Update from Babe McCombs

Hello. This is Babe again.
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I thought I'd check in with all you people who visit my mom's blog.
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I see her over here every day, typing away, and I wonder what she's saying about me. I decided I might need to defend myself. My boy says I'm paranoid, but I don't know what that means. I think it means I like birds.
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I want you to know, whatever Mom tells you that I do--it's not true. I'm a good dog (usually) and there is way too much emphasis on being smart these days. Intelligence is not all there is to life. If these people would stop throwing new commands at me all the time, maybe I could get one right. Those human words go right out of my head the minute I hear them, but they still expect me to know what to do.
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Take that "sit" business, for example. What's the big deal about me sitting? In the first place, I can't remember what it means and in the second place...I can't remember the second place...
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I had these photos taken as proof of what a spiritual dog I really am. As you can see, I choose to rest on the Word every chance I get. I would never chew up the Bible, but I do like to lay on it.

I just love Bible time at our homeschool. I get so excited when Mom starts reading aloud I just have to crunch my food and lap water right then. For some reason, they yell at me. I want to make them happy, so I quietly tiptoe over to my squeaky toy and chew on it.
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They don't like that either.See how hard they are to please?
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I'm very proud of the fact that I know how to make my toy squeak whenever I want to and Yankee doesn't. She acts like she doesn't care, but I see her giving me the haughty eye when I squeak away on our new Christmas toy. She can fetch and I can't, but fetching is not as smart as squeaking.
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I show my people all the time how smart I am. I squeak my toy while they watch movies, when they pray at the dinner table, and when they have quiet conversations. They all start shouting my name at once. I think that means they like it and it makes me proud.
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The most important thing is that I'm a happy dog who would do anything for my people--if I just knew what it was they wanted. I can't make heads or tails of those words they use, but when they speak to me, I just assume I did something bad. I show them how sorry I am by cowering down and licking their hands and in a few minutes, they're hugging me and telling me I'm a good dog. It works out great.
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So I hope you can see what a fine dog I am and anything that Mom may tell you in the future about me, just ignore it like I do the word "come."



Ya'll have a great weekend and may you catch every bird you chase!


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Animal Psychology

My dog needs a therapist.

After three months of being quite consistant with the house-breaking, she's suddenly developed mental problems. Mayo Clinic's website was no help at all. For some reason, Irish Setter's aren't listed in any category.

Which I don't understand, because surely we're not the only ones with this problem.

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It's got something to do with the proliferation of gophers and moles taking over our property. She's gone wild chasing them above ground and trying to dig them out wherever she stops. Our back yard looks like Bahgdad.

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I got creative and installed an electric fence along the side to keep her away from the area with the most craters and I thought we were getting the picture. Then she tried to walk through it!

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It was a perfect cartoon reaction.She bolted blindly into the hotwire with no reaction until she was halfway through, then leaped three feet off the ground. She twisted in midair, wrapping the fence around her body as she yelped and squealed. She was untangled by the time I got to her, but she took off to the back door, tail between her legs, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Poor thing.

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She has viewed the back yard like a war zone ever since and has opted for indoor plumbing, namely Wayne's office. You can imagine how well that goes over. We've been able to coax her onto the patio, but when we point to the grass, she gets a wild look in her eye and runs back to the door, quivering tail between her legs. The gophers hold no fascination anymore, so that part worked.

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So now we have a torn-up yard AND a dog pooping in the house. If she wasn't so sweet we'd be madder about it, but she gives us this look every time we scold her that says, "Yes, you're right. I'm a bad, bad dog and I deserve any punishment you can give me." It's hard to be wrathful with such devoted groveling.

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Yankee, the Maltese, on the other hand gives us a look that says, "You lay one hand on me, and I'm calling SPCA." She's been prancing around all week with her nose up and a cartoon thought bubble over her head: "I told you we didn't need another dog."

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So, poor Babe has been put back on leash-duty when in the house while we wait for a competent therapist.

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Maybe I need one too.

Babe's View

Hello. My name is Babe. I'm the newest member of the McCombs family and I've got some things to say.

Thought you might be interested in what really goes on around here. They're pretty decent humans on most accounts. The food's pretty good and there's plenty of birds to chase. Cats, too--when they let me.

But I had no idea who really ran things when I agreed to move here. At first I thought it was the little boy who loves me, but we rode all the way home in the very back seat with not a single sniff stop and I started getting the picture.

Then, I thought it might be the lady who feeds me. She seems to be in charge of everything. She makes me take medicine I do not like. I clench my teeth and send her strong eye messages, but she acts like she doesn't understand and down it goes anyway. Then she took me to a place with wild smells that made me nervous and the next thing I know, I'm waking up with a slit in my belly and everybody's petting my head and saying, "Now you won't have to worry about puppies."

Well, I wasn't worried to start with, but what can you do? I'm still a bit miffed over that, but I'm licking their hands anyway to show I'm a good sport.

I never even suspected the man of being in charge. He's pretty much on my level: sleeping all the time, eating messy, getting yelled at. He's one of my kind, I'm pretty sure. But he leaves my food alone, so we get along fine.

No, the truth was made clear to me right off the bat. This whole house and big running yard are clearly controlled by one furry contraption they call Yankee. Now, I admit, we Irish Setters are not well known for our high intellect, but I know when I'm not in charge.

I'm not sure what this thing is that hovers over our mutual food dish and makes growly noises in her throat when I walk into the room. She's started taking her naps right beside the food dish so she can catch me if I so much as ask for a drink.

I could eat her in one bite, but being a gentle lady, I refrain. Besides, she's so hairy I can't imagine getting all that out of my teeth. She controls when I can eat or get a drink until the lady catches her and scoops her up and talks babytalk to her while I grab a bite or two.

Now I don't want to come across as jealous or bitter. I'm just not that kindof gal. But what I would like to know is: How Do You Get That Job?
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