remainder of the day and throughout the night, if she can. The kitchen holds her treats. She wants to make sure no burglar makes it into the house to steal her cookies!

Upon waking in the morning, she bounces off my knees to remind me of the treats in the kitchen. I pull out the cookies and give her one, while I put the rest away in the cookie jar. After she finishes her one cookie, she looks at me disgustedly and muffs at me. She seems to be saying, "One? One! That's all I get? Just one after all that waiting? Grrrr. That's not fair!"

Molly is just like any other spoiled six year old. She just wears a fur coat the year round and is shorter.

BlackMolly: Ruff Game

My daughter, Molly, is just like "normal" kids. She loves to play games and sometimes lets the game get a little out of hand. Games get rough. Or shall I say games get ruff? My daughter is a nearly six year old toy poodle who has an unusually long attention span when it comes to playing fetch.

When we play, Molly talks to me. I don't have the attention span that she does where the game is concerned and she gets a little miffed with me for it. She stands at my feet and makes a noise that sounds like a seal making it's noises through it's nose. So, instead of ar-ar-ar, she says aerr-aerr-aerr. If I'm not playing as actively as she'd like me to, her vocabulary expands to full blown barks as she dances in front of the ball at my feet, looking from my eyes to the ball and back again.

After I throw the ball, she does a quick about-face and tears down the hall after it at a full run. Occasionally, even though we've got carpet all the way, she can't quite stop herself in time and she runs into the wall at the end of our hallway. She'll let out what amounts to a curse and zip off to find the ball so she can head back for some more game. Little bumps and bruises are alright with me, as long as they're all right with her. However, when it gets worse, the game must stop.

Last night, we played a game with our small ball (only two inches in diameter!). I got home, she danced and pleaded that I play with her, so I gave in and threw the ball. I threw the ball for half an hour or so before I decided I just wasn't interested any longer and told her, "No more." She wasn't satisfied with such a short game time, so she went to beg a game from my Grams. Grams gave in as well and this time Ren, her fur-son, decided a romp after a ball was a good idea, too.

From there, Grams and I aren't sure what happened exactly. She threw the ball a few times, then Molly acted like she wasn't interested any longer. I figured Ren had the ball and was just teasing her with it, while she pretended to not want to play any more. After a few minutes went by, I went over to make sure she was alright. If she's not playing while the ball is being thrown, there's something very wrong.

When I went to pick her up, she was favoring one of her paws. Upon further investigation, I realized that she had pulled a toenail almost completely off! It was just barely hanging on and her raw toe was bleeding everywhere. I don't normally have a strong stomache for that kind of thing and couldn't bring myself to pull it the rest of the way off and inflict that kind of pain on Molly. Swooping her up into my arms, I went to get Grams so we could make a trip to town and see Dr. Ann.

We zipped down to the Vets' office and they put her under anathesia so she wouldn't feel it when the toenail was ripped the rest of the way off. Dr. Ann carefully applied antibiotic ointments and wrapped it up in purple bandages, then gave Molly another shot to wake her up. That happens pretty quick, but Molly was so disoriented that she started flopping around on the table, making full body circles, until I hugged her to me and told her it was going to be alright. We waited about a half hour for her to come fully back to her normal self after being under the anethesia, then made the trip home with new antibiotics and instructions to get some baby aspirin and keep that paw bandaged for at least the next five days.

Immediately upon returning home and going into the house, can you guess what the first thing she did was?

She retrieved our small ball and began dancing at my feet while pleading, "aerr-aerr-aerr," for a game.