I’m an easy-going kind of dog. I travel well. In fact, I fit under the seat of an airplane like carry-on luggage.
Well, I’m in the middle of another big trip adventure.
After taking a walk through a long airport called Dallas and finding the relief station, we got on another airplane, where I had a long nap.
When we finally landed in Santa Rosa, the smells became familiar. My ears perked up because I knew where we were! Things got even more familiar as I recognized a famous dog, but he couldn’t play and was larger than his pictures make him out to be.
He showed me his house, but I didn’t climb on top to hang out with him.
Apparently, this famous dog’s master lived here for many years and created lots of things called comic strips.
Here we go again! Yes, I love adventure and that usually means traveling.
So here I am in an airplane flying to California to be with family for a special day called “a wedding.”
The trouble with flying isn’t that it gets us there quickly. The trouble is with something I don’t understand. Time zones. Apparently, we crossed a couple of them while in the sky. Of course, you know I can’t tell time. I have talked about this problem before.
I keep my eye on Christy, hoping she is aware that no matter what time zone we have crossed, I have a schedule to keep.
I knew something had changed as my tummy rumbled and Christy didn’t feed me right away. I watched Grandma Kit peeling carrots – one of my favorite treats – but she didn’t feed me.
When I finally got my dinner, Christy apologized. She was doing her best to keep me on schedule while dealing with time.
Food is not the only issue I have to deal with; this time zone crossing thing is exhausting!
Once upon a time I was born and raised to become an official Guide Dog for the Blind.
Things were going really well until they discovered a personality trait that could not be changed. You see, a guide dog for the blind must maintain focus and pass the tests with 100% accuracy.
Although I was very good, I loved to give kisses.
Along with those kisses came the clicking sound of my teeth clacking together, making me sound like I was biting. This is a character trait that caused me to be career changed. I went into training for Dogs for Diabetics and was nicknamed Crock.
I confess. I love to slurp. I can’t help myself. I love to give kisses. It’s my way of letting people know I like them.
I admit it can be annoying to some, but not to Mom. She loves it. She has put on my collar a tag that gives fair warning to those I meet.
It seems to be how people identify me. Those who know me give me more nicknames, like Captain Slurpsalot, or Crockadile, or Sir Licksalot.
I don’t mind the names, and I give kisses whenever I’m allowed. I guess that’s why Mom was given this sign that now hangs in our house’s entryway.
I’ve seen a lot of things and enjoyed many events, but this one is a doggy first.
We arrived at our church fellowship night when a lady whispered in Mom’s ear. A few minutes later, Mom hung a wooden sign around my neck. It felt awkward, but I am a go-with-the-flow kind of dog.
We stayed hidden until the “scavenger hunt” for baby gender clues had finished. Everyone seemed perplexed and lost at the misleading clues until I walked over to the new expectant mom as she read the board.
Reading the sign made her so happy. If she had a tail, it would be wagging very fast.
I have said before that dogs can’t read, but whatever the sign said, I’m glad I was the one who got to deliver the good news.
Mom got excited recently about a new panda place where we had to stop for lunch.
I met another big furry creature walking up and down the sidewalk as the restaurant was celebrating a grand opening.
It was a very hot day and I think this furry friend could have used some water. But he was kind enough to let me sniff him. My nose tells me he is not a real panda bear. What do you think?
Last month Mom had an author spot at the Iris Fair in Greeneville, Tennessee. It was another adventure where I was able to meet and greet interesting characters, young and old.
This sweet lady had a talking bird on her arm.
She cracked me up with some ‘punny’ jokes. I wondered if her arm got tired holding a bird of that size.
The fun thing about going to these fairs is I have made a few friends and got to slurp them once again. These beautiful young ladies brought a new friend too, Miss East Tennessee 2023 (she’s in the middle).
As a diabetic alert dog, time is something I don’t understand. But apparently, I have walked through another human year and turn eight years old.
I love birthdays.
I know the sound of the song well. In fact, when I am in the company of someone who is having a birthday and the song is sung, my ears perk up.
I look around for the treats I am about to eat, but only get a regular kibble from Mom. Oh, well. I’m never disappointed when I get something from the treat bag.
Everyone says I’m getting old because I have some grey whiskers showing up on my chin. But most people think my brindle coloring is me turning grey.
Mom politely tells people it’s a rare genetic defect that gives me the look of muddy or grey paws and face.
Mom has a genetic defect too. But she quickly tells them it’s to her benefit since I’m extremely handsome because of it.
The thing about birthdays is, I get something called presents. Mom doesn’t wrap them up like she would for humans because I am not a destructive dog. I could never tear up paper or even de-stuff a toy, for that matter.
I live with an older small dog who would, and he will steal my new toys, but that’s for another story.
Until then, I’m going to enjoy this birthday thing and hope it lasts a long time.
I really enjoyed my Christmas season, exploring new places and meeting new friends and people everywhere I went with Christy.
My nose has been working overtime, smelling the scents of the season. Everywhere we have gone, I’ve met Santa Claus. The first place was at the mall.
Santa is a very nice man that I sniffed very closely and found to smell like cologne and candy canes.
Christy and I explored downtown Morristown and its variety of specialty shops and local businesses. Outside one of the shops, I met Santa again.
He smelled different from when I met him in the mall. His face was younger looking, and his beard smelled of synthetic fibers and aftershave.
Mom and I walked across the street to a bookstore. In the window I found the real reason for Christmas.
It is no wonder the Santas I met smelled differently. They were actors, portraying a mythical man. But as I sat in front of the bookstore window’s display, Mom gave me a treat and said, “This is why we celebrate Christmas.”
It’s the time of year for sweet treats and I’m looking forward to having a few myself. Of course, they are the kind of treats a dog can eat. No people treats for me.
One day Mom and I visited a donut shop near us that has been voted the best one in our area for a few years, according to a poll taken by the local newspaper. It’s called Knead Donuts.
A sign on the door displays the shop’s hours from opening until they run out.
From what I hear, they are on high demand and sell out quickly.
I’m on a strict diet to stay in shape and there are rules a service dog must follow like ‘no table scraps.’ That’s okay, though. I get plenty of awesome duck jerky when I correctly alert my mom to a low blood sugar.
But today, Knead Donuts gave me a doggy donut.
I’m certain we’ll return to this dog-friendly shop for more tasty treats.
My ears perk up and I get excited to hear the birthday song because I remember when it was first sung to me, and I know special treats are involved.
But this time, I didn’t get treats because it was not my birthday. It was Michael’s and he loves something called a Rubik’s Cube.
Mom brought her mixed up 25-year-old cube to Michael and he solved it within seconds. She called him a genius. I had to sniff out one of these cubes for myself.
I’m not sure what the draw is for this weird-looking toy. My paws can’t do anything with it. Since it doesn’t dispense treats or squeak and would be hard on my teeth if I chewed on it, I’m going to leave the solving of this cube to humans.