Letting Butter Talk

Hi guys.

Just wanted to let you know I'm still around and happy as can be.

My family has been pretty darn busy lately, but I know even when I'm stuck at home or in the pet motel that they still love me.

All in all, life is good. ... Even though I still can't figure out what the heck is going on in the place formerly known as the office. ...

But I sure do like to sniff all those treasures that keep appearing in there. I'm sure they're all for me, even though I don't know why the heck I'd need so much stuff when all I really want in life is a belly rub, a walk, and a treat.

Walks in the Park

When Butter and I have time, we enjoy heading over to Kickapoo Creek Park for a nice, long walk.


It's a lovely little park with a big paved path that loops around it as well as some other, smaller trails that branch off into the woods and the fields. (Yes, it's big enough the terrain even changes a bit here and there.)


Butter is ecstatic the moment the car turns into the entrance to the park because he knows what's coming. So much to sniff! So much to see! So far to go!


It's a lovely park with a lot of big, old trees. When I was taking an ecology class a few years ago, Butter had the tortuous job of accompanying me on many trips to the park so I could practice tree identification. There are a lot of massive, established native trees and shrubs in the park for me to identify--plus, of course, a few non-native species here and there. (The one below is native--it's a sycamore. There are a lot of sycamores in the park, in case you're wondering.)


Because of these trees, even in the heat of the summer much of the path is shaded, which is nice for a pregnant lady and a very hairy dog.


And if you need a break, you can always step off the path and rest on one of the picnic benches.


Or in the hollow of this old tree, if you're tiny enough.

Sometimes, when we're feeling brave, Butter and I will even go off-roading and venture across the creek and into the woods.


But most of the time we just stick to the path and mosey along, him sniffing and peeing every chance he gets and me just enjoying the fresh air and the scenery and the exercise.


And then when we get done, we plop down on the ground, drink some water, and ...


relax before it's time to head home.

A Front-Yard Addition

No, I did not purchase a dog statue to liven up the front-yard garden beds.

This is our goofy pooch. I did not tell him to sit here or stay for an extended period of time. He did that all on his own. I swear he knows when I have my camera out and does everything he can to make it on the blog.

And it usually works.

Tiptoeing Through the Tulips

Unlike their friends the daffodils, the tulips in the front yard don't think it's absolutely necessary to be among the first flowers to bloom each spring.


Sure, they're excited to make an appearance and to open toward the warm April sun. But they're going to wait until they're good and ready to do so.


Good and ready happened to be, for the most part, last week.

This also happened to be when the rain showers and thunderstorms and tornado warnings settled in. So today was my first opportunity to snap some photos of the trembling tulips as they danced in the breeze.


Most of the tulips in our front yard were planted long before we arrived in our house. They were a pleasant surprise our first spring.

This year, however, I supplemented those tulips with a few bulbs of my own.


Once they bloomed, I realized just how different these bulbs are from the ones that came before.


A little variety is kind of nice, isn't it?


Butter thinks so too.

Happy Spring (From Butter)

Hey guys. Now that it's spring, I figure you're probably going to want to stop by soon and check out our flowers (and pet me).

So I wanted to let you know that whenever you arrive, I'll be ready and waiting to welcome you at the front door.

Come on in (and pet me).

Bringing You Bentley

Booker, the sweet little pooch I introduced you to the other day, wasn't the only four-legged fellow I hung out with on my Idaho-Wyoming adventures.


Bentley was there too--and he wants you to know it.

He's older. And wiser. And exceptionally slobberier. (Yes, I know that's not a word. But if you've ever seen this bulldog drool, you'll understand that he deserves his own word.)


Bentley doesn't move as quickly as Booker, so he couldn't accompany us on our snowshoes like the little guy did. But it didn't stop Bentley from joining us outside on occasion.


Of course, everywhere he goes, he shakes his head and says, mournfully, "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

It's a terrible burden, isn't it, Bent?

A Question

Look at this face.


Now tell me: What would you do if you spent the weekend with this little fellow?

If you answered, "try to steal him," I wouldn't blame you. That's what I tried to do when I finally got to meet Cousin BH's little buddy, Booker, for the first time.


How could you not love this little angel?

I mean really. Look at that tongue.


Don't you just want to scoop him up and take him home with you right now? I sure did.

Friday Afternoon Photo

The curtains dance on the almost-spring breeze sneaking in through the open window. The first buds of the season peek out from the damp soil where the sidewalk meets the front yard. Butter stands at his window, surveying his domain. He looks especially handsome in his new collar, a souvenir from the islands.

Snow Days

Two days of blizzard warnings and high winds and snow this week resulted in two snow days for me.

It has been a pretty nice arrangement, actually. I spent both mornings chugging through my work to-do list, since I brought my work home with me in preparation for the bad weather. But because I wasn't required to work on my snow days, I've also had time to do a bit of freelance work and some cleaning and some baking and even some packing for a certain trip Conservative Hubby and I are taking very soon.

I must make it known, however, that Butter hasn't enjoyed the snow days quite as I much as I have. He normally loves to go outside and play in the snow, but he's smart enough to know that he'd rather be inside when the wind is howling and his chain is buried under the snow that has drifted against our back door.


Plus, for a good portion of yesterday afternoon and evening, Butter's window was so covered in snow that he couldn't sit there and keep an eye on things like he normally does.

This didn't stop him from trying, though. Every once in a while last night we'd find him sitting at the window, often for minutes at a time, staring at absolutely nothing but the white stuff stuck on the glass and his reflection.

Now the high winds and the snow have stopped and it's time to get un-buried.

(A friendly someone came by and snow-blowed our driveway and sidewalks just as we were getting up this morning, which made my day a whole lot nicer, by the way.)

If you got snowed in too, I hope you're staying warm and safe today!

Leaving This Face

Dear sweet Butter was particularly dear and sweet at the beginning of last week.


After Conservative Hubby was already in Georgia golfing and around the time I started packing for my travels down south, Butter put on his angel face.


He knew somehow--even before he spotted my suitcase--that he was getting left behind.

But rather than his usual mournful gaze and puppy pout, he decided to woo me with his big eyes and most serene poses.


And goodness, it almost worked. Had I not been flying, I may have scooped him up and taken him with me.

Instead, he was stuck at home all week. Lounging in the sun with his dog sitter, who no doubt lavished him with all the attention such a sweet little pooch deserves.

So don't feel sorry for him. Not this time anyway.

Just So You Know ...

Right now, Butter is bored.


He thinks it's lame that his mother works all day and then comes home and types away on her laptop in the evening.

Not cool, he says. Remember me? I'm your sweet puppy who needs a belly rub and some play time.

Butter has been busy lately—he spends afternoons at the office with Conservative Boy and Conservative Dad, keeping an eye on the things and making certain the secretaries don't get lonely.

So when he comes home in the evening, he just wants to relax. He can't understand why I wouldn't want to do the same. (And Conservative Boy echoes his sentiments.)

I'm working on it, guys, I tell them. But I'm a creature who is used to being busy, to going 100 mph and trying to cram as many to-dos in the day as possible.

I want to slow down and relax, but I've grown so accustomed to go, go, go, work, work, work, that it's taking some time to get used to not having to juggle 50 things at once.

But I'm working on it. I really am.

Puggle Love

Meet Norah.

Norah is a puggle puppy who belongs to my dear friend, Mrs. M, and her hubby, Mr. M (who happens to be a stellar photographer). They all live in Milwaukee, which is where a group of my beautiful best friends from college descended recently for a girls' weekend.

In between eating way too much and hanging out by the pool and watching old episodes of Sex and the City and getting into a bit of trouble (more on that later), Norah commanded our attention.

How could she not? She runs hot laps to rival Butter's, knows tricks that you wouldn't believe, and generally makes people swoon when she gazes at them with her big eyes.

Is it any wonder that I was thisclose to scooping her up, tucking her into my purse, and bringing home a friend for Butter?

But I couldn't do that to my gracious hosts, so I will just have to make a return visit to Milwaukee to see her again soon.

(Or perhaps she can come to L-Town? And bring her parents with her? Hint hint ...)

A Day in Butter's Life

The other day on our evening walk, some of the neighborhood kids stopped Butter and I so they could pet him. They love Butter and will shout his name even if we're a few blocks away when they see him. They can't ever remember my name, but that's OK. I'm not four-legged and furry.

On this particular evening, after the kids grew tired of petting Butter and getting licked in return, they raised a serious concern with me.

"How come Butter never gets to go outside?" one of them asked.

Never mind the fact that we were outside on a walk when we saw them.

What they meant, I learned, was that whenever they passed by our house, Butter was always sitting as his window, staring outside.


To them, this meant he was cooped up and longing to get out and play.

I assured them that Butter was not neglected in any way and that he actually gets lots of time outside.

In fact, all he has to do is ask (which, despite his lack of verbal abilities, he's quite skilled at) and we'll put him outside on his chain. He can stay out there as long as he likes, and he often takes advantage of the opportunity to chase rabbits and squirrels, sniff around, get tangled in the bushes, relax in the sun, and, of course, guard my flowers.

Lately, he's also ventured into the front yard—sans chain—with me while I work in the garden or water the plants. This is particularly enjoyable for him because he has new places to sniff, can watch traffic, and even gets some time in the neighbors' yards until he gets caught. (Apparently, without an invisible fence, dogs aren't too concerned about property lines.)

Then, of course, there are Butter's daily walks or runs.

And even when Butter is inside, it's not like he's bored. He has a busy agenda.

There are lots of naps to be taken.

And here and there, a little play time with favorite toy.


He has to follow me around and lick up spills on the kitchen floor.

There are hot laps to run around the couch.

And, of course, he has to spend time at his window. Not because he's feeling woefully neglected and is yearning for fresh air, but just because it's his favorite spot to sit and keep an eye on things.

Besides, if he didn't sit in the window, where would the neighbors find him to wave at him?

Then, at the end of a long, busy day, Butter likes to retreat to the basement. Couch time with Conservative Hubby and I is a favorite part of his day, and he'll often take off down the stairs anytime we get near the kitchen in the evening because he thinks it must be TV time.

On the weekends, however, he doesn't spend as much time on the couch as he does at another key spot in the basement: the bar. Even a busy guy like Butter has time for good beer and good friends.

Every dog should be so lucky.

The Backyard Garden

The little perennial garden I started last year in the backyard isn't nearly as lovely as the one in the front yard.

It has had a few growing pains and could still use a little work, yet slowly but surely the plants are growing and flowering and making our back patio one of my favorite places to work in the morning when it's cool and even in the afternoon when I don't mind a little heat.

Once I situated a couple of small fences so Butter couldn't use the new garden as his personal bathroom, he's taken ownership of the site. He regularly watches over it to ensure there aren't any intruders.

Usually there aren't. But you never know. In Butter's world, you can never be too cautious.

The newest additions to this garden are the two zinnia plants I added last week. They were a bit of a splurge, because I was dying for some more vibrant color and wanted a few plants for cutting flowers.

The old standbys are doing pretty well too. The first of the coneflowers are slowly blooming.

The Asiatic lilies and daylilies are in their prime right now.

And whatever this plant is (I can't recall and need to do some research), it's flowering too. I have mixed feelings about it, as it's not nearly as lovely as I expected. But I'm working through my issues.

Besides, variety is supposed to be the spice of life, isn't it?

Letting Butter Talk

Julie, can you please help me?


I'd really like to chew on my bone for a while. It's so delicious. I could chew on it all day. But it's too far away.

I just ... can't ... reach ... it.


I've had a rough day. I had to get up at 7 a.m. and get groomed and eat and wait for the mailman to come and take a noon walk with Conservative Boy and eat again and it's so exhausting being me. Won't you please help?


GAH. I give up. I don't want the stinkin' bone anyw—


—wait a second. What is that? An intruder?


Nope, false alarm. But don't worry, Julie. I got your back, babe.