Freckles thinks out of the box

Yesterday I came home and Freckles greeted me at the door. Which would've been cute had I not left him in his crate. His locked crate.

I inspected the house. No accidents, no tchotchkes destroyed. There was but one telltale sign: Wrinkles on my bedspread.

He's not allowed on my bed.

How did he get out? Will this happen again? Is it a sign of separation anxiety? So many questions. The sleuthing begins.

Hello, Freckles!

Freckles, my very first foster dog, came home with me Monday. He's a four-year-old mini Aussie and is settling in well.

Having lived on a farm, he's making the transition to city life: fences, sidewalks, the bass sounds of rap. But whether he's on a leash or on the couch, he's quickly gaining confidence and loves people.

He will gently paw for attention, then bam bam bam, he marches like a cat. Oh no, Freckles, please don't smack me in the face!

Of course he reminds me of my other dogs. Like Chewy, he eats calmly, almost leisurely, and takes treats like they're no big deal. But he has Papaya's clinginess; he always wants to know where I am and will wait near the landing while I do laundry.

He's sweet and has adorable spots (uh, freckles) on his nose and paws. I hope you'll come by and meet him!

Holly the houseguest

Holly stayed with me again. Nervous at first, she'd only take her meals on the living room armchair, eating while I sat next to her holding the bowl.

But soon she was more her hammy self, squeaking about walks, belly rubs, and chewy treats. She tolerated storms yet ran away from mashed potatoes. Who doesn't like mashed potatoes?

She was quick to warm up to Sandy. It took only a few minutes before Holly got on the couch to offer her bad breath. But then Hollytosis was standoffish with Denise and Michelle. Who can know what goes on in a dog's mind? Hal says she's not self-aware.

Which could maybe explain why she'd wedge herself into the couch and under the covers, then try to kick me out of the way. Still, I enjoyed her company. Come back soon, little space invader!

Happy Holly-days!

Holly, my houseguest for a couple of weeks, smells a bit like Christmas. Like a box of holiday ornaments.

At first, she trembled in her crate and tried to hide from Bill and Elizabeth and my parents. She made a point of grumbling at Jeremy, too, albeit while sitting next to him on the couch.

Sure, she yawns dramatically with her not-so-fresh breath and backpedals when I roll out the treat ball. But she's coming around. Her interests include cuddling and blankets and the occasional udon noodle. She squeaks and chirps when it's time to go out. She's affable, just as Hal said she would be.

Thank you, little Holly, for bringing your holiday spirit. You make the days merry!

Hello, snow!

It snowed for the first time this season, and I wished I could find my black ankle boots. Except Chewy destroyed them a few months ago.

So I still have cause to say "Oh no, Chewy."

Though it was hard to give Chewy back, I hope that whoever adopted her gave her a great name that she grew into, like Snuggles.

This weekend I dogsat for Cocoa, who's obedient and low key — so, not like Chewy (or Pops or Ginger, for that matter).

Cocoa's interests include burrowing in the snow and cuddling. She was a lovely houseguest.

And I bought some ankle boots, so the universe is as it should be. Well, almost. Having my own dog isn't in the cards right now, but I'm always happy to dogsit.

Farewell, Chewy

Yesterday I gave Chewy back to the rescue. When I checked in, the counselor summed up my challenges with her as "too much dog."

If you've met Choo, you know that she does indeed have a big personality.

She could open the gate and run full speed through the neighborhood. She'd only poop off-leash (including inside my parents' house). She tried to climb on top of whoever was petting her, even when corrected. "Relentless" is how Jane described her. Choo and I wrestled, sometimes literally, for dominance. For only 40 pounds, she is insanely strong. Too much dog.

So after obedience classes and many visits to the vet, I decided to give her up. She needs an alpha owner who can spend more time with her.

Goodbye, Choo. I miss you already. I miss your soft head and your love of Mr. Bill and the way you'd fall asleep when I pet your belly.

But because you're young, adorable, and sweet, you will make somebody a great companion. A perfect companion. For somebody, that lucky one, you will be exactly the right amount of dog. 

Oh good, Chewy, finally a collar that works!

The vet gave Chewy a soft blue collar, which she had to wear for two weeks. 

It worked! I'd keep flipping it back, but still, it did the job.

Maybe the real news isn't that the collar worked, but that Choo's surgery did. No more licking or scooting or strange contorting.

Oh happy spay!

Oh no, Chewy, not the cervical collar!

I really thought this was it: The cervical collar allows Choo her peripheral vision, and she can move and eat normally while wearing it. It seems like the least disruptive of the protective collars.

The only downside? It doesn't work. She can still lick herself.

Maybe I need to buy a bigger size. But an inch taller still seems like no match for a persistent (and super-flexible) dog.

Oh no, Chewy, not bad manners at brunch!

Choo loves people and food, and nowhere is this more evident than at brunch. When Dana and Kelsey came over, Choo got on her hind legs and tried to sniff our plates. We weren't overly troubled by this (some of us may have even been charmed). Bacon in her mouth? No problem, we took it. But after a brief house tour, we came back down to find her eating the top of the quiche. Sigh.

Mary also met Chewy over brunch, and Choo thought fit to give kisses and try to get very close to the food. We foiled her. But bothering guests while they ate was starting to become a habit. And who wants to push plates around the table while wrestling a smallish yet muscular dog?

Recently Pat came over for brunch. After we'd cleared the dishes, he walked back into the dining room to find Choo on the table. On all fours, sniffing my coffee. For real, Chewy? (And yes, I know I need to be more alpha than responding with, "For real, Chewy?")

Choo is fearless, treading that fine line between confidence and dominance.

We're working on her boundaries.

Oh no, Chewy, not the cone!

Puppy vaginitis, it's no walk in the park.

The vet said Chewy would need to wear a cone for two weeks and take an antibiotic. Choo didn't seem to mind her inflatable Cloud Collar. She could still cuddle, play with toys, and use her peripheral vision.

So imagine my dismay when I found she had punctured the collar. Nice knowing you, soft and comfy neck pillow.

But I had a plastic cone, so I asked Choo if she'd mind wearing it. Sure, it amplifies her snoring and somehow collects bits of food and grass. And when she bangs into my legs, ouch. But it works.

So imagine my dismay — yes, again — when I saw she had detached it and was wearing it like a shield.

We're going to try one more option: a cervical collar I'm hoping will be the best solution. Work with me, Choo.

Chewy's milestone

On both of my walks with Chewy today, she peed on other people's lawns. This is real progress!

Since I adopted her, Chewy had only done her business off leash. So when she did a quick little squat on our morning walk, I praised her. And again tonight!

She didn't act like it was newsworthy, but I called my parents to share her accomplishment. Good girl, Choo!

Oh no, Chewy, not my only pair of black ankle boots!

Chewy pulled out a bit of zipper on one of my black boots. It was annoying but still wearable as long as I didn't try to zip it all the way up. But then I forgot to put the boots away, and she destroyed the heel.

Ah, Choo.

On the plus side, she's gotten really good at high fiving. We just need to find socially acceptable situations where she can do it.

Oh no, Chewy, don't cry!

During Yukie's visit last week, Chewy napped on the bed and couch and armchair. Now my little snoozer likes to curl up between the pillow and headboard.

Her love of furniture does not include her crate. When I put treats — even special ones like the peanut butter Kong — there, she creeps closer but whimpers. Sometimes she runs out of the room.

We'll be working on a few things together at our dog manners class, and the crate is on my wish list. I'll need lots of positive reinforcement to encourage this. Lo and behold, Dana, Kelsey, and Lora threw a celebration in Chewy's honor, filled with treats, toys, and an adorable jar. I cried, it was so thoughtful.

My Chewlio Iglesias cried for different reasons. She's finding her voice — perhaps she is part hound?

How Honey became Chewy

Honeybun is a cute name for my new friend: She gives slurpy (almost syrupy) kisses and is not picky about where. Ears, eyelids, thighs, she loves to smooch.

Yet "Honeybun" doesn't exactly roll off the tongue, so we considered other names.

Brioche. Toffee. Challah (Holla!).

But none quite worked.

You know what else Bun loves? Chewing. Leashes, buttons, fingers, toes, the arm of the sofa. She is gentle but insistent, delighted to bring a running shoe or shower sandal onto the bed (that's my bed, by the way).

And so Chewy it is.

Adopting Honey

I've been wanting to adopt a dog, but the timing hasn't been right — my knee surgery, the weather (unusually cold!), and my parents' kitchen remodel felt like a perfect storm of obstacles. So I mostly looked online, for medium-sized mutts.

I received a listing for a border collie mix, a blonde girl named Mercy. She cocked her head just so; worth an application, I decided.

A day later, Anna from Chicago Canine Rescue asked about my approach to dog training and when I could visit the shelter. Wednesday, it turned out. Why wait until the weekend?

I drove to Chicago to meet Mercy, who was first on my introduction list. "You could name her Marcy," Kelsey had said. (Adorable!) But after a few awkward minutes it was clear Mercy wasn't comfortable around me.

Yet Anna and Hannah encouraged me to meet whoever I wanted. They were super knowledgeable and open to answering my many questions. So I met eight dogs.

Esperanza, a sato, was on the short list. (By the way, I learned a lot about satos from my many talks with Meryl from The Sato Project. She's their adoption and foster coordinator, and she not only knows a lot about the dogs, but she'll figure out your personality as well.) In Puerto Rico, Esperanza had stayed by the side of an injured dog, and I liked her loyalty.

But after almost three hours at the shelter, I also felt like I couldn't bear to leave Cinder, a gentle 40-pound black lab mix who rested her chin on my knee whenever I stopped petting her. She must have been practicing her soulful gazing.

It was hard to choose only one dog. But the first dog I'd had a connection with that day was Honey. In her profile, it said she "greets strangers with confidence." Indeed, she did: kissing, licking, waiting for belly rubs. "Pouring it on," as Hannah said. Honey seemed to love people, dogs, and toys, and I couldn't resist her playful spirit.

I never realized that adopting a dog comes down to not adopting other dogs. But Honey, who looks like a miniature German shepherd, was incredibly sweet. She was the one, my little Honeybun.

Goodbye, Papaya

Today was Papaya's last day.

Unlike with Ginger, who had to depart rather suddenly, I had a few days to make a decision about Papaya. On Monday, she had trouble standing up. The swelling in her back left leg might have also been bone cancer — but I didn't need to know for sure, because she would not be getting better.

Pops had been staying at my parents' house while I recovered from knee surgery. And it so it went: They continued to take loving care of her, giving her narcotics, feeding her ice cream, and not getting annoyed when she barged into the bathroom. (That never got old for her.) She helped herself to two bagels from my parents' dining room table. While they were home. She was still very much herself.

This is the last photo I took of her, when we arrived at the vet's office. You can see the cowlick on the right side of her neck (where she's leaning on my crutches). I never trimmed that because I thought it made her look unique — and if she ever got lost, it would be an easy way to identify her.

But she never got lost. All she ever wanted was to be near you. "You" could be me, my parents, my friends, the mailman, or anyone with food. Pops, you made everyone feel loved, and we will miss you.

Oh no, Papa, not low selfie esteem!

Pops has always been suspicious of cameras. She'll usually look away.

But I wanted to take some selfies, sans moi, on the couch. Even though the images are pretty grainy, I love how cute she looks with her black gumdrop nose.

(It took me a couple of views to notice that her tongue is hanging out: "Wassuuup!")

Plus I think she looks pretty spry for a 14-year-old dog. Her eyes are bright and her fur is still gorgeous. She's incredibly inquisitive for an older lady, particularly when there's food around. If you're cooking or eating, she's there.

This angle is slimming, don't you think?

Happy 14th birthday, Papaya!

Today was Pops' birthday: 14 years old (or 98, in people time!).

I almost didn't post this first photo because she looks a bit frail and off balance. But sometimes she is, because she's 14 years old, for pup's sake!

As a senior, she's getting fussy: no interest in the chicken-flavored Nylabone I gave her (she used to enjoy chomping on those), and only mild attention to unwrapping her new frisbee. Gnawing and shredding things don't hold the appeal they once did.

Now, she prefers staring. Not into space, thankfully, but into your soul. And staring while we eat. My dad does give her noodles and ice cream (and today, potato chips), so her begging has paid off. This is but one photo in the cheesecake series.

I'm glad my good buddy is developing new interests. Cheers to your birthday, Pops!

Pops' visit with Sandy and Jeff

Pops got the royal treatment when she stayed with Sandy and Jeff.

Sandy updated me every so often about their guest's activities:

She can catch a pasta noodle in the air with ease, she knows all the hot spots on the block for her walk, wakes me up gently peeking up by me in bed then just looking at me with that cute face saying "Mornin! Here I am! Ready for my walk and breakfast!"

Pops was mostly polite, relaxing during the Australian Open and only peeing in the house once (not counting the two times before I left). I'm so glad she received such wonderful care. And so did I — dinner together before my trip, and tea and homemade chocolate chip cookies upon my return. Thanks, my friends!

Oh no Papa, not more car hijinx!

When I pulled up to the vet's office last weekend, Papa tried to jump out of the car — from the front, which is a no-no.

She slipped trying to climb through to the back seat. Come on, Papa!

Another recent car incident: When Mom slammed on the brakes, Papa got tangled under the seat cover. She did manage to extricate herself by the time they got to their destination.

Papa, enough with the acting out in the car!