Rain, rain go away

Mom and Mr. Food Boy like this rain.

Mr. Food Boy was happy the ground was soaked, but not happy he had watered the lawn on Sunday evening before the heaven's opened up.

I think people call it a torrential downpour. I think torrential is the right word. It also flooded the garage. Despite all that, Mom and Mr. Food Boy were OK with the rain. They were discussing ways to avoid another flood. Mr. Food Boy put everything else on the shelves in the back of the garage.

Going outside becomes very cumbersome when it rains. Mom and Mr. Food Boy like to let us run around and around until we do our business. We can also play for a bit.

Mauly likes to sniff around in search of The Squirrel and the cat. I like to sniff around after Mauly.

Once our play time is over, we have to do more than just sit for the command to return inside. We must also have our paws washed. You humans can just wipe your feet on the rugs, but we can't.

Mom wipes down my paws with a towel. I sit at the top step waiting for Mauly to get cleaned up. Mauly's paws require the water hose. Then, she gets each paw towel dried. Sometimes Mauly doesn't pay attention and walks right back through the muddy water. The process gets repeated. I don't like the cleaning routine before returning home, but it's part of the rainy day ritual.

The other morning I ended up in the kitchen sink. Mr. Food Boy was eating his breakfast and I frolicked around in the mud trying to catch a toad. Mr. Food Boy worried the water hose might be too forceful, so he carried me covered in mud to the kitchen. He muttered as he cleaned me up, but that's OK. He's really nice to me.

Happy Father's Day!

I don't remember my real father. He's somewhere in Georgia living the good life with his people. Today, I spent some time with my person father — Mr. Food Boy. 

He cringes when Mom slips and calls him Dad. I think he thinks that's uncool. After all, that's how the name Mr. Food Boy was born. He denied that Mauly called him Dad. Instead, she affectionately calls him Mr. Food Boy (because he provides the food). 

The title stuck. Mr. Food Boy says Mom is like a steel trap. She doesn't forget anything like this funny name. 

While Mauly and I tend to favor our original people — she has Mr. Food Boy and I have Mom — we do our best to blend our family. If Mom is away, Mr. Food Boy kindly allows me to snuggle with him on the couch. If Mr. Food Boy is at work, Mauly will sit with Mom on the couch. 

We're a blended family. Mom takes care of Mauly just like she does me. Mr. Food Boy does the same. 

I love Mr. Food Boy on Father's Day and every day. 

I'm exhausted from all the barking

I've been barking a lot this week. Mr. Food Boy is out of town, so I need to protect the house. Mauly doesn't like to bark – unless a cat rambles across the yard while she is posted at the window. I think the barking bothers her ears.

I know the barking bothers Mom. She has yelled at me a few times – OK maybe more than that – since Mr. Food Boy left town. "I bet he can hear you all the way in St. Louis. Is that what you want?" she asks me.

I don't really understand her question, so I continue to bark. It's what I do after all – I am Eddie. It's funny when Mr. Food Boy says it, "That's right. You do it, because you are Eddddddie." It sounds neat and fun when he says it, so I get more excited.

Mom hasn't been saying my name like that. She yelled. She held me. She put me away in my kennel to cool off. I wouldn't let it go; there was something in the back yard, in the front yard, in the side yard and something blowing around our house – the constant Texas wind.

When Mr. Food Boy is away, I get special hearing powers. Everything bothers me whether it is the hooves from a small herd of deer grazing beside the house or it is a truck bumping down the street. I need to bark.

Mr. Food Boy calls me a chicken – no not because he thinks I'm afraid. Sometimes, it's almost as if I'm clucking, because I let these bursts of small barks out. I can't wait until Mr. Food Boy returns. He'll get to hear my complete barks, not the clucking, chicken burst barks.

Of course, when he gets home I won't have to be on alert as much. My barks will almost disappear. I'll be safe, happy and content that Mr. Food Boy is back with us. I'll keep an eye out for those darn cats thought; I may have to bark at them.