I’ve been a little quiet lately, so you probably think that things have settled down on the home front with Momma. Nothing could be further from the truth. In fact, there are stories that I haven’t told you because they are so predictable – and repetitive that I was concerned you may think they are “Fake News.”  I have finally realized though, that I must not let the current political climate (led by the Tweeter in Chief) silence my voice.  Woof! 

Another Scare

So the other night, Momma and I are peacefully sleeping the night away when – wait for it – the house alarm goes off again.  You’d think I would be used to it by now, but the mind blowing noise was as bad as ever, nearly sending me into shock.  Nevertheless, I took up my usual “attack” position on the bed, carefully listening (to the extent I still had hearing) for suspicious noises coming from downstairs.  Just so you know, I would have gone down to check things out, but Momma had the door closed.

Meanwhile Momma grabbed her cell and called 911.  The duty officer told her to stay on the line and keep the bedroom door closed.  (I rest my case – I couldn’t attack anyone if I wanted to) and he would send a squad car over.

Next Momma grabbed her trusty “weapon” – a can of WASP spray, guaranteed to “shoot” up to 29 feet – from her nightstand.  Thinking for some reason that it was necessary to give a progress report to the officer on the line, she informed him that it was just her and her little (guard) dog in the house and that she was armed with a can of WASP spray.  She further informed him that she was sorry she hadn’t bought a gun as she had planned after completing her “carry” training.

This, of course, got the officer’s attention and he cautiously asked, “there are no guns in the home, are there ma-am?”  “No,” Momma replied regretfully, “but I’ll be getting one.”  (Editor’s note:  “Please, God, no.”)

Luckily for all the parties involved, the cops quickly arrived and entered the house through a first floor bathroom door that had blown open (it was an especially windy night, but why the door was not locked – or even firmly closed – will likely never be known).  Thankfully, once again, this was a false alarm.

After a quick search of the house (the cops knew it like the back of their hands by now), they told us the coast was clear.  Before they left, though, they gave me a few sympathetic pets.  In fact, I think they may have been sizing me up as a possible police dog.

More Vet Visits

The visits to the vets, and their accompanying drain on Momma’s pawketbook (“There will be no presents for Christmas, this year, Lina!”) have not gone away either.  But to be honest, she brings a lot of this on herself.  Just woofin’.

Take last August.  The day before my book signing at “Yappy Hour,” I threw up a couple of times.  Now for most dogs, this would not be a national emergency, but for Momma, it was a crisis.  What if I couldn’t appear at the signing?  Wouldn’t she make more money if I was there to attract attention?

The question almost answered itself, so off we went to the vet – she finally found one who would see us on an emergency basis for an additional fee of $88.00.  Predictably, I was given a battery of tests and diagnosed with gastroenteritis, aka, an upset stomach. Momma got a bill for $346.46.  Now I’m not an accountant, but I somehow doubt that she made that up in book sales.

A month or two later, I had a couple of accidents on Momma’s favorite area rug.  I don’t want to point any paws, but I think they could have been avoided with more frequent trips to that great big grass pee pad known as our back yard.  In any case, this was another crisis in Momma’s mind, so she hauled me to the vet again.  This visit resulted in another break-the-bank series of tests that en”tail”ed a urinalysis, blood work and x-rays.  Because the technician was not able to get a good x-ray of my bladder (it was empty by now), she told Momma to bring me in the next morning with a full bladder.  That meant Momma made me “hold it” until the clinic opened at 8:30a.  Are you beginning to get the picture?

Anyway, the tests showed that I did not have the suspected urinary tract infection, but that I did have crystals in my urine.  “Crystals?!?” Momma almost barked (up to this point she only knew of the kind she wore).  Anyway, the upshot was that I was put on a special diet to get rid of them.  The tab for everything?  $327.83.

We weren’t done yet though as it turns out.  Along with the bill, the vet also told Momma that my teeth should be cleaned and handed her an estimate of $388.95.  Momma was crazed.  It didn’t costs her that much to have her teeth cleaned – or filled for that matter!  “And you have such tiny teeth, Lina!”  Nevertheless, she could see the plaque buildup and (while silently vowing to get someone to brush my teeth) agreed.

The cleaning took place the next week.  Other than the fasting ahead of time, the inability to eat afterwards, the lengthy recovery from the anesthetic and the sore gums, it was a pleasant experience.

There was more.  Later that month, Momma went on one of her many trips to Florida and Dr. Becca (my trusty sitter), noticed that I was having trouble going poops.  And in case you’re wondering – she did not rush me to the emergency room, she just used patience and coaxing.  Becca wisely surmised this could be a result of the prescription dog food, so when Momma came home, she brought me to the vet again for more testing.  Thankfully, the crystals were gone and I could go back to my regular food — whatever it was.

Just when I thought the torture had ended, the vet decided to express my anal glands – just to be extra sure there was no impediment to my pooping!  Really, does life get any better than this?  After all was said and done, Momma was handed yet another bill for $137.38.  This included “Cranberry Comfort,” which was apparently to – well actually – I have no idea what it’s for and neither does Momma.

Yappy Thanksgiving to all of my readers!  I will be resting up at home for my next alarm scare or vet visit.  WOOFDA!

Lina, Honest Journalist, Future Police K-9 and Per”pet”ual Patient

The Annika Intercollegiate

We’ve had a busy couple of weeks.  Momma, apparently forgetting about the pitfalls of working the Ryder Cup, signed up for another golf tournament.  This one, the Annika Intercollegiate, was played at Momma’s golf club and featured the absolute best female college players in the country – if not the world.  Even though she was a little worried about what her job duties might en”tail,” Momma was also excited – she planned on studying the golfers’ techniques and maybe picking up a pointer or two!

The problem, as you may recall, is that Momma does not do well working golf tourneys (lacking comprehension, common sense and focus, etc.), and she actually had some real responsibilities for this one.

Upon signing in the first day, she was given a two-way radio (!) and instructed to call in on an assigned channel if there were any issues.  (Issues?! thought Momma, already second guessing her decision to volunteer.)  Then she was told that she would follow a threesome around the course and – via a site on her cell phone – report their scores to someone or something (Momma wasn’t sure, but she heard it might be the Golf Channel), following the completion of each hole.

This doesn’t sound that difficult, but Momma screwed up on the first hole, entering the wrong score for one of the players.  When Momma confirmed the scores (after the fact) and the player in question politely corrected her (Momma now desperately hoping she wasn’t reporting in to the Golf Channel), she keyed in the correction on her phone.

Then, just to be doubly sure that the correction was made, she got on the two-way (apparently this was the type of issue they had in mind) and after about ten minutes of fumbling around with buttons and knobs , finally established contact with another human being.  Unfortunately, the other human being turned out to be the owner of the golf club.  Now Momma was in a mild panic – would she be replaced as a scorer?  Asked to leave the club?

The next day went reasonably well except for one teenie-tiny little incident on the third hole.  All the golfers were on the green preparing to putt when a bee landed on Momma’s arm and savagely stung her.  Startled, she let out a little scream/cry.  (“I couldn’t help it, Lina – it hurt!”)  Luckily no one was in the middle of a putt, but the sting interrupted play and all the players and coaches came rushing over to help.

Even though Momma assured the group that she was fine (she actually wanted to crawl in the hole on the third green) everyone sprang into action.  The coach from Miami advised Momma that applying mud on the sting had been known to stop the pain and went off in search of some.  Meanwhile – unbeknownst to Momma – the coach from Southern Cal radioed for medical assistance, and the Gopher trainer came out to treat the sting.  Finally, after a lengthy break in the action and the total loss of concentration, the golfers were able to resume play.

All of this, of course, “begs” the question – “why??”  Need I woof more?

Book Club

A week or two later, Momma held a book club meeting at our house.  This was notable because she hadn’t even attended a meeting in over two years (“Too much like homework, Lina, and I often don’t like the book”).  This was different, though – Momma finally found a book she liked.  It was called Lina Unleashed.

In order to drum up interest, Momma “bit” the bullet and went to the previous month’s book club meeting – and even read the book!  She also brought along copies of Lina Unleashed, trying to foist them upon the members.  The ladies were understanding about Momma’s two-year absence – almost boycott – and made a donation to the Animal Humane Society (another one of Momma’s selling points), if they had not already bought the book online.

Momma was quite excited about the meeting at our house.  She sent out scads of email reminders – advising all of the ladies that I would be in attendance and paw-dographing the book.  She even baked a close approximation of dog bone-shaped cookies for the evening’s dessert ~

Next she carefully drafted several deep discussion questions and her good friend, Cathy, graciously led the discussion at the meeting.  Predictably, the questions focused on Momma, even though I am the author.  That was fine with me, though, because when no one was looking, I was busy checking out the cookies.

As the evening dragged on, one of the ladies, tired of Momma’s thought-provoking questions, asked her what she really wanted to happen with the book.  Momma’s honest answer – to have Lina Unleashed made into a blockbuster movie with Cameron Diaz playing her – seemed a little far-“fetch”ed (even to her), so she instead modestly answered that she wanted the book to be a runaway bestseller!  (Momma hadn’t forgotten that publishing the book had cost a fortune and that it would almost take an act of God for her to even break even, but the Ladies of the Club did not need to know that.)

As for me, I’m planning on playing myself.  Just woofin’!

Lina, Cookie Tester and Aspiring Actress

WOOFDA!

Source: Events

With Momma desperately trying to get the word out about Lina Unleashed, but unable to do much more than write to friends via snail mail or email (or maybe even smoke signals knowing her), I have decided that I have no choice but to take social media matters into my own paws.  Accordingly, I have set up a Twitter account and invite you to follow me for breaking news at @linadogblogger.

Also, I have added my own page on Facebook (it was just time), so please check it out at Lina Dog Blogger.

Finally, on this LinasDogBlog.com site, in addition to reading posts, you can check out Lina Unleashed details, my Gallery and Events!

Lina, Communications Specialist

WOOFDA!

I have now endured my second, and hopefully last photo shoot.  Just as I suspected, this one was no more tolerable than the first.  Admittedly, we did not commit any crimes, nor were we lectured by animal control, but it was traumatic nonetheless.

Our preparations began in earnest shortly after the phone call from Erik at Camp Bow Wow informing Momma that I had been picked as Camper of the Month and that I would need to have my picture taken.  Upon hearing the news, her ears stood up nearly as tall as mine.  She proudly proclaimed to everyone who would listen that “Lina has been chosen as Camper of the Month!”  She was, of course, intimating that my pick as COTM was based on more than a random drawing (such as for best behaved or most popular or something).  I only wonder how many of these Momma stuffed into the jar.     

Anyway, based on Erik’s call, Momma phoned Patrick, the photographer, to set up the shoot.  He would take a bunch of pictures of me and select an 11×16″ to be hung in the lobby of CBW for the month of September and give us a copy as a gift.  During that phone call, Patrick asked what color I was, and upon Momma’s (proud that she knew) response, “red merle” (although she didn’t really know what merle meant), he suggested that Momma should therefore wear something dark. What??, she thought excitedly – would she be part of the photo shoot??  She hoped she had not misunderstood and planned to get camera-ready just in case.

The day of our appointment, Momma parsed through the thicket of outfits in her closets, looking for just the right one.  She thought she would look best in her navy blue sweater, but also thought the little polo pony on the front would be distracting.  Therefore, she threw in some backups just in case.  This meant that she also had to throw in several pairs of coordinating slacks and shoes with which to complete her ensembles.  By the time she was finished, it looked like she was leaving on another two week vacation.

Her wardrobe choices complete, Momma headed to her favorite salon for a blow out, telling her hairdresser to “make it all pouffy” as she had a photo shoot to do!  $54.00 later Momma headed home to put the finishing touches on her makeup, and (almost as an afterthought) threw me in the car for our trip to the studio.

Upon arrival, Patrick told us that he would first do a series of pictures of me and then of both of us.  This was not the order Momma preferred, but she had little choice but to go along.  Welcome to my world.

The problem was that – probably as a result of the Naples fiasco – I don’t like to have my picture taken and I just couldn’t bring myself to look into the camera.  Therefore, Patrick was forced to use all kinds of props and toys that crazily snapped, squeaked, rattled, honked and quacked, followed by a blinding flash of light and a loud pop.

Thinking at first that Trump had started World War III, I looked around wildly and tried to run away.  Momma, however, bound and determined that I would have my picture taken for CBW, kept me in place until Patrick had a few good shots.  Recognizing that I was nearly catatonic, though, and worried that I wouldn’t cooperate in the photos with her, Momma asked for a small break while I collected myself (she was pretty sure this was how the real models would phrase it).  Since I didn’t spot any bunkers in the vicinity, I headed for the corner and hid behind a giant water dish.

After about five minutes Patrick informed us that we should continue. Momma, took a last look in the mirror, fluffed up her hair, applied some more lip color and pried me out of the corner.

I, however, had had enough and put my paw down on the entire affair.  I scampered back to my hiding spot and waited for Momma to finish up with Patrick.  She was naturally beyond crushed that she would not be included in any of the pictures (the adoring little dog looking pleased and content to be nestled in the lap of her well-groomed master), but she knew when she was licked.

Reluctantly Momma moved on to the photo selection portion of the shoot.  She knew how these things worked.  (“I’m no dummy, Lina — I know I’ll be expected to buy some pictures in addition to the free 11×16″.)  In fact, she had already decided that she might get a nice one of the two of us, but that was obviously not possible now.

She did have a bewildering number of other options, though:  5×7″s, 8×10″s, 11×14″s, and more 11×16″s, all in different settings and background colors. There was also a framed grouping of three photos available (“everyone loves these,” Patrick urged). By the time we left, Momma was so stressed over the aborted photo shoot and overwhelmed by choices that she did not know what she had selected.  She did know, however, that she had signed a credit card bill for $375.00.  She couldn’t wait to find out how much it would cost to frame her free 11×16″.

This is Momma’s personal favorite ~

And here we are enduring Momma’s shameless promotion of me as COTM.  All I can woof is two paws up for the great staff at Camp Bow Wow!

Lina, Still Shell Shocked

WOOFDA!

Since nobody took advantage of my “fire” sale, I’m still living the dream with Momma. Here’s a little update.

Chaos Continued . . . 

No sooner had the firetrucks and police vehicles left after our last emergency, when Momma decided the house needed a little facelift (incidentally, not the first time Momma has used that word).  Momma thought this would be a quick fix – the contractor would just come in and rip out a bunch of dated materials and then put in all the new stuff. Maybe it would take a week or two, tops.

That is, of course, not how it worked.  We have now been living with a dumpster and porta potty in front of our house for what seems like an eternity, and there is no end in sight.  Every so often, Biffs pulls in our driveway to pump out the potty – or as Momma likes to think of it, “drain the swamp” (although she hasn’t been saying much about President Trump lately).  Just woofin’.

We have almost no functioning rooms.  Our dining room is totally impassable, piled high as it is with furniture from other rooms.  In fact, just getting outside to the deck almost requires a road map.  Our living room has no chairs on which to sit and watch Fox News. Not counting the porta potty, we are also down to one small bathroom (not nearly big enough for all of Momma’s age-defying cosmetics I might add). Luckily for me, we still have a yard.

Because of the jackhammering and other hazardous activity going on, Momma has severely restricted my movements.  (“The last thing we need is a mishap and OSHA meddling in our affairs, Lina.”)  Here I am hunkering down in my new “safe space.”

About the only reprieve I get from my little prison is when one of the nice construction workers takes pity and gives me some much-needed attention.

Despite the chaos, Momma points out that our life could be a lot worse:  “At least we are not living in the dumpster, Lina.”  Why am I not comforted by that statement?

Yappy Hour

For about the past month, Olympic Hills Golf Club, where Momma spends most of her waking hours, has been working on an event called “Yappy Hour.”  Momma, recognizing an opportunity when she sees one, had quickly inserted herself into the planning process.  The premise for Yappy Hour was to have a nice social event where members and guests could bring their dogs, have a cocktail or two and socialize.  It was a way for people to get to know one another and meet their friends’ dogs that they so often talked about.

Momma, however, viewed it mostly as an opportunity to sell “Lina Unleashed.”  She asked the Club if (along with all the other activities) she could set up a table from which to run her little operation.  She explained that a portion of the proceeds from the book would be going to the Animal Humane Society – so it was “all” for a good cause. Amazingly, the Club agreed – I think mainly to get her off its back, so to woof, and her plans went into high gear.  She would also get the Animal Humane Society and Chuck & Don’s Pet Food and Supplies store to draw people in and boost sales.

Momma envisioned each of us sitting on a chair behind a nicely-draped table stacked with the books.  I would be “pawdographing” them with my little pink paw stamp (she had learned her lesson on me using my actual paw, thank God), and she would be enjoying her muttini and conducting sales.

Next, Momma’s thoughts turned to our attire.  Deciding we really should have matching outfits, she bought a T-shirt for me and one for herself (“Lina’s Momma”).    Realizing that she wouldn’t have a lot of time for socializing and selling if she really had to care for me during the party, she also bought Nanny Becky and Uncle Chuck T-shirts (“Lina’s Nanny” and “Lina’s Lawyer”) and invited them – and Chuck’s dog, Willie, as well.  Considering all the hoopla, is it any wonder that I threw up four times the day before the party and required medical attention (again)?

Ever the publicity “hound,” Momma then hired a photographer – her step-granddaughter, Hannah – to take professional photos of all the participants.  As you can see, Momma was often front and center and Hannah (find her at hnsmithphotography.com) did a great job.

Although the event was spectacularly embarrassing – what with the T-shirt and entourage spectacle – it was also kinda fun and a huge success!  Let’s put our paws together for the staff at Olympic!

News Flash

Just as this post was going to press, Momma got a call from Erik, a manager at Camp Bow Wow.  At first she thought something was wrong – had I been expelled?  If so, where would she “place” me when she went off to play golf?

But when Momma heard his news – she was over the moon!  It seems I had been chosen as the Camper of the Month!  What did this mean, she wondered?  Would there be some kind of ceremony?  Could she tie it in with book sales?  Or better yet, could we get some free day care?

Sensing that her imagination was running wild, Erik quickly got things back on track and explained that I would get my picture taken and an 8 x 10 would be posted at the Camp. We were to call Patrick to set up the photo shoot.

Did someone say photo shoot?  Doesn’t Momma realize that I am still suffering PTSD (paws traumatic stress disorder) from the last one?  Would we be risking arrest again for trespassing or some other crime?  Would animal control take me into custody this time?

Brushing aside all concerns from the debacle in Naples, Momma is already picking out her outfit.

Lina, One Yappy Camper

WOOFDA!

Well, we did it.  With Momma’s help (yes, I still want to be fed), Lina Unleashed has now been published and is available for online purchase.  For the book description and ordering information, just click on the picture of my book on the Blog sidebar.

Momma also has big plans for the book to be carried at “select” bookstores in the area, a book release party and a whirlwind tour of book pawdographings.  By the way, it didn’t take her long to realize that her bright idea of actually having me put paw to ink pad to paper for the signings was a mistake.

Need I woof more?  Anyway, I will keep you posted on Momma’s progress and on any upcoming events.

Momma is also hoping to convince the Star Tribune to review my book in their Sunday book section.  I am pretty sure that she will not, for once, refer to the paper as the “Red Star” or the “Star & Sickle” when attempting to communicate with the book editor.  I’m just woofing.

Momma, in hard sell mode now, wants me to mention that my book makes a great gift for everyone.  (“It is perfect even for those people who aren’t big readers – with the large print and pictures and all, Lina!”)  And no more agonizing about what to get for that pesky relative when you’ve run out of patience, time and ideas for birthdays and Christmas, she exclaims!

She also wants me to mention – all of a sudden she’s politically correct – that my book is age and gender and everything-under-the-sun-appropriate and that there is zero chance that anyone could possibly be offended by its content.  She stopped short of claiming the book is sustainable (a favorite buzz word of the left) largely because she has no clue what it means.

And finally, a woof from me.  Thank you for following my Blog and I hope you will give the book a look!  A portion of the proceeds from Lina Unleashed will be donated (and I won’t let Momma be cheap) to the Animal Humane Society.

Lina, Published Author

WOOFDA!!!!!

You can’t make this stuff up.  I have now been subject to three horrific events in the  span of just a few weeks.  You may recall my recent brush with the law when Momma and the photographer brought me onto a vacant lot with a HUGE “No Trespassing” sign on it in Naples.  You may also recall that an animal control officer intervened and focussed on me:  I was trespassing and not on a leash and I was in violation of the law!

Then, back in Minnesota, there was the incident when the police stormed our house when Momma inadvertently armed our security system with the distress code.  That night, the heart stopping siren rocked our house to its very foundation and likely caused irreparable harm to my little (okay – big) ears.  Uncle Chuck, perhaps we have a cause of action here?

It seems we were not yet done with the excitement, however.

Momma had returned from her Scotland trip at the end of May, all aglow (key word here – stay with me) about her golfing and sightseeing there.  I had experienced a nice, restful time with Dr. Becca with all of the comforts one would expect in a stable household.  I was hoping against hope for more of the same upon Momma’s return.  It was not to be.

The first few days went deceptively smoothly with Momma tending to household duties (calling people up to do things for her), socializing, enjoying water sports and golfing.  She often brought me to my home-away-from-home, Camp Bow Wow, which I have grown quite fond of.

One of Momma’s first maintenance calls was to our landscaper.  She said summer was getting on and it was time to get our yard looking shipshape (she just loves those nautical terms!).  In just a few days they came out with a boatload (!) of mulch and weed killer and various implements including shovels, rakes, blowers and trimmers.  When they left, Momma was very pleased.  The yard looked good – although maybe a little overdone on the mulch.  But whatever, she thought – at least the weeds were covered up.

Everything was going swimmingly (!) until one morning when Momma was making toast in the kitchen and noticed smoke billowing up the side of the house.  Alarmed (that term comes up a lot at our house), she ran outside in her nightgown and robe for a closer look. Yup, there was a fire somewhere – smoke was definitely coming from the front of the house.

Just at that moment, our lawn mowers were coming up the driveway and Momma yelled to them (somewhat hysterically) that her house was on fire.   Wondering what Momma had done now, they rushed up the driveway to help.  Meanwhile she ran into the basement, quite concerned that the source of the fire was down there (“Not my wine cellar, Lina!”).

By now Bob and Jake, the lawn crew, had determined that the fire was in the mulch abutting the house and called 911.  They immediately went to work trying to snuff it out.  At this point, Momma realized the yard would soon be filled with young men in uniform, and that she should change from her bedclothes into something more suitable.  When she came outside after hurriedly selecting a (hopefully sexy) top and shorts, the police were already at our door.  I meanwhile cowered inside the front door, unable to believe that the cops were at our house again.

Dear God, not again …

Soon we could hear the wailing siren of the approaching firetruck, and official vehicles filled our cul-de-sac.  At what point, I wondered, could we be deemed a public nuisance?

As the firemen – in full firefighting gear – converged on our house, Momma attempted to explain what had happened.  Apparently the mulch had covered a light fixture which was equipped with an extra-hot halogen light bulb and started a fire.  Predictably, she did not know the answer to the question of how long the light bulb had been on.  After a thorough inspection, the firemen determined that the danger was over.

Next the fire inspector helped Momma turn off the circuit breakers to the landscape lighting – so there was no chance she could inadvertently turn the lights on and start the house on fire again.  Apparently, it did not take him long to discern that Momma was a walking talking hazard.  Here is the scene as it unfolded at our house:

The scene unfolds

PLEASE, PLEASE take me home with you…

What can I say – I have reached the end of my leash . . . I mean rope.  All of these traumatic and terrifying occurrences are getting to be just a little more than I can take. Therefore, I have decided to take matters into my own paws.  What do you think about the following ad?

– Potty Trained

– Light Eater

– Can Fetch and Perform Tricks

– Vaccinated (I hope)

– Papers in Order (I hope)

– Good Listener (but you may have to speak up)

– Experienced Emotional Support Animal

– Comfortable with Officers in Uniform

Please let me know if you are interested, but don’t tell Momma.

Lina, Rescue (Me) Dog!

WOOFDA!

The Usual Pre-Trip Drama

Momma and I had just gotten home from Florida when she started to prepare for yet another trip across the pond.  This one, with her friend Donna, was to be the trip of a lifetime – she was going to play golf there – hopefully even on the Old Course!  (“Imagine that, Lina:  the history, the majesty, the scenery – the caddies!”)  They hadn’t been picked in the lottery, but still had a contact (Kevin – a great Scot!) who was going to try get them on through the daily ballot.

That plan in place, Momma turned to her usual frenetic trip preparation.  This meant shopping, back-to-back maintenance appointments and golfing (“I have to, Lina – I’ve got to get my handicap down for the Old Course”).  For me it meant a quick trip with Momma to Chuck and Don’s for dog food (“so at least you won’t have that to carp about on your blog, Lina”), being dumped off at Camp Bow Wow and generally fending for myself as Momma scurried about getting ready for the trip.

In fact, it seems Momma was so busy preparing, practicing and packing that she got a little overwhelmed.  One night as we were dragging ourselves to bed, “dog tired” after a grueling day of prep, Momma hurriedly set our alarm system.  About a half hour later the doorbell rang, but Momma chose to ignore it.  (“It’s just our daily delivery from Amazon, Lina. Forget about it.”)  I didn’t know Amazon delivered after dark, but whatever.

A little while later our house phone rang.  Since that phone rarely rings  and it’s almost always some Republican group asking for money, she also ignored the call.  Momma went back to reading her Rick Steves’ book on Scotland, and I went back to sleep.  It turns out it had been an important phone call.

A few minutes later the back door flew open and the house was filled with an ear-splitting (especially for me!) siren.  Momma, close to a heart attack, flew out of bed, yelling “Who’s there?!?!”

I meanwhile cowered on the bed, almost having my own heart attack.  (I mean, really – does this happen to other dogs?)  I was in a panic and my mind began to race.  Could this be the raid by ICE that I had feared??  Was this part of the new Trump roundup plan? Was I being deported to Australia?  Was our house really not the safe sanctuary I thought it was?

It turned out it was “just” the local police and I breathed a sigh of relief as I don’t think they were authorized to ask me if I was an undocumented immigrant.  (Momma:  “The term is not undocumented immigrant, Lina, it’s illegal alien.”)

In any case, it was not me the police had come about – it seems Momma had inadvertently plugged in our distress code rather than our arming code.  (Momma, predictably:  “It was an innocent mistake, Lina – I’ve had a concussion, remember?”)

The police, wanting to make sure Momma was not being held hostage, asked her to come out into the garage so they could question her.  How they never picked up on the fact that it was me who was in distress (do they not recognize PTSD when they see it?) and being held hostage, I’ll never know.  Even so, I gave them a few face licks – you never know when you need law enforcement on your side – especially at our house.

A few days later Momma was off and, as usual, I was placed in the capable hands of Dr. Becca and Nanny Becky.  Dr. Becca brought Winnie with her so I was in good company. We had a fun and relaxing time.  And guess what – it was not necessary for the cops to storm our house even once when Momma was gone.  Here we are helping Dr. Becca at work, waiting for treats and ready for bed!

Helping Dr. Becca at work

Scotland

Momma was by now in St. Andrews and gearing up for golf.  This, of course, meant checking out all the golf shops and the local pubs.  Also, she and Donna had just learned that they had been picked for the Old Course(!) so they decided to go down and check it out.

By sheer coincidence, Uncle Chuck and a group of fellow Minnesotans were in St. Andrews for golf the same week as Donna and Momma. They invited the girls to join them for drinks at Dunvegans later that day and they drank a toast to Chuck’s birthday!  Oh, and Momma temporarily held them hostage for a photo ~ 

The next day Donna and Momma arrived at the course nice and early so they could “practice.”  Here they are posing and socializing and cranking up the Garmin ~

Now that the time had come, Momma was a little nervous – especially about the caddie. What if she didn’t play well?  What if he didn’t even pretend she was playing well? Would he allow her to take a mulligan if she ended up in one of those horrendous bunkers?  Advise her about dog legs?  (Okay – I just made that one up.)  Oh well, she thought, he had better be nice to her if he wanted any kind of tip at all. (Editor’s Note:  I don’t think Momma’s tip would be a big incentive to anyone.  Just woofin’.)

Upon meeting her caddie whose name was Brian, Momma – getting a little bolder now – asked a probing question designed to elicit information about his experience as a caddie. In response, he took a swing with one of her clubs using the wrong end.  (I could get to like this guy!)

Momma was pretty sure he was joking, but decided she would take his advice with a grain of sand . . . er, salt.  In fact after a good first hole, Momma grew bolder still and decided maybe she would rely on her own instincts.  On the next hole, when Momma wondered out loud whether her putt was really downhill as Brian had informed her, he fired back with, “yes, ma’am, it’s been downhill for 200 years.”  Momma, who recognized a “dig” when she heard one, blamed him for everything that went wrong for the rest of the round.

After a little too much questioning, second guessing and badgering (“Do you want to give me a tip on this putt, Brian, or should I just wing it?”), he took off his vest and started walking off the course.  Momma, in a mild state of panic – would she be the first person to have driven her caddie off the Old Course?? – quickly backed off and started to be a little nicer.  (Plus, by now she had decided that he was kinda cute.)  She didn’t even mention tip for the next few holes.

Finally they arrived at the infamous Hell Bunker on fourteen.  Here’s Brian posing and no doubt thanking God that they were nearing the end of the round ~

and here’s Momma in the big bunker.  She claims she was also just posing and never hit into it, but I’m not buying it.

By the way, Donna and her caddie, Malcolm, got along famously.  She treated him with respect and he in turn gave her golf tips, selected clubs and even cleaned her ball and placed it on the putting surface just so.  (Momma was quick to point this out to Brian, of course.) Here they are taking turns posing on Swilken Bridge on eighteen.

Momma says the rest of the trip (Oban, Mull and Iona Islands, and Edinburgh) was great,  but if she returns to Scotland, it’ll be to play golf at the Old Course.  I better give Brian a heads up.  Fore!

Lina, Still Hoping for a Mulligan in the Game of Life

WOOFDA!

Shopping With Momma

I knew Momma was getting better from her concussion when she announced one morning that she was going to go shopping.  She felt she had been deprived long enough and decided she would go to Naples.  (Editor’s note:  one who is on a budget does not set paw in Naples).  Momma would not be deterred, however – she was sure she would find something there that she could not live without.

The problem was what to do with me.  Janice and Natalie, my sitters, were not available, and Anne and Gracie, my adoptive family on the Island, were out of town.  And Momma couldn’t leave me home alone for 8 hours (could she? I could almost hear her think).  That left only one option – to bring me along.  She hated the idea because caring for me would cut into her shopping time, but she really had no choice.  Then when her friend, Donna, who was going along, said she would take turns holding on to me (Donna was desperate for new clothes too, apparently), it was a done deal! Momma loaded me up and off we went.  She would make this work!

With Momma, their is always an elephant in the room . . .

Momma was practically in a shopping frenzy as she parked the car and dragged me into the first of her favorite stores.  It didn’t take me long to realize, however, that this was not for me.  I did not like shopping – the chirping women, some who wanted to hold me, and the unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells overwhelmed me.  I just wanted to go home – or at least to a pet store!

Momma, however, had just gotten started.  She was on a mission and tried to get me to sit and stay as she frantically pawed her way through the clothes racks. After our beleaguered sales lady carried a pile of soon-to-be-rejected items into the dressing room, Momma pulled me in after her.  (“We’re both girls, Lina – it’s okay.  Actually, Lina, these days it would be okay no matter what sex you are,” she continued, unable to help herself.)   Here I am waiting for the torture to end . . .

Momma was loving this and tried on item after item.  From time to time the sales lady would pop in and deliver a bit of fake news like, “you really look great in that” and “no, I don’t think that outfit is too tight.”  Right.

Finally having me in the dressing rooms became too much of a hassle for Momma (and Donna was busy with her own stack of clothing), so she decided to make the sales staff part of my village.  “I’d like to try this on – would you mind watching Lina for awhile?” she would implore.  (“They weren’t doing much of anything anyway, Lina,” she would rationalize.)

Here I am being cared for, once again, by others ~

The sales ladies turned out to be very nice to me and gave me water and treats and lots of attention.  One of them crossed the red line with Momma, however, when she handed me a third biscuit.  Although Momma didn’t declare war on the store, she did send a clear message that I had had enough treats.

Luckily, our shopping trip didn’t last much longer after that, and Momma, Donna and I headed home.  I was pooped.

In case you’re wondering – once again, I came home empty-pawed.

Naples (Again)

A few days later Momma returned to Naples to have some routine maintenance done on her car. She had been avoiding it because she did not like to spend money on things that she couldn’t bring home in a shopping bag.  She knew she had to though – she had been staring at the “maintenance required” message on her dashboard for 3 months now.

Momma had already decided that she would not sit and wait for the mechanics to change her oil and whatever else they (allegedly) did for for the astronomical fee they charged.  She would ask that they give her a loaner so she could run some errands (code for more shopping) in Naples.  This would actually be fun, she thought – it almost made the pesky stop at the dealership worth it.

Before she could even leave the store, however, a “tire expert” popped into the service area and told her she needed four new tires!  Momma was instantly on guard – here she was, a single female at their mercy, and they might be trying to sell her something she didn’t need.  She was just sick – think of the clothes she could buy for the ridiculous price of tires!  Momma couldn’t really remember though if she had ever put tires on the car (except the one when she ran into a curb one time) and the expert told her they were dangerously thin.  Not willing to chance an blowout (did tires still have blowouts?) and another possible concussion, she caved.  Plus, she wanted to get in that loaner and go to the stores!

Momma was in a hurry – she had at least three stops she wanted to make (it turned out to be six) and she needed to be back at the dealership within two hours.  That is why she took a shortcut and made an illegal turn on the busiest intersection in Naples.  And it didn’t go unnoticed.  Soon there was a uniformed officer behind her on a motorcycle lit up like a Christmas tree.

As the officer swaggered over to her car (well not really her car), Momma suddenly felt as those she had wandered onto the set of “Smokey and the Bandit.”  The officer, a sergeant(!) with the Collier County Sheriff’s department, was straight from central casting:  mirrored aviators, big gut and hands on his hips (or was it his gun?!).  He was also hopping mad.  For just a moment Momma was scared she might end up in paw cuffs, especially when he demanded to see the car registration.  She began to wonder if orange really is the new black.

For once (oh yes, Momma has been stopped before), she didn’t argue or smart off to the officer and it worked.  Being more than a little panic stricken, she apologized, and he let her off with a warning.  She hustled back to drop off the loaner and get out of Dodge, er . . . Naples.

Does anyone see a pattern here?

Lina, Drawing My Own Red Line on Shopping & Naples

WOOFDA!