Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy Howl-o-ween



Trick or Chicken Treat!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

The Pupose of Life

I guess if you are bold or crazy enough to start a blog called “The Dalai Dog,” you should expect spiritual seekers.

Requests are pouring in for Dog to answer the great questions of humanity. I hope he is up to the task. (Maybe if I promise him some chicken treats?)

My friend, Cameron, a weekly columnist for the local newspaper who is a smart, inquisitive sort (and who will be taking care of Dog when we go on vacation over Thanksgiving) was so excited about this blog. “I would love to know the purpose of life from a dog’s perspective!” she exclaimed on the phone.

Well, Little Grasshopper, listen closely, as the Dalai Dog shares his wisdom…

The purpose of life is complicated, yet simple. Hidden in the illusions of reality that you call life.

You think that the purpose of life is a tangible thing that can be touched, captured, achieved like the Best of Show ribbon. But what good is that award when you are alone in your crate at night?

No, my friend, the purpose in life is not how many ribbons you win or how many people you impress or your AKC pedigree. The secret of life is this:

1) Food
2) Sleep
3) Play
4) Walks
5) Love

Not necessarily in that order. As you move through life the order will change. When you are a puppy, play is the top priority. As you grow older, food and sleep take precedence. Walks (work, exercise for you humans) is constant, although you may resist it. Dogs, who are much more intuitively intelligent about these types of things, realize how essential it is every day.

Pleasure, exertion, rest must be balanced to be appreciated.

But, the most important of all these secrets is love. Is there anything better than being greeted with the excitement of a wagging tail at your mere presence? Or expressing your love freely, fearlessly, with wild abandon?

Beyond everything else, we are here to give and receive love.

That, Little Grasshopper, is the purpose of life.

Now, where’s my chicken treat?!

Monday, October 29, 2007

Sunny Day

By Guest Blogger, The Dog Cuddler

"Not right now. Not right now! Bedtime baby, bedtime!" my wife commands Sunny.

She is hoping to stall our fluffy little canine alarm clock who is awake at 6:15 am and relentlessly pawing at the side of the bed. It works. Briefly. Like hitting the snooze button.

We thought getting a dog would have lots of the benefits of having another baby, but without so much work. We didn’t figure on the pre-dawn awakenings.

But, unlike a baby who learns to sleep in, I have my doubts about Dog.
And this causes me to ponder the age-old question: Can you teach an old dog new tricks?

Don't get me wrong. There's no turning back for Sunny. It's me that has to change.

I've never been an early morning person and now it has been forced upon me - again. It conjures up memories of my early morning paper route many years ago. Back then, I had $51 a month as motivation. Now, I need a daily reward and payment has to be up-front!

For those of you with your mind in the gutter, of course I'm referring to Peet's coffee.

So, I jump out of bed with Peet's on my mind and start another "Sunny Day.”
With almost two hours to go until the kids need a ride to school, there is ample time to waste.

I read the paper, surf the web, get ready for work, and play fetch with Sunny.
My wife fixes breakfast for Sunny and sometimes for me, too. As the coffee reaches its full effect, I gather the kids up and off we go to school.

On the way out the door, I glance over at Sunny to say goodbye. But, he is asleep on his back with paws folded and legs up in the air.



Now, that is what I call a Sunny Day.

Sunday, October 28, 2007

I Told You He Was Pupular



This is sooooo cute!

We are going on vacation over the Thanksgiving holiday and my good friend, Cameron and her family have magnanimously volunteered to take care of Sunny for us. (This is no small thing, since the first year we had Sunny we didn’t take a vacation—I was too nervous about leaving him.)

Their whole family is gearing up for the big dog vacation. They recently had Sunny over for a trial run on a Sunday afternoon and in the space of about an hour and a half, they had taken him on two walks, escorted him around the neighborhood to introduce him to the other local dogs (so he would have some friends when he came back), cuddled with him on everyone’s bed and played countless games of fetch and chase the tennis ball. (Sunny was so exhausted; he came home and went straight to bed.)

Sarah, Cameron’s daughter, really loves dogs (and Sunny in particular) and so she is counting down the days until Dog arrives for his “Sullivan Vacation!” It’s like an Advent calendar, only when you get to the end, instead of Santa and a bunch of toys, you get—a little white, fluffy dog!

Thank you, Sarah! You have no idea what it means to us to know that Sunny will be so incredibly loved while we are away.

Let’s just hope he’s not so much trouble that you have to make another calendar—Countdown until Sunny’s family finally comes home and we can get rid of this Dog.

Friday, October 26, 2007

The Power of Chicken Treats



(Sunny trying to break into the pantry where we store the big chicken treat bag.)

As much as we might like to believe that the love our dogs have for us is pure and sacred and unconditional, in our hearts we know the truth…It’s all about the food.

Sunny is a big foodie.

His tastes are particular, if not eccentric. Although we buy him only the best, organic, all-natural dog food, most days he prefers to leave the cold, dry kibbles languishing in his bowl in the hopes that something better will come along either by way of guilt-inducing begging or a careless drop of something yummy on the floor. (There’s no five-second rule in our house. If you drop it, it’s scarfed down before you have the opportunity to consider whether or not it is still edible.)

When we got Dog it was recommended that we feed him an egg yolk a day to help prevent eye problems common in his breed. So I dutifully micro-waved him an egg yolk every morning when he was a puppy. At first he gobbled them up, along with the dry food, because I dribbled the runny yellow all over it.

Soon he tired of plain egg yolk and I had to resort to mixing a little cheese into his breakfast. Omelet de la kibble. This is working since he has yet to tire of cheese—a trait that he and I enthusiastically share.

But his real weakness is chicken treats. I originally bought these because I thought they would be a “healthy” alternative to other kinds of treats with chemicals, additives, high-fructose corn syrup (oh, sorry, that’s the kids’ snacks I’m thinking about..). These are basically dried chicken breasts. How healthy is that? High protein, low fat…

But too much of a good thing can turn into a bad thing.

Soon, he was addicted. He would do anything for a chicken treat. His life was out of control and unmanageable. He needed to surrender his will to a higher power, but what power would that be? Rawhides? Beef bones?

I must confess, it's all my fault. I’m an enabler.

When Sunny was a puppy, we potty trained him by giving him a chicken treat whenever he went out to pee vs. peeing inside. But it wasn’t too long until we noticed that he spent a good part of the day scratching at the door, going outside, taking a teeny tinkle on a bush, then running enthusiastically inside to jump on the drawer where we keep the treats.

After a while, we got wise to this ruse and started giving him treats only for poops.

But Dog was smarter than us. We would let him out and he would run to the other side of the yard, loiter behind a bush for a while, and then come bounding in, heading straight for the treat drawer, with a look on his face that said, “Yeah, I pooped. Didn’t you see me? Oh, sorry, I guess the foliage was blocking your view. You should have been out there with me to witness that magnificent poop. But, hey, you can trust me. Now, come on, give up the treat!”

It wasn’t until our good friend, and total dog person, Ann kept him while we went on vacation and reported back to us that we realized the error of our ways.

“You’re giving him too many treats!” she scolded. “He’s getting fat!”

Shamed, and with only the good of the Dog in mind, I had to go with the tough love approach.

Now the chicken treats are doled out like methadone pills, only enough to stabilize him.

Otherwise he gets baby carrots for treats.

If he gets addicted to those, Dog help us, but at least they’re good for his eyes.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

The Dog Cuddler


My husband, Jeff, is no Dog Whisperer, but he definitely has a special way with our dog.

One of the biggest and best surprises in this whole dog adventure is how much Jeff loves that little dog. No matter how late he’s worked (sometimes midnight!) or how exhausted he is when he gets home, he always takes a few minutes to play sock tug-of-war with Sunny and do a little rough play with him. “He’s a boy!” he says. “He needs some fight-and-bite.”

A few days ago I was amazed when Jeff (who hates to go shopping) stopped by the grocery store on his way home from work to pick up some big, hearty beef bones for the dog. Even though it was late and dark, he went outside and fired up the grill and cooked up those bones to give Sunny a special treat.

Later he told me later that he felt bad because the previous night he had brought the dog home a bone from his lunch of pork ribs, but he quickly realized the bone was too small and he had to take it away, afraid that Sunny might choke. The freshly grilled bone was his way of making amends.

While you might expect him to bond with the dog in the macho matters of play and food, the dog has also brought out a rare tender side of my husband.

The best story of all is when Sunny was a tiny puppy and he had just had his first set of vaccinations. At the time Sunny was sleeping in a large pen in our family room. (Now in his elevated position of Center of the Universe, he takes turns sleeping in bed with my son or on a big dog pillow in the master bedroom.)

The vet must have hit a tender spot, because the dog’s whimpering could be heard all the way upstairs. It was the middle of the night and I turned around to see if Jeff could hear the dog, too, but he was gone from the bed. (By the way, this man is the same champion sleeper who, when our daughter, Savannah was about a week old greeted me one morning exclaiming, “Wow! The baby slept through the night!” when, in actuality, I had fed and diapered the baby several times a mere inches from Jeff’s snoozing, immobile form.)

But, back to the crying dog.

When I tiptoed downstairs I found Jeff, sitting in the pen, cradling the pup in his arms, gently rocking him to sleep.

I guess I should have had puppies sooner.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Walking (the Dog) Meditation


“Your mind is like an untrained puppy, wandering all over the place, often making you miserable,” writes my good friend, MJ Ryan in The Happiness Makeover.

She goes on to say that training our mind is a lot like potty training a puppy; we must be aware of where our mind goes and put it back in the place where we want it to go. Then that neurological pathway becomes more automatic and we can become happier, more grateful, etc.

Intellectually I know that meditating, training my mind to be still and to go to a peaceful place is beneficial for all kinds of reasons. Yet, like eating green leafy vegetables and flossing my teeth and so many other things that are good for me, I resist.

Meditation is especially tough because the traditional idea of meditation involves sitting still (even better, in a lotus position, which is comfortable for about 30 seconds) and clearing my mind—two things that seem just about impossible for my overwhelmed, mind-chattering, multi-tasking, Type-A self.

Which is exactly why I NEED to meditate.

So, getting back to the disparity between puppies and meditation, I can see a little irony in the fact that I have decided to combine the two:

Several years ago I was at a wonderful “mindfulness” spa that taught a variety of meditation classes, including “walking meditation.”

Walking meditation is a way to meditate in movement. The experience of walking is the focus and instead of repeating a mantra, or struggling to “clear your mind,” you keep your awareness on the act of walking.

I’ve invented a new meditation—Walking the Dog Meditation.

This is how it goes:

Step One: Go to your computer and check e-mail and try to write and get busy and anxious with all the gazillions of things you have to do today.

Step Two: Dog wanders into your office, jumps on you, grabs your running shoe, goes back and forth to you and the door in an obsessive, frantic way with guilt-producing look of neediness.

Step Three: You realize you will never get anything done until you walk the dog.

Step Four: You don’t really feel like a walk, and you have way too many things to do, but you take the dog out anyway. You can't avoid looking around at the blue sky and the trees and feeling the sun on your skin and, in an instant, you realize what a gorgeous day it is and how lucky you are to have the time and freedom and healthy body to able to walk the dog.

Step Five: You thank God (or thank Dog) for this beautiful day, for the happy little dog that is totally enjoying living in the moment--relishing the simple act of peeing on every bush and pole--and for all the other blessings in your life.

Step Six: You walk, and as you walk, you might repeat a mantra or think of all the things you are grateful for or you may decide that this is a time to relax and not have to think at all.

Step Seven: If you decide to let all your problems go, very soon, and sometimes immediately, an answer to said problems will pop into your head—a genius solution that only the space of nothingness in your mind could allow this amazing, brilliant, extraordinary idea to burst forward.

Step Eight: You come home. Dog is exhausted and ready to sleep by your side and be your muse, while you are relaxed, invigorated, and ready to go forward with amazing idea.

This is my perfect meditation.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

He's So Pupular



Today, as I drove my 8-year-old son to school, Sunny rode along—in his usual privileged position, perched on my lap, head thrust out of the window, enjoying the breeze. Other than getting treats or going for a walk, this is his favorite part of the day. He loves all the activity--watching the kids scurrying to school, seeing the occasional familiar face in the crowd.

Today he hit the doggie jackpot.

We were running late, so I committed a major carpool sin and pulled around to the back of the school, where there is basically no traffic, and I idled briefly to let my son out at the crosswalk, prepared to zip off and out of the way the moment he crossed the street.

Luckily for Sunny, another mom was running late, too—Auntie Ann, our good friend, neighbor, and most importantly, beloved keeper and cherisher of the dog whenever we go on vacation. Ann pulled up beside me, rolled down her window, smiled her gorgeous Homecoming Queen smile, and exclaimed, “Hi Sunny!” (I’m just his driver.)

By Sunny’s reaction you would have sworn that Santa Claus himself was sitting in the car next to us with a big sack of chicken treats and beef bones. He leaped over to the passenger side and lunged half of his furiously tail-wagging body out of the window, wild with happiness. Sunny does something that I have never seen (or heard) a dog do before—he literally cries with joy when he sees someone he loves. He whimpers like he’s in pain. The first time he did this, Ann thought she had stepped on him when she walked in the door. No, that’s not a broken paw, he’s just happy to see you. Really, really, really happy to see you.

Ann’s carload of kids swarmed out of her Suburban, and even though the bell had already rung and they were all late, each and every child stopped by the window of our car to give Sunny a vigorous pet and receive a warm, wet lick of a greeting in return. And they were all smiling, looking back and waving as they ran to their classes.

I get such a kick out of seeing how much Sunny loves certain people and how much they love him back. And how can they help it? When some living being cries with joy at the mere sight of you, jumping and beaming and panting for your attention, how could you help but be charmed?





I am reminded of something I once read in some self-help, motivational book: That if you want to be popular, you shouldn’t worry about how you look or what you wear or even making sparkling conversation. The real secret to popularity is not how fabulous you are, but how you make people feel about themselves when they are with you.

And to think, Sunny never even read that book.