Is he or isn't he?

No, I'm not speaking about the Glam rocker!

Rather, an American cocker, my personal Idol, who since his earliest days as a pup has displayed his own sort of ambiguity.

At first, I tried to rationalize away the signs -- how Charlie seemed to have an extra spring in his step whenever he emerged from the doggy day spay freshly coiffed and sporting a new bandana, his disdain for dirty surfaces, refusal to walk in the rain without his favorite fire-engine red jersey, his preference for squatting instead of hiking his leg up over the nearest hydrant, and how, when going to chew on my shoes, he always picked out the most expensive, if not bedazzled, ballroom pair.

"Charlie is a metrosexual," I thought to myself. "He is just a high-maintenance diva like his mother and nothing more."

When Charlie went head-over-heels for Mario, the neighborhood beagle, my instinct was to ignore the obvious and delight in their "close friendship."

And even after Max entered the picture and my dog, the one I had picked out and raised since puppyhood, was curled up at my boyfriend's feet whenever he had the chance (and would GROWL when I tried to relocate him near me), I was jealous, but never thought anything more.

But the trend has continued for years now. His little tail wags when he has the opportunity to sniff the butts of little boy dogs, but he barks at bitches that get too close.

What else can I think? Since Charlie was castrated at 8-months old, he seems to have developed a case of, what can only be described as, 'testicles- envy'. That's right, folks. Charlie prefers other...er...uh... cockers, like himself.

And, really, who could blame him?

What a sucker looks like

Not Charlie...me.

(If your confused, see post below.)

From Pillar to Post

Just as I am adjusting to a new life in Barcelona, Charlie is also facing a few adjustments of his own.

For a dog who was thoroughly immersed in Germany's dog-friendly ways, Charlie isn't taking very well to the Spanish culture--- where he is not allowed in stores, restaurants, subways, and most public places. Gone are the days when Charlie tagged along on our date nights at the local sushi restaurant or was greeted with a bowl of water at the neighborhood bar. Now he is forced to stay home, rather than come along on our daily adventures. But what's worse for the former "Prince Charles" is, now that we have changed residency, he is being forced to learn a few new "house rules."

The worst of these? No longer being able to sleep in the bed with us.

Ever since he was a little tike who so adorably grabbed his teddy bear up before heading to sleep, I got into the habit of allowing him to cozy up bed with me--a huge no-no in the world of professional dog training. And even though I haven't seen any negative behavioral problems as a result of my leniency, I know this routine could cause problems for unsuspecting pet sitters, who are called upon to watch Charlie when Max and I head out of town for vacations. And so, I've decided to kick Charlie to, if not the curb, than at least to our bedroom floor.

The first night in Barcelona was the toughest--a battle of wills between a reluctant owner and a dog, who wouldn't take no for an answer.



Charlie assuming his usual, nightly, position.




"No...NO?!? Excuse me, mom, but are you really talking to me?"


After I kicked him out of bed, Charlie tried every trick in the book to get back to his favored position.

Every half an hour or so, he would jump in the bed, thinking I had either been mistaken or had forgotten my strange, new command. Then, after he was ordered out again, he'd paced the floor, come back to the bed, flash his big brown eyes or, the ultimate ploy, lay his little stuffed toy at my feet for sympathy.

Poor Charlie! In the end, I won the battle.




But was it really worth winning (especially since the cat still sneaks in bed with us ever night)?

Passive aggressive?

I'm trying to be a good little expat by working hard on my Spanish, but somebody is giving me a little resistance.

Amazing Pet Trick By Charlie!

RIP Little Bear

A valued member of the Mandy clan was laid to rest yesterday after being literally loved to death by his beloved, Charlie.



My heart almost broke when I tossed out Charlie's bear, the stuffed toy my pupster had literally carried to bed every night since as long as I can remember. But unfortunately, I had no choice. Bear had become hazard in his old age. Charlie managed to tear off his ears, arms, eyes, nose, and squeaker. I worried my dog might choke on all the stuffing that was being scattered throughout the house. Besides, I was tired of constantly picking up bear's remains.


While there was really no replacing Charlie's bear, I had to come up with a substitute and fast. My dog is sleeping over a friend's house a few days while I spend a weekend in Milan with the husband.

And so, last night I headed to the only store in Germany I knew would still be open at 8:30 at night.

IKEA

I carefully examined the toy section, scouring the stuffed animals in the hopes of finding one that might somehow be a suitable companion for Charlie. I sure hope I made the right choice.

I now present to you Charlie's new porcupine (at least I think it's a porcupine).

Cat tales

Meet our cat, Rascal. She's so quiet and undemanding (unlike her younger step-sibling, Charlie) that, most days, I hardly know she's around. But lately, she's taken to the unusual habit of sitting and watching television--especially CNN.

It's certainly a curious sight, but I am not sure what to make of it. Do you have any theories as to why?

Puppy "love"

During our three-week holiday, Charlie was taken in by a gracious German couple, who are debating getting a dog for themselves. After only a few days with the dog, they felt they had established a magical bond with him.

In the mornings, Charlie accompanied the husband on his 15-kilometer runs. In the the evenings, he happily kept the wife's feet warm. Charlie served as the honored guest at the extended-family breakfast on Christmas morning. He even helped count down to 2009 at a New Year's Eve party. By all reports, Charlie and the couple had become one happy family. And to be honest, I was a little worried my dog wouldn't want to return home.

I'd get pictures and e-mails of my dog on their family holiday, and all seemed to be going well. But after the holiday was over and the couple returned to work, Charlie would need to be cared for by the wife's grandmother until Max and I returned.

When the dreaded day came, I got this e-mail from the husband.

"Sabrina and myself are a bit sad... We had to give Charlie away to her Grandmum and Dad yesterday....



And the worst thing is: He ISN'T 



We called them up yesterday evening, to ask how it is going. They said it took 2 minutes, then he seemed to be totally adapted to his new enviroment (and folks). 

He spent the evening with grandfather on the couch in front of the fireplace. 



So, for humans it seemed to be disappointing, that he is not sad at all, but on the other hand, you can be glad, because Charlie doesnt seemed to suffer to much."

My deepest fear proved unfounded. Charlie didn't love these couples more than me and Max because, as it turns out, my dog is a player (or rather playa') preferring casual one-week stands to deep and meaningful relations. What a dog--literally!

First Dog

With all the hubbabaloo surrounding the promise of a new puppy in the White House, Charlie asked me to remind you today of who is really top dog. After all, we don't call him Prince Charles for nothing.

Superstar!

There exists here in Germany a particular culture unto itself and unlike anything I experienced in all my years of living in America. If you are a dog owner in this country, you know what I am talking about. You understand you are not your dog's owner, but rather his or her caretaker, a designation which would make PETA proud. If you are a dog--Congratulations! You're reaping the benefits of living in such a dog-friendly land.

This pet-approving, dog-lovin', culture is something I noticed almost immediately when I moved, 11 short months ago, and something I will miss if it doesn't also exist in southern Europe.

The first time I noticed a furry friend sleeping under a restaurant table as his owner enjoyed a meal, I was pleasantly surprised, thinking it merely a unique restaurant policy. When I realized that this practice was the rule and not the exception, I became elated. And ever since, Charlie has come along on more of our "date nights" in Deutschland than he has been left behind to sulk in his condo (a.k.a kennel) alone. Max and I are so accustomed to having our little guy along with us that we feel as though we're missing something when he is not there.

It doesn't matter whether it's the local German hangout or a sushi restaurant, Charlie is welcomed at ever stop, with the waitress or waiter spontaneously bringing him a bowl of water even before our drinks are served. A restaurant here most certainly won't have sippy cups for children, but they will have a good supply of dog bowls. Of this, you can be sure.

But it's more than just being able to bring Charlie to most shops and restaurants. Even on a casual walk, the dog-friendly culture is evident. I can't walk 30 meters without someone asking about my dog or whether he or she can pet him. And if by chance, I pass another dog owner, etiquette dictates that we stop to allow our pups to sniff each other to the full if they so desire. If only I had a nickel for every butt Charlie had sniffed!

Friends who visit are also surprised by this aspect of German culture. Because of all the attention my dog received on her visit last week, my friend gave Charlie a new name --Madonna--because she felt as if we were traveling along with a superstar. When a photographer of a local art magazine asked to photograph Charlie for his "picture of the day," my friend's suspicions were confirmed. Charlie was the star, and we were merely his entourage, thus sparking a new nickname--Charlie's Angels. And this was and is all fine by me...

so long as I can be Farrah or Jacqueline.

Please don't forget to sign up for the Virtual Post Election Bash. If you are planning to do a day-after election post, I'd love to link to you.

I'm taking my cue from Charlie today.

Charlie's Bear

Today, Max and I took Charlie to be boarded for a long weekend. We leave for Bavaria tomorrow (with our ultimate stop being Oktoberfest on Sunday evening). Ordinarily, Charlie would travel with us, but the thought of crazy, drunken throngs potentially stomping on our little guy prevented us from bringing him along this time.

It's the right decision, of course. But this afternoon, I did experience a moment of emotional panic when I realized I had forgotten to pack Charlie's favorite toy, a little stuffed bear, called, creatively enough, "Bear."

Every night, Charlie sleeps with Bear by his side. And on those rare nights when he forgets to grab up his favorite toy before heading for the bedroom, Charlie always ends up remembering eventually, leaving his comfy spot for only a moment to run off and get the bear. It's as if the raggedy, stuffed, creature is Charlie's security blanket, and I feel terrible I sent my dog off to the hund pension for the weekend without it.

Those of you without pets might think that it's silly for those of us with them to attach human-like emotions to our animals. I, for one, can't help it. I have come to the conclusion that animals, in their limited ways, do express their thoughts and feelings. Charlie shows his displeasure, happiness, fears, and preferences as well as anyone. He is a demanding, high-spirited, high-maintenance dog, and according to Max, not unlike his primary caretaker. But he is also a very sweet and social creature that plays especially well with children and other dogs.

The last few weeks, I've entertained couples who, like me and Max, do not have children but do have pets. And just like mothers and fathers talk about their children, it's amazing how much time we, pet owners, spend talking about our furry friends. In fact, sometimes our pets dominate the conversation.

And for the next four days, my terrible faux pas--forgetting to pack Bear for poor, lonely Charlie--will dominate my thoughts and, no doubt, conversations. Hopefully, the beer will help.

Do you have pets? If so, do you attribute similar emotions to them?

The future is so bright...

We've got to wear shades!

Like father, like son?

Some say that pets can often resemble their owners.


















This got Max and I debating who Charlie looks more like.















Of course, we never came to agreement. So, we've decided to turn this controversy over to a panel of impartial experts.

Your thoughts?

Who let the dog out?

Mom, before you send me to my kennel for life, please hear me out.

You’ve left me no choice but to hijack Mac. Day in and day out, for hours on end, I lay at your feet while this strange, boring, white thing occupies prime real estate on your lap. I think you really need to examine your priorities in this matter. It’s not like Mac does anything for you. Can Mac fetch a ball? Does Mac ever come running to greet you in the morning? Seriously, I am tired of being overshadowed by this thing.

Now that I finally have your undivided attention, I’ve got a few bones to pick with you.

I didn’t think I’d ever forgive you for shaving off my golden locks. First, had it not been for my well-endowed ears, you could have mistaken me for she-who-will-remain-nameless, the lowly feline that also occupies my space. I mean, really, how could you? You had me shaved during cold, damp JANUARY, for goodness sake. I have important business to attend to outside. And, being furless during a German winter doesn’t make our walks together any more productive. Now that my hair is finally starting to come back, let me just say this: DON’T! Don’t ever think about having me shaved again. I won’t bear the humiliation without serious repercussions. Remember, you still have a few pairs of $120 dollar dance shoes that I haven’t destroyed.

We also need to discuss the food situation at home. Stop making me perform on command for treats. I’m not a circus animal; I’m your dog. After two years, I should have earned a little respect from you and dad. Dinner is a supposed to be a pleasurable experience and not the time for you to bark commands at me. It’s bad enough I have to eat dry bits of processed whatever, while you dine on real food. Do you honestly believe that bag of dry dog food actually tastes like lamb and rice? I have to eat that crap when all day long I’ve smelled what’s simmering in the crock-pot. Don’t think I don’t know what you and dad are having for dinner. And, by the way, stop chastising me for begging for your food. After all, if you were facing a lifetime a Science Diet, wouldn’t you beg for something else, too?

Lastly, mom, I think we need to re-think the seating arrangement in the Mini. When you strap me in the back seat, I feel claustrophobic. There isn’t enough leash to allow me to poke my nose out the window, and you know how much I love to do this. Besides, why do you and dad always get to ride in front seat? Look at me. I’m a classy, front-seat kind of dog, not Driving Miss Doggie. I think it’s time you took the back seat and left the driving to dad and me.

I know that you and dad say this in sarcastic jest, but sometimes it really is “hard to be Charlie.” By making the concessions I’ve outlined above, we’ll all be happier—and by "we" I mean me and those fancy dance shoes.

Think about it.

Today's burning question

Preventing dog flatulence...suggestions?

I'm a bad Mommy!

You all remember my adorable cocker, Charlie, right? Well, times have changed and he's not so adorable anymore. This is because I didn't know enough German to figure out how to find a doggie groomer for the little guy. After two months, his hair became very matted without a proper shampoo, cut, and style.

But last week when Charlie and I visited friends at the American air base in Kaiserslautern, I learned of a place that could make my pooch posh once again. And like every other small business in town, the owner spoke perfect English. You can imagine my relief that she understood, in addition to a hair and nail trim, Charlie's needed his anal glands squeezed as well. I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to pantomine THAT request if she didn't understand.

Charlie stayed all day at the doggie salon, but the owner couldn't get his locks lovely once again. She had no choice but to give my fellow a buzz cut instead. Here's the "after" shot:



I'm none top happy, but neither is Charlie, who left a little present to show his displeasure. I think this was his way of letting me know that without his warm, natural, coat, long walks during the German winter would be out of the question. Yes, it's time to buy Fido a fleece.

Attention Deficit

Charlie hates my new Mac, seeing it as a rival, yet another thing to take my attention away from him. Whenever I pull out my computer I get this look from my dog.

And when sad puppy eyes don’t work, he decides to get in my face.

This morning Charlie was particularly needy. I woke up early--a futile attempt to squeeze extra minutes into the day, working my way down Egan’s blogroll, searching for new reads to add to my dwindling list. But as soon as I reached for the computer, Charlie started barking.

“Not now, nut job.” I said.

“Bark, bark bark.” The dog is relentless when he wants attention.

This is the sort of morning when I especially miss my husband, who has been in Germany all month, transitioning to his new job, and narrowing the search for our new abode. If Max were here, home with me, I could blog to my heart’s content. He would take Charlie out for a morning walk, so I could do as I pleased. Then once my guys returned, Max would bring me a cup of coffee, so I wouldn’t have to leave the bed.

I haven’t had coffee in bed all month. Come to think of it, I haven’t had anything in bed the whole month—except for a whiny dog and tolerant MacBook.

Fortunately, there is a steaming cup of hand-delivered coffee in my future. Max returns of Sunday, and Charlie and I will both be so relieved to have him home.

Gone to the dogs

Marriage doesn’t only affect two-legged creatures. My dog Charlie just had his name changed, too. His veterinary records now read “Charlie Mahmoud”. I realize it didn’t matter to Charlie what the vet’s office called him, but it did to me. However, it struck me as just a tad funny that my American Cocker Spaniel, who will also be moving with us to Germany, now has an Arabic name. Talk about the impact of globalization, huh?

My cat's fettish

Meet Daisy--one of our two "bad children" (Charlie being the other). Daisy is fascinated by running water. No matter how many bowls of fresh water I leave for her, Daisy insists on drinking from a running faucet. And when the jacuzzi tub is running--forget about it! I have to barricade the door.