“Got your Collar”

In case you haven’t met our foster dog Duncan, let me fill you in. Duncan is a rambunctious puppy from the Dalmatian rescue. He’s got energy to spare and a mischievous glint in his eye. His favorite game as of late is what I like to call “got your collar.” It goes something like this: Shelby the boxer is trotting happily along in the play area. Duncan, trying to seem nonchalant but looking guilty already, sashays up beside Shelby. In one swift move Duncan is latched onto Shelby’s collar and before you can say “Duncan cut it out” Shelby’s collar was off. Counselor Heather then had to fetch (oh Duncan, you’re sooo clever) and replace the collar.

Once Duncan had tired of annoying Shelby he set his sights on one of the three St. Bernard Campers that day: Finnegan. Ummmm bad idea. Finnegan is as dear and sweet as a dog can be, but is roughly the size of a wooly mammoth. Duncan weighs a wiry (perhaps) 45lbs. I was momentarily distracted trying to jimmy off a vat of dog slobber from my pants leg when I saw something odd out of the corner of my eye. It took a moment to register what I was seeing. There was Finnegan, sauntering along at a leisurely pace, seemingly unaware that Duncan had attached himself to Finnegan’s collar and was being dragged along on his back, legs akimbo. Neither did this seem to bother Duncan, who just hung there with, I thought, the grim yet admirable assurance that he would succeed. In a few seconds time Duncan lost his grip and slid to the floor. Undaunted he made another flying leap for Finnegan's collar, this attempt coming from the front. Finnegan, half interested, sort of palmed Duncan’s head and swatted him away.

And so it went, Duncan working his way through the pack until he had played the collar game with every Camper at least 5 times. When play time was over Duncan had tired everyone but himself out. Got your collar was over…at least for another hour and a half.

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Stuff you didn't know you didn't know.

So, there I was, browsing books at the local elementary school bookfair when I came upon a rather interesting find. Yes, the book was meant for ages 8 and up and was being sold at an elementary school, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s called “A Dog” by Paul Beck and it’s one of those “Uncover” books where a creature, in this case a dog, is displayed in 3-dimentional layers. In turning each page you are uncovering ever deeper layers of the dogs’ anatomy.

As a lifelong lover of dogs I knew there was a lot that goes on between tongue and tail, but golly! (I love the word golly and I am attempting, right here – right now, to bring it back from the depths of 1952). For instance, under the section labeled “Digestion” (ironically, after staring at this section in which one gets a good long look at the small intestine, one does not want to eat) I found out that there’s a reason dogs “wolf down” their food. It turns out that a dogs teeth aren’t meant for chewing? Huh? Yes, they have molars, but those are used mostly for chewing plant material (What? I have never seen my dog race towards my neighbors garden and take out a head of lettuce). But apparently plant materials make up about 20% of a wild dogs diet (who’s out there polling these wild dogs?). Instead a dogs teeth are set up for tearing off a big bite and tossing it down the old gullet. No chewing required. And all this time I thought my dogs lack of chewing was because be was ravenous at dinner time. At least that’s what he told me. I’m gonna confront him with the book.

I’ll have a whole new prospective when chow time rolls around again at Camp Bow Wow. While I stand there wasting my time chewing my food like a sucker, the campers meal is already well on it’s way to that pink-molded-plastic-looking-rope-thing on page eleven. I mean their small intestine.

See you at Camp!

“Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear"
~ Dave Barry