Entries Tagged 'The Girls' ↓

Alice covered her head with the pillow when the alarm went off and groaned. It was still dark outside and according to her internal clock, breakfast was still several hours away.

“What is with the Orange Blossom Special running through our bedroom,” she asked Macy. “Get up and turn that blasted alarm off. This is no hour for man’s best friend to be awake.”

Macy bounded over to the clock. “Get up, Alice! It’s the first day of school! Aren’t you excited? We don’t want to be late! I have so much work to do before we leave! Woooooof!”

Oh geez, Alice sighed. Her sister was in puppy mode, overly excited and unable to control her energy. Didn’t she know anything? All the cool dogs hated school because they already knew everything there was to know. But there was Macy, stacking up her tennis balls and toys, trying to get ready for her remedial training class where she would once again struggle with listening skills, her barkitude, and her ability to sit when told. It’d be another big fat “F” in obedience.

“Listen,” Alice said. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we cut class today? We can hide out at the movies or hang in the dog park and round up all the other dogs playing hookie. Or we could just keep on laying right here on this cushy bed and nap through the day.”

“No way!” Macy yiped. “I’m all ready to go. I have my Trapper Keeper filled with all of the obedience instructions. I have my tennis balls that are color-coordinated with my notebooks so I can keep track of my notes and look pretty all at the same time. I  have a list of all the dogs in the neighborhood that we need to make friends with. I have my Lassie lunchbox, though I really wanted a lunchbox with Charlie’s Angels on it but I couldn’t find one anywhere! And I worked so hard on making my nails extra perfect last night. We are going to school and that’s that.”

“Ha,” Alice said. “Who died and left you the alpha dog? I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay right here and get smarter through osmosis. I’m sure there are plenty of smart vibes in this bed since Dad sleeps here and he’s a professor. I’ll just soak up all the intelligence while I catch a few more z’s.”

Macy nipped at Alice’s neck and let out a yelp. “Come on, Alice! School is the new black. It’s like more fashionable than Michael Kors and Lady Gaga. At least that’s what all the cool dogs say. And even mom is going back. I mean, she hasn’t been to school in about a hundred years and look how excited she is. Except I’m kinda disappointed that her notebooks and pens aren’t color-coordinated. I don’t know what she was thinking when she bought those.”

“Listen super-excited-annoying-pants, I am already schooled enough. I am a full time student in the school of L-I-F-E. I’ve got more street smarts than you’ll ever have and classes bore me. I mean, what is there left to teach the Greatest of All Time? I know all the commands. My vocabulary is impeccable. I pretty much rule. Except I still can’t figure out how to the get the bone jar off that shelf for a late-night chow-down.”

Macy looked out the window, watching all of the kids walk to school. She wiggled her bottom and tried not to bark at them. This year she was definitely going to work on her barkitude since last year she failed so miserably in that area. “You shouldn’t brag, Alice. Nobody likes a know it all. Besides, mom says you can learn something new every day and that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to learn new words and new commands and I’m going to listen and be the bestest girl I can be.”

“Oh god, it’s the first-day list of promises,” Alice got up and stretched her legs. Every year it was harder and harder to wake up early and leave the comfort of the bed but she knew she had to set a good example for her sister who needed her to be a good role model. No one understood the pressure she was under, trying to keep her little sis on the straight and narrow. One wrong step and Macy would be hanging with the wrong crowd, causing mayhem at the dog park, and heaven forbid, not keeping her nails groomed. Life was a bitch sometimes, which Alice never really understood because what was so bad about life being a female dog. Humans, they didn’t choose their words carefully enough sometimes.

“You need to take a bath before we leave,” Macy said. “You sort of stink.”

“Don’t push your luck sis. You’re lucky I’m even getting up. And let it be known that I’m not really going to school, I’m just following you there to make sure nothing happens to you. And if they’re offering it, I might sign up for a course in quantum physics or something like that. Something that’ll school me in getting that bone jar off the shelf so I can get the bone quantity I deserve.”

“YAY!” Macy barked. “I knew I could convince you to come to school. Now, I’m thinking maybe a pink bow in your hair would be just the thing. You know, in case you see your boyfriend Bernie or something. Alice and Bernie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage…”

Alice rolled her eyes and trotted away from Macy. She was already thinking about ways to pack on the Freshman Fifteen. Surely there was a class in Human Manipulation or Grand Bone Theft or How To Get Your Vegetarian Parents To Bring More Meat In The House or Smile Your Way To More Steak. Or maybe this year, they would let her teach a class. Professor Alice Palace Purcell. Hells yeah. Now where was her pipe and that corduroy blazer with the suede patches on the elbows?

Oooh, it’s uncharted territory! A new fence means a new perimeter to patrol. When we last left our fearless Aussies in Akron, they were protecting a postage-stamp sized yard. When Alice saw this new yard, she nodded her head and said, “now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, people.”

BALL LOOSE IN THE WEST QUADRANT! EMERGENCY! EMERGENCY! RAMPART 151! Must. Get. Wild. Ball. Alice chases the wayward tennis ball while Macy retrieves and returns hers.

Whew, that was a close call, said Alice after she successfully nabbed the ball. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” said Alice to Macy as she trotted by. “I remain the greatest of all time.”

La-la-la catch the ball! I like yellow balls! I hope my butt doesn’t look too big in this picture! La-la-la la-la-la!

‘No, seriously, we’re protecting the entire yard from this comfy little spot here. I can see all the way down the street, I promise. We’re not resting or anything. We’re not tired at all. Macy, put your ginormous tongue back in your mouth, you look like a dork.”

“I can’t help it,” said Macy. “I’m hot after all of that ball chasing.”

“You know what they say, if you can’t run with the big dogs, don’t piss in the high grass.”

“That’s not the way it goes,” said Macy.

“Whatevs,” Alice yawned. “I’m gonna nap in this here ivy all day long.”

Alice’s glamour shot. Her comment: “Yeah, I was kind of hoping for a different backdrop, you know, maybe like a brick wall or a steel mill or an alley with graffiti but I guess I look pretty good au-naturale and all that. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride.”

Macy’s glamour shot. Her comment: “I think green leaves bring out the color of my eyes.”

“You look like a dork,” said Alice.

“Shut up or I’ll tell mom you’re making fun of me again,” said Macy.

“Dork.”

Alice stepped on the scale and waited. “Grrrrr,” she growled. She stepped off and then stepped back on, leaving one paw hanging off the side of the scale. “Un-freaking-believable.”

Macy peeked around the bathroom door. “What are you doing in here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m weighing myself. This damn thing is broken; it’s broken I tell you.”

Macy looked at the number on the screen. “Ohhhhhhhh, you’re still 63 pounds? You haven’t lost an ounce since the vet weighed you.”

“Tell me about it. The reduction in treats has been torture. I mean it’s like the Bay of Pigs around here.”

“I think you mean Guantanamo Bay,” Macy said.

“Whatevs.” Alice paced the bathroom. ”What I need is a personal trainer like they have on Biggest Loser.  Someone to whip me in shape fast so I can get back to putting on the old feedbag. Hey, you hate food. How about you become my trainer?”

Macy wiggled her stump of a tail. “Really? Me? You want me to be your trainer?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Alice said, sighing. ”If I at least get down in the fifties, Mom will start doling out the bones again. I mean, I am boneless here. Can’t a girl get a god-damned treat once in awhile?”

Macy stared out the window. “So, the first thing I need is a pink sweatsuit with matching sweatbands. And then we’ll make up a hip-hop-Zumba-aerobics-pilates-yoga routine. But all I know is down-facing dog, you know, the one mom showed me how to do.”

Macy crouched on her front legs with her bottom in the air and barked, “I’m a maniac, maniac on the floor, and I’m dancing like I’ve never danced before!”

“Oh cripes. I’ve unleashed your inner Jane Fonda-Flashdance. Just don’t go Richard Simmons on me.  Couldn’t we just like exercise by opening the fridge door maybe a hundred times in a row? Then maybe some cheese would fall out. Yeah, cheese. I haven’t had a block of cheese in forever. Damn diet takes all of the moxy right out of me.”

“Jillian Michaels says cheese isn’t evil as long as it’s eaten in moderation,” Macy said, stretching her legs and running in circles.

“Who the hell is Jillian and why does she like moderation? Moderation is for sissies. If you’re gonna eat, you might as well kill the buffet bar and go back for thirds. Now crank up that radio over there and put me to work. I want to sweat more than a beer bottle on a hot day. Mmmmmm….beer. Is beer on my diet?”

“Jillian is only the most amazing fitness coach ever,” Macy cried. “She’s more alpha than you are. And she would tell you no more beer, no more cheese, no more bones or pupparonis or chew-eez or frosty paws. We’re going to work it, girl. We’re going to get that junk out of your trunk. We’re going to pump up the volume…”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Shoot me now. I didn’t hire you for a pep talk. Just let me start shaking my bacon here.”

Alice walked across the floor, shaking her backside. ”What do you think? Five pounds a day?”

Macy dropped to the floor and rolled over, laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s not how it works. You’ll be lucky to lose a pound a week unless you’re like me and skip your meals. Now, as your fitness coach, I think we should work on…let’s see…oh yes, that flabby spare tire called your core.”

Alice cocked her head. “My core is impeccable. I’m in the BHO, remember. We have a rock solid core with values and goals and a mission to take over the world. My core doesn’t need work.”

“Not that kind of core,” Macy sighed, exasperated. “Your belly.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Alice rolled over and exposed her belly. “If you could give it a couple of scratches, I’m sure that’ll take off about 5,000 calories. Damn, if this is all you need to do to lose weight, I’m in.”

“That’s not how it works. You have to crunch.” Macy rolled onto her back and put her paws in the air. “Like this. Like you’ve been sleeping and you hear the mailman and you get up real quick so you can go bark at him.”

“Ah, crunch. Like Captain Crunch. Like crunchy peanut butter. All this exercise is making me even hungrier. Come on, show this biggest loser some love and give me a belly scratching. Or maybe some peanut butter. Or maybe a big slab of steak. Or, oh I know, some juicy turkey. Yeah, that’s it. I’m sweatin’ with the oldies now just thinking about a big turkey dinner. Woo boy.”

Macy shook her head and walked away. If only she had her pink sweatsuit, Alice might take her seriously.

Seven years ago we were whistling Dixie all the way to a Cracker Barrel parking lot in Versailles, Kentucky.

Why Dixie? That was the name of the dog we were going to add to our little pack.

We’d had Alice for a couple of months and she was still recuperating from her double hip dysplasia surgery. Our veternarian and Charlene, Alice’s foster mom, suggested that getting another dog for Alice to pal around with might encourage her to walk normally again.  We’d never owned two dogs and Alice was already filling the house with her larger than life personality, but we thought it was a good idea. We were okay with the fact that Alice might bunny-hop the rest of her life but if another dog could show her how to walk on all fours again, we were willing to try it. Besides, Charlene had a lead on a young blue merle Aussie, not yet a year old. She was being fostered a couple of hours south in Kentucky by a woman named Agatha. The Aussie Rescue & Placement Helpline wasn’t going to post her photo because she was “too beautiful” (Dixie could land with a bad breeder or puppy mill) and they wanted to make sure she went to the right home.

(The first picture we received of Macy, formerly known as Dixie)

Agatha emailed a secret snapshot of “Dixie.” In the photo, she was sitting on a sofa, chewing on a small Dixie cup. She was (and is) a beautiful dog, with one brown eye and one blue eye, and a soft face that hinted at shy nature. She was a Milk-Bone cover girl. Agatha told us she was “active.” In Aussie nomenclature, this is code for hyper, nuts, energetic, awake all the time, mischievous, high-maintenance, possibly frustrating, potentially destructive if energies are directed at furniture and shoes instead of dog jobs like tennis balls and kongs, and above all else, highly intelligent. Despite her active status, Agatha also told us she was painfully shy and had a storied past. She’d most likely been severely abused and when Agatha rescued her from a Banfield Clinic attached to a PetsMart, Dixie was a day shy of being euthanized. Gasp. And gasp again. Agatha said she needed a boost in self-confidence and perhaps being around a confident dog would help her regain trust. We looked at Alice…it would be a match made in heaven. Alice could teach Dixie to have a little more moxy. And Dixie could show Alice how to strut her stuff.

On February 22, Agatha and her husband drove north to Newport, KY for a home visit with Dixie. Like all good and reputable rescue organizations, ARPH  does their homework. They don’t just give dogs out to anyone; they inspect, they interview, they question, and they make sure everyone is right for each other. (Too bad they don’t do this with people.) And with Dixie’s background, they wanted to make sure she was going to a home that understood the Aussie way (believe me, it’s different from other dogs) and that Alice was going to accept a little sister into the pack.

Agatha had done some exceptional work with Dixie, getting her comfortable on a leash and housetraining her. When they brought Dixie out of the truck, she was shaking and darting back and forth, head and haunches low to the ground. After a fair amount of oohing and aahing and coaxing her near us in the front yard, we introduced her to Alice who immediately established that she was head dog of the house before retreating underneath the coffee table for a nap. Alice was fine, Dixie was thoroughly petrified, and we were sold. Our first Aussie, Autumn, had been abused as well. We’d helped her re-establish confidence? No problemo. The Purcell house would now be a two-dog, two-person establishment. We told Agatha we needed to think it over but we knew Dixie was ours. We also knew there was absolutely no way we could own a dog named Dixie. It just sound too prissy and small-dog for her.

We scheduled the pick-up for March 2. There was a UK game the night before and Versailles was near Lexington and sort of the middle point between Newport and where Dixie was being fostered. We got tickets for the UK game and arranged to meet in the parking lot of Cracker Barrel the next morning. And then we started the name-the-dog game. When changing a dog’s name, most experts recommend finding something that rhymes with the dog’s original name. Sheesh. Trixie? Misty? Frisky? Betsy? Oy. We were at a loss until we reach our hotel in Lexington and were getting ready for the UK game.

I was looking down into the lobby of the hotel. It was an ocean of blue and white sweatshirts and jackets and hats, the crowd suited up for the game. “What about Macy?” I asked Dave. “For Kyle Macy. Your favorite UK basketball player of all time.”

Brilliant! Thankyouverymuch!

The next morning we picked up Dixie at Cracker Barrel; somehow it seemed appropriate. Our little roadside runaway with big-time self-esteem issues hitching a ride with us at the Cracker Barrel. Again, she was shaking as we loaded her into the back of our red pick-up truck (Dave’s vehicle for hauling band equipment). We placed her on the blanket Agatha had given us and added our own dog blanket, Dave’s childhood comforter with the names and logos of old hockey teams. The comforter had been passed down from Autumn who used it for fourteen years, to Alice and Macy. I spent most of the ride draped over the seat trying to comfort Macy, telling her she was going to a good place where she’d meet a good friend. I doubt she believed me.

The first few weeks with Macy were anything but easy. She was terrified of Dave, who was home most of the day working toward his PhD. We assumed she had been abused by a male and she made it clear that men were to be avoided at all costs. Only I could feed her. Only I could take her for a walk. She didn’t want anything to do with Dave. She ran away from him, hid in corners. She also started forgetting she was house trained and that she wasn’t supposed to chew on clothing, comforters, sofas, or anything filled with some type of stuffing. But man oh man could this girl run. She was lightning fast and graceful. Poor Alice was left in the dust, bunny-hopping across the yard and barking “wait for me” whenever we put them out in the yard.

Dave spent day after day locked in a bedroom with Macy and Alice, trying to make friends with our new addition. I’d come home from work and all three of them looked frazzled and wired and ready for a break from each other. After a full week of lockdown, Macy realized Dave wasn’t such a bad guy and that we were all to be trusted. She settled in and settled down, and followed Alice’s every move.

She also followed me…everywhere. I was her new buddy. Seven years later, she still follows me…everywhere. I call her my Foreman and my Muse. She follows me when I clean the house. Given that she’s a neat freak, apparently she follows me to make sure I’m doing a good job. She follows me to the kitchen, though I’m not sure why because she’s a very picky eater and turns down food more than she eats it. She follows me into the bathroom and even noses open the shower curtain to get a drink of water. Everywhere I go, Macy goes too. And when I’m writing, she’s right there on the bed cheering me on. Okay, really she’s sleeping but I know she’d offer editorial advice if she could. In fact, we’ve decided that she’d read romance novels and the classics along with her trashy fashion magazines.

Seven years later, she still retains some of her original shyness and fear. As much as we’ve worked with her, she’s a wallflower at heart. Unlike Alice, she’s not one to give over her trust for a mere bone. Macy plays hard to get, but once you’re in her circle, she’s yours for life. Just don’t look her in the eye — that’s too much confrontation for her taste.We call her our Goth Girl, for the black fur around her eyes, her own version of eyeliner, and for her pensive disposition. However, get out the leash and it’s Goth Girl Gone Wild. She’s the first one in line for a walk, and she can outrun most any dog at the dog park. She also can be a ferocious drama queen when someone knocks on the door.

We’ve never had a dog that’s so well-groomed. We’re not sure how she does it but we swear she must file her own nails when we’re not looking. Even the groomers are surprised when we bring her in for a trim and they don’t have to do her nails. She’s almost cat-like, but don’t tell her that because she’s not a fan of felines. Or mail carriers. Or squirrels. Or things that move quickly.

Best of all, Macy is Alice’s best pal and vice versa. Macy gives Alice an ear bath daily. We learned that the ear licking is a sign of submission and let’s just say Alice doesn’t mind the fringe benefits of being alpha. They eat, sleep, stroll, and bark together. Macy snuggles up against Alice for naps and takes comfort in Alice’s high level of confidence. Speaking of comfort, we’ve also never had a dog who can get as comfortable as Macy. She re-arranges pillows, fluffs up blankets, and generally makes herself a nice bed out of clothing, pillows, or anything else on the floor.

Macy is our snuggler, our mischief-maker, our athlete, and our beauty queen. During walks, we’re frequently stopped by people who comment on how striking Macy is. After they leave, we always tell Alice she’s pretty, too. You know, sibling rivalry and all that. But as pretty and delicate as she may be, Macy is one heck of a tennis ball player. If we’d had the time, we would’ve trained her for agility competitions because we’re pretty sure she could’ve held her own out on the course. One of our most favorite things to do is watch her run. Girlfriend has game, that’s for sure.

And even though we’ve struggled with Macy’s erratic and fearful behavior sometimes, she’s a good girl at heart. After seven years, I couldn’t have asked for a better foreman and Alice couldn’t have asked for a better friend. Here’s to many more years with our Macerpants and her own brand of Aussie-ness!

Alice pulled her helmet over her ears and got in position. “Helmets – check. Icy track - check. Super technologically-superior and aerodynamic bobsled - um, check. Breaker 1-9, breaker 1-9 to Brakeman Macy. This is Alice ‘The Bullet’ Purcell. Team Australia is ready for its historic Olympic run.”

“Wait a second,” Macy said, looking around. “What are we doing again?”

“Olympic bobsledding,” Alice said. “The team from Down Under is built for speed. We will be more famous than those damn Jamaicans. Or that Eddie the Eagle guy. Now hurry up, we don’t want to fuck up the start. Remember, I’m the pilot. You’re the pusher AND the brakeman because I have to focus on the important scientific engineering kind of stuff.”

“Does the brakeman wear a pretty outfit?” Macy asked. “You know, one with sparkles and rhinestones like those skaters? I thought you said we would be ice dancing in the Olympics. I love Ice Castles! It’s so romantic.”

“Ice skating is for sissies of mondo  proportions, Sissypants. You will not see this fine Australian specimen in a leotard. Now give this state-of-the-art contraption a good heave-ho so we can make our first run in like Mach Five. I want us breaking the sound barriers and shit. We’re gonna take out some squirrels and cats along the way once this little miracle of aerodynamism gets moving. Those Swedes have nothing on us.”

Macy looked at the steep track ahead of them. It looked like the back porch was in another country — possibly Canada or Sweden — given all the ice and snow covering it.

“I don’t know, Alice. I’m getting cold paws about this whole idea. When you said we were going to the Olympics, I just thought we’d watch the opening ceremonies and drink Molson’s with the Canadians and go shopping in Vancouver. You said I could be an ice skater.”

“Dude, what do you think we’re doing? We’re skating. And the track is ice. It’s like ice skating only we’re in a bobsled. A toboggan. You dig?”

“Dig? Where? You want me to dig a hole? I love digging holes!!”

Alice ran her paws over her face. “No, Dingbatpants. You don’t dig anything. You push. You push this here bobsled and then you hop in because your fat arse is our secret to success. The more weight we have, the faster we go. It’s all about quantum physics and stuff you wouldn’t understand because you’re not in the Olympic version of the B.H.O. like I am.”

Macy stood on the side of the sled and pushed it with her front paws. It didn’t budge.

“Don’t make me replace you with Bernie next door. He flamed out last Olympics and we didn’t even make it past the trials. Now put some elbow grease into it.”

“I told you already,” Macy cried. “I don’t think I have elbows.”

Alice turned around and nipped Macy on the neck.

“Unsportsman-like conduct! I’m calling the International Olympic Committee!”

“Just push,” Alice sighed. It was hard finding good athletes these days.

Macy pushed again and the sled began to move. And then it moved again and she hopped in.

“Hells yeah, how do you like us now!” Alice screamed. “Bite me, Sweden and Norway and all those other snowy countries! Team Australia is fueled by Fosters Lager.”

The sled careened off a snow pile and was heading straight for the picnic table.

“Do you know how to steer this thing?” Macy asked.

“Of course,” Alice said, the wind taking her breath away. “I am the pilot. All elite pilots like me have mad skills. Oh, and something called finesse. Dad says all the bobsledding hall of famers have it. It’s an Olympic BHO requirement.”

They had only gone two feet but the course was rough and filled with dangerous obstacles like the grill and the firepit and, worst of all, frozen piles of dog poop – a new addition to this year’s course. Just as they neared the leg of the picnic table, Alice shifted her weight to the right and the sled missed crashing into the table by nothing more than a narrow icicle.

“Oh, Canada, oh Canada,” Macy started singing.

“That’s not our national anthem,” Alice shouted over the whooshing of the sled against the ice. “We sing Advance Australia Fair, remember?”

“Oh beautiful for spacious skies, for amber waves of graaaaaaaaain, aaaaahhhhhh look out for the fence!!!”

“Relax, dude,” Alice said. “It’s all copacetic. Just a couple more turns and we will be on that porch and wearing gold medal around our necks and everyone will be dousing us with beer. Which, by the way, sounds pretty good right about now. All this steering makes me thirsty. I can taste the thrill of victory now.”

“Will we get to wear flags around our shoulders if we win? I like the Australian flag. It’s very fashionable.”

“You can do whatever you want. I’m gonna go get a drink with Shaun White and Bode Miller after we kick this course’s ass.”

“What if all this fame goes to our heads and we get drug addictions and all of that?”

“You worry too much,” said Alice. “Now lean to the left on this last curve and put all of your ass into it. We need to make up for lost time.”

The sled careened down the slope at record pace in the final stretch.

“Cowabunga! We are laying the hammer down now!” Alice barked.

Macy barked too. “Cowabunga is my hero! Go Cowabunga! Whoever you are! We love Cowabungas!!!” Then she whispered to Alice, “Is that some kind of Canadian person, this Cowabunga?”

As they slid into the porch step, Alice shook the snow from her fur and took off her helmet. She high-fived Macy and looked around for the crowd, all the raving fans watching this historic run for the Australian team. But there was no one there, not even Bernie or that damned stray cat that roamed their yard. Everyone must have been watching another sport, like that curling thing or maybe the moguls. Bobsledders never got the respect they deserved as athletes,  not even the BHO bobsledders. She looked up and saw mom opening the porch door.

“Girls get in here. How did you get so snowy? And why is the laundry basket outside?”

Macy dipped her mouth in the snow and scooped up a little pile. She was thirsty after all of that hard work. Alice strutted past mom and nudged Macy. “Next Olympics, we’ll take the gold. We’ll be bigger than Eddie the Eagle.”

“Bigger than  Cowabunga?” Macy asked.

“Most definitely, sis. Most definitely.”