Watch Where You Step

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Pooper scoopers are one of the truly great inventions of the past century. They are a real necessity if you have more than one bulldog. Or even if you have only one bulldog. With one-handed operation, the pooper scooper “bites” the poop from off the ground. The same hand can open it and dispose of the poop in the trash receptacle of your choice without direct contact. Done and done!

Of course, I have seen a bulldog accomplish the same thing, only the poop doesn’t get deposited in a trash can. Wiggles is particularly adept at poop disposal. I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say that every once in a while she darts away and refuses all orders to return until, well, she returns “empty-handed”, so to speak. Also good at trash diving, Wiggles is our waste disposal specialist.

Poop scooping aside, we still have to watch our step in the yard. Dogs can be selective about their bathroom spots and go out of their way to stay out of our way. A couple of ours prize convenience. They step out the door, walk a few feet, sniff the air, and say,”Yep! Here!”

I have learned to watch my step, even away from the bulldogs. If I’m not paying attention, it’s way too easy to “step” into something that is nasty and smells bad. And that odor follows you around until it gets washed off, sometimes with a power hose.

And if you aren’t careful, you can smear that mess onto other people and things. I remember when I was very young, we were leaving my grandparent’s house. I was all dressed up and was wearing a beloved red coat. Once in the car, we started noticing an odor and pretty quickly, my parents discovered that I had stepped in dog poop. It was on my lovely, little patent leather shoes and ON MY RED COAT!

Everything had to be thoroughly cleaned. I never looked at my red coat quite the same way again. And I had no idea that I had stepped in something stinky until we got closed up with it.

Pooper scoopers can’t handle a lot of the filthy stuff that gets left in our paths. For that stuff, we have to watch where we step.

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

 

 

 

Keep On Tugging

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Our bulldogs love sticks. They are connoisseurs, taking great pains to choose just the right one for their purpose. For example, one stick may be great for relaxed chewing while another may be suited to a game of “keep away”. With our dogs, sticks are not commonly for fetching. Oh, you can throw it and they will run for it, maybe even pick it up, but the chances of the stick ever coming back to you aren’t good.

There is another stick-centered game that they enjoy -Tug of War. One bulldog grabs the end of a carefully chosen stick of the right thickness and length; another latches onto the opposite end. May the best tugger win.

Of course, Tug of War doesn’t have to be limited to sticks. I retrieved a knotted rope toy from the yard only to notice that it became unusually heavy as I walked back toward the house. I looked down to find a 50-pound bulldog attached to the loose end, pulling away. Okay. I’m up for a good game of Tug of War every now and then. What a great workout for my arm and shoulder.

I kept walking, eyes straight ahead, until I noticed that the rope suddenly doubled its weight. I looked down to find two 50-pound bulldogs gripping the end of the rope with their bulldoggy mouths. Could I pull this off?

It wasn’t like trying to lift or pull dead weight. Their eight legs fought me and shifted from side to side to pry the rope from my hand. All I could do was add my other hand and fight for every inch.

I was engaged in a Tug of War with one of the most tenacious breeds of animal ever to grace the planet, a dog bred for one purpose – to hold on. How could I give up and quit? The honor of the human race was at stake.

I had limited advantages. I weighed more than the bulldogs combined and, although they had eight legs to my two, my legs were a lot longer and gave me greater leverage. So the battle was on. The goal line was the backdoor.

I am proud to say that neither side ever gave up. I inched my way to the backdoor where I declared victory. The bulldogs couldn’t have cared less. They got to bulldog a rope across half the yard. Always a good day.

So I learned something from two bulldogs. The weight may increase; the opposition may grow; the battle may be longer than you expected. Hold on and keep tugging.

“…be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord.” (1 Corinthians 15:58 KJV)

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Smack Talk – Cat Style

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Moon, our cat, is part Siamese with a beautiful gray coat and serene blue eyes. When she talks, her comments consist primarily of soft meows, sometimes in a long, repetitive string and sometimes just a quick, clipped sound that lets you know she could say something. She just doesn’t want to. Unlike the vocal majority, aka the bulldogs, she walks a quiet path.

So when she started scrunching up her face and meowing in an irritated tone at Snoopey, I was bewildered. Why this sudden change in behavior? She only does it when Snoopey barks or whines at me. Snoopey never chases the cat. Perhaps as pack leader of the bulldogs, she considers cat chasing undignified. But Snoopey does join in excited barking at the cat when Moon  is running around the room.

Thus far, Moon has reserved this ugly talk just for Snoopey. Even though Stella is her greatest nemesis, she hasn’t thrown a single meow in her direction (at least not since the “meow to the face” event she pulled on each of the bulldogs while they were napping).

 

Watching the cat and listening to her, her attitude toward Snoopey seems to be “Oh, so you think you’re so tough! Look at my teeth. Sharp. And I am way quicker than any of you loud, rotund dogs. For all your stomping and trundling around, you’re not all that great! And stop yelling at the Lady. She’s not your servant! She’s my servant! So don’t go telling her what to do!

 I know Moon is having a “conversation” with Snoopey about something, and from the look on Moon’s face, it is a sore subject.

I don’t find smack talk all the helpful. We all need to vent every now and then. Vents allow the dangerous build up of pressure to escape without damage. If we’re venting in someone’s direction though, we have to be sure that while we are not letting ourselves explode with pent up feelings, we don’t direct a harmful column of words into someone else’s face.

“Let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers.” (Ephesians 4:29 KJV)

Snoopey appears to be ignoring Moon’s cat diatribes. Moon showed her teeth again, wrinkled up her face and meowed. “Bulldogs, schmulldogs! You all look like a bunch of upside down vampires to me !”

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Stella’s Blog – Things that Make Me Mad

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello. I am Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges, and I have a few complaints.

(Transcriptionist: As usual.)

Hey, this is my blog. Stick your opinions in your own. This brings me to the first thing that makes me mad – the opinions of others unless they agree with mine. The humans talk about voting all the time. I’m not sure what voting is, but it sounds like someone else’s opinion and, therefore, another thing that would make me mad.

From what the humans say, I perceive that voting means you can choose a thing or a person and someone else can choose differently, and if enough people choose differently from you, YOU LOSE!

I don’t like that. So yes, voting is on my list of things that make me mad. I am the queen; I get to choose.

No voting allowed!

But if we did allow voting in the house, we bulldogs would outnumber the cat. Hmmm. And we could vote her out. That is unless Wiggles voted with the cat just to be “nice”. And then there is Tiger. I have suspected for a long time that Tiger has a secret peace treaty with the cat. Oh, she barks at the cat and stirs the rest of us up, but never have I seen Tiger actually chase the cat. Hmmm.

Then the other day, I watched Snoopey as she walked right up to the cat while the cat hissed at her and made an ugly face (no, that was her regular face, sorry). And what did Snoopey do? She TURNED AROUND AND WALKED AWAY!

I may not be able to count on the bulldog vote after all. So it is certain. Voting is one thing that makes me mad.

(Transcriptionist: Besides, the humans hold the power to veto.)

Veto? That sounds suspicious, like something else that would make me mad.

And I haven’t even gotten to other maddening things that I put on my list – things like:

  • Moon the Cat
  • The rule against cat chasing
  • Limitation of treats to only a few times a day
  • Wiggles getting more reward treats than the rest of us

(Transcriptionist: Because she earns more than the rest of you.)

Enough for this time. I will go back to work on my mad list. I can’t do anymore now. I am just so…so…so mad!

Signed, Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges

 [Transcriptionist’s note: Stella has gone to cool down and chew on her Nylabone. Meanwhile, we will close with this:

  “Be ye angry, and sin not: let not the sun go down upon your wrath.”  (Ephesians 4:26 KJV)]

 

No Screeching, Please! – Conversations with Stella

Posted on by H.J. Hill

The Olde English Bulldogge known as Stella has a bone to pick with me so we’ll begin our conversation:

Stella:   Bone? Where’s a bone?

Me:        There is no bone. That’s just a human expression.

Stella:   Oh, as usual, humans playing jokes, trying to fool the poor old bulldogs. First dressing up as giant insects, now teasing us with non-existent bones.

Me:        Let’s not get into that giant insect thing again. I had hoped that you had forgotten about that.

Stella:   A giant insect does not fade from the memory.

Me:        Obviously not.

Stella:   I thought you had seen one and that is why you were screeching.

Me:        Screeching? I haven’t screeched about anything. What are you talking about?

Stella:   That horrible, high-pitched noise that was coming out of your mouth this morning. It hurt my ears so much; I wanted to cover them up.

Me:        I haven’t been screeching, Stella. I don’t know what you are talking about….unless…I found an old songbook that I had when I was little and I was singing out of it.

Stella:   Is a songbook one of those dead flat things that you hold on your lap and stare at and it causes you to pay no attention to us?

Me:        Well, yes, that or a regular book or a cell phone or a computer…

Stella:   Just because you found an old, dead songbook that you had when you were a puppy is no reason to screech in our ears over it.

Me:        Did my singing bother the others, too?

Stella:   Who cares? It bothered me.

Me:        I am sorry. I do enjoy singing sometimes.

Stella:   I enjoy chewing on a good stick sometimes, but I don’t pretend to be one of those humans who…Awwwww, you know, they take sticks and build boxes and stuff.

Me:        A carpenter? A craftsman?

Stella:   Yeah, those, I guess.

Me:        I don’t pretend to be a singer. And as for screechy noises, how about that voice you use that is so high-pitched and ear-splitting.

Stella:   You mean the Cat Chasing Song of my people.

Me:        Is that what you call it? It’s a bulldog song?

Stella:   It tells the bulldogs within ear range that there’s a cat afoot and it’s time to play.

Me:        So why are you allowed to sing all screechy and I am not?

Stella:   My song serves a purpose; yours, not so much.

Me:        Maybe we should both agree to cover our ears when the other one is “singing”.

Stella:   Or we can agree that you will sing silently in your head or buy a good recording of your songs. My song must be sung live and aloud. It is a treasured bulldog tradition.

Me:        Is that why you keep “singing” when I ask you to stop?

Stella:   You wouldn’t want to interfere with a tradition, would you?

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Watch Out! What’s That Up Ahead?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

The warm weather arrived just prior to the annual air conditioning launch. We turned the ceiling fans up to maximum, but even without cooking or baking inside the house, it wasn’t quite enough. Oh, we and the cat and the heat-sensitive bulldogs were going to live all right. Our ideal comfort level eluded us though.

We gathered the portable fans from their various locations around the house, plugged them in, turned them on high, and let them buzz their mechanical hearts out. The dogs accepted the stirred air graciously and settled down, tongues back in mouths.

The fans twirled all night and still ran strong when the cooler morning came. Nobody appeared disturbed by their presence until Tiger had to go out. She darted past me as she usually does. She has “grown up”, matured during the past few weeks. Gone are her incessant attempts to feud with Snoopey over who’s in charge of the pack. I’m not saying that is over and done with, simply that Tiger has cooled her efforts in that direction for the time being.

Tiger came back in the house and scooted past her crate, running her nose over the floor in case she had missed any food crumbs from her breakfast. When I asked her to go into her crate so I could run my errands, she backed away and glanced at the odd little round thing nearby. One of the fans, happily whirring at full blast, aimed its current of air across that side of the room.

The bulldogs are always sensitive to oddities and new items that suddenly appear in their paths. I realized right away what Tiger was trying to avoid.

I thought for a moment about moving it farther away, but I opted for an exercise in trust – her trust in me.

I called her. She hesitated and stayed back. I extended my hand. Still she waited and refused to pass the fan. I stepped forward until I could reach her and I stroked her head and neck, telling her the whole time that everything was all right and that she was safe with me. She walked a few steps toward me and the crate. She stopped alongside the vicious fan and let me pet her.

And just like that, the fan was no longer a problem. It never really had been, but Tiger didn’t realize that. She took a step of faith in me and finally trusted me enough to let me help her past her fear.

I should know better than Tiger. I don’t.

I cringe and pull back when there is something strange in my path. I am supposed to trust God to walk me past it, but I don’t. I hesitate, hold back, delay, wonder, and try to figure it out myself. And then, eventually, I take one step toward Him and His hand is there. He was there the whole time.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4 KJV

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

I Demand to Speak to a Manager – Conversations with Stella

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Stella, our opinionated Olde English Bulldogge, has a complaint she wishes to air. So let’s begin the conversation:

Me:        Hi, Stella! What’s the problem?

Stella:   Are you the one in command here? Because I only want to talk to the one in command.

Me:        Well, no bulldog, or cat for that matter, is in command that’s for sure. And “command” is not the best word. This is our home. It is not the army. The humans are in charge here. Why would you doubt that?

Stella:   Because first Snoopey and then Tiger each told me that they are in command. And because Wiggles is always disobeying and doing whatever she wants and she gets by with it because “she is so sweet” and “the sweetest dog ever”. Yuck! What gushy nonsense! Humans are supposed to be smart. How can you fall for that act?

Me:        Wiggles is super sweet. She dances in her comma shape and only wants head pets and neck rubs and the occasional treat.

Stella:   Aagghh! The occasional treat! I think you’ve lost count. But really, IS ANYONE IN CHARGE HERE?

Me:        We humans are. Why?

Stella:   Everything is so chaotic. Nobody is listening. Nobody obeys the rules.

Me:        Nobody? Not even you?

Stella:   Me? Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. What was the question?

Me:        You want to know if anyone is in charge. You say that no one obeys the rules. Do you obey the rules?

Stella:   Me? Yes. Well, sometimes. Hmmm. I’m not really clear on what the rules are.

Me:        How about one rule? Is there a rule against chasing the cat?

Stella:   And that’s all the time we have for our conversation today, people…

Me:        Nope. We have plenty of time.

Stella:   But I don’t like that no-cat-chasing rule.

Me:        Not the point.

Stella:   Awwww!

Me:        I understand. Humans have rules set for us, too, and some of them I flat don’t like.

Stella:   So you ignore them.

Me:        No. If they are silly or useless, I may try to get them changed. But some rules are set by God and wisdom tells me that they are good and for my safety and they won’t change. God is God and I am not.

Stella:   Is the no-cat-chasing rule one of God’s rules?

Me:        I wish I could say it is, but no. It’s one of our rules.

Stella:   So about these changeable rules, how do I go about working on that?

Me:        Write your legislator, but I don’t think you’ll get far with that. Bulldogs can’t vote.

 

Copyright 2016 H.J.Hill All Rights Reserved.

 

Four-Legged Bowling Balls

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I don’t count myself as the most graceful person on two legs. Clumsy is a more accurate description for me. Yet most of the time I can stay upright and move along at a reasonable clip. There was one instance when I tripped over my own feet on slightly uneven pavement and took a nosedive – literally. (My nose became well acquainted with the asphalt in a parking lot. My DNA is likely still there.)

Having bulldogs around has reinforced the need for me to keep my feet firmly set on the ground.

I have described the dogs as barrel racers, as two feet long by 18 inch tall Sherman tanks, and now I think of them as four-legged bowling balls. They don’t make quite the same noise as a bowling ball picking up speed down a lane, but if I get in their way when they are running, my legs become bowling pins and, well, you can picture the rest.

All in all, the bulldogs have made me more nimble on my feet. I don’t always hear their galloping up on me from behind. All of a sudden, a head brushes my leg as a bulldog barrels past, my leg buckles at the knee, and I struggle to stay upright. The excited dog has no idea how close I came to collapse.

After all, they have four legs; I have two. Dogs can count. They just don’t put two and two together. Four feet on the ground are a distinct advantage for balance.

Also, our bulldogs have no concept of a passing lane. Hey, y’all, there is plenty of room to run around me. You don’t have to touch me or come so close.

So what is this new lesson from bulldogs?

Keep an eye on what may be rushing up on you from behind.

Not everybody is going to be looking out for your safety so DRIVE FRIENDLY!

Keep your balance even if someone else tries to take your feet out from under you.

Hop around on one leg until you can get two (or more) back on the ground. If you                     can’t get two back on the ground, just keep going on one.

Be flexible. Be Flexible!  BE FLEXIBLE!

The ground is always there to catch you. So is God.

“For Thou hast delivered my soul from death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling.”           (Psalm 116:8 KJV)

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

 

 

Stella’s Blog – Hello, Cat! Where Are You?

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello. I am Stella. I am an Olde English Bulldogge. In fact, I am their Queen. No one elected me. No committee selected me. I selected me.

It was hard sitting around the first two years of my life while no human understood who I really am. During that time, I was not accorded the honors due me as Queen. That was not the fault of my old humans per se. They were ignorant. I wasn’t wearing a crown.

When I came to my new home with my new humans, I made my status clear from the beginning. Once, Tall Man invited me to stay in a dome-shaped house in the backyard. Are you kidding me? There was no television. There was no cat to chase. Did that really look like the palace of a queen? I put on my best “We are not amused” sad face and succeeded in putting a quick end to that nonsense. Tall Man brought back into my main house right away.

I am Queen Stella. Treat me like a queen and give me treats and we will get along fine. Let me say it again. Give me treats!

I have been blogging more lately because I have a lot to say. Humans never stop talking so I figure neither should I. Bulldogs do not exercise their free speech rights often enough.

Anyone who has been around us for long has seen it. Other dogs are barking and the good old bulldog is just sitting there, slump shouldered, panting, maybe burping a little bit (it happens), but otherwise quiet, not saying anything. Every once in a while, we might blow out a lip ruffle simply to let the humans know that we don’t approve of what’s going on. We disapprove of much so the classic bulldog lip ruffle comes in handy.

Which leads me to my List of Offenders which has only two names on it this time:

Lady Human and Moon the Cat

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Lady Human disagrees with me and says humans do not belong on the List of Offenders and I say oh, yes, they do! This time Lady Human seems to be in cahoots with Moon the Cat. I have been looking for the cat in order to chase her and I can’t ever seem to find her. When I ask Lady Human where she is, Lady just smiles and says, “Oh, she’s around.” And then she adds something ridiculous like, “You shouldn’t chase the cat.”

Oh, yes, I should! Do you know what Moon the Cat was doing the past few days? She walked up to each of us bulldogs DURING NAPTIME and meowed right in our faces. Incredibly rude! And I hear new noises sometimes coming from above my head, coming from places I can’t see because I’m not tall enough (bulldog, remember?). I suspect that Moon has new high perches to hide on and spy down on us.

Lady Human thinks it’s funny now, but how funny will it be when the cat pounces down on her from the new high spot. And why does a cat have a perch anyway? She’s not a bird!

But no one listens to me. [deep bulldog sigh] I am only the Queen.

Signed, Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

Posted on by H.J. Hill

I forgot to lock the back door. Again.

Three overactive, overexcited bulldogs played in the backyard while I went about my business, made myself supper, and sat down for an early evening repast in front of the television and its faithfully recorded programs.

My plate was on my lap (no TV tray for me, oh, no). My beverage was on the shelf beside my chair – the tall, skinny, shaky shelf that wavers like a skyscraper in an earthquake and holds an enormous number of small fragile items that can come crashing down at the merest touch from a bulldog’s behind. I like to live life on the edge.

I was half-way through the meal.

The backdoor swung open. The backdoor that I forgot to lock. The backdoor that is right by my shelf and easy chair.

Three overactive, overexcited bulldogs danced into the room, rocked the shelf and me, and then pranced across the floor before I could jump out of my seat.

The shelf dripped with the liquid that had been safely contained in my glass, cascading from one level to the next until it finally puddled on the floor. My plate and remaining food survived only because I had it in my hand when the invasion took place.

I refused to assess the damage until the bullies were corralled. They breathed deeply from the excitement of having caused yet another scene and slopped huge amounts of water into their bulldoggy mouths.

Then the cleanup began and, eventually, I sat down to consume the remainder of my food and to stare at the perpetrators. Their eyes said it all. “What?”

To them it was one more jolly romp. Their regret – they knocked only one item off the shelf and I was able to grab it before any of them did. Oh, and they didn’t dislodge any food from my plate.

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The talented door opener (I think I know which one it is) simply took advantage of my failure to secure the lock. A quick swipe of the paw, a determined downward pull on the handle is all it takes. If the door is locked, a minor disappointment. But if it is unlocked…“Whoop! Here we come!”

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.

Stella’s Blog – Be Nice!

Posted on by H.J. Hill

Hello! I have returned to my blog to give you my insight, the wisdom of an Olde English Bulldogge, and please understand that Olde English Bulldogge is my official breed and has nothing to do with my age or nationality. I don’t really know what “nationality” means. I will ask about that another time.

Anyway, my transcriptionist (a.k.a. Lady Human – yes, I am still employing her. I wish I could get someone better, but no one else will work for a dog for free) – she tells me that I am not being NICE to the other dogs or to the cat and that I should try harder to be NICE.

NICE is a human word that does not translate well into dog languages. I am attempting to understand what I am supposed to do, what NICE is, but the best I can grasp to this point from the humans is that NICE means:

“soft”

“no barking”

“no biting”

“no pooping or peeing inside the human house”

“no whining”

“tastes good”

“feels good”

“smells good”

“fits well”

And about a million other things that humans think are important. (No, I do not know how many a million is, but I gather that it is a bunch, like more than all the treats in the world. So I would not mind having a million NICE treats.)

I don’t think that I can be NICE. It is too big a burden for one dog, especially a bulldog.

Soft? My face is smooshy soft, but how does that help the other dogs or Moon the cat.

No barking? That’s simply unreasonable. I AM A DOG! Besides which, THEY STARTED IT!

No biting? Look at my face with that big under bite. I was born to bite. And besides, I have never bitten any human or animal (not that there weren’t a few who deserved it. Just my opinion.) So technically, I am already NICE in this category.

No pooping or peeing inside the human house? But what if I NEED to.  What if it’s NICE for me?

No whining? Awwwww!

Tastes good? Nobody better go taste on me, I tell you what!

Feels good? That’s all right. I am NICE in that category. You can pet me all you want and then some.

Smells good? I admit it. Sometimes I make odors that are not pleasant, even to me, but if I have to be NICE and not make bad smells, then so do the others! How about some NICE smells for me?

Fits well? I can’t help the shape I am. I am a bulldog and there are lots of places that I don’t fit. Like on the floor of that little car we take camping. I tried to fit myself there, but the back seat was much more accommodating. And it is true, I am not a lap dog, but I am still trying. The humans’ laps have just got to get bigger.

The humans are going to have to come up with stuff I can do, stuff that’s not NICE.

Signed,  Stella, Queen of the Olde English Bulldogges

 

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved.