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The feud between Tiger and Snoopey has involved Stella and every one of the dogs thinks that they have a right to be offended by anything or by nothing at all. The eyeballing starts it.

“Are you looking at me?”

“No, it’s you who’re looking at me.”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Hey, Mom, she’s looking at me!”

“Now you’re looking at Stella.”

“So? I can do what I want!”

“So can I. If I want to look at you, I can.”

“You’re not the boss.”

“ I most certainly am.”

“Shut up!”

“No, you shut up! Hey, lady! She won’t shut up!”

Me: “EVERYBODY SHUT UP!”

The bulldog truce has been broken. And why? Tiger wanted to be the Alpha when Snoopey already was. She started giving Snoopey the stink eye. Instead of paying attention to the human in the room who was the real Alpha, Tiger became obsessed with what Snoopey was doing. She began protesting when Snoopey received head pets first (snorting and barking – dogs don’t carry signs or where T-shirts with slogans). And then, of course, Snoopey couldn’t let that pass uncorrected and Sister Stella had to put in her two cents (which are really only worth about half that).

The result? Strife. Dissension. Disruption. Loud barking. Snarling. Snapping. Thank God no one has gotten hurt. Tiger was already dog aggressive and the new phase has not helped. The only solution for me thus far has been to put Tiger on the leash when she comes in from outside and walk her calmly to her crate, placing myself between her and Snoopey. That has worked. The funny thing is Tiger seems almost relieved that she has no opportunity to challenge Snoopey.

Humans do this a lot, too. We get our eyes on someone and start wondering why they get so much attention, or the promotion, or the raise, or the “easy life” and we don’t pay attention to the Lord and keep following Him.

Jesus had to confront Peter about that very attitude after His resurrection. Upon receiving some news from Jesus about his own future, Peter turned his attention to John and wanted to know what was going to happen to him.

“Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? Follow thou Me.”  (John 21:22 KJV)

I have gotten my eyes off the Lord and onto other people, either following them or wondering why they seemingly were not suffering the same difficulties I was. Those thoughts fall into that “none of my business” category that should be getting larger, not smaller. My eyes should be on the One Who knows me better than I know myself. He is the One Who holds my future.

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Hello again. My name is Stella, the Olde English Bulldogge, but if you have been reading my blog, you already know that. I am letting my lady human be my transcriptionist again this time. My last blog post looked weird, even to me, so I fired her. (That’s what the humans call it. It sounds so violent. Really it just means she wouldn’t be typing my blog posts anymore. She didn’t even get treats for doing it so she didn’t care.)

But then I asked her back because, to be honest, no one else would type for me and I don’t know how. Because I can’t read. And I can’t type because my toes won’t flex enough to hit those tiny black squares one at a time.

Here is my list of bulldog offenders with #1 being the worst:

1. This one is a surprise – See below.
2. Tiger: The only surprise here is that she is #2 and not #1. She started picking fights with Snoopey every time she walked by Snoopey’s crate and all poor Snoopey was trying to do was have a nice snooze.
3. Snoopey: OK, I saw the whole thing. Snoopey was minding her own business when Tiger looked over and…um, well, see below.
4. Wiggles: Sweet Wiggles. Smart Wiggles. She has the common dog sense to stay out of the fights of others.

By now, you have no doubt guessed who the #1 offender was. Yes, it was I, good old Stella.

I saw Tiger eyeballing Snoopey and I charged into action, well, not action, but lots of loud barking and stamping. I sounded great, really ferocious. My lady human had to shout to be heard when she said for me to stop and she had to remove Tiger who immediately went to snarling at who? Me? No! At Snoopey!

When I looked up at my lady human, she seemed disappointed and surprised. Oh, I guess I started that one, didn’t I? All I wanted to do was stick up for my sister, Snoopey, even though she doesn’t always stick up for me. And, I admit, I wanted to sound all tough and fierce. I’m not as big as Tiger and Snoopey. But I’m no coward. I can fight, too! But I don’t really want to. What I really like are naps and treats and soft toys.

So I didn’t think what might happen. I stepped into somebody else’s business and stirred up a fight between two others that might not have happened if I had just kept my big mouth shut.

This is my confession. This time I was #1.

“But let none of you suffer as a murderer, or as a thief, or as an evildoer, or as a busybody in other men’s matters.”  1 Peter 4:15 KJV

Wow, that’s a pretty rough crowd.

The End. Signed, Stella

©2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Stella barked. Tiger put her up to it.

“What was that? You don’t bark, Stella. Did Tiger tell you to do that? ‘Act like a dog, Stella! Chase the cat, Stella!’

Ever since Tiger got to feeling better, she has been encouraging Stella to develop the fine art of cat chasing. Mind you, for months before Tiger arrived, Stella and our cat, Moon, lived side by side on cool but peaceable terms. Stella would trot past Moon. Moon would hiss, demanding her space (which amounted to wherever she was, wherever she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be, for as long as she wanted to be). Stella would cast a sidelong glance and keep trotting past, her tongue jangling and bouncing. Never a snap, never a growl, never a bark.

To be clear, Tiger bears the cat no ill will. Many mornings I find a relaxed Moon sitting right beside a complacent Tiger. But Tiger has a little bit of the instigator in her. When she thinks things are too quiet, too calm, too boring, well…there’s always Stella. Poor, gullible Stella.

Tiger stands at strict attention, pointing her nose in the cat’s direction, usually the couch. She snorts and rumbles. Stella darts her head and stubby body around in short, jerky twists until she sees the object of Tiger’s attention. And then who charges the cat? Not Tiger.

Moon the cat dodges Stella’s assault with little effort, except for that one day when Stella managed to chase her all the way into the kitchen and cornered her against the pantry door. It was a tactical blunder on Moon’s part. She let herself get blocked from all of her hidden retreats and Stella pursued.

Even then Stella didn’t bite her. She didn’t press down. For a couple of seconds, Moon had to endure a sloppy wet mouth the size of Rhode Island and a residue of bulldog slobber on her fur, but she was scared and I was scared – for them both. Sure enough, before I could pull Stella away, Moon lashed out with a claw and scratched Stella just below her lower eyelid. No eyeball injury, thank the Lord, but frightening.

Stella milked the incident for all it was worth, blinking and looking sad. Stella did not need another reason to play the sad face card. It worked. She garnered extra attention and sympathy (although she caused the fight by going straight for the cat and cornering her) and it got her some eye ointment which she fought.

“That wasn’t so fun, was it?” I told her. I’m always telling her things like that. “Why do you listen to Tiger?”

“You know how it is. Something seems like a good idea until you realize that you are in too far and you’re afraid to turn around and get out of it.” Annoyed, she blew out her cheeks, then pranced up to me and raised her paw.

“I am not mad at you, smooshy face. I don’t want any of you to get hurt. I wish you understood. Some of your friends are not always your friends.”

I need to remember that.

“…a companion of fools shall be destroyed.” Proverbs 13:20 KJV

© 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Snoopey, why do I have to use the word “no” with you more than anyone else? One of my children was like that, too. Maybe every so many kids and dogs, one comes along who thinks that they know better than everybody, one for whom the word “No” is not translatable in any language.

“No” is a word that sets borders. “No” is a good word though most dogs and people don’t look at it that way. “No” gets ignored too often when it is the right word at the right time.

At first, I wondered if Snoopey’s hearing were impaired. She quickly disabused me of that idea. Her hearing is excellent. She picks up distant sirens, vehicles in the alley, and people at the front door before the bell rings. She simply doesn’t think the word “No” applies to her.

I invited her into the driveway while I did dog food redistribution in the garage and she struck up a conversation with the neighbor’s dogs. Not a “Hey, I didn’t realize y’all were over there” chat, but a wild back and forth running bark fest up and down the length the fence. Barking, galloping, whirling, barking, galloping, whirling.

Snoopey slid to halt and pressed her big, wide, wet muzzle against the fence slats at the level of reinforced 2x4s across the bottom. She sniffed one board and then another. On the 3^rd spot, the bulldog in her showed up. She ripped at the bottom of the board with power vise lower jaw. Just one pull splintered the bottom of the board. I grabbed her collar, forcing her away from the fence. I clipped on the leash. It took my full force to move her. When I got her the fifteen feet to the driveway, she finally broke her concentration and stopped the game. She panted so hard you would have thought she had been on a mile run. Once inside, she fell asleep like a stone. I rested my strained muscles. Weight lifting is all well and good, but exercise weights don’t wrestle with you.

I lost count of the number of times I used the “No” word, all to no avail.

What would have happened had Snoopey managed to get through the fence? Not a picnic, I can tell you that. An all out free-for-all with her and the other dogs as losers.

A lot of people have the wrong idea about the Ten Commandments. They see them as a negative list of “Thou shalt nots” designed to stop our fun when really they are positive warnings of dangers to be avoided, good neighbor safety fences to keep us from causing or receiving harm. When God says “No”, He is protecting and shepherding us, not spoiling our party.

Now if Snoopey would just realize that “No” is not a dirty word.

Reference: Exodus 20:1-17

Copyright 2016 H.J. Hill All Rights Reserved

Stella has a whole bowl of food right next to her, and she ignores it, preferring the crumbs and single pieces that have fallen on the floor. A sense of desperation hangs around her hunt. She is afraid of missing the smallest remainder.

Snooting around, cleaning up microscopic food particles, is great practice for Stella’s smooshy nose. Bulldogs can always use extra nose work, but really, Stella, why are you snooting around in a corner for crumbs when the feast is over here – full, ready, and waiting?

I should have asked myself that very question long ago.

The fear of missing the smallest, backward chance. The fear of missing out. I have taken jobs that appeared out of nowhere and led to nowhere. I took them believing that nothing better was going to show up. I talked myself into believing that they were blessings. Strangely enough, in some ways, they were. They were stops along the way and I learned from every one of them. But if you’re not watchful, stopgaps can become permanent and you end up settling for less than what’s best.

Too often God has offered me a full bowl and I went snooting around for low level crumbs. I ignored His goodness, settling for less than He wanted me to enjoy, believing I was unworthy of what He was offering when He was the very One Who decided I was worthy. So much for not judging God.

Stella is wiser in this than I am. She snoots around for crumbs, but she always finishes the full meal, too.

“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.” Psalm 23:5 KJV

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved

Bulldog people know that bullies have issues with excessive heat, issues such as death. They are more susceptible even than other breeds and the definition of heat varies with them. I had gotten in the habit of taking Stella out on a walk when I got home from work, a way for both of us to relax.

Spring had grown old and the temperature was toying with 90 degrees F. Our walks were the only times that Stella was outside except for bathroom breaks.  She was a trooper and completed our short 3/10 of a mile circuit in fine order every day.

I kept my eye on the temperature and one afternoon it hit 92. We took our walk, the usual circuit. Stella panted with her wide grinning mouth open and her lolling tongue yoyoing up and down, all very normal, but when we reentered the air-conditioned house, she flopped belly down on the cool linoleum and kept panting rapidly. About 30 seconds later, she threw up water.

Oh, no, I thought, I’ve killed Stella.  And she’s not even my dog… technically. And it’s all because I think 92 degrees is not all that hot. Not for me, but it was for her. I ran into the kitchen, grabbed all the ice packs I could find, a bowl of cool water, and hand towels.

I plopped  beside the panting Stella and shoved the water under her muzzle. She lapped up as much as she thought she needed. Her tongue was not the dangerous purple that the friendly internet contributors said to watch out for, but I imagined that it was. I placed a wrapped cold pack on the back of her head and slowly, repeatedly, ran another one down the full length of her spine.

It took about 10 minutes. I don’t really know because I was not focused on the clock. Stella’s breathing evened out, the rapid panting slowed, and she finally stood up and walked to her bed – fine and like nothing had happened. I put the towels in the wash, replaced the ice packs in the freezer, collapsed on my chair, and thanked God and thanked God and thanked God.

My son considered the whole episode no serious matter in hindsight. He would have had he been there.

I felt stupid and incompetent. I had violated the rule I always followed as a parent. What is the need of the child? Stella can’t read a thermometer. She can’t prepare for bad weather. She doesn’t buy her own food. We do all those things. My limits are not the issue. Hers are.

The Lord does not push us beyond our limits. He is a good Father. But we are not always so wise. We push ourselves to accomplish whatever and drag others along faster than they can go, then wonder why they collapse under the pressure.

Go for walks. Invite others. But keep an eye on the temperature.

There is really not a whole lot of sense in asking dogs “Who made this mess?” since:

• We already know who made the mess,
• The dogs are not going to clean up the mess (unless it involves spilled food), and
• The dogs are likely to ask, “Mess? What mess?”

Stella is an expert at making a mess look like the natural progression of random items from one part of the house to another. She is a natural-born hoarder. It’s just that she, on occasion, hoards stuff that I would throw away or she takes stuff that she can’t possibly use. And she’s sneaky about it, like the day I went down the hall for a few minutes only to return and find that she had raided the cat’s litter box for a piece of cat poop. She had brought it to her favorite stashing place and was licking it. Yuck! Thank you, Stella. She put on her confused, disconcerted bulldog stare when I took it away. “Awwww.”

Before that incident, she had pilfered simple items like a bottle of nail polish, a pair of cheap scissors, the scoop for the cat litter…ah, now I see a connection.

I know, Stella, you’re a dog.  I have to remember that.

Asking the Lord who made whatever mess is bothering us at the moment is pretty useless, too, not because He doesn’t know, but because in many cases, we were likely involved in generating the mess. We may as well dig in and start cleaning it up even when we weren’t responsible for every piece of it.

We build our hoards, our piles of broken trinkets, our messes and then mistake them for treasure troves. It takes a revelation and our opened eyes to see the pile as a junk heap of garbage – grudges, resentments, bad attitudes, vengeful thoughts. But we own them, we argue; they are ours. They sneak up on us and we feel a keen sense of justice in keeping them close by. Still, the whole while we hoard them, they are useless, poisonous, cutting, filthy, and take up room in our lives that can be better used for whatever is wholesome. Just like Stella’s cat litter scoop, toxic nail polish, sharp scissors , and nasty cat poop. (Even the cat didn’t want that.)

“…whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, if there be any praise, think on these things.” (Philippians 4:8 KJV)

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved.

According to Cesar Millan, bulldogs are the “silent point of view”. Bulldogs ambush. They don’t bark warnings like other breeds. That’s the way they were bred to be. It’s the way they are. They are tenacious. A more negative word for them is stubborn. I have come to think of them as “bulldoggy”.

When Stella doesn’t want to move, she doesn’t. She seemed to be aware from the get-go that I can’t shift a 50 lb. lump of anything without mammoth physical effort on my part or without help from the 50 lb. lump. So she drops to the ground and lays her chin flat on top of her paws. It’s her way of saying “Nope” from her silent bulldoggy point of view.

Sometimes it is a recurring battle in the “War for Leash Control”. We each advance and retreat over the same ground in a cycle of small victories, small defeats, and small stalemates. She points her stubby nose in her direction of choice, strains at the leash, and sets her sturdy massive shoulders. Her whole body says, “Now who’s going to make me go a different way?”

The very picture of Gibraltar. Her ancestors would be proud.

The funny thing is that her stubbornness delays her own success. She wants that special ride but won’t go out in a sprinkle of rain to use the backyard facilities so we can leave. I wanted to make some padded, insulated paw protectors for when we walk rough paths so she could enjoy short trail hikes. All I needed Stella to do was to stand on a piece of paper for about 7 seconds while I traced around her foot. She couldn’t bring herself to comply. I waited. I finally found one paw in a flat position when she was laying down and I got a tracing. Just one.

That’s when I noticed yet another similarity between us and them. Pigheadedness is not restricted to bulldogs. Or pigs. Or horses. Or mules. Or humans.

Dear Lord, did you send us bulldogs to show us how stubborn and hard to work with we can be? All the big and little complaining, all the disobedience, all the fear, all the reluctance to do what we should do willingly, even when it’s for our own good?

Be not like a horse or a mule, without understanding, which must be curbed with bit and bridle, or it will not stay near you. (Psalm32:9 New Living Translation)

And be not like Stella the Stubborn Bulldog who must be held by a strong hand on a leash else she pulls you down the road whithersoever she wishes to go.

© H.J.Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved.

Stella whelped 3 puppies, not as many as expected, but they were healthy little boogers. My son called in a dog midwife who was familiar with bulldog issues. I had never heard of such a thing. She came in the wee hours and stayed through the next afternoon. She massaged Stella and helped her through the process. It was not Stella’s first litter, but there is always concern.

Over the weeks of motherhood, Stella was the best dog mom ever. She did her job from the first moment above and beyond the call of duty. She fed them, spent every day and night with them, and, if they had to go to the vet, however briefly, she went nuts over the separation and worried for them until they came back home.

And bless her heart, she cleaned them – the yuckiest job ever. She never shirked the task. At least I had baby wipes and diapers to use for my offspring. All she had to use was…well, you know.

But when the puppies were weaned and her job was done, she knew it was done and, in her dog wisdom, she acted accordingly. She did not chase after them, though they still chased after her. She did not let them go back to nursing. That was over. Baby puppyhood had ended and to let it go on would not have been a kindness to her little dogs. They were her babies when they were babies. When they grew into young dogs, she did not mourn the change in seasons.

Human parents are different. Our seasons last far longer than those of dogs. But seasons change nonetheless and we must allow them to change – gracefully. I learned a few lessons from watching Stella raise her puppies.

• Wean your offspring firmly but kindly. Mother’s milk is great, but it won’t sustain a full grown adult.

• Don’t let them chase and tackle you. They need to focus on other things in order to be themselves.

• Don’t be afraid of the changing of the seasons. Each one has its own particular charms.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

©H.J. Hill 2016 All Rights Reserved.