Spa Day/Happy Holidays!

 Not much new going on here.  Jamie is working night shift and so very, very tired that she's not been able to update this blog as much as she'd like.

Christmas was uneventful here but I did get a basted center bone and yum, I love those things.  Almost as much as power cords (which I have an unfortunate proclivity to chew).

I got a "spa" day today at the groomer's.  Here's my "before" picture:

"Oliver Twist ain't got nothing on my super-duper pauper look."

And after:

"Ok, you may take my picture, silly human."

"Are you blinded by the cuteness factor yet?  No?  Well you darn well should be. "

Did I tell you I'm nine months old now?  Yes, and right on cue, I seem to be going through the "terrible teens."  But with a face like mine, I'm sure Jamie will forgive me.  Because I'm that cute.  

Ziggy Update

Jamie here, filling in for Ziggy, who is currently too busy playing with his toys and causing a general ruckus to be bothered with such boring, mundane tasks as updating his own blog.

It's been about a month since I got Ziggy, and just this week he finally started sleeping through the night.  At the first few nights, I was up all night, every few hours, taking him outside.  Knock on wood, I hope he continues this trend of sleeping through the night.  (He wakes up around dawn, meaning I'm up around 0530 or 0600--this doesn't amuse me, but what can I do about it?  Nothing.  Just stifle a yawn, grab his leash, and get sweet puppy kisses in return.)

He also prefers to eat out of puzzle toys, and has totally figured out his Nina Ottosson Dog Brick Toy and Kong Wobbler.  Give him fresh dog food in a bowl, even the good stuff, and he'll eat a bite or two and then walk away.  Give him stale (ok, so I don't really feed him stale food) kibble in his Kong Wobbler, and he's all over it.  Go figure.

We're still working on leash walking.  For the most part, he doesn't pull on the leash.  Oh no.  Not Ziggy.  That would be too blase.  No, he has to balk.  I like to joke that I take him not on a walk, but a balk.  He wants to go where he pleases, and sometimes he'll have the attention span to more or less walk with me, and other times, not so much.

Also figured out he hates downpours.  Swell. A dog, who lives in Seattle, which is like, Rain City Capitol, and he hates rain.

Ditto with bath time, nail clipping, and brushing.  Lots of fun we're having these days.

But he is a fun little chap, and with any luck, one day, we'll get to that wonderful place called adulthood sanity.

Signing off,

Jamie

The Eleventh Hour.

... or rather, week!  I'm eleven weeks old today!  And what a ride it's been!

Here's some photos of me:

Why yes, this purple thing is delicious . Why do you ask?

Yes?

I can't look any cuter than this.

Oh wait, perhaps I can.

Ziggy Zonked Out.

It's a hard life; gotta get my zzzzz's while I can.

Having a ball!

Here's me playing!  I love to play!

He who dies with the most toys, wins.

Here's me playing with my Nina Ottosson Dog Brick Toy.  It was on sale at Amazon, so Jamie bought me the toy.    I am ten weeks old as of this past Thursday, and boy, am I a spitfire!  Always on the go!

And here I am, looking like a happy puppy should!

In which I play with my tuggr leash

What are you looking at?

Sitting pretty, no?

Attack puppy!

I tried to get cuter than this, but it's just not possible.

 

Oh wait, it totally is.

 And so forth.         

This is me grinning.  I've made my day. 

Chilly Bone

Just for kicked back Sunday giggles, here's a picture of me with my Chilly Bone (Jamie doesn't give it to me Chilly--it just kind of ends up cold and soggy):

I always make sure to look super petulant right before Jamie clicks the shutter!

Can't beat the real thing.

In which I conquer a plastic Coke bottle:

(N.B. Try not to become nauseated by Jamie's shaky-cam videography). 

Ziggy Nation

I've been here with Jamie for almost a week.  And what a week it's been! 

In a nutshell, I'm cute.  Totally and unabashedly cute.  Everybody wants to pet me.  And I love everybody.  Maybe a little too much with my sharky teeth, LOL. 

I still whine when I'm in my X pen.  Jamie seems to dislike this immensely, but I don't know why.  I'm just registering my Intense Disapproval, after all. 

But did I mention the cuteness?

Thought so ;-). 

Crossing paws

I have to admit.  I was giving Jamie a run for her money there, for a few days.  And I still might.

But I seem better this afternoon.

I whined.  And whined.  And whined. And whined. And whined.

Ad infinitum.

Not just at night when she put me in the crate (every hour, on the hour, wanting to go outside.  And Jamie willingly obliged.  SUCKER.)

When I was in my X pen in the kitchen, it didn't matter if Jamie was in the next room over in plain sight, I had to tell her how upset I was.  Frequently.  Loudly.  And more or less continuously.

And then somehow this afternoon, I seem to have pulled it together.  Toned it down a little.  Given her a break.  Maybe I'm starting to realize this place isn't for the birds, and I might like it here.  Maybe I realized she's not going to send me to live with birds (whatever that means.)  But I calmed down a mite.  Had fewer all out drama king fits.  Eased up a little, if you will.

But that's not saying I will tomorrow. (Plots in puppy fashion).

Kong is King

Jamie insists that I post yet another video In Which I Play With a Toy.  Seriously, does she think I have nothing else to do with my day?  Or you, dear viewer, with yours?

I guess the answer would be:  apparently not. 

So here's another video:

Watch it!  I dare ya!

Play Ball!

This video is probably about as much fun as watching paint dry, as videos go (I can't believe Jamie made me write that.  I am Ziggy.  I am fun and interesting by my very nature.  Phewey on Jamie, says I. )  

Ah ha!  Success!  I believe I will press "publish" now. 

Better than soap on a rope?

I know what you're thinking.  What on earth is that?

Well, it's one of these tied to one of these and it happens to be My Favorite Toy (of the Hour).

Jamie is on a list called westie-l on yahoogroups, and some nice lady suggested I might like chasing a toy on the ground, and she might like keeping all of her fingers and toes intact.

So, she tied a Kong Wubba (the soft, plush version) to a braided, felted leash that doubles as a tug toy and... instant Zigginator.  I hate to say it, but even this thing wears me out after a little while.  But it's so much fun while it lasts, and so much more fun than Jamie getting up and leaving in a middle of a game of "Let's see how fast I can ignore the toy in her hand and go for her fingers instead."  That's a bummer to play, trust me, young pups.

You don't need a special leash--even a rope would do, but it's nice to have a bit of length on the toy at this point, to save those fingers and toes she says are so important (what's so bad about paws and teeth?  Obviously works for me.  Now who's the evolutionary chump, hmmm? Ziggy, 1.  Jamie 0.  That's all I'm saying.)

Ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille

I sure hope someone can find me a better, more talented paparazzi.  And soon.  Before I start losing my puppyhood charm.  Jamie just doesn't have what it takes.  I look so sad in the picture.  So... confused as to why yet another picture is being taken.  It's not even a scenic background.

But, I am cute, non?*

*See, I can even speak  a little French.  And so young!  But really, Jamie says I shouldn't get a big head about this.  She is trying to remind me about the book-eating incident.  Well, how embarrassing.  Do I make her reveal her youthful indiscretions on a public blog? I think not.   

Bark and the world barks with you.

Whine, and you whine alone.

Jamie here.  Ziggy says he's not to be held liable for the photograph-less-ness boringness of this post, nor its egregiously maudlin content.  However, I can't resist.

Well, after three solid days of puppy owning, I think I'm finally kind of getting the hang of having a puppy.

Ok, that was an outright lie.

LOL.

What I did remind myself of this morning and this afternoon and about a hundred times already today is how much joy a puppy brings not just myself, but lots of people, and even though it's in a very small way, we can all use a little happiness every day, never mind in these tough times.

Seriously.

Taking Ziggy out in the front lawn?

Strangers can't help themselves. Walking by, they ooh and ahh about the puppy.  Having a crummy day? Take a puppy for a walk. People will give two flying crabapples about your day, but they will want to pet your puppy, smile at your puppy, stop and tell you about their puppy. And it will make you feel better, somehow, no matter how rotten your day has been.)

Trust me. The beginning of the week had some very crummy non-puppy stuff in
store for me. Having a puppy, being sleep deprived because of said puppy, and
worrying about doing everything right by the puppy--it didn't make the
non-puppy stuff easier, I will admit. It would have been easier this week to be
puppy free.

But you know what did help? Ironically... having a puppy! The sheer joy and amazement the puppy holds for every single little thing humbles you. It makes you more keenly aware of things we take for granted, like sunshine (ok, so no one ever takes sunshine for granted where I live!) and clean air and a little breeze rippling through the blades of grass. Heck, even a blade of grass is SUPER AMAZING AND YOUR PUPPY WOULD TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT IF HE COULD.  (And he does--just look at his face, alive in wonderment!)

Seriously. Take a puppy along for a spin if you can. You'll be amazed at how, "LOOK MA! IT'S THE *WORLD*! ISN"T IT GREAT?!?!?" she is.

(Ziggy even managed to make the staff's day at the vet on Monday, just by being small and precious and cute, and I imagine at a vet's office, that's a pretty tall order given all the small and precious and cute they probably see in a given day!)

Loving a puppy, doing all the housetraining making sure you do right by your puppy... it is hard work. It seems never-ending. And yet it isn't.

This time is finite, and one day your puppy won't be a puppy any more. People will nod at you and your wonderful old dog as you walk sedately (or not) down the street. But they probably won't run over and ask you to pet your puppy with an ill-supressed glimmer of childhood remembered in their eye.

Life will be comfortable with the dog, one day in the future. You'll forget what's it's like to coax a puppy down the block for twenty five minutes because he's so darn interested in the neighbor, your shoes, your ankle, the pavement, the bird, the sky, the... everything... You'll hopefully be cleaning up fewer messes. You won't make the mistake I did last night and forget to lock the kennel door, and wake up to a shredded obedience book (message, there, to momma, Ziggy?) and if you did, your stuff won't be damaged.

But you won't ever have the puppy time back again. It's a gift that way.

A gift and a joy.

Celebrate your puppies and love the dogs they become!

 

Pulp Fiction.

Hi, all.  This is Ziggy, quite possible Seattle's Cutest Puppy.

Seriously.

I get, "Awwww, cuuuuuuute puppy!" remakrs from people I don't even know.  Virtual strangers, who look like they might otherwise pass by Jamie without so much as a "have an apple," stop, lean over, and pat pat pat me on the head.  Well-mannered children even want to play with me.

And who wouldn't?

Roster of puppy activities, as documented by Jamie's somewhat lacking iphone skills.  (This would be a lot more interesting if I had command of her iphone.  Namely, I wouldn't be bothering you with pictures.  I would be telling you how much fun I had chewing half a grand worth of plastic and electronic bits.)

Any way.  I digress:  

I sleep:

I also lay in repose:

And I'm an expert in "crashing out":

Did I mention I also play?  I am a fiend?  And a human finger/toe/clothing seeking little missile.  Not that you can tell from any of my videos, as I'm having technical difficulties (hey, I am only a puppy folks; did you master web browsing, blogging and video-publishing all in the first 8 weeks of your life?  I rather thought not.)

I promise to get Jamie to rectify this fix this shortly.

Love,

Ziggy, who does more than sleep, I promise
  
P.S.  Jamie says something about having me "obedience trained."  There's that "training" thing she clearly can't disavow herself of.  Foolish woman.  If only I had opposable thumbs, I would not have left the kennel door open last night after a late night trip to the loo.  This "obedience" book, as Jamie has it, suffered said fate:

 
Book, zero.  Ziggy, one.   (And yes, Jamie woke up before I  managed to consume the whole dull cellullose lot.  Why do people keep these things around, any way?  So full of wood pulp boring.

Gotcha Day!

Today was my Gotcha Day, as they say in dog circles.  What this means for me is that I came home with Jamie. 

And just to show her what I thought of that idea, I puked in my kennel for good measure. 

I'm such a cute little chap; Jamie's poor photographic skills really don't do me justice, but here's my mug:

 I'm having rather something of a day, and doing a fair bit of Protest Whining.  This X pen thing?  For the birds.  Certainly not on-the-go pups like myself.  (Jamie begs to differ.  She says I'll have more freedom when I'm housetrained.  There's that word again). 

Me, enjoying the fresh air:

Ah, the life of a young pup.  Free and easy.  Well, not so free, and not so easy, but we can all dream. 

I am Ziggy... Hear me roar!

Jamie came to visit me today.  I think I did a good job of impressing her with the fact that I am going to give her a run for her money.  By which I mean, I am not the snuggling kind.  Nope.  I wanted to go, go, GO.

Jamie, in her infinitesimal wisdom (not really) insisted on doing what she called "handling exercises," including gently putting me on my back and rubbing my tummy.  She says most puppies love having their tummy rubbed and scratched. I beg to differ.  I just wanted to run around the living room and have a good time rough and tumbling with some of my siblings.  Belly rubs can wait, after all.  I have years in which to enjoy luxurious belly rubs and getting hand fed caviar... err... liver treats by the bucket load. 

There was another couple there visiting their puppy, and Jamie noticed that their puppy was a lot calmer.  Well, who needs calm?  I'm a Westie after all!

I go home with Jamie next Sunday, and she's just over the moon about bringing me home.  Of course she is.  I am Ziggy.  Hear me roar!  

(Jamie says she will post a picture from today's visit once she gets her iPhone synching properly to her computer.  I have no idea what this means, except sooner or later, I'll update this entry with a picture, so hold on tight, folks!)

Edited to add:  Here I am!  Dapper, aren't I?

My Precision Puppy Pen/ Prison, by Ziggy.

I don't care what Jamie has to say about this confinement to a puppy pen business jail; it's a prison in all but name until I say otherwise.   What dignified puppy would say any differently, I ask you, dear reader? 

Seriously!  Quick, people!  Someone call the ASPCA!  Or  PETA!  Or maybe Extreme Makeovers:  Home Edition, at the very least.  Because who in the world of caviar and happy romps on the banks of the Champs Elysee with French dilettante poodles named Georgette decided this thing monstrosity was "luxury pet living"?  Certainly not moi.  

Jamie claims this contraption, which looks like something directly modeled from the Spanish Inquisition torture chambers, will help me "housetrain."  I beg to differ.  I see nothing resembling a train here; not wheels, not a caboose, not a food car.. Nay,  nothing so refined as even steam engine in sight (*because all puppy's train references come from the 19th century, of course.  I'm mean, it's logical, yes?).  And  I certainly refuse to see what part of this chamber of doom is likened to a "house."

 Nay,  I fear it is as I expected.  It's a treacherous plot to keep me confined.  Me.  Little.  sweet. cute.  innocent. Ziggy.

Think of the children, ma'm!  THINK OF THEM NOW, I SAY. 

Well, Jamie can keep her raised flooring and removable waste tray and solid chrome bars instruments of torture.   

The war is not over, dear Jamie.  Oh no!  It has just begun, mon amie!

Vive le France chien libre! Et vive le resistance!

*Jamie's input, there.