… on perspectives in gangland


The World from the perspective of Princess Blaze (complete, it seems, with little royal fairy orbs)

Having multiple dogs is an interesting proposition for anyone.

I have heard people say that any more than two dogs is a ‘pack’ (I prefer to use ‘gaggle’. I just like the word. And also, I don’t think geese mind.)

And, maybe this is true.

But what, exactly is meant by using the term (either one, ‘pack’ or ‘gaggle’?)

I’m thinking that the warning of having a pack/gaggle is all about the dogs behaving differently in a group than they do when it is just one or two of ’em.

Like suddenly there’s this wHierd mind meld and, kaPoof!, different pooches.

Makes perfect sense because it is just like kids.

Oh ya. You heard me. I equated our precious cherubs to dogs.

I’m not even sorry.

One kid?

A companion who bonds to you because, you know, no other kid.

Most likely this one kid will be extremely talented at talking to adults and you and your friends will have long and interesting conversations with such a child on topics including how to save the Everglades from depopulation of certain prey species due to the rampant dumping (and subsequent breeding) of carnivorous exotic snake species.

I was there for that exact conversation with that particular young man.

Great kid.

But once you have two, things begin to go downhill fast in the ‘I can totally control this situation’ category.

Oh sure, you try to keep yourself calm by convincing yourself that, when push comes to shove, if they both flake out at the same time, there’s one for you and one for your spouse and/or partner (I am totally politically correct (at least I was, right there).

But three?

Three moves you right out of man-to-man and right into a zone defense.

Three outnumbers you and your spartner (trying to save time here) six hands to four.

Legs too.

Three is a gang, people. There is no way around it.

Three can scheme and plan together and they have the critical mass to make things happen.

And as with kids, so goes it with dogs.

They are also a gang.

A freakin’ canine thug of a gang.

Once they unionized we were done.

Canine strikes against ‘the management’ have taken down many a household.

Anyway, I recently decided to apply some human child-rearing techniques to the dogs, in the hopes of hammering a wedge between them for my own personal preservation.

My plan is simple. To take them out, individually, for some ‘special mommy time’… and


You know, I can’t really call it special mommy time without sounding oddly creepy because of the different human-dog species-ness.

I couldn’t even call it that when I was taking my kids out for one-on-one time.

“Special mommy time”…

Makes me just about as comfy as the term, “friendly clown”.

Okay, it’s not as creepy as ‘friendly clown’.

So, as any good and effective celebrity manager would do, I’m rebranding my concept.

I am calling it ‘What’s up Pup?” time.

”Sup pup’ for short.

‘Sup pup’ time will be my time to hang with a dog, one on one, and just be.

Could be car time, or beach time, or Maine time, or really any time to hang out and give each dog undivided access to me.

Ya. It’s totally manipulative on my part.

Dogs like undivided access.

No sharing of tennis balls or belly rubs.

Good plan.

Manipulate the frack out of them so they love and listen to me when I plead for mercy during the next gang uprising.

Plus I am so tired of the looting.

So the other day I went up to Maine with HRH The Princess Bunny-Blaze.

Who’s new name is ‘Glue Stick’.

Sure, it’s a little less royal, but far more behaviorally descriptive.

And, it turns out that ”sup pup’ time with Princess Blaze totally rocks!

Without Fred and Marshal Dillon Dingle requiring her constant royal-and-dictatorial management skills (she refers to their antics as ‘mucking up the works’), she pays absolute attention to … wait for it… me!

She rode to the store with me and waited patiently as I went in and got my coffee and sandwiches for the guys (our friends are painting again… and not talking about Dexter-style kill rooms as they hung their plastic tarps,  so this time it’s a little less anxiety provoking.)

Turns out that Blaze, on her own, doesn’t join Fred and Marshal in barking at every single person and animal when they walk by.

In fact, I learned a little something.

My new theory is that I don’t always have three dogs barking in ‘don’t mess with us’ unison at other dogs/persons/butterflies that pass by the car.

I now believe I have only two dogs barking at those things.

Blaze is just screaming “shut the fuh up!” at Fred and Marshal Dillon Dingle.

And also?

When it’s just me and Blaze, she doesn’t have to worry about Marshal Dillon Dingle bombing her photo shoots (nor does she have to worry about Fred pooping in the background).

When we walked down to the dock for one of her morning sessions, she opted to practice her poses for the next Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue (she was without a swimsuit so skip the next pic if you are squeamish about nudity).


Future (Royal) Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Model of the Year

And look at that, no one else annoying her and making her growly.

Here’s another shot (again, skip it if you hate nudity because it is the classic, ‘walking away’ pose we often see in the Swimsuit Issue).


She was sort of sashaying… swim suit photo shoot-style

And when we drove home, and I opened up the windows on Forrest Street (one street away from our own), she went to the car window and stuck her head out. She took in the sweet smells of cow poo, Dunstable squirrels, and read her pee-mail (wireless).

And when she got home, someone…

who had been left behind…

was waiting for her.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAnd he was None.




Thanks for readin’.

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