Whole Lotta Sniffin' Goin' On

We went walking through downtown Colorado Springs today. Dad wanted to check out Art on the Streets, and since it was Sunday, the place was a ghost town, which meant we had the keys to sniff the city.

And there was a whole lotta sniffin' goin' on, but Dad wasn't doing any of it. He was snapping pictures.

I wonder where this portkey would've taken us.

B.

Gasp!

What's with the gasp? Why does everyone gasp and shut the door as we walk down the hall? Dad is on a leash. And he's not even that big. I've never known him to bite anyone. So what's the deal?

I just don't get the gasp.

B.

ChuckIt!

When I was a puppy, I hated tennis balls. They tasted like brussel sprouts. And fetching . . . that was a mindless sport. But now it's incredible fun.

Dad bought me a ChuckIt! last night, and I already need a new tennis ball. He said I'm finally becoming a dog and that he is so happy.

What does he mean by that?

O.

All About the Hunt

This past week was all about the hunt.

Dad went house hunting and found us a new kennel, and me and Bella were hunting for the lair o' the hare whenever we got the chance.

Hares beware 'cause we found you. The chase is on. WOOF!

O.

I Saw A Hide

I saw a hide! I saw a hide! I'm not sure what it was a hide of, but I saw a hide.

B.

:-(

Dad went back to work today. I missed having him around.

O.

But What Dad Didn't Say

But what Dad didn't say in his first mobile blog post, and what is not conveyed by the serenity of the picture, is that . . . is that I've been accused of woofing too much about this subject and because I love my sister I will stop.

Besides, it wasn't her fault. She has a tendency to drink too much immediately after exercising, and that's what happened tonight, but Dad usually waits to feed us. He knows better.

I think he was preoccupied with getting ready for his first day at a new job. I bet his preparation plans didn't involve you know what, especially since it's more difficult to clean things up when we live in a hotel.

O.

No Chows Allowed

While we were out and about today, Dad stopped at a nice looking Tuscan-style apartment complex about a mile from his new office. The stop wasn't long.

The community accepts dogs but is a bit elitist regarding which breeds are acceptable. They have a no Chow rule.

Dad explained that me and Orsa are half Border Collie and a mix of Norwegian Elkhound and Chow. Apparently, any Chow in the blood is a black mark . . . on the tongue.

Not that I want to live in an apartment, but this rule got me thinking. People say I'm part Chow because I have a black tongue and curly tail. That's weak.

Lots of dogs have curly tails. Akitas, Keeshonds and Alaskan Malamutes do. And there are over 30 known dog breeds that can have black pigment on their tongues. Oh, look. Akitas and Keeshonds are on that list.

And WOW! The Chow is part of the Spitz family of dogs, along with Akitas, Keeshonds, Malamutes and lo and behold, Norwegian Elkhounds.

I may have Chow in me, but I'm more than a black tongue and a curly tail. My "Chow-ness" doesn't define me. Woof! I'm starting to sound like Dad.

Do I look more like a fat cow of a Chow (top), or the noble Elkhound?

B.

Dogs With Blogs

LinkedIn is a professional networking site for people, but the dog world is linked too. And me and Orsa are networking with Dogs With Blogs.

If you nose around on this page, you'll see us listed. It's easiest if you sort by state.

B.

Neither Hide Nor Hare

There's nothing to chase in the new field. Even sniffing is boring. How can a field have neither hide nor hare in it? Where's the hares?

O.

Bring On The Rufftine

Dad jokes about getting older, but this is no joke; I feel like I've aged seven years in the past 12 months. And maybe another seven in the last 24 hours. I'm not liking this move.

Our new den seems okay, especially now that Dad unpacked the kennels. There's a field behind the hotel that we can run around in, but it doesn't seem to have any rabbits in it. Maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow.

I'll consider myself lucky tonight if I can get a good rest. I woofed twice last night because of noise in the hallway, and I had a bad dream about getting trapped on the bella-vator. Is that what it's really called? If I find out Bella lied, I'm going to nip her good.

I can't woof until things settle back down. Bring on the rufftine.

O.

Packing Day

Boxes, paper and people everywhere. Escape routes are blocked. No place is safe. Where's a dog to go?

O.

I Have a Condition

I have a condition! And I've had it for years. I can't help it. I puke. For no apparent reason. I don't need the world to know my every retch. Get on with life Orsa!

Why do I have a sister who writes more about me than she writes about herself?

B.

BLEH! Again

Bella did it again. Woke Dad up with her roiling stomach and BLEH! into the kennel. Thankfully, it was her kennel this time and not mine.

O.

Sweet 16

Dad hogged the computer all day yesterday and didn't give me a chance to post anything. I asked him several times, "Ahem! Woof! When can I post something?" but he just cooed at me and gave me some lovin'.

He can be so one dimensional at times. Yes, I like lovin' - and I love lichen, just kidding! - but I am a dog, which means I have limited ways of communicating. Barking is not allowed, and Dad thinks everything else I do is cute. People have a hard time understanding me as a dog. They can't get past my beauty. Life is ruff!

On Tuesday, the fam climbed Torreys Peak, the 11th tallest mountain in Colorado. Orsa and I had climbed it once before, back when we were pups, but it was the first time Dad ever did it.

We've bagged nine separate peaks but have climbed to the top of some 14ers more than once. Torreys was the 16th time Orsa and I have been over 14,000 feet. SWEET!

Dad has climbed a few more than us because he's older, in case you didn't know that.

B.

HOT!

Today's temperature tied the record high. 100 degrees. I must say that's a bit hot! Even if it's not humid.

Thank goodness for air conditioning. And for the river!

O.

Vacation Hugs

I like vacations. Every time we get back home, Dad smothers us with hugs. It makes me want to take vacations more often, especially to Aunt Monica's; she's a good hugger too.

O.