<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205</id><updated>2012-02-16T10:41:16.856-05:00</updated><category term='hooties intro'/><title type='text'>Gone With The Dogs</title><subtitle type='html'>Daily musings, thoughts, joys and frustrations of living and working with dogs!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-2158740246839290929</id><published>2007-09-09T12:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-09T12:54:08.862-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hooties intro'/><title type='text'>The pack is back!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gzY7-hLx_aA/RuQkD-yhS3I/AAAAAAAAAAM/aFLB6e0oo54/s1600-h/DSCN3844.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gzY7-hLx_aA/RuQkD-yhS3I/AAAAAAAAAAM/aFLB6e0oo54/s200/DSCN3844.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108247528158088050" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I cannot believe it has been almost two years since my last posting. Since then I have added another dog to our pack, became a dog trainer and lost 8 pounds.  The other dogs seem to accept him well, although they may still think he is a guest and might leave soon. Hootie was a student of mine who was spending too much time not playing because grandchildren took precedent.  I found several really nice families who wanted him, but we couldn't let him go after two weeks, so he stayed.  More interesting happenings later - just wanted to get used to blogging again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-2158740246839290929?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/2158740246839290929/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=2158740246839290929&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/2158740246839290929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/2158740246839290929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2007/09/pack-is-back.html' title='The pack is back!'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_gzY7-hLx_aA/RuQkD-yhS3I/AAAAAAAAAAM/aFLB6e0oo54/s72-c/DSCN3844.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-114073334599869759</id><published>2006-02-23T16:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-23T17:24:39.663-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thongs and Dogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Actually this posting has very little to do with dogs, but it got your attention, didn't it.  It also has absolutely nothing to do with those skimpy plastic or rubber things, with no support what-so-ever, that you wear on your feet. I have never understood the rational behind wearing a thong.  I know it looks sexy if you have an awesome figure and you want to eliminate panty lines.  If I wanted to eliminate panty lines I would just go without any underwear.  Why in the world would I want to have a permanent wedgy as I go about my day...made miserable by adding less clothing.  Quite frankly, one of the nice things about good old underwear that people NEVER talk about, is if you should have an accident then the "output" has somewhere to go.  And I know everyone has at least one accident in their life since they quit wearing diapers.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Miriam/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The reason these things have crossed my radar recently is I work out a few days a week with a girlfriend and we take this amazingly hard Jazzersize class.  Ok, it's just hard for me, but I forget that I am prancing around with 40 extra pounds and let my butt twirl and my hips swirl as if I were 22 again.  It's fun.  Anyway, back to my girlfriend, who does happen to have a dog, thus making this a dog-related posting.  She is a cutie to begin with and recently lost 15 pounds.  Feeling sexier she went out and bought herself some thongs for the first time in her 30+ years and was excited to wear them to our class the other night.  She got into my car feeling a bit aggravated but figured she would get used to them.  We had hardly walked from the car to the class and already she was pulling at what little was available to pull.  I didn't question why she bought them because I once bought some really sexy bras, thinking that they would change my life, and all that happened was I was scratched to death with the lace and super support underwires that broke under the pressure of my bosom.  We all try something once I guess.  Watching her dance around while trying to un-wedge herself was so funny I couldn't concentrate on my moves and kept going the opposite direction of everyone else in class.  I was certain that after class she would swear off thongs, but no, she vowed to just get used to them!  I would just go naked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Relating to dogs though, I was picking up poop in one of my customers back yard and noticed a odd, but very pretty color purple, mixed around the poop.  Taking a closer look to make sure it was not blood in the stools, I saw dainty trim along the edge of this purple item.  It was way too small to be a sock or underwear, the most common surprise I get in my scooping adventures, and it didn't look like it was part of a dog toy, so I looked harder (figure that out) and discovered it was a cute little thong.  I guess Moose, the dog, was happy not to have strangled his intestines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you know you can also get thongs (for men and women) in chocolate?  Not at all good for dogs. If anyone has a really good reason why they wear and trust thongs, I'd love to hear about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-114073334599869759?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/114073334599869759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=114073334599869759&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114073334599869759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114073334599869759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/02/thongs-and-dogs.html' title='Thongs and Dogs'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-114007385934012562</id><published>2006-02-16T01:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-16T02:10:59.353-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Icicles Tricks - Do Not Try To Recreate!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/Time%20Out.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/200/Time%20Out.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;While shoveling snow off the back deck this past week, I saw several four and five feet long icicles hanging over the steps. Fearing that they would fall off and stab one of the dogs as they romped up and down the stairs, I decided to do the responsible thing and carefully knock them off.  Being only 5'2" my arms plus the shovel were having a hard time reaching the base of the icicles...that and the fact the roof they were hanging from was probably 10' higher than I was.  I banged at one and realized - whoa there - back off a bit before one stabs me in the head.  A few lost their tails, but the large base remained.  This just was not working as planned and the dogs were now more interested in what I was doing than playing with their buddies in the back yard.  So naturally they are swarming around my legs.  I chase them off determined to get rid of the biggest one before devising a more efficient way of ridding my home of the icicle necklace it wore.  I carefully stepped back a few inches, raised my shovel and tapped the offending icicle. It cracked and I watched in slow motion as it DID NOT fall straight down to the deck floor, but rather, shimmied down my shovel, down my raised arms and BAM right into my forehead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I threw the shovel down and took my snow packed, gloved hands and applied pressure to my bleeding head.  I leaned over the deck and moaned, groaned and whimpered...whether more so because I was in pain or because I have a sh*&amp;$ty, inadequate health insurance policy that would undoubtedly not cover this accident and I was still paying off the $4000 emergency room visit from the spring when I put my fist through the storm door (not entirely by accident).  Stunned, I wobbled into the kitchen and peeked at my head.  There was a bloody slit over the forehead and an eggplant size bump.  The cut didn't look deep enough to require stitches and the bump, according to foke lore, would go away with a Hienz Apple Cider Vinegar treatment - hold a cotton, vinegar soaked rag to your head.  I didn't do that, butI did have some oatmeal as it is supposed to make your headache go away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's three days later and my self-diagnosed concussion is finally on the mend.  I am amazingly grateful that I didn't poke my eye or brain out.  And Doug, seeing my clumsy efforts, removed all the remaining icicles around the house before I got anymore smart ideas.  Oh, the picture is of some things I would never see if I continued to be this stupid!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-114007385934012562?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/114007385934012562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=114007385934012562&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114007385934012562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114007385934012562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/02/stupid-icicles-tricks-do-not-try-to.html' title='Stupid Icicles Tricks - Do Not Try To Recreate!'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-114007115946523841</id><published>2006-02-16T01:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-16T02:35:03.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Walking with Maggie and Emma</title><content type='html'>&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"&gt;  &lt;v:stroke joinstyle="miter"&gt;  &lt;v:formulas&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"&gt;  &lt;/v:formulas&gt;  &lt;v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"&gt;  &lt;o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"&gt; &lt;/v:shapetype&gt;&lt;v:shape id="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" style="'width:48pt;"&gt;  &lt;v:imagedata src="file:///C:/DOCUME~1/Miriam/LOCALS~1/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_image001.png" title=""&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !vml]--&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 1&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; – Arrive at door to the surprise of the babysitter.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She seemed relieved regardless and helped me get the girls out the door.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie and Emma seemed to remember me and were excited to see their friends in the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They were not excited about actually getting into the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I got Emma in first after what looked like a pretzel wrestling match and as she sniffed the backs of Luc, Lulu, Sacha and Spunky’s head, Maggie and I negotiated some sort of heave-ho into the back with Emma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma, happy the door was still open, hopped out of the car and started to run me in circles around the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I caught her leash and we recreated our pretzel twist routine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I lost four pounds during the process. Katie and Maddie just watched the young pup forgetting they were once as feisty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;We got to Lorimer and everyone piled out of the car like a flash fire.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Leashes, fur and Miriam were trailing behind.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I never remembered if I did or did not lock the car door, however I did manage to NOT lose my keys. Once in the gate, calmness took over as the pack did a group poop session. I did not take a chance at leaving them to go back to the car to get bags and hoped the 12 inches of snow was enough to hide the evidence and keep me out of trouble from the poop patrol.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;The actual walk was fine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Lulu and Emma played non-stop the whole time, taking breaks only to torment Luc or get Spunky off their back.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Early in the walk we ran into the Economics professor and his sparkly, well-dressed group.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;A few minutes of nose to bottom introductions and off we all went.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The professor, his skis and dogs went further than we planned so we headed back to the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Treats were a big factor in keeping everyone focused on the guide (me).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And my fingers have recovered fairly well.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Getting everyone back into the car was no problem with the exception of Maggie and Emma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I had run out of treats at this point and there was no negotiating.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie sat down in protest and Emma wiggled all over the place.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I, currently immersed in reading about compassionate dog training, could not resort to aggressive measures and throw their furry butts into the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At least not for the first five minutes.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then I just lifted them up and plopped them on the soft dog bed in my vehicle.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I must admit there was a bit of swearing involved.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyText"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Arriving at home, they were refreshed and happy and ready for a nap.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I rummaged around the kitchen cabinets (actually just one pantry) looking for dog biscuits and finally found them in the laundry room – Maggie led me there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Luc has trained me that when dropping a dog off to an empty house they deserve biscuits.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He obviously shared that information with Maggie and Emma.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Maggie sat in her spot in the laundry room and Emma plopped down in her crate to sleep.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoBodyText"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;Day 2 –&lt;/b&gt; Walking was going to be a bit easier today; just Luc and Lulu joined us while my guys all went with Doug.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I used some excuse concerning having to stop off &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;THAT DAY&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; at the library to finally return the book I lost under my car seat since December and just found – or the car wash guys just found.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie got into the car eagerly and Emma only wiggled a little bit.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The walk was pleasant and everyone, including me, was happy and calm.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Until we got back to the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma refused to get in the car and Maggie sat in protest in the snow until she emptied my pocket of treats. I practiced my yoga breathing as prescribed by the latest dog-training book I am reading.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Breathe into the diaphragm slowly, breathe out slowly and do that three times.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I tried to get Maggie and Emma into the same breath mode, but they were having too much fun watching me figuring out exactly what it would take to get them in the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I finally figured it out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sheer strength and brute force, while being loving and calm.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Once again they came home happy and ready for a rest…after the second biscuit feast.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Day 3 –&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; Since Doug wanted to take the guy dogs for a long hike; I grabbed Katie to join us for a walk with Maggie and Emma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It felt odd only having one dog in the car, so we stopped by Luc’s, woke him up and had him join us for the afternoon adventure. I was tempted to get Willie also, but thought I would leave well enough alone.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Arrive at the home base of Emma and Maggie, wake up Maggie and get Emma out of crate.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Put on leashes and get ready to roll.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma is actually fairly good about getting in the car.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She did a few distraction maneuvers and suddenly decided the car looked like a fun place to be and pounced right in, wagging her tail saying hi to Luc. Meanwhile, Maggie decides a nap in the snow with the warm sun on her tummy would be more fun than a walk.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I let her roll and sit for a minute thinking maybe she really doesn’t want a walk.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pick up her leash and start to guide her back to the house.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Nope.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She wants a walk, just not the same one the rest of us planned.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie first decides to go to a neighbors and I walk a bit with her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Then a quick sit down in the sun.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Rolls over for tummy rub.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I oblige her – I did just read that patience is the number one virtue for training a dog.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Plus she is acting so much like my old Ben I decide to just roll with it for a bit and see where this dawdling was taking us.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie walks to the curb and decides she’s pretty happy just sitting there.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hmmm – should I make her come along or not I ask myself.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Ben never liked being left behind, so I decided to try a trick that worked most of the time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I left Maggie at the curb happily soaking in the sun – oh yes did I mention Luc, Katie and Emma were watching all this (quietly for the most part), plus who knows how many neighbors – and got in the car in the driveway.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I pulled out and parked right next to Maggie.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Got out of the car and opened the back doors, reminding Emma that she was to not even consider jumping out.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie popped up from her spot in the snow bank and went right to the back of the car and let me help her in.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;Finally we get to Lorimer and the communal poop fest begins.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I was slightly more prepared but buried it in the snow anyway – deciding to be conservative with my recycled bags (running low on my supply)!&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Since this was a smaller group, the pace was more of a meander than a walk, suiting Maggie just fine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The more time I spent with Maggie, the more I saw Ben in her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She charms her way into whatever she wants and gives you a nice smile and body nudge melting your heart completely.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Also, in spite of her protestations about going for a walk, once Maggie got to Lorimer, she and Emma chased one another, and guided me to their favorite little water pool on the side path.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma also chased Luc and got him to break away from his stodgy, only dog mode and play with her.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maggie, like Ben, also managed to sit in every muddy puddle she found, looking very happy and proud.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;As we were heading back to the car I began my yoga breathing, getting ready for the battle the girls had now made routine.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I breathe in, breathe out and visualize the behavior I want to see the dogs exhibit once we get to the car (honest – the book said I had to do this).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I also realized early in the walk that I completely forgot any treats so I was dependant upon my own skills and charm.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Breathing calmly we get to the car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Katie and Luc hop right into their respective spots.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Maggie is pulling up the pack and taking her time so I figured I would work with Emma first.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I open the back door and Emma looks at me, realizing for the first time in the whole walk that the only rewards here were pats, kisses and a lot of “good girls”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She looked like she shrugged her shoulder and hopped right into the car, moving over to make a spot for Maggie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Maggie comes up to the car, lifts her front legs onto the back and waits for me to hoist the rest of her body up and over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;She never seemed aware of the fact it was a “treat-less” walk.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I realized that during my breathing practices I never actually visualized them getting in the car, just not making it too hard for me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;But they were complete little ladies, cooperating fully – figuring, I guess, that they better be very good or I might not walk them again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Who knows if all my newfound esoteric training techniques had anything to do with it!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Aside from the in and out struggles in the beginning, Maggie and Emma were sweethearts and listened to me every step of the way (aside from the lengthy documentation of the times they balked).&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I also took them over to my house for a play date in the backyard and they had a great time.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Luc, Lulu, Willie, Maddie, Sacha, Katie, Spunky and a black lab from next door, Tasha, all played in the snow.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma and Lulu had a creative game of hide and seek going making me wish I had a movie camera.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a very large evergreen of some sort that was drooping from the snow and created tunnels and caves at the points it touched the ground.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Emma ran fearlessly into the various hiding places while Lulu would go from hole entrance to hole entrance and peek inside for Emma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Lulu then runs out from another spot and surprises Emma.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was very entertaining to observe.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;And who knew so much could be written about three walks and a play&lt;/span&gt; date!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-114007115946523841?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/114007115946523841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=114007115946523841&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114007115946523841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/114007115946523841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/02/walking-with-maggie-and-emma.html' title='Walking with Maggie and Emma'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113943373518455531</id><published>2006-02-08T15:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-02-08T16:27:25.400-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dieting Dogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/Copy%20of%20it%20moved.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/Copy%20of%20it%20moved.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;I left my favorite pet food store this afternoon shaking my head.  Had the staff been talking about me I would have left in tears, however they were talking about my short companion, Luc, an eight year old Springer Spaniel.  I went in looking for a healthy alternative to the daily chewy he gets as a treat when I drop him off after an active day.  Luc assists me on my poop scooping rounds and we take an additional one hour walk. While I sincerely appreciated the input, I was offended that no one had any qualms about calling Luc fat to his face...or above his head. The detailed descriptions of how fat he was and the damage fat can do to an older dog were so bad that everyone in the store stared at both of us and I wanted to defend our honor.  Or scold them for their rudeness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need to lose a few pounds also and I take Luc's diet very seriously.  Sadly more than my own sometimes. The good news is that in eight days he has lost 2.1 pounds, which on a 62.2 pound dog is pretty good.  Our goal for right now is 52 pounds.  I am still shaking my head wondering if Luc could understand all the rude fuss being made over him and regardless, if anyone else thought it was a bit overboard!  What happened to "he has a great personality and gets along well with others"?   Or "what a sweet smile that dog possesses"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On that note, we did stop at the car wash before going to the pet store and the attendant, standing behind me as I was getting my purse out of the car said "what a cutie".  I turned around and smiled and said thank you - you made my day, when I realized he was talking about Luc!  I started to apologize for the misunderstanding, but instead thanked the fellow for recognizing how cute both Luc and I were - in our own way.  The attendant then said "you're cute too, but I wasn't sure it was appropriate to say anything".  Geez, I wish he worked at the pet food store!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113943373518455531?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113943373518455531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113943373518455531&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113943373518455531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113943373518455531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/02/dieting-dogs.html' title='Dieting Dogs'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113746868720564309</id><published>2006-01-16T22:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-16T22:31:27.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyme Disease Update</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0806.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/200/DSCN0806.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Katie is back to her peppy, normal self after almost a week and a half of antibiotics.  It was amazing to watch her transformation from a very sad and in-pain dog to teasing her brother Sacha and hiding her chewies all over the house. Being one of the smartest dogs I have ever met makes Katie baffling to figure out sometimes.  I know she is trying to tell me something - like play stick, open toliet lid, open refrigerator, feed me - but I frequently get the signals mixed up.  I do think she somehow understands that I helped her feel better and even dropped the $10. for Pill Pockets so her massive amounts of medicine are palatable.  So far her Lyme Disease has cost $120 for the first vet visit, drugs and the Lyme Titer; $13 for more drugs last week; $33 for more antibiotics this week; the pill pockets and $45 for new Solid Gold dog food to help her lose the 7 pounds she gained by not being so active and me compensating for her pain with food!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She's happy, I'm happy.  Still have not mentioned that I took her to the vet though.  The bad thing about an omission of truth is that the longer you let it go, the harder it is to bring up.  I would not advise it...gives me heartburn.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113746868720564309?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113746868720564309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113746868720564309&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113746868720564309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113746868720564309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/lyme-disease-update.html' title='Lyme Disease Update'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113695082197308574</id><published>2006-01-10T22:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-10T22:40:21.980-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Walking in the Field</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN2571.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/200/DSCN2571.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The warm weather has made walking in the winter landscape a dream.  Ticks, unfortunately, are still alive and jumping so we have to spend the rest of the day doing tick hunts on all the dogs.  On the days when I wonder if I am doing the right thing, I breath in the fresh air and imagine that I could be sitting in project meeting trying to stay awake.  I am where I want and need to be right now.  Plus I can go home and take an afternoon nap with the dogs. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113695082197308574?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113695082197308574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113695082197308574&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113695082197308574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113695082197308574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/walking-in-field.html' title='Walking in the Field'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113686070476492653</id><published>2006-01-09T21:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-09T21:38:24.773-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring Time in January</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0661.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/200/DSCN0661.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The birds chirping, a happy dog barking next door and the sun peeking out, all at 6:15 this morning, made for a great Monday morning.  In the world of poop scooping, the weather could not have been more perfect.  I picked up my buddy Luc and we went as a team of two today.  Luc likes some of the houses we service and for those that he does not, he sits patiently in the car looking longingly at the biscuit bag.  For the most part Luc doesn't like any house where a dog is in the yard. My other dogs are much more social so I take turns everyday.  Wednesdays with Willie are wild and we visit a lot of puppy or young dog houses, so he tears about the yard and when we leave 15 minutes later, the client dog is panting and ready for a nap!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than great weather for January, easy pickings in the mine field, so to speak, and good company and music in the car, riding with all the windows open, the day was ok.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113686070476492653?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113686070476492653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113686070476492653&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113686070476492653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113686070476492653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/spring-time-in-january.html' title='Spring Time in January'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113669167766709146</id><published>2006-01-07T22:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T22:41:17.683-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The House Dogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/Ben%20and%20Brownie%20thinking.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/Ben%20and%20Brownie%20thinking.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0576.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/DSCN0576.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0151.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/DSCN0151.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Portraits of the very patient and fairly obedient house dogs! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Ben and Brownie, both Golden Retrievers, sadly died over the past year of old age - living to be a very healthy 17 and a moderately healthy 14.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt; Spunky, an eight year old Cocker  Spaniel rescue, joined us the summer of 2005 and lives for hiking, eating and humping every new dog he meets.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sacha, the golden, is four and a half and used to live down the block, but ended up moving in almost two years ago. He is extremely sweet, very tall and loves to jump on people, although we are finally working on a new training program successfully.  And Katie, almost eight, is one of the best dogs in the world.  She is a Gollie - German Shepard/Border Collie mix.  It is a very intellegent and insightful mix and extremely rare. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113669167766709146?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113669167766709146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113669167766709146&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113669167766709146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113669167766709146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/house-dogs.html' title='The House Dogs'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113669006757660814</id><published>2006-01-07T21:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T22:47:30.960-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyme Disease and Lies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0806.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/DSCN0806.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;In general, if not all the time, I am an honest person.  I even try to avoid those little white lies because I always forget what excuse I might have used. And luckily for me my life is such that I don't really have to make up lies or excuses for anything.  If I don't feel like working, I just don't - accepting the fact that I won't get paid either.  And if I am not losing weight, I don't scratch my head bewildered and wonder why.  I know why - ice cream and cookies instead of regular meals. So not only do I avoid lying to others, I am determined to never lie to myself.  I think I am moderately successful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So right now I have an issue with myself over a big lie I committed this week.  Actually, I did not lie at all.&lt;/span&gt;  I just have not mentioned that I did something I was specifically told not to do. I will have to fess up eventually, although I may not. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Here is the admission of truth about my actions - no I didn't have an affair or rob a bank, although one of those actions has a bit of an appeal.  I took my boyfriends dog, Katie, to the vet after he said no, certain that her lame leg and lethagic behavior was just a sprain.  And guess what?  It is Lyme Disease.  Her joints were inflammed, she had a high fever and moving at all caused her a lot of pain. Katie is on her third day of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and doing really well.  Her eyes aren't bugged out in pain, she can walk on her right leg which she wasn't even using and she is excited about playing stick and hiding bones in the yard.  A sprain does not get better that fast.  She has even approached the other dogs to play a bit and the past few days she was avoiding them because playing hurt. Now I have to decide if I should just keep giving her the medicine (yes) and pretend like she has had a miraculous recovery. The blood work comes back on Wednesday and I am giving myself until then to decide what to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have an issue with what I did because  Katie looked like she was really suffering and I could not stand watching her knowing it was worse than a minor sprain. In the past, sprains have not kept her from being interactive and lively. And I really don't want to be an "I told you so" sort of person.  I would rather just leave it alone and make sure I am doing all I can to take care of Katie. My boyfriend does not believe in medicine, doctors, any sort of illness, including and especially anything of an "emotional" nature, like depression.  Of course he has been hacking like a old truck the past few weeks and refuses to do anything at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I could I would knock him out and infuse him with vitamins and tea until he was better, perhaps cutting his hair in the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully in a few days I will decide the impact of my Lyme Disease omission of action.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113669006757660814?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113669006757660814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113669006757660814&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113669006757660814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113669006757660814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/lyme-disease-and-lies.html' title='Lyme Disease and Lies'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113647090106679895</id><published>2006-01-05T09:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T22:47:57.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Quiet Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;It's the first morning in three weeks that the house dogs and I all slept until 8:30am.  And all of us were in the exact same spots we had originally set our heads down.  Spunky was in the new ebay bed I bought for Katie, but it turned out to be too small; Katie was on Sacha's bed next to our bed; and Sacha, never one to sleep on our bed much, was stretched out along side of me, pinning the blankets down so I had just a sliver and shiver all night long.  The CD player was getting louder and louder forcing Enya to push her limits and annoy me enough to get up and turn her off, but I put up a good battle and ignored her to the best of my ability, using skills normally reserved for my boyfriend when trying to ignore him. Sleeping in feels so good after a rowdy session of guest dogs, early morning puppy playtimes and frantic, let's get them out the door before they decide the carpets are better than cold mud and grass to pee on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now I am up, there is work to be done, coffee to be consumed and INVOICES to be completed!  How in the world I expect to get paid without mailing my invoices is a mystery to me, so my mission today is they must be in the mail by 5PM!  No more goofing off, recovering from the holiday rush of "abandoned" pets luxurating at Ben's Bed and Biscuit, and using valid excuses like the puppy ate my computer. Of course this will be done after poop scooping, walking the housedogs and one of their friends and who knows what else...oh yes, must finish knitting my girl friends' Christmas present!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113647090106679895?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113647090106679895/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113647090106679895&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113647090106679895'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113647090106679895'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/quiet-morning.html' title='Quiet Morning'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113634600072227456</id><published>2006-01-03T22:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-16T22:19:09.210-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Luc, My Tuesday Thursday Dog</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0779.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/DSCN0779.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Luc, an eight year old Springer Spaniel, came into my life over a year ago by accident.  I met him and his owner during one of our Saturday morning walks - she with her quiet Luc and me with six dogs, my three and three guests.  Luc was not overly fond of my pack, but he was nice to me.  Now, a year later, Luc is my constant companion on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I pick him up around 8am, take him for a long walk with my guys, drop everyone else off at home to walk later with Doug, and do my poop scooping with Luc as my co-pilot.  Sometimes he gets out of the car, but frequently he just sits and waits.  He only like yards where the dogs are never out and very rarely will Luc try to get to know any of the other dogs...except mine. Or someone cute who catches his eye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we drive and sometimes I sing to him.  I talk to him a lot and feel like we have become good friends on a very non-verbal level...kind of like Doug.  The difference is that Luc actually acts like he is listening to me and never acts annoyed.  The days I don't see him I feel like I should call and say hey, but I don't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113634600072227456?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113634600072227456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113634600072227456&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113634600072227456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113634600072227456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/luc-my-tuesday-thursday-dog.html' title='Luc, My Tuesday Thursday Dog'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113623611714189905</id><published>2006-01-02T16:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T22:51:14.650-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Puli Puppy Pippin Pulls Plug</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/1600/DSCN0954.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2385/2048/320/DSCN0954.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;The first of the month is always invoice day.  I don't understand why I dread it or put it off as it is my income. Today however, as I have been sitting here learning about blogs, IM's and other distractions, a small black Pulli named Pippin has been snuggling quietly by my toes.  I am grateful that he is quiet and not pooing somewhere in the house.  Or barking at dust bunnies and annoying the house dogs. After 14 days of petsitting, one extra dog seems a luxury and my dogs are ready for peace and quiet too.  A customer calls looking for a missed invoice - that never happens, and I go to print a copy for her.  My printer acts like it is printing but something is off.  Oh well, I tell her, I'll get it out to you with this months invoice - I am finishing them up tonight and will have them in the mail tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get up to grab a soda before I hunker down to get real work done and find a small black wire on the floor.  Hmmm.  I go up the stairs to the kitchen and find a scuzzy cable in the kitchen.  Hmmm I say again.  I see a few more black wires scattered about the floor. Still mildly unconcious of the reality I go back to the computer, where Pippin has hardly seemed to move and find half my wires have been chewed off!  Damn.  Or worse %$*&amp;amp;$#.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the kind of situation where you can't get too upset, or you need to really freak out. I just shrugged my shoulders after a silent swearing fit.   Let's see, this dog has chewed two holes in my new bedspread, pooed, peed and generally raised hell in every room of the house.  He has tormented my dogs, requires daily hour long combing sessions and sleeps on my bed keeping everyone else off.  On top of that, I gave his owner a great discount and picked up and will drop off.  His, Pippins, saving grace is that he is pretty darn cute and very loveable...however if I can't fix my printer tonight my feelings may change a bit!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113623611714189905?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113623611714189905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113623611714189905&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113623611714189905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113623611714189905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/puli-puppy-pippin-pulls-plug_02.html' title='Puli Puppy Pippin Pulls Plug'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20444205.post-113623521886459034</id><published>2006-01-02T15:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-01-07T22:46:08.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>MissPoop with the staff.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/242/9270/640/DSCN1435.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="border: 1px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); margin: 2px;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/hello/242/9270/320/DSCN1435.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" &gt;Me with some of the house dogs posing for an Animal&lt;br /&gt;Fair article on MissPoop - our business.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="absmiddle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/20444205-113623521886459034?l=gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/feeds/113623521886459034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=20444205&amp;postID=113623521886459034&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113623521886459034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/20444205/posts/default/113623521886459034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gonewiththedogs.blogspot.com/2006/01/misspoop-with-staff.html' title='MissPoop with the staff.'/><author><name>Miriam</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00263304345048469105</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
