Miró attends the theatre and flirts with a lady

Sunday was Dogs' Night Out at the Seattle Repertory Theatre for a performance of Sylvia, a comedy about a stray dog who turns out to be everything a man wants but nothing his wife wants. The woman who plays Sylvia is bark-perfect, right down to the kick-spot. You can see a video of her preparation for the part here.

Miro and I entered the lobby in a hurry because he is always in a hurry. Despite close quarters and mass confusion, every dog behaved excellently.

At the entry.

A rare clear space.

We found our aisle seats in the fifth row and immediately bounced up again because I spotted a familiar black and tan shape three rows ahead. We had to greet them.

Ever been to a children's theatre production? This audience was quieter and better behaved, though there was one white fluff-ball going eeeeeee through half the first act and again in the second. Most dogs settled down to be petted and have a nap. Except for the terriers.

How to watch a play. Rub head on person’s thighs. Get the darn halter off. Stand in aisle to be scratched behind the ears. Lie down to chew on dental rawhide chew. Sit up. Why is the lab in row 2 wagging his tail? Head rub. Back to the chew. Lie down across the aisle. Sit up. Hey, chairs are moving across the stage. But they’re not coming over here. Watch people walk onto the stage. Boooring. They’re paying no attention to Me. Saunter up the aisle. Get pulled back. Sit. Eye the lady across the aisle. She eyes back and smiles. Hey! Hey! Pet me. Did somebody say, “Shush?” Spoil sport. Sigh. Lie down for more chewing. Sprawl diagonally across the aisle. Roll onto back and grin, waiting for the laugh.

Outside for intermission.



Seattle icon. I had to take all photos one-handed in the dark.



Refreshment bar. Miro refuses to drink out of bowls other dogs have used.

Meeting the biggest theatre fan.

Miro's big moment. Toward the end of the 2^nd act, during the serious penultimate scene that will decide Sylvia's fate, she talks about the nature of love and ends by saying, “But what do I know? I’m only a dog.” Without a pause, Miró let out a groan. The audience cracked up.





What to do when it's pouring rain?

People in today's St. Patrick's Day Parade in downtown Seattle will have to hide their green costumes under waterproof gear because rain is pounding down. Alanis and Miro went to the back door a few minutes ago, looked outside when I opened it, then looked up at me as if to say, "Well, do something about that!"

Fortunately we've been rescued by the generosity of Baby Rocket Dog and Hootie. We were amazed  and thrilled to discover that our honorable mention in the costume contest netted us a prize. Prizes are a Big Deal; they don't happen often!

This fetch toy bears an amazing resemblance to somebody else in the house.

Now named Fetcher.



The English Buff Orpington turned Irish for the week.Miro is not allowed to play with this one.



Today we play throw, fetch and run-around-like-crazy in the living room.





There's also this Ruff & Tuff ball. With a plastic outer shell, it's good for rain or the lake. Miro will have to improve his retrieving before we try it in the lake next summer!

Alanis checks out her personal favorite. We'll need these treats to teach Miro to give back Fetcher. He understands the part about running after the toy and bringing it back (rare enough in Airedales) but giving it back is something else. Then there's the part about leaving my fingers intact. These particular treats seem to have an intoxicating effect that makes a dog forget himself.
Thank you Baby Rocket Dog, Hootie and your people!

Gods of Frolic

The dog is the god of frolic.--Henry Ward Beecher

Because he grew up in a household that didn't allow such frivolity as birthday parties, dancing or theatre, it's easy to see why Beecher admired dogs' ability to play. Unless he disapproved of frolicking even as an adult.

Hmmm, I'm thinking "Gods of Frolic" makes a better blog name than "The Farm House," which I never liked but tacked on when I began this blog because I couldn't think of anything else. The name has to encompass all the animals, even Matilda the cornsnake who has spent most of the winter sleeping in her box.

I guess you can't accuse Matilda of frolic, though she is endorsing a famous sport-shoe maker. Will have to keep cogitating on the name thing.

Thursday afternoon playdate

With the sun out Thursday, Miro went to a friend's house to play with:




At the sight of leggy Miro, the five 8-week-old Border Terrier puppies took shelter between their human mom's feet and made growly-meowy noises like cats. After they decided Miro wanted to play with them instead of eat them, they all started running around the yard. The fuzzballs were too quick for the camera but I managed to get a couple of shots. Miro would not fit in a flower pot like these guys!

Miro starts school

It's a busy spring with me at my desk all day between bouts of letting dogs out and putting dogs back in confinement. Alanis and Miro spend most of their outdoor time racing around the yard, playing biteyface and, in Miro's case, getting rolled on the ground. He bites her beard; she holds him down by the neck; when I can't stand it any more, I make them stop.

Checking the new leaves.

Typical biteyface.

The few seconds' delay between pressing the button and the camera and the time it gets around to taking the photo makes it impossible to get good action shots. I know, I need a fancier camera (maybe in a couple of years!).


This plastic bottle with rocks in it was a favorite new toy for a couple of days.

Miro started obedience school last week. In our class there are a Samoyed who squeals constantly, a Newfoundland, a Bernese Mountain dog, a Basenji, a little ball of fluff with a squished-in face, and a JRT cross. Apparently the Samoyed squealing and keening is typical of the breed. We had to move across the room from them so that I could hear the teachers.

Miro already knew "sit" and "down" as well as a bit of walking beside me on the leash, so Day One was a snap. Also a snap were Miro's jaws--he's a typical mouthy, bitey Airedale who wants to keep busy all the time. There are all kinds of ways to teach bite inhibition. The one that worked best was the instructor's holding Miro's muzzle closed until he stopped struggling, then giving LOTS of BIG praise. After that, all he needed was one "uh uh" reminder when he tried biting again. The instructor was very impressed by how quickly he learned.

I want him to learn to have my hand in his mouth while he's gentle with his teeth. We're working on it.

She played!

I was sitting in the living room, reading when I heard squeak, squeak behind me. Quietly, I turned and watched Alanis chewing on her disc-shaped fuzzy toy with her size XL Airedale canines. Then she used her front teeth to pull at the fleece. Play!

I jumped out of the chair and we each did a play-bow toward each other before I grabbed the toy, squeaked it, and tossed it across the room. She ran after it and pounced. Then she ran back to me.

No, she did not retrieve the toy. I didn't expect her to. Some Airedales will retrieve; but most prefer to run after the object and either grab it and run, expecting you to give chase, or pounce on it and then indicate that you should retrieve it. After all, you were the one who threw it away.

Fetching Alanis, day two

She ate maybe half a cup of kibble. I mixed it with water because she refused to drink. I was not worried about her eating; her sides felt as if losing a pound or two would not hurt. Drinking, though, she had to drink.

During Darwin’s last few weeks of life, I lived in a state of nervous suspense. Would he eat today? Would he drink? Would he keep the food down? When he refused, would subcutaneous fluids at the vet’s revive him or was this the final refusal that meant it was time to die?

When I spoke in a happy voice and leaned over, hands on thighs in imitation of a play-bow, she waved her tail gently. I dashed around to the other side of the room. She stood there. Normally, the best way to get a dog to come to you is to playfully run the other way. You can run in a circle in my house from living room, to hall, to kitchen, dining room and back. In the middle of the circle are the fireplace, part of the kitchen and the guest bathroom.

Darwin grabbed a toy and shook it. He trotted a few steps and looked back, inviting me to follow. I ran up and tagged him. He ran off around our indoor track with me in pursuit, as we had done in the much larger house where he had spent the first few years of life. Sometimes I turned and ran the other way, grabbing the toy and throwing it ahead of me for him to chase. Sometimes Keeper joined in, leaping like a deer but getting in my way instead of chasing. She reminded me of the younger sibling who tries to do what the older ones are doing but can never quite figure it out.

I ran a circuit by myself, patting my leg, calling, “C’mon, Alanis, let’s go,” my voice pitched high and light to entice her into the game. She did not speak this language. I stroked her head. This part, she understood.