A Dog and Cow friendship

While Cow and Chicken have a cartoon, Mauly and Cow have a real-life relationship.

Mom says everyone loves seeing how animals interact in unusual ways. There are news stories about elephants and dogs and cats with dogs. Humans tend to look at is unnatural or odd.

I don't think it's odd at all. We're all in this world together, so we should be friends. Despite my loud and annoying barks, I like to think I can get along with my neighbor dogs, the birds, those darn cats and those little rabbits I hunt.

Mauly found a new friend the other day during an evening walk. Mr. Food Boy and Mom let us walk up to a fenced pasture that contains a cow – a calf really. While we were peering into the wire looking at it, Cow walked over to us.

Within a few minutes, Cow was pushing his head through the fence and licking Mauly with his large, blackish tongue. "Remind me not to touch Mauly's head," Mom was telling Mr. Food Boy as she laughed and urged him to get out the iPhone for a picture.

Mauly, who has been growling a bit at fellow dogs in her path, was totally still and quiet as Cow licked her face. She even poked her head in a little closer through a square in the fence.

The next day, Cow came up to greet Mauly again. He did the same thing, licked her head, watched her, etc. Cow doesn't like me as much. Mom tried to plop me down closer to Cow and he jumped back. I startled him.

On Monday night, Cow actually walked along the fence beside Mauly. Mr. Food Boy decided we had been amused enough, so we "moved on." Cow decided to follow us. At the edge of his pasture, he stopped. He had no other choice.

It's nice to see how animals can get along (sometimes. Humans could do the same, if they tried.

AIG: There isn't much left to take

It seems to be clear now. We created a monster. Now that Mr. Food Boy is back home (and I don't have to protect the house anymore with my barking), I can turn my attention (and barking) to more national-level issues.

AIG -- can you give us all a break? We're struggling here. We give and you take and take and take even more.

I listened to the newscasts about AIG's plans to give some of its employees bonuses. The cost around $165 million made me a little sick to my stomach. The company has been labeled as too big to fail, but I like to call them too big for their britches.

My Mom was talking to the TV again on Sunday when the new broke. AIG told the Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner thanks for offering advice, but our lawyers override you. The AIG bigwig said there are contracts in place and the government can't do anything to stop the bonuses.

Well, Mom has been reading all over the Internet and the best point she found came from Robert Reich, former Secretary of Labor and a professor at Berkeley. He wrote a blog for http://www.huffingtonpost.com/. Reich said, "Had AIG gone into chapter 11 bankruptcy or been liquidated, as it would have without government aid, no bonuses would ever be paid; indeed, AIG's executives would have long ago been on the street." This man makes an excellent point. If I met him, I would give him a paw five.

The AIG bigwig also mentioned something about the bonuses help the company keep its talent. If this talent helped ruin AIG, which created a trickle effect throughout the economy, I say let them leave if they are upset. Financial institutions are hemorrhaging thousands of workers each week. Add all the fresh graduates and surely, some new ideas can be infused into the banking and insurance industry.

And, why is it that the Obama administration seems to have its hands tied in this case? Wasn't it just a few months ago, we the American people and dogs were promised that accountability would be in place and that executive compensation would be in check?

Apparently that plan fell through the cracks. AIG was offered another $30 billion a few weeks ago and now officials are working to add strings to the money. Strings should have been attached to the $30 billion before it was promised to the company.

I know I'm just a dog, but this all gets so confusing. I don't even understand why bonuses are being discussed by a company losing money. AIG reportedly lost billions in the last quarter of 2008. Why would anyone sign a contract with an employee to give him a bonus, if the employee's performance wasn't excellent?

Most companies, well at least those who operate in the black, don't give bonuses unless the company is performing well. I thought it was standard to have a bonus tied to performance -- a positive performance, not a negative one. I guess that's why I live on Main Street and not Wall Street.

I hope the folks running AIG will realize there is very little left for them to take from the American people. Patience is wearing thin.

Tough love

Why do we hurt the things we love?

It’s a difficult question. And, I don’t have the answer. I love my toys, but I am the first (or second if Mauly gets to it first) to tear them. Destroy them is a more accurate description.

The boot is the latest victim in our household. It’s a plastic cowboy boot with white accents. The boot is emblazoned with a black paw. It’s a dog’s boot. It’s squeaks. It fits nicely in Mauly’s mouth.

A few months ago, Mom retrieved it from a box labeled “Eddie’s Toys.” It was a great Christmas present from my human cousin, Rosa.

Mauly loves the boot. She finds it and carries it in her mouth. She licks it. She bites it. She drops it next to her before she falls asleep.

This week, love turned to destruction as Mom discovered a small, black chunk next to Mauly. The boot now has a hole. It is sitting next to the iMac, while Mom decides what to do with it.

Mauly likes to nuzzle Mom’s hand with her nose. It’s all a ruse as Mauly works it so Mom begins petting her. Mom stops her typing and gives Mauly attention. Mauly hopes to gain access to the confiscated toy on the desk. It's that simple.

I’m not sure what will happen to the boot, but I can guess. Once there is a hole in a toy, it’s pretty much gone. Mauly has first-paw experience in this area. She lost a duck and a pheasant or two or three to holes.

The truth is that the boot is a goner, if we get our paws and teeth on it. We won’t stop until the hole gets bigger. Mom tries to watch what we eat. Plastic is not on the menu, she says. But, we bark back, “It’s what we do — we are dogs.”

Since I’m older than Mauly (about six months older), I know the boot’s days are numbered in our house. I’ll just remember the boot fondly. It was a good friend.

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.

Mr. Obama pick me

Dear President Obama,

I would like to serve my country. I believe I meet the criteria for a cabinet level position.

I have long been in service to this nation through my support of my Mom -- a hardworking American. I know, because during those days, I was stuck in my crate for 10-plus hours.

I make a concerted effort each day to read the news online with my Mom and listen to tidbits of CNN. While I may be distracted by a deer or cat that enters my domain (yard), I promise I can be very focused when I want to be. When Mom or Mr. Food Boy get ready to feed me, I am deliberate with every action. I know how to work the crowd (i.e. sit when asked to do so or lay down).

I work on command at times and independently when necessary or when I want, too. Mom could tell you how she sometimes keeps me under control with a spray bottle filled with water. Honestly, it stopped me the first few times. Now, I just want to drink the water. I think it's a great game.

I'm a team player, too. Just ask my step-dog sister Mauly. When we put our heads together, we can sometimes overpower just one of our people. Whether it is just jumping up for attention or to grab a crumb from dinner, I have learned the value of teamwork. It really helps you reach your goals or the bruschetta that Mr. Food Boy leaves unattended for a second on the coffee table.

My point, Mr. President, is that I can serve. As you look for talented team members, who cross party-lines, I can assure you I am your dog. In my younger days, I was caught many a day staring at the TV when former President Bush was speaking. I lost interest in hearing him speak after the market dropped last fall. Mom would be crying out at the TV when he spoke and the newscasters simultaneously showed the stock markets. (Psst ... I don't know if you know this, but the market reacts in a similar fashion when you and other cabinet officials speak.)

As a fiscal conservative, I have talents that will surely be useful in Washington. If you remain skeptical about my talents, I would remind you that I have never worked for dollars. I have always worked for pets, walks, hugs and cuddles. To my knowledge, I would pass any Senate committee vetting process on this point. No taxes are due. I promise.

Please consider me for a position in your administration. I can help. If you need me, I am ready to serve. My day currently consists of barking at random noises and naps.

Eddie

P.S. My dog cousin Moonpie taught me at an early age to bark at doorbells. Does the White House have one? I believe I can put my country's need to have cabinet members, who properly pay their taxes, above this individual need to bark.

It's tough to be handsome

I like to prance around like the next poodle-Pomeranian mix. I twirl, as Mr. Food Boy calls it.

I twirl and twirl around when I get excited. It may be in the morning as I anticipate food or it can be when Mr. Food Boy readies to take me out. (Basically, he scoops me up and places me on the back of the couch. He changes my collar and I'm ready to go.) I twirl.

Today, I did not twirl when Mom announced, "You're going to get trimmed up." I didn't like the sound of it. She took Mauly and me outside and then tricked me when I got into my crate. Despite the fact, she kept saying, "You're going to VIP today. I didn't understand." I heard "Blah, Blah, Blah, treats."

Mauly got put away safely in her crate while I got picked up in my crate and carried to the car. I did my best to whimper and ignore Mom's explanations about our destination. "I don't care," I whimpered through barks and low growls. I tried to catch her attention with my sad eyes, but it didn't work. Mom looked straight ahead at the road.

When we arrived, the people at VIP (that stands for Very Important Pets) checked me in. I don't know the groomer's name, but she knew mine. "Eddie!" she cooed as she took me from Mom's arms.

By the time Mr. Food Boy picked me up several hours later, I was exhausted. I get nervous when Mom leaves me there. They always take care of me at VIP, but I am stressed. They have music playing in the background and have a nice facility.

Mom was delighted by my trim. It is easier to put my collar on for my evening walk and I will be cooler when the 90-degree temperatures return to our piece of Texas.

I was so exhausted by the day on the town that I barely moved from my perch on the pillows this evening (Mauly also used this as an opportunity to take an uninvited seat on the couch).

Some days it's doggone tough being handsome. Tonight, I am resting. I can twirl tomorrow.

Pooped out of ideas

The family is still trying to sort this all out. No, not the President's speech last night. It's the whole diet thing!

I'm a delicate eater. I nibble. I crunch. I sit down and take a break before my bowl ever becomes empty.

Mauly is different. She inhales her food in seconds every morning. Her bowl is clean before Mom or Mr. Food Boy can turn their backs on her.

Mauly is the only one in the family, who believes she is starving. If I have an accident in the house, she will clean it up. And, I really mean eat it up. Mom's been on a mission in recent days to investigate ways to correct this behavior. Mr. Food Boy suggests that if Mom would correct my behavior -- make sure I go outside, then there wouldn't be an issue.

Mom happily points out to Mr. Food Boy that those crunching noises from the yard are Mauly and me eating dried poop. While Mom and Mr. Food Boy pick up ours, there are all types of animals that appear in the yard under the cloak of darkness. I agree it would be difficult for them to pick up all of this poop. That's where Mauly and me get to work.

I don't really know how Mom will resolve this issue. One online article suggested splitting up our feeding. Instead of giving us food only in the morning, Mom and Mr. Food Boy are splitting up our daily rations into a morning and evening serving.

One TV show offered pineapple as a solution to this problem. It apparently makes the poop taste icky. But, I wonder (primarily, because my food will be spiced with it) how it will make the food taste I eat? I might not want to eat my food with pineapple chunks.

And, this is a bigger issue? Just like the president has to look at the full picture on this financial crisis, so do Mom and Mr. Food Boy? Mauly and Me aren't the only ones dropping things in the yard. Can they feed pineapple to the deer, cats and possible javelina, skunk and coyote that hang out around our house?

I don't think so. I'm glad it's them that have to worry about this stuff and not me.