Spa Therapy

Hey Dawgs - how's it hangin' with you? Do you remember me tellin' you last Monday that the weekend had been hard on me and I ended up with a limber tail? Doggone! I was hurtin' and the only way I was goin' to get thru the week was to be in a drug induced haze. OK, so baby aspirin might not be the hottest drug on the street but still, I was in pain and I needed my fix every twelve hours to help me get by.

The followin' picture shows my broken wag:

My tail is usually my crownin' glory and some have even said it has a life of it's own, so this was embarassin' to say the least. I did manage

to struggle through the week but when Saturday came,

I decided it was time to pamper myself a bit and

take a good, long, hot soak in the bathtub.

Ahhhh, I could get used to this kinda treatment!!!

Between your prayers and a good hot soak,

my tail is back and it's flyin' high again.

I got to feelin' real good and I was so bustin' with energy that my PUs decided a day at the Canine Spa would help and we wouldn't have to worry about the water bein' too cold. So we loaded up the truck and we moved to Beverleee ~ Hills, that is; swimmin' pools, movie stars...

Ooops, got off on a whole 'nother tangent there. Anywhoooo, I had the whole place to my ownself and I jumped and splished and splashed like a wild dawg.

Then I met a new friend and I wouldn't let him outta my sight, or my grip.

Meet Louie, Louie Lobster. Louie just hangs out at the Spa

all the time waitin' for somedawgy like me to come along and

take  him swimmin'.

I obliged Louie's wishes time and time again.

Louie is a crusty old dude but I still wanted to take him home with me.

That's when Mom gave me a stern talkin' to and told me that

Louie had to stay there to welcome the other Spa guests.

I let her have her way. This time. 

Oh well, I guess Louie might like it better at the Spa anyway

and I can't say that I blame him. I'd stay there too if I could.

Monday has rolled back into the picture once again and

I'm sure we'd all rather be havin' fun in a cement pond.

Maybe some day soon I'll hit some bubblin' crude when huntin' and

when I do, you dawgs are gonna be the first ones invited

to my Beverly Hills mansion!

And yeah, Louie will greet you at the gate.

Until then, have a great week!

Chester ;0=)

Pee. Ess. - My GrandPU's knee is healin' up just fine but we are still helpin' him and GramPU out a lot. Not to sound like a broken record (whatever that is) but our blog visitations leave much to be desired. We hate not seein' what you're all up to and we plan on stoppin' by as soon as we can.

The Dog in the Mirror

A little while back, Life With Dogs asked for us to think about one day and if we had anything to share about our take on "one day", to post it on a Monday, which has been declared "One Day Monday". Here is my contribution to such named day:

Do you ever have one day where, when all is said and done, you're tired but satisfied with all that's been accomplished from the time your day started?

Yeah? GREAT! I was hoping somebody had them. I find that the older I get, the less I get done. I'm overwhelmed by the feeling that life is slipping away at an alarming rate and I must, absolutely MUST find a way to make more hours in a day.

That being said, we're all given 24 of those hours in one day. You can't buy more if you're rich, you can't beg more if you're poor. It's all about what we choose to do in those 24 hours that makes us feel satisfied and content when we lay our head on the pillow at night. That's when it hit me that on the days that I was most happy with my accomplishments were the days that I had done something to lighten another's load, I had made someone smile, or had made some small difference in their life. Just for instance the day I took Mom to the nursing home to see an old friend.


I'm not sure if I walked out of there or soared. It felt so good to have been a bright spot in one day for such a sweet lady and for others we passed in the hall on the way out.

It was that same one day that I realized that life is not all about me.


With that thought in mind, a torrent of worries flooded my brain:
Will I be a good husband to Ms. Truffles?
Will I be able to provide for all the homeless dogs that Ms. Truffles and I plan to adopt?
Will I love her when she is old and gray?
Will I still be able to blog to all my friends when my paws are old and stiff from arthritis?

These are the thoughts that keep me awake at night.

(That and wondering if one day Mom will realize that cheese does not last forever in the refrigerator.)

But that's a whole story for another day. For now, I can't live my life trying to change others. It's time for this dog to look in the mirror and come face to face with who he is and who he wants to be.

That's when it hit me. All my life I've judged others at face value-not giving a fair chance to see who they really are, what makes them tick. As in the case of Rory-my Scottish rival who has been doggedly pursuing my fiance, hoping to convince her of his undying love for her.

At first all I saw was a little pup in a big dog uniform. Beady little eyes that showed nothing of the warrior that I came to find was inside. Cute button nose disguising the hard-nosed contender hidden underneath. I discounted him as litte to nothing to worry about until last Monday when the love package from him arrived at Ms. Truffles door. That's when I took a closer look at this Tartan Tidbit.

Any of you who saw our verbal sparring on Facebook got a look at just how tough this little guy is. There was not an inch of backing down to be had from him. I tried. I called him every Scottish name I could find as I ransacked the possiblities on Google. Tartan Twit, Kilt Boy, Sean Connery wannabee-just to name a few. He only responded with more brazen brogue. After some time I saw that he was not the fru-fru dog that I had originally thought.

And then, as Truffles made her decision to honor me with her lifetime reservoir of love, Rory was beaten down. He had given up and shaken paws with me, his frothing foe. That's when I realized, I liked the little guy. He has more spunk than some big dogs I hang out with. He's the kind of dog you want backing you up when the heat is on. Take a closer look at how he fills out that Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. That's what us big dogs call muscle. Not all dogs have it, or know how to use it.

Now that you understand all that has come between us and how we have made peace, I would like to ask all those in attendance to witness what I am about to say to Rory:

Dear Rory B. Frock, I am calling for an official truce, and along with this truce, Ms. Truffles and myself would like nothing better than to have such a fine, upstanding Scott stand by my side as Best Dog as we pledge our love to one another. Would you be pleased to grant us this request?

If I know this Sweetie Wheatie like I think I do, we will be standing side by side one day as we watch Ms. Truffles saunter her badonkadonk down the aisle.

I firmly believe that one day we will all have to answer to our Maker for what we've done with what we've been so freely given. It is my sincere hope that on that one day I will have no regrets.

Woofs and one day slobbers,
Chester