tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149937762012-01-25T18:52:31.517-08:00A dog's-eye view of the human-run worldHanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.comBlogger611100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1164429818815030572006-11-24T20:37:00.000-08:002007-07-15T16:26:54.014-07:00

What'd they call this place again? Getting trapped in a small metal chamber is not a dog's idea of a holiday. And then it suddenly got worse. The damned thing moved. It was if something invisible was pressing down on my back. My legs legs went rigid, my nails instinctively clawed into the carpeting, and my back arched, bracing for the worse."It's okay, sweetie," said Molly.Actually, it wasn't.

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1164429451990306602006-11-24T20:23:00.000-08:002006-11-24T20:37:32.013-08:00

I apologize for my long absence and for any worries I've caused readers. Any explanations or excuses would be inadequate, so I'll resist them. Now, back to our irregularly scheduled program.

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1155088447157368072006-08-08T17:01:00.000-07:002006-08-09T08:29:58.816-07:00

When humans get tense, their dogs get nervous, too. So, I was getting plenty edgy in the back seat as Mike hunched over the steering wheel, shooting his questions through the darkness at Molly and hurling rebukes at the weaving headlights and tail lights whizzing all around us. "What was the number of that exit again? Yo! Get off my ass, you Lexis-lusting, bumper-hugging, more-money-than-brains

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1154313151847246952006-07-30T19:27:00.000-07:002006-07-31T11:14:10.606-07:00

They tried to tell me, but I tend to trust my nose and eyes and experience over the endless verbosity of humanity. As all the animal kingdom knows, humans tend to talk and talk and then talk some more. They talk when greeting, talk when parting, and talk most of the time in between. They turn on their televisions to watch other people talk and, when they're done with that, they listen to talk on

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1153104611407602952006-07-16T18:25:00.000-07:002006-07-16T19:51:44.546-07:00

Head-hanging apologies for my desultory dlogging. I'm home now but was dog tired after a sojourn to the North, which I'll describe to you by and by. Home has never looked so fine to me. Here's just a bit of doggerel on the subject of home, a concept that no dog every truly appreciates until he's been on an odyssey of his own:HomeHome is where the dog is,hot breath hankering for small signs,

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1152036078556795282006-07-04T10:58:00.000-07:002006-07-04T11:01:18.583-07:00

Just a quick note to say I've been away on vacation and will get to the dlog soon. Have a happy 4th!

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1149967145493935442006-06-10T12:17:00.000-07:002006-06-18T09:02:37.870-07:00

Before I embark on what is basically a dog's op-ed piece, I just wanted to say thanks very much for all those birthday and post-attack well wishes. As so many of you know, we dogs love attention. More to the point, though, we're also deeply grateful and loyal beasts. And so I am very grateful to all of you.As for what I think about the attack, well, I've been chewing it over for a while now. It's

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1148956558448958182006-06-03T15:29:00.000-07:002006-06-04T10:28:22.763-07:00

Forgive me, friends, if this post is longer and more disturbing than my usual fare. I've wrestled with how - or indeed whether - to write this, and what images to post with it. So, let me just warn that you might need a stout heart to read the rest of this.I'm going to describe what happened several weeks ago when Molly and I went for a stroll around the glorified retention pond where I've been

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1149388029635441062006-06-02T19:25:00.000-07:002006-06-03T19:27:09.636-07:00

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1148516034078826682006-05-24T17:00:00.000-07:002006-05-26T12:06:35.023-07:00

Just a quick note: It was my birthday yesterday. And a fine day it was, complete with carrot cake and vanilla ice cream. Before dinner we headed out to my favorite bayside park for a swim and Frisbee toss. Then Mike and Molly were thoughtful enough to wrap up a brand-spanking-new duck toy (with a quack so realistic sounding it gives a Labrador pause) and a giant bac'n cheese cookie that I must

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1148259513992138062006-05-21T16:15:00.000-07:002006-06-04T20:41:55.313-07:00

The pride of people is wondrously amusing to your average canine. I love to sit on the rug in the bedroom and watch the humans watch themselves in the mirror. They are oh so attentive to the details: the tone of skin, the shape of eyebrow, the thickness of lash, the hair in nose and whisker on chin. Vanity, thy name is human. The only one who adores you as much as your dog is, well, yourself.My

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1148780616946867472006-05-14T18:37:00.000-07:002006-05-27T18:43:36.966-07:00

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1147533402061638232006-05-13T07:45:00.000-07:002006-05-19T09:13:57.350-07:00

I believe in the wisdom of wood storks. They remind me of a book I chewed on as a pup, one of Mike's old anthropology texts (wonderful musty flavor) about people called Kaluli. They believe that some animals, particularly birds, are the visible reflections of human spirits, spirits who reside in the eerie wilds of the Papuan rain forest.Leave it to humans to see themselves in the creatures around

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1146612388222727002006-05-02T16:25:00.000-07:002006-05-13T12:37:51.833-07:00

A lot of humans think there are no seasons in Florida but the dogs here know there are plenty. There's tourist season, for example, when Mike finds it hard to locate parking at the beach and red-skinned Canadians mutter under their breath at Labradors galumphing about in their native habitat. Or there's football season, which many a dog finds loud and alarming, with humans spewing strong emotions

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140313869018489792006-04-23T17:50:00.000-07:002006-04-24T09:20:21.586-07:00

We dogs aren't really much into Deconstructionism, unless you're talking about pulling apart the occasional cushion or leather shoe. But news of the coyote invasions of New York City have put me in a postmodern frame of mind.Maybe you've read how, about a month ago, a coyote was seen wandering Central Park in New York City. Evidently, the 35-pound Hal - as they decided to name him - was viewed as

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1145197038786128392006-04-16T06:49:00.000-07:002006-04-16T15:44:06.740-07:00

The first thing that strikes me is how quietly they congregate in the semi-darkness. They arrive singley or in small groups like tall, elegant shorebirds silhouetted against the lighter color of the sand. Some unfold beach chairs and speak with one another in soft voices; others just stand silently, their hands folded in front of them or behind. I can hear the small waves lapping on the beach.At

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140450505967430822006-04-08T07:47:00.000-07:002006-04-21T05:49:30.020-07:00

Transcript from Hank's Interview with Oompah G. WoompahOompah: HanktheDog is here and I've got to say that it's hard for me to speak with you because I'm feeling betrayed. More to the point, I suspect that you've misled your many tens of readers through your online misrepresentations. There's evidence from in-depth reporting carried out by MyPoorSmokingDogs.Com that you've "exaggerated" a number

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1143947503966354022006-04-01T18:22:00.000-08:002006-04-02T10:51:53.770-07:00

Did those clever scientists and engineers ever really consider what their Faustian technology would lead to? Did they ever visualize the misapplication of their genius?I think not. Those brilliant Japanese engineers with their penchant for building the best cameras in the world never really thought through what price would be paid by a wide assortment of dogs, cats and new-born babies the whole

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140365240352140672006-03-25T08:07:00.000-08:002006-03-25T20:10:51.950-08:00

"So learn from this and understand true values. I who tell you have wintered into wisdom." -- Hrothgar in the Seamus Heaney translation of BeowulfOver the last year or so, I've noticed that humans have started making not-so-veiled references to my age. Just for instance: several blocks down the road, there live a couple of frollicking, rollicking Labs who often greet Mike and Lucy and me with the

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1142188254705813222006-03-12T10:24:00.000-08:002006-03-13T18:03:13.896-08:00

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1141513646547872772006-03-04T13:42:00.000-08:002006-03-08T15:02:05.390-08:00

Do humans really love?It's one of those philosophical and scientific questions that the more dogged among us sometimes ask ourselves. In this instance, the question is spurred by an entry (a series of entries, actually) in a blog that I read called Dogma, written by Gina Spadafori. (Mike has her Dogs for Dummies book, a fact that's likely made him a bit easier for me to train.)Apparently, there

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140419715485183762006-02-28T22:37:00.000-08:002006-02-28T20:44:52.156-08:00

It's said that seeing one's doppelganger is bad luck, and I hope I never find out. After all, my own mini-dachshund doppelganger can be tough enough.When Lucy Lou was past puppyhood and into her adolescence, she came to stay with us for a month as Grandma recovered from surgery. Since she was no long the crazed lip-biter of her puppyhood, I had no real qualms. I mainly tried to ignore her.But

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1141437389376146892006-02-27T17:05:00.000-08:002006-03-03T17:57:22.246-08:00

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140737948633203492006-02-23T15:27:00.000-08:002006-02-23T17:13:53.816-08:00

Somewhere around 5 o'clock every day, I go into Mike's office. I don't do anything special, mind you, just stand there and observe. Now, a lot of homo sapiens don't truly fully appreciate the power of the stare (as opposed to staring at screens, which they're all too good at). Humans are prejudiced toward flipping switches, pressing buttons, pushing pedals, wielding tools. In short, they're all

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1140313841075941452006-02-18T17:50:00.000-08:002006-02-22T12:02:08.590-08:00

Look, I'm just a regular dog. I put my harness on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. I drool, I snore, and I'm subject to an array of sometimes unpleasant (at least from the human perspective) bodily emanations.So having to serve as a role model is hard for me. Yet, that's just the kind of pressure I'm under when Lucy Lou comes to visit.Lucy Lou is Grandma's miniature dachshund, and

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1139963054672868342006-02-14T15:36:00.001-08:002006-02-14T16:46:27.510-08:00

-- But it's no use, says he. Force, hatred, history, all that. That's not life for men and women, insult and hatred. And everybody knows that it's the very opposite of that that is really life.--What? says Alf.-- Love, says Bloom. I mean the opposite of hatred. From James Joyce's Ulysses

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1139540100484470782006-02-09T16:47:00.000-08:002006-02-12T07:57:37.000-08:00

The Tao of the Lab is wordless,though each breath holds meaning.Without command, obedience.Without direction, guidance.Each day, Lab chops water.Forelegs and hindlegspart rough wavesor divide quiet pools.Yet the lake remains one,the ocean whole,the Lab buoyant, sustained.Each day, Lab carries wood. Keisaku sculpted by wind water sun,knocking knees, scraping calves,making sleepy tourists winceor

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1137345066786858052006-02-05T08:59:00.000-08:002006-02-16T08:46:42.630-08:00

Sometimes humans can even get on the nerves of your average happy-go-lucky Labrador. Mike was giving me a hard time last week at the beach for not being able to find my floppy disc. "Find it, boy! Hank, find it!" he was saying. But what'd he think I was doing already, sniffing around, my haunches going in circles? I just couldn't remember where I'd put the dang thing. "Come on, Hank, you just had

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1137348599737901622006-01-30T22:30:00.000-08:002006-02-01T04:22:28.013-08:00

Now that I'm a dlogger and sometimes get e-mail, I've been thinking about it in relation to pee-mail. I've noticed there are both similarities and differences.1) They're both better when they come in trickles. If you're getting too much of either from somebody, it's likely they're just showing off and trying to pretend they own the whole neighborhood.2) In the morning, there's always fresh

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1137344376594347072006-01-24T22:58:00.000-08:002006-01-25T09:14:43.790-08:00

Some dogs, I've noticed, hold little regard for the sky. Planes go by and they take no notice. A heron soars and they remain blase. Even human objects thrown - sticks, tennis balls, floppy discs - are regarded with almost cat-like disdain by these aerially challenged canines.Well, I have my flaws, but a nonchalance for the denizens of the great above is not among them. From the time I was a pup,

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1137881128871888592006-01-21T13:50:00.000-08:002006-01-22T18:10:16.123-08:00

They say every dog has its day. Well, in my case, that day is usually a beach day. At such times, I am transformed. I go from "Hank the Simple and Schlumpy" to "Hank the Buff Beach Lab," sea water glistening on my golden coat as I bound over the sand like some non-silicon-enhanced, interspecies member of Baywatch. No longer the poor little Shoeshine Boy of the Sunshine State, I become not bird

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1137345409296721982006-01-17T07:00:00.000-08:002006-01-16T20:17:11.703-08:00

We all have our moments of goofiness. The thing is, humans try to play down those moments. Labradors, on the other hand, relish them.Mike and Molly are always pointing out my goofiness. There's the goofy way I walk around the kitchen even while munching my dry food, spilling it along the linoleum as I go. (See, I just don't want to miss any action, so I like eating while keeping my eyes on my

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1136777740282759372006-01-14T13:05:00.000-08:002006-01-16T10:45:57.556-08:00

It's a higgledy piggledy world out there, neither safe for man nor beast. The other day I got mugged in the park - or chomped, rather. Right in the snout.It was a little humilitating, actually. I wound up running back to Molly with a bloody nose, like a little kid on the playground after getting roughed up by bullies. I thought I was old enough to avoid such nonsense but I guess not. Still not

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1135618789613092862005-12-26T08:54:00.000-08:002006-01-06T09:32:26.523-08:00

Yeah, yeah. Enough with the pictures. Let's open these bad boys already. What the? Hey, I don't remember asking for rodents this year!Okay, okay, so I let them do the ribbon thing. Just to show how gifted I am.Man, Christmas morning sure can take it out of you. The squirrel and I finally tired of the chase and decided to do a little bonding.After a rest, I was up for a trip to the beach, where I

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1134947958539342572005-12-18T14:49:00.000-08:002005-12-21T19:23:13.926-08:00

I somehow feel it coming on, even before Mike says, "Jason's coming today." When he says it, though, I rush to the French doors and use my snout to push aside the curtains, checking to see if he's coming up the walkway. Not yet. Calm down. Not yet.So I lie down again, though the feeling builds. I doze by the door, waiting so long that I forget that I'm waiting ... or what I'm waiting for. Yet

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1123536523290227042005-12-11T14:28:00.000-08:002005-12-21T19:25:26.340-08:00

Unlike humans, we canines don't think we're all created equal. Me, I tend to be polite to just about any dog. Still, I don't feel particularly submissive to (or even interested in) that Mini-Pinscher dancing around my heels. Though I do grow rather carefully respectful when some big ole Wolfhound decides to sniff my behind. We dogs know equality is overrated and that figuring out our position in

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1133147616993834752005-11-27T18:30:00.000-08:002005-11-28T18:12:45.000-08:00

Molly would never stop growling at Mike as he slips me a supply of succulent, crisped slips of golden turkey skin, the kind that makes your nose drip with gustatory joy(Not coincidentally) I'd fill our house with enough Labrador gas to make it rise as high as the HindenburgMike would always be groaning and belching and lumbering about with his belt unbuckled, like a dazed, middle-class,

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1132787136433874792005-11-23T20:30:00.000-08:002005-12-12T19:44:34.373-08:00

No one does gratitude better than a dog, so I'm here to give voice to my blessings on the eve of Thanksgiving. Thank you, readers, for coming to visit occasionally and leaving your comments. I suspect that blogging pets and the people who read these blogs are a breed apart, given to more whimsy, generosity and a gentleness of spirit than most others.I'm also thankful for Blogger.com and all the

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1132413985082510712005-11-19T06:58:00.000-08:002005-11-19T21:22:18.133-08:00

Most people don't fully appreciate the care they receive through their CDHPs, or canine-directed health providers. Does your hound sniff your crotch, lick your nose, smell your breath, and bother you for attention when you're feeling busy, blue or stressed? If so, then it's likely you've been the beneficiary of the kind of patient-friendly housecall that human doctors stopped providing decades

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1131765819899764842005-11-11T18:57:00.000-08:002005-11-14T17:21:09.630-08:00

I've been pawing through some holiday catalogues and have come away feeling a tad exploited lately. Do you ever get the feeling that you're just being used as a pet object? You know what I mean. People seem to notice you mostly for your looks. They're always saying stuff like, "Oh, look how adorable he's being" or "You're just too cute" or "You're just so achingly handsome you make me weak in

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1131243635611162312005-11-05T16:43:00.000-08:002005-11-07T09:47:39.326-08:00

I guess they don't call them "pet names" for nothing. They're the rain of monikers that comes pouring down on the heads of many an innocent hound. Sure, sure. There's the "main name," but then there are all the others, as one writer confessed in a recent article about her dog Yofie. I think I know how poor little "Yofadoodle" feels. For me, it's seldom just Hank. It's Hank the Tank, Handsome

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1130707383197065822005-10-30T12:54:00.000-08:002005-11-02T19:46:20.110-08:00

A few years ago, I was ambling through the neighborhood with Molly, responding with my usual social gusto to pee-mail, when suddenly I came upon a new dog. I was startled, the hair rising instantly on my back because this strange-looking cur was down on it's haunches and baring its fangs.So I did what any intelligent, cautious Labrador would do under the circumstances. I gave the crazy beast a

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1130610236527912332005-10-29T10:14:00.000-07:002005-11-13T09:12:17.910-08:00

I find humans to be spooky on Halloween. They tend to turn into monsters. And I'm not just talking about the masks and capes and creepy get-ups they wear. I'm talking about the fact they want us to wear that stuff, too. I recently read that about 10% of people who have dogs dress them up in costumes for Halloween. Is there any canine on earth really panting to become Yoda Dog? Darth Vader Dog?

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1129510345267589392005-10-23T22:00:00.000-07:002005-10-29T10:12:16.133-07:00

Some of the best parts of a dog's life are spent in eager anticipation. We anticipate the morning walk, the trip in the car, the special treat brought home in the doggie bag. We can barely contain ourselves when humans swing back their arms to throw a stick, or when a cat prepares to jump from a fence, or when a duck falls into the icy water after the boom of the gun. We Labs literally go tense

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1128908358828784592005-10-10T12:30:00.000-07:002005-10-11T11:43:34.076-07:00

Freedom is the taste of speed on the tongue, of eyes half closed against wind that flaps and flutters your ears around your neck. Head out the car window, a succession of scents overwhelms you. The fried chicken restaurant, diesel fumes, rotting seaweed on the beach, the sweaty men in the road selling newspapers, gas station pumps, and dumpsters...it's endless and blending, a fast flowing, fluid

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1128195531228540682005-10-01T12:37:00.000-07:002005-10-10T17:34:51.986-07:00

Dogs go glum when people dress up. That's because dogs are plenty smart enough to know that their people don't generally wing frisbees or pick up dog poop while they're wearing sports jackets or pantyhose.So Sunday mornings can be a bit of a downer for your average dog. It's nothing against religion, mind you. It's just that dogs and dogma don't usually mix. If it's true that all dogs go to

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1127787215213346222005-09-26T18:33:00.000-07:002005-09-28T17:01:41.320-07:00

Dear Grandma,Greetings from Florida!We sure miss you, and your little dog Lucy Lou, too! We miss you especially at low tide, which I know you love, when all that is covered comes to be revealed. The murky, tail-high water becomes sand laid bare or only dewclaw shallow for a long way out, almost to the sandbars at the mouth of the bay.Everything goes muddy and squishy and just the way Labradors

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1127210153648330832005-09-20T05:30:00.000-07:002005-09-21T19:54:08.870-07:00

I CELEBRATE myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.-- Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass Not so long ago, I thought I was by myself, a lone Labrador in an Internet galaxy populated only by human beings, numerous as stars in the sky. In retrospect I realize I was being parochial, even Hankocentric. Where there is one, there are likely to be

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1126974948776660932005-09-17T09:24:00.000-07:002005-09-19T19:05:57.333-07:00

"There are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of dogs that we'll never get to," said Larry Roberts, a volunteer from Atlanta. - MySA.com, September 15, 2005A Note from MikeSearching and rescuing is something that seems to be encoded deep into the genes of many a dog. Even some untrained Labradors like our Hank can barely restrain themselves from coming to the aid of family members who're

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1126837354419279922005-09-15T22:30:00.000-07:002005-09-16T07:32:33.026-07:00

People leave, dogs wait. It's an old rule. You'd think we'd be used to by now.Usually, it works out fine. We sleep safely. Then the people return and we shake the sleep out of our bodies and all is right with the world.But with Katrina, it was different. The winds whipped and people left, maybe thinking they'd be back soon. Except they weren't.The photo that sticks out for me was not on the TV

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1126756266694659782005-09-14T21:47:00.000-07:002005-09-15T13:37:51.903-07:00

"Mandatory evacuation orders won't ever work until we have enough shelters for Floridians and their dogs, cats and birds. Leaving an animal to face certain death is not an acceptable compromise" - Lucy Morgan, St. Petersburg TimesThe television had lots and lots of terrible Katrina stories about humans. Humans on roofs. Humans hanging from helicopter ropes. Fighting, shooting and looting humans.

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1126543549388254552005-09-12T17:45:00.000-07:002005-09-19T16:53:10.526-07:00

I've been putting off dlogging about Katrina for the same reason that I avoid a mean pitbull in the neighborhood: it just seems dangerous and disturbing. But I'm a Gulfcoast Florida Lab and can't duck the hurricane subject forever. Even Labs have to face hard realities sometimes.Normally, we Labs love foul weather. Mike puts on his shiny, slick poncho thing, looking like a green phantom, and my

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1124236687391813062005-09-11T16:33:00.000-07:002005-09-20T14:56:26.146-07:00

Dogs are not as big on irony as, say, cats, but even we get that it's ironic how humans pride themselves on their intelligence and yet, in a lot of situations, are not exactly bright. You might even say they're senseless. There's just an awful lot your average human doesn't know. Like the meaning of anosmia, for instance. I once said to Mike, "So if blind means not seeing and deaf means not

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1127079639491106722005-09-01T01:40:00.000-07:002005-09-24T08:44:17.416-07:00

Me on the beach with my floppy disc

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1123949851799277782005-08-13T08:45:00.000-07:002005-08-16T16:30:56.880-07:00

In the morning when Molly rises, I cannot control my tail. It wallops the wall, thumps the bed, and drums the armoire behind me. As I stumble sleepily toward her, cymbal sounds ring off the blinds. And Molly sings out my many names -- Cutie Pie, Honeybunch, and Sweet, Sweet Doggie Boy. A morning duet, played in percussives. Embarrassing, yes, and yet...In the morning when Molly rises, we wake the

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1123378190607244802005-08-12T08:30:00.000-07:002005-10-29T12:28:51.280-07:00

We Labs aren't as cool as cats or nasty as rats or hot tempered as Chows with their alarming blue tongues. We aren't the biggest or the baddest or the smartest or the saddest. So how come we're at the top of the list of the number of dogs registered with the American Kennel Club?One fellow says it's cause people have big houses now and want to fill them up with big dogs, like Labradors. He came

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1123210231856258782005-08-06T17:30:00.000-07:002005-08-16T17:04:07.770-07:00

When I first heard the humans had cloned a dog the other day, I didn't know what it meant. I know cone, like in ice cream. It's a nice word. But I also know claw, as in cats. It's a bad word. Putting the "cl" of claw with the "one" of cone seems strange and scary and as peoply as power tools. It just smells suspicious.Then I found out "cloning" meant they somehow made an Afghan hound mate with

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1122949382853365062005-08-03T09:00:00.000-07:002005-08-03T14:23:13.966-07:00

Molly says we live in a doggist country, but I'm not sure. After all, most people I meet say some of their best friends are dogs. But Molly says to just look around me. Every you go, she says, there are signs saying "no dogs" this and "no pets" that. No dogs allowed in restaurants, in theaters, in stores, in office buildings. "They treat dogs like animals," she says. (I say nothing.) And then she

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1122931409774631332005-08-02T17:55:00.000-07:002005-08-16T16:28:27.586-07:00

I discovered a terrible thing this morning: some dogs don't get a paper! All this time, I thought it was the right of every dog and now I find out even my buddy Sandy doesn't get a paper. This worries me, and Labradors are not easily worried. My human Mike has many, many worries. It's like his brain has a bad case of fleas. But now one of his worry fleas - the worry that fewer people are getting

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1122901382284555942005-08-01T05:55:00.000-07:002005-08-16T16:28:01.146-07:00

A good day doesn't begin with a beep or a buzz or a bell or a radio drone. A good day begins with the sun slanting through the slats of blinds. It begins with a Labrador tail softly thumping on the carpet as the humans slowly awake. Mike calls these days the weekend, but there's nothing weak about them. They're the best dogdays. They're slow to start but as fine as a deep toilet drink after a

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14993776.post-1122858012658535592005-07-31T17:54:00.000-07:002005-09-20T15:39:25.423-07:00

The other day my person Mike showed me an old cartoon in a magazine he reads called the New Yorker. There are these two dogs, see, and one's typing on a computer, and that dog says, "On the Internet, nobody knows you're a dog." Mike thought it was hilarious but it got me thinking. Why not proclaim our doghood? How are they ever going to know our point of view if we don't establish our online

HanktheDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13639753046501207705noreply@blogger.com0