I'm pondering something. Look closely.
If you have Internet Explorer you'll see the gears turning in my brain.

December 21, 2007: Quick note from the webmaster: While young Jill's believes her diary to be supremely fascinating to all, in fact, it has become a tome of tedious terrier events. Yes, Jill will still enter significant events in her diary. But for more details on Jill's biggest adventures, click on one of these links: Paris . . . and watch for more to come.

April 20, 2006: No, no, no, no, no! THAT'S NOT ME. My coat hasn't looked so good in months. That's my pal, Gracie. What have I been up to lately? Oh, a little bit of this, a little bit of that. A little time at a show, a little time cheering-up old folks, a little time at the office with my pal Charles, the Golden Child. I chase a lot of ducks these days . . . mallards, mostly. They land in my pool and I tell them to leave. I've even been swimming in the canals telling ducks that they must not tary. No ducks on my watch. When I'm not chasing ducks I'm usually chatting with other birds. Birds are the enemy. I've got lots of new toys and I'm extraordinarily sweet. Because I'm so good, this week I'm going to the ranch to meet the new spring foals. I'm quite excited. My pals, Gracie (featured left and looking her stunning best!) and young Monte have a new little sister. Visit my Links page and read all about her. Say hello to Gracie at the Gracie-the-Lakie link.

What I've Learned About Mouse Hunts:
October 22, 2005: A mouse hunt makes for a fun day, even if you don't get your Senior Earth ribbon. You get to see mouses. The mouses are always in a little cage. They smell terrific. Your lady carries you across a field to the place where the mouses live. She places you on the ground and you find the mouses. If you see two people with a clipboard sitting on the dirt, you know that's where the mouses are. You can take a short-cut over the ground to the people with the clipboard. It's absolutely the quickest way to the mouses -- trust me, I've done the math. However, sometimes when you arrive at the people you'll get bopped on the nose with the clipboard. This means that they want to see how fast you are in the tunnel. I'm extremely fast. When you navigate the tunnel to the mouses, it's time to bark and scream. Keep screaming until they remove you from the tunnel. If your lady tries to recall you from the tunnel, don't count on her really having any mouses. It's a trick. If you pop out of the false entrance, your lady will try to catch you. Go back down the tunnel to the last place you smelled mouses. Even if you do everything correctly, you'll eventually be removed from the mouse area. When you get home, you'll get groomed . . . for hours! Grooming, and no ribbon. Doesn't seem fair, does it? This concludes what I know about a mouse hunt.

October 6, 2005: I went back to the ranch. It was a cold, wet autumn day, so I stayed in my crate most of the day. This wasn't all that much fun. I did get to leave my crate long enough to chat with the foal. The foal is now quite big. I was still out of the crate when I spied my lady on another horse: Mate, she called him. I met a puppy and romped in the pasture. My fall and furnishing were covered in stickers . . . which meant scissor-time when I got home. No shows for me anytime soon. On the ride home the lady smelled like quail and setters. I never saw a quail, so what's up with that?

July 11, 2005: Early this morning I caught a bird. Look, my feet are still wet from scampering through the dew to make the kill. The lady is very proud. What's she got to be proud of? I did all the work. Snagged it right out of mid-air. True, it was a young bird. Arguably not as quick as some birds. Still, birds can fly and I can't -- so who had the advantage in this daunting battle, hmm? After the initial attack I was taken away from the bird . . . just in case the bird was wounded and could possibly escape the juggernaut that is this terrier. Right. And think about it . . . abandoning a potentially wounded bird? What was that intended to accomplish? In any event, on the way back from my walk I spied it and ran-in for another assault. We never forget. We terriers never forget. And she should have known that I knew precisely where that little bird was lurking. A quick shake and its little yellow tummy was soggy. She thought I'd released it on my way home, but when she went to remove my leash and let me outside on the patio, there was the little bird, still in my mouth. Idiot!
 

June 30, 2005: Jill's Tip of the Month: Now it's a well-known fact that all dogs love dinner. I've known this since I was a pup. But on these hot-hot Texas evenings, sometimes it's simply too hot to enjoy one's dinner. And in that instance, when it's just too hot for anything except relaxing on the big bed, it always pays to hide-away a little something for later.  Why, just last night she was reading on the sofa when she discovered the remnants of my sticky dinner bone tucked between the cushion-backs. She seemed stunned . . . arguably horrified. To me it seemed perfectly natural, nay, brilliant! Who knows when I'll be guarding the sofa, holding it in place, and require a quick nibble on a gnarly bone. Now I confess, tucking the BilJac morsels under her bed-pillows was not my best work . . . not the most well-planned hiding place.  But I'll continue to perfect my form through the hot summer. Ah, summer. There is good news, there is bad news, there is very sad news. The bad news is that my pal, the foal, injured himself and is now in the vet's care. Perhaps if I had been there for him. The Mare must miss him terribly. The very bad news is that my pal Annie, the Jack Russell, lost her life after a rattlesnake bite. Yes, a rattler! I wept. Clearly, the ranch is a rugged place and can take its toll on young animals. I think they need me there to watch over these young things. But the good news is: my own horse, Rowdy, is a healthy, happy yearling; and my pal Ace is going to be a daddy any day now. Do you think I'll get to see the puppies? Surely she wouldn't leave me to go see baby pups being born.  I'm the baby . . . at least the only important baby . . . the lady's own mother said so.

May 27, 2005: OK, I get it. Out here at the ranch having manners really pays-off. I'm sitting nicely while the mare and the foal examine me. I'm no threat, and they understand that. My friend Annie the Jack Russell was politely asked by the mare to leave the pen. But I get to be right here beside the foal. The foal is now about three weeks old. It's rather big for three weeks, don't you think? I wasn't that big at three weeks. It was another adventurous day in the Cross Timbers. I sat on the bleachers at the round pen and watched my pal Casey work Smokey. Smokey's young. He's not a Lakeland, he's a horse, but he's also learning manners. I doubt that he'll learn to sit, but having manners isn't all about the sit and the down. One day Smokey will understand that. I got to run in the big arena with the powdery dirt. Evidently, all dogs love it there. Something about that powder-soft dirt really makes us want to run. All-in-all, it was an exhausting day. When it was time to go home a new dog came, too. Ezra, an English Setter pup. Rode in his crate right beside me. Ezra needed a bath, let me tell you. I'd never met an English Setter. Quite nice, actually, 'cept for the smell. But he didn't come all the way home with me. The lady took him to her office. I don't know where he went from there, and I don't care. All I know is that Ezra won't be sharing my dinner bowl nor my toys. And that's a good thing. I think it's nap-time now. But wait . . . do I hear bath-water running?!?

May 15, 2005: AHHHHHHHHH! More manners lessons. I'm learning to Settle, I'm being Easy. Blah, blah, blah. When does the pay-off come, I ask you?

May 11, 2005: I had a very big day. I traveled in the car to something called the cross-timbers in north Texas, and there I went to a ranch. The Crockett Ranch in Bowie, Texas. The lady went, too. I ran off-leash for the first time in my life. That's right -- the first time in my entire life! I didn't run away. Seven hundred acres and I never even bolted toward the horizon. Am I good, or what? Everyone was astounded that I hung-around . . . no one more so than me, myself. Now a ranch is a very exciting place. They've got horses and something called cattle. I'd never met a cattle. Some cattle are big, some are small, some are young, some have very, very long horns; but they're no big deal. No reason to get over-excited about cattle. Now the horses were a different matter. Truth be known, I've had issues with horses in the past. I come by it honestly -- my mother and grandmother aren't overly fond of horses. But being the well-mannered, obedient terrier that I am, I was very Easy around the horses. Especially the stallion called Solomon. I even made a new pal, Dusty. She's something called a palomino. We were nose-to-nose at one point.  I ran around a looked at the yearlings, and a I met a foal who was one week old. Now as intriguing as a week-old foal may be, this stuff called manure is far more alluring. I was asked not to roll in it, if you can believe that. Also at the ranch were other dogs. I met Annie, a Jack Russell. We ran together in the big horse arena. Now what this means to those of you who are uninitiated in arenas . . . it's a huge, covered pen filled with several inches of the softest dirt you've ever seen. No, I'm not talkin' ordinary dirt. This is like soft, red powder . . . why, a young Lakeland could sink up to her hocks in this soft dirt . . . and it really makes you want to run as fast as you can. Dirt flies, paws get filthy, car seats are ruined . . . and you know that spells F-U-N! So my big day at a ranch was very stimulating. I slept all the way home. 

April 16, 2005: I went to the dog parade in the West Village. My pals Fred and Lucy were there. Mmmm, Fred. I got a new collar & leash just for the occasion . . . with bumble-bees and daisies. I wore a bee on my tail. No, it wasn't a real bee, but it was a frightening sight, nonetheless.

March 26, 2005: Just call me mouse-breath.
It’s the springtime holiday called Easter, and that means colored eggs, bunnies, chocolate, and treats. Me? I didn’t get a colored egg. And no, no one offered a bunny to me.
I did, however, get three colored mouses. Pink, white, green. Nothing says springtime like a colored mouse . . . or two, or three. How do you suppose the mouses got to be so colorful? They're not that colorful at the earth dog trials. What do you think happened? Shall I leave this to your imagination? Suffice it to say that my Easter mouses didn’t come home with me from with mouse hill. OK, OK. Somone call PETA. But before you get too excited, note the care with which I'm tending to this little lime-flavored mouse on the left. Would these jaws of death hurt a rodent? On this special day, JillCam was taken to the mouse hill. There I am on the JillCam with the cherry-flavored mouse.
Yes, she brushed my teeth after the encounter.

March 20, 2005: I went to my favorite show site, the Farm & Ranch Club. Horseys and cows live nearby, and I can smell ‘em. It makes me very excited. Evidently, I went not to be walked in the show ring, so I didn’t have to wear any make-up. That’s a good thing. I went instead for a meet-and-greet with someone called a CGC Evaluator. That means that I took my canine good citizen test. I’ll tell you all about it. In hindsight I realize that I’ve practiced all my life for this one . . . and I didn’t even know it. I can Sit, I can do Down, I can Wait, and I sometimes have a recall. Sometimes . . . when I want to, or when a mouse or a biscuit is involved. Anyway, we got to the show site and before I went into the ring the lady asked me to show her my Sit. I replied with, “Make me!” Always keep ‘em guessing is my philosophy. I refused to sit. No biscuit, nay, no morsel of turkey could make me sit. Why, you couldn’t pay me to sit. There was no time to argue – I was called into the ring.

Being the only terrier present for this CGC test, they just couldn’t wait to see me in action. In we went. The first part of the test was for me, me, me to walk my lady to the far end of the ring. Again, my lady asked me to sit. I refused. “Make me!” I said, again. She asked me to sit once more; I politely declined. I’m not accustomed to sitting on dirt, thank you very much. She tried again – her third try. She said, “sit,” but what I heard was “sit your #*$% little ass on that dirt NOW!” So I sat, reluctantly. Such language! And then I realized why I was asked to sit. There from across the ring approached that nice evaluator-lady. She wanted to pet me and hold me, I’m sure. But before she could pick me up and love me, four little sparrows landed a few feet away from me. Of course, I bolted for the kill. My lady yelled, “Wait,” which always makes me freeze in my tracks. I wish one of us could break that nasty Wait habit. With the flight of the sparrows, who fled for their little avian lives, there wasn’t much to do except walk nicely beside my lady, sit, down, wait, et cetera, et cetera. The biggest distraction was a Rhodesian Ridgeback who came in the ring to visit me, as well as six odd people on crutches, with walkers, or tossing a tennis ball. Now I don’t do tennis balls, so that wasn’t much of a distraction, and I gave the Rhodesian my best Lakie snub. Test over. CGC awarded. ‘Nough said. After the test I went to the DNA booth to donate some of my Lakeland DNA. This will help other terriers, or so I was told. It didn’t really hurt . . . not much anyway; and I got lots and lots of treats and petting. So, good citizen, or good Samaritan? You be the judge.

March 19, 2005: I’m at the home of a long-haired Dachshund named Scooter. That’s Scooter-Pooter, to you. He likes me, and I like him. I like his food even more. Strange things are afoot. I’m going to a show tomorrow, but I’m getting a bath tonight. I never (never-EVER) get a bath before a show. Don’t they know that I’ll blow my coat. What kind of show is this anyway? Where’s all my make-up?

March 18, 2005: I'm at the pet lodge doing my best meet-and-greet. Jax is here. Best Wire Fox north of the Brazos . . . and you know how I love a Wire Fox. He'll be groomed and then play with me in doggy daycare. I'll introduce him to Scout.  Jax is my best boyfriend. Why? Because he plies me with gifts. Today it's a new toy -- a stuffed Sylvester toy. That Jax. He spoils me rotten. And no one else spoils me . . . ever. Hmmm.

March 12, 2005: I went to a big St. Patrick's Day Parade. I don't know anything about this St. Patrick fellow. Was he a Lakeland? Maybe a green Lakeland? Someone asked the lady if I was an Irish Setter. An Irish Setter?! They were joking, right?! Can you imagine? ME? A setter?!? I may be sitting, but I'm not setter. After the parade I went to Trinity Hall, where I sat politely in the sunshine for hours. I was loved and adored by a huge crowd . . . adored, I tell you . . . me and my little, ruffled-green St. Patrick's collar. I was beautifully behaved . . . just in time for my CGC test. I'm the sweetest thing that ever lived. Sure, lady . . . if that's what you want to believe.

March 5, 2005: I’m a Junior Earth Dog! Yep, yep, yep. Today I passed my second leg of junior earth trial . . . in Brookshire Texas, on the property of my new friends, Jefferson & Squirt. They’re Wire Foxes. I like Jefferson (wink). Before the earth dog test a bunny appeared in the field. The poor little thing. Can you imagine? Out it sprang from its little rabbit home, into a field full of terriers. It ran for its bunny life, but in every direction it faced a hungry terrier . . . like me! After the excitement of the bunny, I was ready for the mouses. I bolted into the tunnel, worked those mouses, and passed with flying colors. For my effort I got a silly green ribbon and a squeaky rubber rat, whose nose I promptly destroyed. Oh yeah. . . I know I’m a titled girl now.

February 25, 2005: There was an incident with my best boyfriend, Charles.  It all happened so fast. We were in daycare together. Perhaps there was too much sniffing. Perhaps it was the phase of the moon. Who can say? But Charles needed a bit of a correction, and I doled it out, with authority. No, he wasn’t hurt. The only thing that was damaged was my sterling reputation. I’m not sure that Charles wants to play with me anymore. He seems a tad confused . . . even melancholy. I’m really sorry.

February 14, 2005: Well Happy Valentine’s Day. What was my gift? What was my gift?! Chocolates? Flowers? Nope. I got that “special” gift for a special terrier -- the gift of stripping. Yep. Got my jacket and furnishings stripped right off. This must mean that it’s show season. Didn’t we just go through this last year? Who cares about a show?! When is mouse season, I ask you?

January 28, 2005: I’ve discovered a great new place. The Gingerman. They cater to dogs and I could hang-out here all day. They brought me a bowl of water and some biscuits. I met a nice Golden Retriever, a Pembroke Welsh Corgi, and a Bouvier.

January 1, 2005: It’s my birthday and I’m two! There is no party . . . and if that’s what turning two means, then I’d like to go back to being one, thank you very much. Surely I’ll get to see Charles and Fred for a wee toast of the bubbly . . . maybe a little bit of cake?

December 25, 2004: It’s Christmas Day and that means gifts for me, me, me. Santa brought me a little white hen named Cluck. NO, she’s not a real hen. What would I do with a real hen . . . . hmmmm? Very little snow remains, but it doesn’t matter. My world is still a beautiful place. This morning I’m going to visit Soxie the Cat to open gifts. Later I’ll eat turkey, which always makes me sleepy. All in all, it’s going to be a fine day.

December 23,  2004: It’s almost Christmas. I can hardly wait. Gifts are wrapped and nestled under my tree. I’m sure they’re all for me. This morning white stuff fell from the sky (as it did last Valentine’s Day), and it just kept falling. Now my world is white. Snow, she says. It’s going to be a white Christmas, whatever that means. All I know is that a morning romp is especially fun when I can root-around in snow for mouses. I spent an hour at the mouse hill. No mouses. They’re likely cowering in terror . . . either that or they’re just plain cold. Probably all turned into frozen mouscicles. By evening the whole world was white and glistening. A winter wonderland . . . just in time for Santa.

October 31, 2004: It’s Halloween. I’ve returned from a short trip and I’m not attending the big Halloween party. Why? Because there is no big Halloween Party. Wilson isn’t hosting his usual Boo-To-Do. Perhaps because I’ve been away for three days. I don’t mind. I’m really in no mood to be dressed as a busy bee, or as any other stupid insect.

October 17, 2004: I went back to Red Oak for another earth dog trial this weekend. Nope, I didn’t pass. My choices were these: Dart underground and through thirty feet of turning tunnel, or . . . over-ground  a mere fifteen feet to that nice man who sits by the mouses. Now come on, folks . . . do the math. Which makes more sense?! Thirty-plus-feet? or fifteen feet? Naturally I went over-ground, a la mode of any brilliant terrier who understands basic arithmetic. Surprisingly enough, in return for my clever choice I was promptly bopped on the nose with a clipboard by the man formerly known as the nice judge. I can only surmise by this bop that he was suggesting I return to the tunnel entrance. I suspect there was a more polite way of making that little suggestion.

October 12, 2004: Yesterday I caught a bird. Brought it right inside the house and dropped it on the carpet. She took it outside; I brought it back inside -- twice. This morning I caught a mouse. I'm quite the little hunter, don't you think? I didn't rip off its little head, but I killed it nonetheless. That should lay to rest any questions as to whether I need a mouse-cannon to catch a mouse. Last weekend I went to the earth dog trial. I failed on Saturday, but that's OK.  I love the tunnel; however, what is the big deal about barking at boring rats in a cage? It's a little beneath me. On Sunday I showed what I'm really made of. I'm a terrier, born and bred to eliminate the quarry, and I did so with great aplomb. I got a ribbon, nay, a rosette. It's mine all mine. I was covered in black mud. Mmmm. Do I really care that I've blown my show coat? Not one iota.

October 5, 2004: She's home. Where did she go? I think she went to Montgomery . . . without me.  But wait, the tale gets worse. I heard that she walked another dog in the show ring -- Gracie's little brother, Monte. Now do I care that she walked another dog? As long as Trudy Ann was no where in sight, I don't really care. I DO care that I was left behind and all my fans missed petting me. Moreover, can you imagine how I was missed? I'm sure she pined for me every moment. Tell me she did. Someone tell me she was miserable without me.

September 16, 2004: Something is so wrong in my little world. I'm home from the spa, where they pronounced me "a handful." They are so wrong -- I'm several handfuls! Anyway, I'm not on the grooming table, but I am allowed outside in the rain. Don't they know I'll blow my show coat?! Montgomery is two weeks away! What about my date with Monte? Will I or won't I be riding first-class to Philly? I suppose it matters not . . . I've been promised mouses -- three weekends of mouses. Ferguson will be so jealous. Golly, next thing you know I'll be wearing a collar. It's wrong, I tell you. Wrong.

September 8, 2004: Yes, I'm a wee bit confused. I was just dropped-off at the spa, again! I'll be in the luxury suite, thank you very much. Yet, why am I here? Dumped at the spa without so much as one small toy. Off I went to chat with Fred. No, I didn't even look back. Do you blame me?

August 30, 2004: I’m home from the spa. Naturally I received the VIP treatment, and it was all fine and dandy until . . . . Della stripped my arse! That is SO typical -- it's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. No one mentioned that I’d be stripped. It was merely supposed to be a week away from the lady . . . playing with Charles and Fred. That rather threw a wrench in the works; though Fred didn't really mind. Anyway, now I'm home and it's clear that she is wildly happy. Reunion-time was sweet, especially with Nut-Meg. I wonder what that lady did for an entire week without me. I’m guessing the ol’ pining-away-routine. Probably cried into her pillow every night . . . pitiful little soul that she is . . . lost without me.

August 19, 2004: I am stinky. The lady is, too. The primary difference is, while I love it, she has scant appreciation for a fine, swampy bouquet. This afternoon at the office I led her across the street to the big hedgerow. In I went. She quickly lost sight of me. I tumbled down a steep, twelve-foot embankment and into the swampy river. I meant to do it. Right. Black muck, tadpoles, bugs . . . oh, and that intoxicating fragrance. She was left with little choice but to fetch me herself. I could tell you how she slid-down the embankment landing on her rump in the muck. I could tell you how she couldn’t get back out; but I’ve promised that we’ll never speak of it. Sssh. So, since I've transformed an ordinary Thursday into bath night, I might as well get spiffied-up. Tomorrow morning I’m going to spend a week with Fred. Mmmm, Fred. I don’t know where the lady is going, but she surely won’t go far without me . . . and she surely won’t have any fun.

August 12, 2004: We went to the Baskin Robbins. That’s right. Nicely behaved terriers go for ice cream. In we marched, just as if I owned the place. Maybe I DO own the place. Did they have any frozen yoghurt for little me? No, they did not. But they were more than happy to make me some. Yep. I’m that cute! They cut into a cake and fetched the yoghurt for me. The crowd went wild. We sat outside in the grass to enjoy my cup o’ cream. You can imagine the requests for petting.

July 19, 2004: I am one sleepy puppy. I've been in Houston for four days with the folks from Animal Planet. It's my favorite channel. I was at another one of those dog shows, this time with my pals Gretchen, Zoe, Lucy and Fred. Gretchen is going to be on TV. You can see Gretchen on Animal Planet on October 16. Look for her -- she did a great job of walking her lady. I got to be featured in an event called Meet The Breed. I was there with Sagan. We had a little discussion about who should eat the most cookies. I did a lot of meet-n-greet, a task at which I truly excel. Hundreds of hands petted me. I kissed lots of babies . . . gently, of course. With all this pressing the flesh (or pressing the fur) and kissing of babies, you'd think I was running for office. I know someone who is running for office -- my pal Chad. Now I've been raised that it's not polite to talk about sensitive subjects . . . topics like who's sleeping with whom . . . politics or religion . . . discrimination . . . freedom of choice. But my pal Chad says that it's time to take a stand; and I trust his judgment so I'll tell you where I stand . . . even though I usually sit. I sleep with Nut-Meg, who is constantly in and out of the closet, and I'm darn proud of it! My church is the Church of Onofrio; I have a deep-rooted prejudice against yellow tennis balls, and I'm not afraid to admit it; My political party is the Anyexcusefora Party. THERE, I've said it. Hat's off to Chad, Nigel & Gimlet for giving me the encouragement to bark my piece.

July 11, 2004: I'm in San Antonio -- it's a town, which is named after someone who was a saint. You want to talk about saints? ME! I'm the saint. I've been back on the grooming table. I've been walking in the show ring. I've slept in my hard, dark crate, all alone at the show site. I think that makes me quite the little trooper . . . practically a saint. Saint Jill. Well, maybe not. Yesterday I met a nice lady in the show ring. She wanted a photo with me and I was happy to oblige. She said I have a nice face and gave me something called points, which I never even saw and certainly didn't get to play with. Do I really have a nice face? Sagan came to see me at the show and we made a date for next weekend. We both slept at the show site last night. I've seen Zoe every day, but she's not sleeping-over with the rest of us Lakies. Where do you suppose Zoe goes at night? Surely not to the hotel with my lady. It's inconceivable. Today I got two new toys: a giant rock lobster, and a huge fleece ball, both of which are larger than I am. It's OK. My motto? No toy too big . . . or is it no toy left behind ? This afternoon I'll get to go home to my man, new toys in tow. I guess the lady will bring my points.

July 10, 2004: You won't believe this. She's completely lost her mind. Practically since my very first bath I've had a bath time song. "Bath-time for the baby; no, we don't mean maybe . . . ." Bleu's lady taught it to my lady, who sings it way too often if you ask me. Now in the privacy of one's own kitchen sink, there's nothing wrong with a little bath time song. But suddenly, before my very eyes (and ears) this Bath-time For The Baby song is being sung all over the San Antonio Convention Center. I'm not sure I should associate with such nonsense. Someone might get the wrong idea. I'm sure the other terriers are laughing. Somebody help her!

July 4, 2004: Yesterday was Nut-Meg's birthday. She didn't want a cake and she didn't ask for ice cream. Cat's are funny that way. She napped through most of her party. There is a small squirrel who lives in my back yard. The lady thinks it may be injured. I don't think it's injured . . . not yet. It's easy to sneak-up on this young whelp. I nearly caught it, and I would have if she hadn't grabbed my tail at the last moment. Nut-Meg might not want cake, but squirrel pie sure would be a thoughtful gift. Tonight I went to Wilson's house for fireworks. I don't mind the noise, I really don't. Lots of ooo-ing and aaah-ing. Hey, you folks wanna see something really pretty? Take a look at my bite! I don't care about sparklers -- put me to bed.

June 20, 2004: We're going home. I'm going to hop off this table, make a quick circle in the show ring, and head for home. My man misses me. Nut-Meg probably misses me too. I bet Wilson is pining-away. My lady reeks of Trudy Ann, but I've got no time to scold her. I've got to put her on a plane and get her away from Trudy Ann.

June 19, 2004: This morning my lady walked me in Puppy Sweeps. I like her to walk me in sweeps, but I'm always confused as to why she doesn't bring the broom. They tell me that it's my last occasion to walk in sweeps. They evidently don't realize that I know exactly where the broom is kept at home. Here's my photo after the sweeping. I'm all wiggly because everyone wants to pet me.  I'll be 18 months old next month, and perhaps you know what that means. It means that today I've begun the "season" for husband-hunting -- wink-wink. There goes any hope I had for attending the mouse-hunt. The mouses don't care if I'm husband-hunting, but evidently the bachelors do.  Now don't get excited. I'm not really husband-hunting. In fact, I'm much more interested in the fact that I see my great-great grandmother over there. It's Crystal! She's a Best in Show winner. Someone once bit her nose, so she probably doesn't need little ol' me getting too close for our introductions. Now I ask you -- who dare bite the nose of my great great grandmother? Let me at 'em!

June 18, 2004: Another dog show day, another ribbon. Blah, blah, blah. I think everyone probably gets a ribbon just for being such a good sport about the grooming. Now the best part about the dog show is what happens after you leave the show ring. Shopping time! There's always a new toy or a treat involved. And I deserve it because THAT IS TRUDY ANN THAT I SEE OVER THERE! My lady had better not be petting her.

June 17, 2004: Today I visited the campus of Cal State University at Long Beach. It's in a state called California. Now I'm really clever, but I can't imagine that I'm being enrolled in university. Ah, in fact, not. I've evidently come to attend a dog show. Something called a futurity. I have no idea what that means. But here's what I do know: while I was being groomed someone mentioned my name -- after all, it is the name on everyone's lips. So someone said "Jill," and out of nowhere folks came up and said "Jill? THE Jill?" Oh yeah. It's me. THE Jill. Live and in-the-fur! I got to walk in a circle with Chris and meet some new Lakie girls. All in all, a fun day. Pssst--I think I saw Trudy Ann. Oh, surely not again!

June 16, 2004: We packed my little duds and got ready for a trip. Actually, she packed, I played with my new pink poodle. I was taken to the big airport and sent to California. It was my first flight out west and I loved every minute of it. Of course it helped that I received a world of special attention . . . being the cutest terrier they'd ever seen. When I arrived, attached to my travel-crate was a bag of special terrier goodies. VIP treatment, it's called. So off to the hotel we went. And who do you think was there? Who slept in our hotel room? Mommy's boyfriend! Cole, the gorgeous Airedale. Can you just picture us together? Cole, aka the Giant Lakeland. Me, aka the Miniature Airedale. Yes, he loved me; and indeed I see the attraction that mommy has for him. But what about daddy? Oh well. As I've always said . . . if you can get away with that sort of thing. In any event, mom was home in Houston with daddy; and I'll never give-away her secrets. So it was a fun, sleep-over night, though I didn't do a lot of sleeping. Tuesday and Judy were there so it was quite a reunion.

May 29, 2004: My package finally arrived. Chad told me to watch for the postman, and watch I did. I love a postman -- they bring stuff right to my door. Now I know what you're feeling; and it's OK . . . I know you're envious. Any pup would be. Everyone wants a Chad's Rags original. But this is MY new outfit -- a pink hat and collar from Chad and Miss Bunny. Chad's lady made this especially for me. Yes, it's hand made with love. Each precious strand of soft pink yarn lovingly assembled into this fetching ensemble.  Why? Because I'm a special young Lakeland. There's a little rose on the hat, which I'm confident that Chad, himself, insisted that I have. Chad knows that I'm a delicate little flower.  

May 27, 2004: I ate a little shoe. Two little shoes, to be exact. In my 16 months of living I've never touched a shoe. But there they were. Still in their box. Two little pink, strappy sandals. Who could resist? Not me. Pink. They looked like candy. She said they were for Great Western. Trust me. They weren't western in the least, and she's better off without them.

May 18, 2004: They say I'm a blue-collar dog. I take great exception to that statement. I've never worn a blue collar in my life. Pink. Pink is my collar color. Remove the blue collar and no one will get hurt. I've had an exciting few days. Power has been installed in my pergola. I helped. Journeyman-Jill, they all said. I don't know what that means. What I do know is that the pergola is no terrier temple. They could use some decorating tips from Gimlet Rose. But I do have a little fountain that sprays water everywhere. It's bound to get my jacket wet, which makes them completely crazy. I love when they're crazy. There are little Roman Holiday lights at night, but I've been assured that the lights have nothing to do with a real holiday and that I won't be getting any gifts. In fact, they seem a little defensive about the gift-thing. So yesterday at the office I went outside to check the mouse nest. It's not really mouse season, but you never know. From under the mouse house jumped an unexpected creature. A cotton tail. At first the lady thought it was the biggest mouse in America. I knew immediately that it wasn't a mouse. Still, it was rather shocking for all of us, especially the bunny. It ran for its life and crossed the road, where I am never allowed to visit. It had better not come back or it might be bunny pie.

May 5, 2004: Today is something called Cinco de Mayo. I don't know what that means. I don't think anyone knows what that means. Wait, maybe I DO know what that means. I'm afraid that it has something to do with a sink, which probably means that it's bath night. Sink o' my bath, oh! I chewed on my foot. I'm in big trouble. My left front foot. They say, "How can Jill put her best foot forward at Great Western?" Again with the great western thing. What is that? My foot was itchy and scratchy. I had to chew it. The fur is gone. Yep, my furnishings are gnawed. But if my foot is itchy now, imagine how itchy it will be in a little western boot? Exactly what is this great western thing? Are toys involved? And who says that my left foot is any better than my right foot?

May 2, 2004: I went to a party at a lake. They were so excited. "Lakeland at the Lake Land" they said . . . as if it was a big deal to me. I was nicely behaved. There was a bubble machine. That was very exciting. My newly-stripped arse got sunburned. By the time I got home, I was exhausted. I had an odd experience late this evening -- other-worldly, if you will. But I made a new pal, Chad. I think Chad may visit from time-to-time. You never know. Maybe he'll help me grow a fall. Hey, you never know. Read about my encounter with this knowledgeable entrepreneur, Chad, and his faithful assistant, Miss Bunny.

April 27, 2004: I'm getting stripped a lot lately. I don't know why. Something about a great western show. I'm picturing cowboy boots, maybe a pony. Tonight I got declawed -- not a pretty sight. The lady was clipping my nails and I moved. I'm supposed to jerk and move around -- I read it in the Lakie Handbook. I got hurt but I didn't even yip.  I'm very brave, you know. My grooming table looked like a crime scene. She had to call Wilson's lady to bring-in emergency-supply reinforcements. A call to Judy was required. I don't know what was discussed, but I was placed in my crate for the night. That part wasn't in the handbook. This will pay-off, big-time. You know what she's feeling, don't you? Guilt, guilt, guilt. The critical injury caused me to miss a play-date with Jax. I suppose there'll be other dates. And I'll probably get a new toy. What I need is a new toe. 

April 16, 2004: I CAUGHT A MOUSE! A real live mouse. I flushed it from its lair outside my office, I chased it about for about 20 feet and I caught it in my mouth. It was freaky. No, I mean it was really freaky. So freaky that I did a flip in mid-air, which dislodged the mouse. It ran for its little rodent life. The lady saw the entire episode, so I had a witness. We ran to tell the man. He foolishly stands by his prior assertion that Jill couldn't catch a mouse if a mouse-cannon was aimed at her mouth. When he first uttered this statement some weeks back, the slanderous word spread all the way to Houston, and my mommy was quite incensed. When he finds a mouse in his bed, we'll just see who needs a mouse cannon.

April 5, 2004: My oh my. It was a party-party weekend. I came home from the office on Friday to find several dogs in my yard. My pal Sagan was there. I was expecting him, but what I wasn't expecting were all of the other dogs. No one mentioned that I would be entertaining guests. On Friday I was introduced to Baxter, a good-looking Lakie who immediately gave me a little correction and suggested that I stop acting like a silly girl. HEY! It's my house and I can act silly if I want . . . or so I thought. Baxter suggested that I act like the grown-up girl that I am becoming, and I quite agreed. So off we went to the pool, where I met Ozzey. Strange things are afoot in my little world. For one year that lady lead me to believe that it was all about me, me, me; and I feel certain that it's still all about me. But in this new pack situation, suddenly it was more about Baxter than about little ol' me. Hmm. Well OK, I can accept that. We all lounged by the pool on Friday night -- dogs just kept arriving: Archie, Max, Sagan, Ozzey, and Baxter. Being surrounded by so many good looking boys isn't a bad thing at all. I was happy. Then Saturday came and off I went to learn manners. There I sat, on my little mat, all day long. It wasn't that difficult, but once again I was confused. Is it or isn't it all about me?  Saturday night just about every Lakeland in north America came to my house. Little Zoe was there. She thinks she's way too important and we had a little discussion. In truth, we tried to kill each other. No, I'm not joking. From whence cometh this blatant attack? It's quite simple. In the absence of a good pack leader correcting Miss Zoe, I had to tackle the matter. My lady got a correction for not handling the situation, and then I got a big correction for trying to correct Zoe. It's OK. we're all learning. It's sort of like the pool sweep . . . lady, either you handle it or I will! Sunday we went to manners class again. I showed that lady just how nice I am. Yes, I have a recall. Yes, I know Easy. Yes, I walk on a loose lead. Things are definitely looking up. The lady is learning her place in the pack.

March 23, 2004: It's a busy week. The workers at Sadie's home who let me out of the yard to chase mallards are now at my home. They've drained my pool. It's a giant hole in the earth. Bugs buzz around in the empty hole. I like to chase bugs. If you run fast enough in an empty pool, you'll run right up the sides of the walls. It's enough to make you dizzy. Mad Jill, Beyond PoolDome, they say. I have no idea what that means. This afternoon part of my fence was removed. I can't run-free in my yard. Actually, I could run free. I could run for miles, but they've got me on my long line. Nut-Meg is boggled by the absence of a fence. She's just a cat. Yesterday I had two odd encounters: I met a Weimaraner and a little tiny person. I was gentle with both of 'em. I played on the floor with the baby. No, the lady wasn't around. She would never have allowed me to show how sweet I can be. Hey lady, that baby loved me. No surprise there.

March 21, 2004: It's been a busy few days. I interviewed that famous Canadian Lakie, Lolita. She's got a lot to say and a lot of tips for young Lakies. The interview will be printed in some newsletter, or so they tell me.  Then I went to a show in Fort Worth over the weekend. It was at this same show last year that I was claimed by my uprights -- so this weekend was the one-year anniversary of me leaving my mommy and coming to live with these people. No, I wasn't overly sentimental. Jax's family came to see me on Saturday, but they forgot to bring Jax. Saturday night I went to visit Sadie & Lady. They're having their pool resurfaced. The workers let me out of the yard. I absolutely love the sweet taste of freedom. I bolted like lightening down to the park to chase mallards. My people came looking for me. How did they locate me? Some traitorous little child gave away my location by squealing, "LOOK, it's a cute puppy!" Quiet, kid. Don't restate the obvious. Well, there I was . . . busted . . . cornered. The lady called me, and I ran like a bullet straight to her. That's called a recall. I kept running and ran right by her. That's called clever! Then she yelled WAIT and I froze in my tracks. That's called way too reliable. I'll work on that part. No terrier should be so dependable. What have they done to my young, pliable brain? We all went home.
 

March 16, 2004: Spring is sprung. Neiman's sent me this handy reminder . . . as if they want me to devour this little mule. I don't eat shoes -- why would they tempt me? Anyway, the clover is high. Movement is everywhere. I think it's baby bunnies and birds. The yard at my office is a veritable wonderland of young snacks. The yard people are here. The loud machines seem a bit familiar -- maybe from last summer when I was young. I went for a walk to meet-n-greet the mowers. The lady didn't seem concerned with the commotion, so neither was I. Maybe all the racket will flush-out a bunny. I'll just wait patiently and snuggle on the lady. I'm the sweetest thing that ever lived.  This morning they said that I was ordinary -- that despite my majors, my poop still stinks. But they're wrong. They're so wrong.
 

March 14, 2004: OK, OK. I've received lots of eMail about what happens at the dog shows, so I'll tell you the tale. I went to another dog show yesterday and today. Last week, San Antonio -- this weekend in Houston. Yes, Vicki and Chris were there to brush me. I like Vicki, I do. But she's Trudy Ann's mom, and I've about had it up to here with my lady raving about perfect little Trudy. It's Chris that I adore! Chris is now my walking partner, and we're evidently quite a team. Lots of dogs go to these shows, not just Lakelands. But of course, terriers are the only dogs of any real importance. Last weekend in San Antonio Chris introduced me to a nice lady named Dorothy Nickels. She petted me and looked at my puppy parts. I winked at her. Yesterday I met another nice lady named Mildred Bryant. She petted me too. It's OK, Chris told her she could pet me. I'm wiry. Last week Chris got some blue ribbons for me. I got some stripe ribbons too -- handfuls of ribbons that I can't play with, which makes no sense to me. This weekend I got even bigger ribbons. Ribbons must grow bigger in Houston -- they grow into something called rosettes. So Chris and my lady tell me that I got a major last week and another major this weekend. Two weekends in a row -- two majors. I didn't see a major. I didn't see a colonel either. I didn't see anyone in uniform. But I guess a major is a good thing because I'm getting lots of new toys. And the best part besides the toys? I got to play with Sagan and Gia without Trudy Ann.

March 8, 2004: I knew there was a reason I had been in my Sherpa bag so often -- I was getting ready to travel on a plane. Friday morning I flew to San Antonio. But did I ride under the seat in my Sherpa? NO! I rode in the belly of the beast known as a plane. It wasn't bad; but why they wouldn't let me go with the lady is a mystery to me. Something that the American Airlines lady said. And they call me a bitch?! I arrived at a place called the Alamodome, and there was Trudy Ann. No, I still haven't forgotten that nursing incident; but evidently my lady has. Just what makes Trudy so special? Well there I was, at a dog show. Auntie B.B. and grandmother Gidget were there. B.B. walked in the show ring, grand ma-ma didn't. There were other Lakelands in the show ring, but I didn't know them and no one bothered with introductions. It was a fun event for me. I got a new pearl collar, a hula-girl bandana (for all those Aloha parties I attend in the summertime), and a gigantic new toy. Lots of people petted me. My pals Chris and Vicki were there. Chris and I had a private little chat and Chris relayed some very important news: I am not a baby -- I'm a big girl now. In all this time the lady had conveniently forgotten to tell me that. Well now I know. I'm a big girl now and I can handle big-girl responsibilities . . . responsibilities like picking my own toys, walking nicely in the show ring, a little schmoozing of the judge. Chris walked me on Sunday and then someone came to take my photo. Thanks for the news, Chris. I won't forget it.
 

March 2, 2004: Oh I'm sweet, alright. I don't know about nature-sweet, but I'm sweet. They don't fully comprehend just how sweet I am. I've been on my grooming table every day for weeks -- sometimes more than once a day. Have I bitten? No. Not once. Would I like to? What do you think? As a reward for being so tantalizingly sweet I'm at daycare for the week. Maybe this means that the grooming is concluded. She can't groom me if I'm here and she's there. I've got a playdate with my new pal, Jax. Jax and Jill -- sort of catchy, wouldn't you say? Jax is a Wire Fox. We're going to terrierize everyone at the lodge. Watch out, Charles. Stand back, Lucy. It's terrier pandemonium.

February 23, 2004: I appeared at my first earth dog trial this weekend. I’m just a young terrier, so I attended something called Intro to Quarry. Ah, that yummy scent. I spied a little tunnel with an entrance far from the scent. I decided to dig my own tunnel a bit closer. Evidently they didn’t need another entrance, and I was required to enter their tunnel. Off I went to be introduced to quarry. Well rest assured, there were no introductions. Who were those mouses in that little cage? We had a brief chat, and then I was removed from the tunnel. As I was being removed I thought I’d give them a piece of my mind and acquaint them with etiquette and proper introductions. Later in the day I went to the junior earth tunnel. I was screaming wildly for the lady to let me go. I entered the tunnel and found the mouses in three (3!) seconds. But again, with no formal introductions, I wasn’t quite sure what to say to the mouses. I invited them home for tea. When it was time to leave the mouses, I gave them my best terrier growl. On Sunday we conducted this entire routine again. This time at the little Intro tunnel I knew what to do. They say that I passed with flying colors, and I suppose that’s why I got a little colored ribbon. On to junior earth. Again I screamed to be released. I located the mouses in about five seconds and I barked for nineteen seconds. They trembled before this juggernaut. Then I went back down the tunnel to tell the lady about the mouses. She told me to go back and continue talking to them, but I was out of things to say. True, I hate mouses. But in contrast to the mouses that run outside my office, these creatures seemed rather boring. They weren’t going anywhere, they weren’t very chatty, so why would I continue to bark in a totally one-sided conversation? My mouse weekend was fun, but equally fun was being covered in black mud from nose to tip of tail. Mouses are the enemy, but mud is our friend.

February 14, 2004: Today is Valentine Day. I guess that means that this stuff called snow falls into my yard. I'm going to like snow. Maybe I'll tell you a snow tale later. Right now I've got to get back out there.
Click here to read more about my snow day!

January 26, 2004: They thought I was simply being naughty -- extra wound-up, even whimpery. But no. I wanted to go outside to make a kill. Now I admit it: I thought I was after a mouse -- a particularly rambunctious mouse making lots of noise just outside the door. I went into the bushes to chat with the mouse and there I found a bird. I placed it gently in my mouth and exited the shrubs to show the lady. I had to release it in order to convince her that it was beyond help. Indeed it was . . . way beyond help. There I am on the left, proudly holding my bird. I didn't get to hold it long.  The man took it somewhere. No one knows why a bird would go into the shrubs. Maybe the bird was looking for a mouse - we can only speculate. In any event, I was given a yummy breath mint and brought back inside. Oh . . . yes, that's me, sans poil --my jacket was stripped yesterday.
 

January 20, 2004: Are you ready for this? Here's what they said this morning: Life as I know it is over! Finished! They think I'm going to be easy around the pool sweep. It's my fault -- I led them to believe that by pretending to be calm for four days in a row. You know better. Gracie, you especially know better. It's OK. Let them think that. Let them think what they will. I'm patient. I'm infinitely patient.

January 16, 2004: Hooray! Two wheels off of the pool-sweep . . . one to go.  And just when I thought that I had the beast under control, I got caught and removed from the water. Now I'm learning a trick called Easy. I'll tell you something: being Easy isn't easy. It's also not fun; but my people seem to insist upon it. Truth be known, I've been fairly naughty. I'm a terrier and I chase things that move. Pool-sweeps move; that equals fair-game. To top off my day, the lady's mom came to visit. She squealed on me and told about my visit to her home -- when I chased Soxie the cat, shattered a vase, and got into the laundry. Traitor! See if I go visiting there again! 

January 2, 2004: Yesterday at my party Charles' people brought a gadget for my collar. I bark, it interprets what I'm saying -- except that I don't bark all that much. This gadget is called a Bow-Lingual. Right. It told them that I said "let's play." I did not say let's play. I said Let's Open Gifts. The thing is obviously worthless, and I don't know why the humans got such a kick out of it. There are only a few things that I ever have to say to my people . . . and those are: 1) pet me, feed me, take me for a walk; 2) pet me, feed me, take me for a walk; 3) either you kill the pool sweep or I will; and 4) pet me, feed me, take me for a walk. I'm not as complicated as they think.

January 1, 2004: It's the first day of 2004, and what that means is that today is my birthday. Today I am one year old. We'll have a party this afternoon. Click here to see the photos from my first birthday party. Who came to my party? Sadie, Lady, Wilson, Klondike, Charles, Fred, Lucy, and Ricky. My cake was yummy -- my people copied the dog-cake idea from Lola's people. That Lola is a lucky girl if she gets meat-cake and mashed potato frosting all the time. We partied all afternoon. Fred fell in the pool, which isn't surprising. What is surprising is that more of us didn't go in. I waded on the steps but didn't go in. I got lots of gifts from all of my doggy pals. In fact, I got so many gifts that the people put away some of them . . . they threatened to give some of them to some needy Lakie. A needy Lakie?! Right!

December 30, 2003: I went to a hair-cutting place with the man where I discovered that the humans don't get stripped -- they have their hairs cut. Hmm. A few days ago it was Christmas Eve, and up my front walk comes not Santa but my friend the mailman. In his hand is a package and my people are excited thinking that they're getting a surprise gift. But of course, it's not for them, it's for me! Yes, it's for me! But it's not a Christmas gift -- it's my birthday present and it's from my favorite pal, Gracie . . . it came all the way from Georgia. But do I get to open it? NO! Here I am begging to open my gift; and you can see that Nut-Meg is also anxious to see what's inside. Look. She's about to pounce from those pillows and hop all over my gift. OK, maybe not. Maybe she already knows what's inside. Cats know -- they don't care, but they know. Bet Meg never got a package from Georgia. Where is Georgia? So today we're beginning preparations for my birthday party. I chose the menu: a nice country paté cake and lots of snacks with bones in 'em. Soon I won't be a puppy any longer.  But I'll still be the baby, won't I?

December 24, 2003:  Just in time, my pal Gracie provided me with a little photo-essay on how to open gifts. Thanks, Gracie! I've never opened a gift (I know, I know, we're all stunned about that . . . no one more so than me!). Anyway, I'm glad Christmas is finally here because this Nice performance is too hard to maintain. Tonight is an occasion called Christmas Eve. My first one. Right now I'm home by the fireplace with the air-conditioner on because I live in a place called Texas. Later we'll go over the river to someone's grandmother's house, or so they tell me. It's not my grandmother -- she's home in Houston. In any event, I'll go because I'm so @#%! nice . . . or maybe I'll go just because they want me to go. Should I wear my pink sweater, or the more formal black?  We're gonna eat peppermint canes (I'm a mint-lover), and there might be more of that turkey. I think I can probably handle some eggnog, too. Does that make me naughty? Now all this activity is fine, but it begs the question: WHEN DO I GET MY GIFTS?! And by the way, lady, you don't really have on the a/c, do you?

December 18, 2003: In two weeks I'll turn one year old. That's obviously what all the fuss is about this time of year. Yeah, that's me in the photo on the left -- another trick by the crazy humans. Note how I'm lined-up in a little circle . . . an illusion most-disturbing and contrary to all laws of nature and quantum physics insofar as, clearly, the world revolves around ME!! That's your first clue to the fact that this image was tampered with. So they've brought a live tree inside my house and it smells like the forest. They put lights on the tree; and underneath the tree are lots of boxes and some of them smell like they'd taste delicious. Who are all those boxes for? Does this have something to do with my birthday? This is my first holiday season, but I'm learning about it quickly.

December 5, 2003: I made my holiday wish list and went to Santa Land. We just missed Santa, who had already gone to back to the North Pole for the night. When the elves saw that I was there, they called-back Santa. No, I'm not kidding -- Santa came back for me! Kaitlyn and Candice came along too, but I was the only dog. So lest you think that this was some doggy-photo-Santa, he was not! This was the REAL Santa. I was beautifully behaved and didn't disturb any of the toys at Santa Land. I was petted by an elf, which was kind of weird. After the trip to Santa Land, Kaitlyn and Candice went down the way to the pet store. I got to go too. There were tubs (giant TUBS, I tell you!) of birds and mice and bunnies. I sort of went crazy. Luckily I had already chatted with Santa before I turned so naughty. Anyway, Santa would surely understand: Terrier . . . mice . . . bunnies . . . parakeets -- what would any Lakie do?! I was removed from Petland, posthaste.

December 3, 2003: I haven't seen a mouse in a week! But Nut-Meg introduced me to a new quarry. On my patio is a little tree . . . a miniature something. Into this tree fall hundreds of leaves, and evidently birds like to live in leaves in trees. Meg understands this quite well.  I can smell the bird and if I stand on two feet I can almost see it (though I am cautious when standing on two feet by the pool -- I remember what happened on Thanksgiving). So . . . Nut-Meg was climbing into the tree to bring me the bird, but she got pecked and bailed-out. However, it was enough to roust the bird, and it flew right to me. Then it veered and flew right into the jaws of death, a.k.a. Nut-Meg's mouth. But she wasn't fast enough and the bird veered again and flew-off over the pool, where I bolted toward it, only to be stopped by the water. Then I got a bath. Meg and me: we're quite a team . . . almost.

November 30, 2003: Something happened called The Thanksgiving Weekend. It began when I fell in the pool and I hope that's not an annual event. Brrr. Evidently this Thanksgiving-thing happens once a year when the people are home for four days in a row. I get to wear my best, cozy sweater and watch a dog show. Then lots of people come to visit and everyone stays inside -- maybe they don't have cozy sweaters. I ate something called turkey, which made me sleepy. You have to be really good to stay in the house for the luncheon, which evidently I am! Now for those of you with little Thanksgiving experience, here's a tip: When it's time for the people to go home, if you watch carefully, someone will leave open the door. That's your cue to bolt! Run! Unfortunately, I know this word called Wait and it makes me freeze in my tracks. The next day I stayed in the front yard all day while millions of little lights went in the trees. Now I realize that the nights are longer this time of year, but what's up with all these lights going-up in the neighborhood? The men stand-around talking about the lights, and the ladies make cocktails, which usually means that I get a little something . . . so it works out well. Then packages begin to arrive. They smell like toys but I'm constantly told to Leave It! At the end of the weekend comes Craft Day. This is when kids come to my house to make frames for my photos. I like it, I like it.

November 25, 2003: They're back from Yankee land and golly am I glad. They shopped especially for me; but evidently some of the gifts are for something called my stocking and I have to wait to see 'em. What do you suppose they did when they weren't shopping for me? Probably they just sat-around and pined. I was picked-up from the lodge this morning and I ran for about a mile. Then I went to tell the mouses that I am back. Here we are after my run, all bundled up 'cause it's about 30 degrees. Where can you get this chic Lakeland ensemble? It's from some place called Fetchpet.com, and if you're as loved as your people say, they'll buy you something, too.  I'm going to see Wilson tonight. He'll think I'm a doll in my new pink boucle. That Wilson is a smart guy.
 

November 21, 2003: Where is Jill? Can you find me in this photo? Do you think that's really me? Of course it isn't. Let me tell you where Jill is NOT. I'm not in the Big Apple with my people and their friends. In fact, I'm not with Boomer, either. I'm being boarded and I may not know any of the other dogs at the lodge. In the past I could count on playing with Boomer when I was boarded. Now what? Charles, will you play with me? Now why do you suppose they'd leave me to go to New York? Why would they leave me, period? Maybe they're going to buy me the latest fall fashions . . . and gifts for the holidays . . . and gifts for my birthday less than six weeks away. That's probably what they're doing. That had better be what they're doing!

November 13, 2003: More mouses. They're like manna from heaven -- don't ask where they come from, just be thankful. Today I found a new mouse nest with six mouses. My humans were jumping around. I think they wanted me to bite the mouses, but I was too busy sniffing the nest. The mouses ran right by me. I'm not worried -- it's just a matter of time before I get 'em, and I'm very patient. Yesterday I slept late and didn't come to work. I stayed home in the dining room. A giant mouse with a fluffy tail (some call it a squirrel) taunted me from its tree. I dug a large hole in the wall trying to get outside to chat with that squirrel, but the wall was too thick. I covered the hole in the wall with part of the draperies, but my handiwork was discovered. My people seemed disturbed about a hole for some reason. Guess I should have made it bigger.
 

November 1, 2003: It's been an exciting two days. Yesterday I went to the doggy Halloween party at Charles' & Boomer's lodge. Charles had to dress as a pumpkin and he was not happy. Boomer wore his fur-trimmed bomber jacket. I wore that stupid bee-suit. After the party I went home to help the man give-out candy. Hundreds of children came to see me . . . wearing outfits that made my bee-suit look almost dignified. What's up with these humans? Oh, you know I caused a stir. Everyone had to stop and say that I was the cutest dog in America. Tonight I went to a party at Sadie's & Lady's home. I heard something called a Peruvian band and I was mesmerized. Fifty people wanted to know how I got so well-trained.  I must say: I was beautifully behaved!

October 20, 2003: It was a day in early fall. A day seemingly like any other. I was naïvely playing with my bone when She approached. In one hand was my comb. In the other hand was a cookie. I was petted and then combed. It happened when I least expected it . . . slowly at first . . . then faster and faster. I closed my eyes and couldn't see all that ensued. I didn't want to see. Turn away, I told myself. But it was too late. Oh, the horror -- the heinous scene. All too quickly the deed was done. It was over. All was quiet and still again.  But . . . but . . . SHE HAD PULLED OUT MY FALL!! Don't let this happen to you.  Be aware and be on guard. Don't say I didn't warn you.
 

October 6, 2003: I'm on a big plane and I'm going home to my man. I'm loose in the cabin because I'm so cute. Last night we had a girl-party in the hotel. Lauren and Gretchen stayed in my room. Guess who slept on the big bed, and guess who slept in their crates? I've had a big week and now I think I've had too much gin. I'm going to nap all the way to Dallas.

October 5, 2003: I moved again today, this time to Ambler, Pennsylvania -- some little show called Montgomery. Only the best dogs are here today, and what that means to you non-show dogs is: terriers only!  My lady is going to walk me at something called Puppy Sweeps. This sounds like fun because I'm really good with a broom. I know, I know -- first comes the grooming thing. Today before the grooming began I got a good, long walk. Smart lady. It's OK, she's just learning. So with that little bit of personal business out of the way, we were off to Puppy Sweeps. Well there was no broom -- just a very nice lady who wanted to see all of my puppy parts. My lady did so well and I was proud of her. She even carried my comb, just like the professional dog walkers . . . and she was really on a roll until she fumbled it. Don't worry, lady. I'll make it up with my bite. This was really, really fun. All my fans were sitting ringside and I was so happy. They gave my lady a third-place ribbon for not completely losing my comb, and I got a check to buy some new toys -- four whole dollars! After Puppy Sweeps we did something called Puppy Class. I don't know what that is, but I'm really getting the hang of this walking back and forth and not sitting while on a table. It doesn't make sense, and it's really not as fun as getting a mouse; but if my lady wants to walk in a circle, then by golly we'll walk in a circle. So Montgomery finally came and went; and now that lady can shut-up and leave my poor man alone. Lady, let's go home now -- my man misses me.
 

October 4, 2003: Brrrr! It's cold, raining, and muddy, and I've been moved to a place where horseys come called Ludwigs Corner. It is cold and I'm not looking forward to my bath . . . and you know how I feel about horses. This has trouble written all over it -- trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with P!  All too quickly I was bathed and brushed. Is this gonna be a daily thing?! Then my lady carried me to another one of those places they call a ring. I tried to tell her that she had better put me down, but she wasn't listening. Oh boy! Now I get to walk in the muddy grass. No wonder we've come to a dog show. Mud is our friend. Today a new man came to see us. He was very nice and told my lady how to walk me. He told her to be silly with me -- he obviously doesn't know just how silly she is! As we were doing our go-'round-the-ring game, I got ant-sy and then really ant-sy. Lady, you know the signs! What were you thinking?! I had to stop and pee. I know, I know -- that's way too much information. But HEY! If you've gotta go, you've gotta go. I had told her earlier to put me down! Anyway, I sure felt better after that and I'd have gladly walked again for that nice man. After we left the ring I stayed under the tent at ringside. Guess who was there. It was Gossip; and my lady adores her. I was nose-to-nose with Gossip and we were whispering. When it was Gossip's turn to walk around the ring with the special Lakies, Gossip also stopped to pee. Oh Gossip! Not you too. Now you don't think that I had anything to do with that!
 

October 3, 2003: Today I came back to the fairground. Turns out I'm at something called the Hatboro Dog Show, and perhaps that explains why all these dogs have come to see me. I got brushed again. Golly, didn't they brush me just yesterday? While I got brushed my lady stripped Trudy Ann. Trudy is indeed special, but I haven't forgotten that nursing thing! Still, I suppose the lady does need some practice with a stripping knife. Today when it was time to walk on the grass Chris walked with me so that my lady could take photos . . . or so they say. I think Chris walked me so that my lady wouldn't faint. Actually, she's been very well behaved for her first time in Pennsylvania.  Lauren walked with me again, and a new man came to see us. I really liked this new man . . . someone called a judge. Now I'm nice (you know I am), but Lauren is the prettiest girl in the ring and she got something called the first-place ribbon, again! Go, Lauren!  Chris got something called a second-place ribbon . . . must be because he's a good walker. After the show my lady went to talk about terriers. Enough with the terrier-talk already! We all know I'm wonderful. I stayed with Lauren. Maybe I'll have a little chat with Trudy.

October 2, 2003: Whoa. Something odd is going on. I've been taken to a Pennsylvania fairground in some place called Wrightstown and there must be a million dogs here. I can't see 'em all, but I can smell 'em. And it's not just terriers. Who ARE these dogs? I spotted my friends Vicky, Chris & Bobby, and they wanted to brush me. Oddly enough, they wanted my lady to leave while they brushed me. I guess they wanted to surprise her. After I got brushed I put on my little lead and the lady and I went walking to see some other Lakelands. My sister, Lauren, went with me. I walked around on the grass and had to stand on a little table. Why stand if you can sit, I wondered. There was a nice man on the grass who had evidently come there just to see us. Wasn't that nice of him? Maybe he heard it was the nine-month anniversary of my birthday. So I walked about for a while and helped my lady, who seemed a tad nervous. Luckily I was there for her. Maybe she doesn't walk on grass often enough.  Then my lady got a ribbon for me. I saw the ribbon and I agreed, it was very chewable. Now tell me again, why would I want a colored ribbon if I can't even play with it? At the end of the day I got to go with Bobby for a Lakeland sleep-over. You know, this is fun! Lady, you're on your own.

October 1, 2003: Today I turned nine months old. As a special nine-month gift we packed my little duds and got on a plane, first-class, natürlich. I arrived in some place called Pennsylvania. Wonder why Boomer didn't come along; he would have loved it. Boomer's lady didn't have a Lakie there, so I slept on her bed to keep her company. I didn't mind. Don't worry, Della, you'll see Gretchen tomorrow.

September 22, 2003: I saw a new Lakie gal. They tell me it was my sissy, Lauren. No, there was no formal introduction . . . no family reunion. But there she was, playing with Boomer and Carson. I’m certain that I need not tell you: She’s every bit as special as I am . . . or at least very close. However, as special as she is, I’d like to think that Boomer would rather play with ME! Me, me, me. It’s all about me!

September 21, 2003: I went traveling again on Friday – this time in a big airplane all the way from Dallas to the Wisconsin border. I had a three-day weekend on a farm at Doggy Boot Camp. I didn’t see many boots, but the camp part was big fun. I met dozens of other Lakelands. Now the price I paid for this thrill was learning to be Easy and wait patiently for my lady to play with me . . . so it wasn’t all fun and games. When the world revolves around you it’s sometimes difficult to be patient and just watch all the action. But I did fine. Saturday night I went to my first bonfire. There were horses nearby. Like mommy and grandmother I find horses to be very exasperating beasts. You bet I barked at ‘em. On Sunday we played doggy games such as relay races and musical seats (or chairs, or whatever they call ‘em). These games required something they call Manners. Then they decorated me like a little mermaid. Frankly, I didn’t understand what was so funny about that. But wait . . . the most important thing about camp is this: YOU GET TO FIND A MOUSE! I saw mice, and it was about the most thrilling thing I’ve ever, ever done. After you know what a mouse smells like, you get to go through a dark tunnel and root-around for your mouse. Is that why they call it Back To Their Roots? If there is anything better in this entire world I haven’t discovered it yet. I hate mouses . . . I absolutely hate ‘em. If and when I see another one, it’s gonna be a dead mouse. Finally the fun had to end and I flew home this evening. I am such a good traveler that I got to come out in the plane and see all the people. Everyone had to pet me, naturally. Now I’m tired. I’m going to sleep with Meg on the big bed and dream of mouses.

September 14, 2003: My cousin Kaitlyn has a dog named Reba. Reba is a German Shepherd and she doesn’t have the best of reputations. Let’s just say that she has issues, and we'll leave it at that. This morning I was coming inside from the back yard when my lady and I spied a giant animal maneuvering frantically under the table. Things were flying around and breaking in my breakfast area. Well there beneath the table was Reba. She had lunged-up high through the open window right through the screen and over the window seat to come and see me. There was the screen, flapping in the breeze. It was exciting, but Reba was escorted out of my house, posthaste. NO DROP-INS, Reba. Get the hint!

September 12, 2003: Five days later, I still won’t eat. They don’t seem too freaked-out, which is certainly concerning. I get a few minutes with my bowl and then it is removed. Hey! Try begging me to eat. Perhaps I need a new strategy because I don’t hear any begging. I should see hand-wringing and fretting, but I don't. Aren't they afraid that I'll wither away to nothing? Tonight I tried to hide my dinner bowl by pushing it underneath a plant. They didn't fall for it and the bowl was removed. So I decided to eat the yoghurt and ice cream that they offered for dessert. I could probably live on peach yoghurt.

September 10, 2003: I stopped my hunger strike long enough to eat a blue pen. This resulted in another bath. OK, my mistake. Enough said.

 

September 8, 2003: I got boarded! At the last minute I was taken away from home and boarded while the lady went away. I didn’t understand it, and frankly neither did my man. Today they came to collect me. I was very well fed while I was away. I came home fat as a tick and mad as a March hare, or so they say. Tonight I began my hunger strike. I’m not going to eat. Beg me!
 

September 3, 2003: HEY!! That lady is leaving to go somewhere and it doesn’t appear that I’ll be going too. This makes me nervous. I don’t see anyone packing my sherpa, so what’s up here?! Seems like a lot is being left to chance. I’m not sure I can sleep without her in the big bed. What will happen?! Will I still get to see Boomer this week? I’ve been promised a shirt with my name on it, but this isn’t particularly alluring since I CAN’T READ! Wait a moment: with no lady . . . that means no baths and no grooming table. I can probably swim and chase bunnies every night. Hey! This might work out just fine.
 

September 1, 2003: I went for a safari-sleep-over at Boomer’s house. Charles was there too. I met Maybeline and a dog named Tootsie. Tootsie is a new mom with four red Lakie pups. I was gentle around the pups; but Tootsie insisted that I not get too close, and my lady quite agreed. Today I turned eight months old. As a special treat I was presented with my first real dove -- and no, it was not like the dove-bars that I eat. It was an odd looking thing with no face and something called wings. They said it was fine for me to play with and that it was a healthy dove. Frankly, it didn’t look all that healthy. I shook it a bit and toted it around in my mouth. It never did taste like a true dove bar. After the dove was removed I was covered in feathers. I think I heard some snickering.

August 28, 2003: I think that my lady stripped another dog. She smells like another dog -- I think it’s Boomer. Mmmm, Boomer! Today after my bath I got to play with Boomer. Then Charles joined us. Charles and Boomer are red Lakelands. I was surrounded by handsome beaus. It was beguiling to a young lass like me, but also bewildering. I didn’t know whether to enjoy all the attention, or run for my life. Charles wanted me to play some kind of new game . . .  I think you know what I mean (wink-wink). No! The answer is No, Charles!

August 24, 2003: What a weekend. Yesterday Wilson the Collie came to my yard to play. He's really big and towers over me. I am not intimidated -- he's gentle as can be. However there was too much sniffing of me, and I did have to put a stop to that. Wilson likes to mark the things in my yard to say "that's mine." Wilson, mark what you will; I know what's mine and believe me, it's all mine. Today the lady made biscuits for me and we went across the street to Wilson's home. He has the best pool in the neighborhood with an enormous rock waterfall. I can hop and climb all over it. I'm not supposed to get my jacket wet, which is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. He-lo-o!!  Lakeland Terrier . . . LAKE land. Don't you people get it?!

August 21, 2003: I think I've got a crush on Boomer. After my bath today Boomer and I got to play alone in the big dog arena. We whispered secrets in each other's ear. No, I can't tell you what was said.

August 12, 2003: I ate part of the house. Yes, the actual structure. Now wait . . . there were mitigating circumstances. Evidently that pool-sweep-animal and I are going to go 'round and 'round. It spit at me again, but it missed. It hit the wooden siding by the patio. So I tore off the siding. The lady saw a little pile of wooden chips. That was my nice work, thank you very much. In ten days I will have lived here for five months. Not one little shoe, I tell you. I’ve never even chewed on one little shoe. But when a girl is spit at, what's a girl to do? I’ll show that pool sweep who’s the toughest animal around these parts. Sssh. The man doesn’t know yet. Sort of frightens me to think about it.

August 11, 2003: I’m going to kill that animal that lives in the pool. They call it a pool sweep. Call it what you will, it’s game! And it keeps spitting at me. I’m going to drag its wet body out of the water and scruff-shake it ‘til it’s dead.

August 9, 2003: I’m hurt! It’s my paw. In fact, Meg and I both have injured paws -- her left, my right. Remember the sticker that was in my paw? Well something must still be in there because I can’t walk on it. I’m going to milk this as long as I can. Today I saw something called rain. I’m sure I’ve seen rain before in my young life, but I don’t remember it. All these stupid rules: stay out of the pool, don’t get your jacket wet, don’t chew your furnishings. Hey, it’s raining! If you expect me to stay dry and still go outside to Hurry Up, you can just carry me! You carry me all the time, why stop now? And me with a gamey paw. This evening a giant black cat had the audacity to come into our yard. Little Meg was napping on her chair when suddenly I heard her screaming. Out I went, hobbling as best I could to save Nut-Meg. I chased the giant over the fence and went to tend Meg. She was still a bit shaken and didn’t really want to see me. Frankly, she was downright rude. Her paw was bleeding. Meg, next time call me when you first notice an intruder.

August 3, 2003: It's the day after my big pool party. I've gotta tell you, I’m pooped! The seminar was exhausting. I’m already in my PJs-shirt and it's just 6 p.m. Two days of grooming and a pool-party in between. It went well and I was really hanging in there until the lady (sit down ‘cause this is frightening) SHE CLIPPERED MY PO-PO! Stan always said, "We never strip the po-po," so in a million years I never dreamed!! And get this: she doesn’t know how to use clippers. No, it didn’t hurt, but I was really scared because she was really, REALLY scared. Also, I stepped on a sticker in the grass and it stuck in my paw. When we got out the sticker the day went better; but honestly, I’m exhausted.  I’m going to work tomorrow, but don’t expect me to get off of my chair for any reason!

August 2, 3003: I knew that I was having a party, but they conveniently forgot to tell me that first I’d be attending a grooming seminar. My mommy, U2 was there. Now I won’t say that she snubbed me, but it wasn’t exactly family-reunion-time. Mom brought her boyfriend, Cole, while pop stayed at home. MOMMY!   Well . . . I suppose if you can get away with that sort of thing . . . !  Mom has this amazing bejeweled collar, and being the most important Lakie south of Dallas, she deserves it! Speaking of important Lakies . . . the Gia Pet was there. We had an opportunity for a nice little chat before the seminar. I so admire Gia and want to grow-up to be just like her.
 

Tuesday was there! I call her Dienstag. My lady hadn’t ever met Tuesday; but Tuesday and I go way back to when I was a tiny puppy. Tuesday helped me keep my lady under control. Without Tuesday, I’d have never made it through the day. Judy was there, and we all practiced walking with a little show lead. It was easy for me; but you must realize that I’m a Herrington gal, and we’re all perfect! Want the details on my pool party ?

July 29, 2003: I’m entertaining guests this weekend and I get to be the hostess. I’ve invited Lakies from all over the country. The lady says that there’s much for me to learn about being a proper southern hostess, though I very greatly doubt it. First we’ll fancy-up the yard by digging . . . maybe some rearranging of the flowers (she says rearranging; I say removal -- what's the difference?). We don’t need those orchids in the way, so perhaps I should eliminate them. Then I’ll put every toy on the floor . . . just so my guests can play. Finally, we’ll temporarily remove Nut-Meg because she will not be invited to my party. I know of a nice little spot under my bed. If Nut-Meg has a party (she won’t!) then she can create the guest list; but there will be no C-A-T at my party.

July 28, 2003: I did it, I did it, I did it! I treed the possum all by myself. It was about 10:30 and I was outside before my bedtime. I smelled it, and then I heard it. I ran, full-speed, to attack. It’s grown-up now and it’s huge. It went up the tree, climbing higher and higher. It was clearly terrified, and rightly so. I jumped to the hollow in the tree trunk but couldn’t go any higher. We were all very excited. Nut-Meg stayed outside all night to keep an eye on it. I can't wait for mouse season to begin.

July 25, 2003: I’m home and I'm rather exhausted. I went to the pet lodge while my people were away. I got another chance at the doggy daycare-thing and I waited five whole days before trying to eat the miniature dachshund.  Listen . . . wait for it . . . hey! Where's my applause? Shouldn’t someone applaud my prey drive? So a week away from 'em and do you think they brought me a new toy from the beach? NO, they did not. Still, it’s good to be home, and you can imagine the delight of my people. Someone said that they took my photo with them. It’s not surprising: I walk on the ground that they worship . . . and frankly, I don’t have to walk all that much. We do have one small impasse: it’s really hot here now, and they tell me that I can’t swim any more. Hey! I’m totally over my uncivilized poolside behavior . . . so why can’t I swim? Somebody try to keep me off that raft. Just try it!

July 18, 2003: Aye, Matey! Tonight is the Pirate Party. I'm certain that it’s meant for me as my big send-off, and I think that First Mate Petey may be there. Then I’m going to the pet lodge while my people are away in the Caribbean. Nut-Meg will stay at home, probably destroying all of my toys. Yes, I may occasionally gnaw on a few of her mice, but that’s no excuse for Meg to annihilate all of my toys.
Behave or be keel-hauled, Nut-Meg — YE BE WARNED!

July 14, 2003: Bastille Day. Biggest event of the year. My pals Rick and Toni came, and Rick let me drink way too much wine. Yes, the same Rick who fed me boiled shrimp and pistachios. My lady wasn’t thrilled; but hey, I’m a scotch girl, so I can certainly handle a few sips of wine. I was quiet and floated on my raft; and for some reason this really pleases my people. As you know, I LIVE to please my people (well . . . not so much). I went inside to nap in my crate, but I returned to the party just in time to see that pesky possum back on my fence. The men shoo-ed it away, and I never got a chance to show my teeth. I thought that a little bloodshed from this interloper might be appropriate for a Bastille Day party . . . but evidently not.

July 7, 2003: I am a Lakeland on a mission; but my mission is unclear, even to me. I go bonkers around that pool. They don’t understand it, and I really don’t either. I bark, I scream, I’m possessed by Beelzebub (or maybe Nut-Meg). When Good Dogs Go Bad -- that’s what they said about me. Then they called me a bad name: an ADOLESCENT! I fully realize that I’m on the brink of losing my pool privileges, but I can’t stop myself. I’m in denial and I refuse to talk about it!

July 6, 2003: They’re droppin’ like flies. Every day they find another fallen soldier. We’re going to have to go shopping because my toys are somehow being exterminated. Meg, do you ravage them while I’m at work? I’ve lived at my new home for over three months and I’ve never even chewed-up one small shoe. I only chew my toys and I try to be gentle. But one by one, they’re becoming extinct. Mr. Squirrel’s tail is loose; Large Spooky Rat is missing both ears; my rabbit pelt is in tatters; Pink Pig isn’t pink; and Cha-Poodle is M.I.A.  And as for my bee, if they wouldn’t always banter about the busy bee, I might get more interested. Let me tell you a secret: the bee ain’t all that busy! Don’t make me start-in on that cat . . . someone, take me shopping!

July 4, 2003: What an exciting weekend. I turned six months old on July 1 and there was a party in my honor. There were fireworks, just like on the eve of my birth. My friends had sparklers in the yard and fireworks in the driveway.  I watched the show and didn't utter a peep. Despite what Nut-Meg says, YES, I'm a real Lakie. I'm simply a beautifully behaved, ultra-calm, non-barker around who the entire universe revolves! There, I said it.  On Friday afternoon, a dog named Bleu came to visit. I did not invite him -- does he not know my lady's No-Drop-Ins rule?! So everyone was in my pool; and I was happily floating on my raft munching rum-punch ice; and in comes Monsieur Bleu, thinking that he's going to be some kind of top dog. As you might imagine, I got off that raft to have a little chat with Bleu and the rest of the guests, who should not have let him in WITHOUT AN INVITATION. It's just not done I tell you. Next thing I know, Bleu is telling me to Settle in no uncertain terms. Now brace yourself -- you are not going to believe this: My lady didn't even correct him. In fact, SHE ENCOURAGED HIM! Just when I think that I'm getting these folks trained, they pull a stunt like this. Well Bastille Day is coming up, and they tell me that it's the biggest party of the year. Let's get one thing crystal clear right now: No uninvited dogs; no alpha dogs; and absolutely under no circumstances will there be any dogs cuter than me (hahahahahaha -- I am rolling on the floor . . . AS IF).

 

June 25, 2003: Hey, that’s not my bunny! I have a bunny that lives at home. Well, it’s not a real bunny, but it is mine. Across the road from my office is a giant hedgerow. Evidently it’s the home of a bunny nest. My first live sighting of this curious species -- just one small bunny. I was not allowed to get it, but I could sure smell it. I was silent and stealthy and was well on my way to getting it when I was whisked-away back to my crate. I am not happy. I do not want my lamb bone, I want that bunny! Stop singing that dumb lamb-bone song!

June 22, 2003: There was an incident.  Nut-Meg said, "Just ONE?!?!"  It was NOT my fault. I had a weekend gala for all of my friends. People came from all over the neighborhood. OK, I admit it, I did jump on one or two children; but they wanted me to (you know that they did!).  Late Sunday night my pals Kelly and Josh were playing in the pool. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I went crazy running around the pool doing my cartoon-dog bark; and believe me when I say that I rarely bark. Next thing I knew I was in deep water swimming. It was as if I’d forgotten where the steps were. My lady was there in an instant to guide me to the steps (there’s a reason I’m rather fond of her). I’d spring out of the pool, then I’d hurl myself back in, barking and barking and barking.  By the end of the evening I was resting calmly in my pen. I was brought out to say goodnight to little Candice; and as my lady was about to put my leash on me, Candice opened the door. Well what would any blue-blooded Lakeland do? I ran out --- so fast that I was just a blur in the darkness. I thought that I heard someone say WAIT, but I couldn’t be sure so I just kept going . . . straight across the lane to visit Wilson, or Petey, or Chopper. My lady came out and whistled and naturally, being the beautifully behaved terrier that I am, I came right to her. Then I realized that I didn’t have to stay there and I bolted again; however, the man snagged me and home I went. Let me tell you, that taste of freedom sure was sweet. But the end of this tale is: I’m hearing words that I don’t understand. The man keeps saying "Boot Camp" and something about "Quansa." The lady has tied a rope to a tree and invited over some children to teach me "Easy." I’ve also seen something that they call a dumb bell. Do I need to tell you what the lady can do with that little dumb bell?!?

June 8, 2003: I went for a sleep-over spa weekend (that's Spa, not Spay!) at Rick and Toni's Valley Ranch compound. I got a new toy especially for the occasion. Lady and Sadie, two American Cockers, were there. Ladybug was nice, Sadie wasn't; but I liked 'em both. Don't take Sadie's ball . . . don't even look at it. I was pampered by very nice people who fed me pistachios and boiled shrimp. Then there was all that spilled wine that I helped with. Later my feet were packed in mud, and my fur was covered with flower blossoms.  I didn't get to sleep on the big bed, but I did get vanilla latte and croissants for Sunday brunch. Then I got to watch Sadie and Lady chase something called Mallards.   When I got home I was tired and my tummy hurt. My lady is not going to allow me to eat like that ever again, and that's just fine with me. Well, maybe just an occasional shrimp.

June 2, 2003: Another possum. I barked and barked. And not my cartoon-dog bark . . . it was my genuine fierce bark. My lady wondered what was up. Well what was up was a little possum -- up on the fence. Did I chase it up there, or was it there all along? I'll never tell. The lady pushed it with a stick and insisted that it get off of my fence. I was put on my line and we went to the other side of the fence to find it. I could smell its scent. I think it went across the lane to the field, but the lady wouldn't let me track it that far. Possum-Schmossum. Bor-ing!

May 29, 2003: I caught something new. Now I confess, Nut-Meg did most of the work on this one. I heard meowing and meowing and she would not SHUT-UP. I went to investigate and found Meg playing by my deck. She was dragging out something from under the deck. A horny what? Oh, a horned toad lizard. I see it, I see it! I snagged it from Meg’s grasp and flicked it in the pool. Ha. You should have seen the look on Meg’s face when I snatched it. Out came that lady with the net. She scooped it up and took me and the lizard to see the neighbors. Everyone must have been impressed with my hunting skills because surely that lizard wasn’t very impressive. True, I never mentioned that Meg discovered it. We released it in the front yard . . . something about an endangered species. Where is this place that I live?

May 24, 2003: J is for Jill. J is for Jetsetter. I flew on a big airplane. It was rather exciting. I got to see two airports, and the security folks sure thought I was cute. I went all the way to south Texas to see my mommy. I was perfect on the plane, and my lady was obviously proud. I got to see Judy and Bob, and I met Gia. I kissed Judy again and again and again. I romped outside with Gia, and we both saw that silly white horse, whose mane appears no worse for wear after my mommy attacked it last fall. I saw my brother, Chase (Herrington’s Glasgow Kiss) and my lady lavished love on him. How dare her! I made it perfectly clear that I was none too pleased. She says that Chase is gorgeous. I tried to tell her, gorgeous or not, GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT DOG!  Then I met Bishop Tanner, one of Trudy’s pups. You know Trudy, the gal who wouldn’t let me nurse when I was a baby. Again, my lady acted like this pup was something special. Don’t expect me to be put on a plane again just so my lady can go pet another dog. It’s somewhat humiliating.



 

May 17, 2003: Today I went to the Earthdog trails in Midlothian. My lady says that I’m too young to participate, but I received a special invitation from the Club Secretary so off I went. Of course there were Scotties -- two of 'em were very aggressive. Me? I was beautifully behaved. I settled on my settle rug while my lady watched the Master Earth and Senior Earth trials. I even took a nap in my crate. Other dog owners were quite impressed that I’d stay-put and be quiet while my lady was away. I was gentle with all dogs that I met . . . but I steered-clear of those two Scotties, as did many folks. I met Diva, a four-year-old Jack Russell who was an old-pro at this game. It was a very exhilarating day for me. There was this odd smell in the air. The smell was everywhere. I couldn’t place the smell, but it sure made me excited. All morning long dogs would go into the meadow and sniff. Some vanished underground. Others failed to vanish, and their humans tried to make them disappear. I didn’t understand that at all, but I did understand that those humans were sure embarrassing themselves. At the end of the trials, I got to go into the meadow. Wow! There was that smell. I noticed it immediately. The smell lead into a dark hole. I was just about to follow the smell into the hole when a nice man showed me a little box with two animals. RATS! Two fat, live rats looking at me! The rats smelled like the hole, or the hole smelled like the rats. I really couldn’t be certain. I got closer and closer to the rat box, and then the man foisted the box in my direction. Yi-ikes! Of course I jumped back. Don’t be foisting some foreign animals in my face! It was a little intimidating, so they called in an experienced Cairn to show me what to do. Well as charming as I am, you can imagine what happened. The Cairn was more interested in me than the rats – I’m way cuter. I was fascinated with the rats, but I was more interested in the tunnel. The man told my lady that I definitely had a nose. Well DUH! Of course I have a nose. I slept all the way home, and then I had to stand on that table for almost an hour while my lady pulled burrs from my fur. Billions and billions of burrs! Was it worth it, lady?

May 14, 2003: WEEEE-O! What a day. This afternoon at work I was happily milling about when my lady spotted something on my face. GUM, she said. Chewing gum in my beard. Isn’t that why I have a beard? To harbor a yummy tid-bit to eat later? Well for whatever reason, she wasn’t willing to leave my gum there. Out came the scissors. MY BEARD! My fluffy soft beard! Then just a while ago, about 10:30 p.m., I was playing outside with Nut-Meg. I was called inside to say goodnight and when I jumped-up on the man everyone made a funny OOOO-PEEE-U sound. Hahahahaha. I rolled in something and I smelled delicious! Absolutely dee-licious! The man held me and wouldn’t let me touch anything; the lady went outside to see what I rolled in. Hahahahaha. She never found it . . . so I can sneak back there tomorrow. Next thing I know I’m in the sink getting scrubbed. Then I smelled like a coconut. But wait, there’s more. How did that grooming table get in my bathroom? I got placed on the table and held in front of the blow-dryer. All this, at almost midnight.  After a bath I like to run fast and air-dry. Then I cry YIP and do my spin-yip-spin-hop trick on my bath towel. You should see their faces. They are completely boggled.

May 11, 2003: OK. This was so exciting. OK. So we’re in the breakfast room and outside the window in my front yard is this enormous animal. Maybe a horse, maybe a bear, who can say? But it’s huge. And my lady is excited about it and opens the window. I can tell that she wants me to jump on the window seat to see this giant, so up I go. Well it’s not a bear or a horse, it’s a gigantic dog. And I do mean gigantic. When it sees me it runs right to the window and tries to climb right inside. I kid you not . . . the thing was climbing right inside my home. And I'm barking, and it's climbing.  Opps. There went the screen! The man quickly shut the window to protect me. My lady is in big trouble with the man. We’ll be getting a new screen.

May 8, 2003:  Today I returned to the grooming place. My theory was again confirmed – wherever you go, you’ll find a Scottie. They’re everywhere! The lady pulled-off more of my fur, and you should see my cute ears. During a short break in the grooming, I went to the room where the treats are kept (you know, the same room where Charles stays). My lady showed me a plastic ball on the floor. Now she knows that I’m not impressed with balls, but she kept urging me to get it. Then I saw it! There was a mouse living inside that ball. It was running in the ball but it couldn’t get out. Probably because it was terrified of me. I pushed around the ball, and the mouse went tumbling around and around. I could smell it! It was a real rodent, I could tell, and it was much more interesting than that puny possum. The lady took me away from it; but when we left for the day I went right back to where the mouse ball had been and barked. Can I have a mouse ball of my very own?

May 7, 2003: Good grief! What is the deal with my lady and that cat? I haven't been able to play with Nut-Meg for several days. Something about a positive feline heartworm test. Can't you people see that Nut-Meg is fine? Stop fussing over that cat. I'm the baby. I'm the one who deserves all the attention. So today Dr. Nelson spoke with my lady and told her what I already knew -- that Nut-Meg is healthy and although she may have been exposed to heartworms, she doesn't have heartworms at this point. She's not only healthy, she's healthy and FAST.

May 4, 2003: I outgrew my diamond collar, so we went shopping.  I met a lot of other dogs who were also shopping, including Josie the aggressive Dachshund. You know, it seems that where ever you go, there's always a Scottie . . . and they're big; but I'm not afraid.  I got a new red collar but it has no diamonds and I'm not particularly thrilled about it. No diamonds?! That is SO wrong!  However, the pet place does have toys --  hundreds of toys for me to choose. You just reach into a bin and grab one and shake it . . . then your human will buy it for you. It's not a bad deal.

April 26, 2003: Last night a possum, and today something called a snake. When my human lady is in the garden, I’m always there to help. She appreciates my digging and plant removal. As she was removing some leaves we spotted something moving. Wow. I didn’t think that my lady could move that fast. I heard her say Snake, whatever that means. What I saw was a pitiful looking creature, not even as long a me, no wider than a drinking-straw. It tried to go back under the remaining leaves -- think again, little creature! I dug-up the leaves and grabbed the beast in my jaws. A few quick shakes – that should break its neck. I tossed it in the air so that the lady could see it clearly (she can thank me later). It landed in the pool and floated. Then it started to swim. The lady scooped it up with a net (she sure is handy with that net) and took it out of my yard. HEY! That was my snake. She took my snake -- where’s the fun in that?!

April 25, 2003: Tonight I was sleeping soundly on the pile of pillows that I had painstakingly placed on my sofa. The next thing I knew these crazy people were calling my name and asking if I wanted to go outside to see the rat. Do I look like I want to get off this sofa? The answer is NO. It’s almost 11:00 p.m. and I’m going to finish my nap. Oh, OK. Fine, I’ll come. Off the sofa, ring that *#@%!$# bell, outside to the yard, then . . . Blimey! What is that little thing in my yard? It’s not a cat – too small. Yikes, it’s hissing at me and showing its teeth. Don’t worry, people . . . I’ll get it. (But you haven’t fooled me – it is NOT a rat. It may look like a rat, but you can’t fool my terrier nose.) A baby possum, you say? Well whatever. So just for the benefit of my people, in practically the middle of the night, I growled and barked . . . and you could tell that the thing was terrified. I circled it, moving closer and closer until it was backed into an area by the fence. Then my human family came with a net and a trash can. With one scoop, the possum was in the trash can. HEY! I was just about to handle it all by myself. Oh well, at least we caught it together; though of course I did most of the hard work. The humans held me up to see my quarry. Sure it quivered. Then it went away with the lady, and only the trash can returned. Maybe she ate it. I would have.

April 19, 2003: Today I got dressed up with my diamond collar. The lady tried to put a pink bow on my collar, but thankfully the man wouldn’t allow it. We walked across the lane to the big wooded field and the homes with the really big yards (you know, the one where Petey lives). There were about a million children, and this gigantic fur rabbit that smelled nothing like a rabbit. I think it was a human in a rabbit suit. Anyway, I was the only dog and everyone wanted to pet me. I love when that happens.

April 5, 2003: Big yawn. I just slept for 36 hours. Here’s how it happened: Yesterday I said No, I’m not getting out of bed. Make me! Go ahead, call Judy -- but I’m not getting up. Why is it so cold here in my box? I’m cold, and I’m tired, and I’m not going outside to Hurry Up . . . so just figure it out, lady. Put me down! Well, if you put it that way, I might go outside to Hurry Up, but then it’s back to bed. Now what? Another vet visit? Doctor who? Great googely-moggely. I said I was just tired. Why wouldn’t you listen to me? I’m tired and I’m cold; but I am not sick. Now you’ve scared us all, and for what?! Oh no. Not a goofy infant’s shirt. Do you really expect me to wear that thing? Hmmm. Actually, I’m pretty snazzy in this shirt. It’s got blue puppies on it. Shouldn’t I be in a pink-puppy-shirt? How long do I have to wear this? You can’t possibly expect me to keep this clean . . . and then whatcha gonna do? Huh? You people need to get a life and just let me be.

April 2, 2003: Oh, mommy! You should have warned me. This is the second day that I’ve been lured to this great pet lodge, where they serve the most delicious treats, only to be put on a table and loose my fur. It’s not really that bad; I’m sure cute with less fur; and I’m crazy about Stan. He’s helped my lady identify all my parts – things he calls the periwinkles and the po-po. Stan says, "We don’t ever strip the po-po." Not if you value your life, lady.

March 26, 2003: Alright, let me explain this to those of you without cat experience. I live with this animal named Nut-Meg. She’s a cat. That means that she’s not a dog. This particular cat is the color of a red and gray fox . . . meaning that she looks a lot like my natural quarry. But I’m not allowed to chase her. OH PLEASE. Try to stop me. Now there’s something you should know about cats. Evidently they are not all alike. Most are timid creatures who would rather flee than fight. My luck: I get the brave cat. The cat who will not run. The eight-pound cat who stands her ground. There is absolutely no fun in chasing an animal that will not run away. She’s not even impressed with my terrier tenacity. She eats before I eat, she gets to sleep on the big bed, and she has her own toy mice. One more important point: Cat’s have sharp claws. Now I don’t know this from personal experience, and I don’t want to know. I’m going to trust my people and stay away from Nut-Meg’s paws. But about this sleeping on the big bed  . . . we’ll just see about that, Nut-Meg.

March 22, 2003: What on earth is going on? Today I was taken to a completely foreign place. There’s another animal here, something called a cat. These strange people put me in a pen and this cat thing came right up to the wire and stared at me. Let me out! I promised not to hurt the cat, but they wouldn’t let me out. So I howled. Then I howled some more. I don’t think that these people have ears because they didn’t seem to hear my howling. Finally, about the time that I was going to nap, they carried me out to a yard. I CAN walk, you know. They don’t have to tote me everywhere! The yard is big and there is a giant pond in it. I ran around the pond and tasted everything I could get my mouth on. I admit it isn’t a bad place. Maybe I’ll like it here. But about that pen . . . we’re going to have a little chat about that pen.

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