Princess Kali

(It’s Kali’s turn to share her thoughts and stories. She’s taking French and finds it sophisticated, so we’ve translated those words (and any confusing Kali lingo) accordingly. Kali is also an expert on dog fashion and social activities – she’ll share that with us later. Kobe is moping behind the counter.)

When Mama and Papa opened our wonderful bakery in Lakewood Ranch, it was the perfect fit for the area. We live in a villa (cool house) with lots for dogs to do in the area, which is, I’m sure why they chose it. You can really live the life enchante (enchanted life) here.

Kali and Kobe Are On the Case

It’s Wednesday night and we’re revving to go. Kali and I learned the “pillow trick” long ago. But, being such a clever pup, I realized that using a small stuffed animal made much more sense and luckily I was able to “doll eye” my person into buying a couple for Kali and me. We wait until our people are fast asleep then nudge Henry and Chloe (the stuffed animals) under their arms and scoot our way over to Woof Gang Bakery.

We go through a series of tunnels, which gets us there quickly and safely, because two lookers like us are always in danger of dog-napping. We pop up in the back behind the counter. I pull a blanket in front of us with my teeth and we shake the dust off. Then we go about getting the place ready for our group.

Every Wednesday night is Film Noir Movie Night, chiefly because Kali is a BIG fan of Humphery Bogart and our friend Max, the Dobie, loves to say

“What’s it to ya, bub?” and pretend like he’s chewing a toothpick. Our pal Lovely, a rather slinky Papillon, is a whiz with the store computer and can make a DVD play on it with her lovely, long fingers. Did I mention she’s lovely? Ah-hem. We get the DVD’s from Busco the Bull Dog’s dad’s collection and we’re a little nervous because we broke To Have and Have Not but his dad hasn’t noticed.

Woof Gang is ideal because we pull out the plush beds and blankets my people sell and play with the huge selection of toys. Rule is – no fur, no drool, no bite marks. I inspect everything at the end. Kali is a great thief – she nicks cookies all week, little-by-little, so no one notices the scrumptious treats are gone.

The gang streams in. Max throws a “What it’s to ya, bub” at us to get everyone in the mood. Kinky, the timid Brussels Griffon darts under Lilith, the grey Great Dane, her protecter, and the aptly named Fatty, the Saint Bernard, sits down with a hiccup. Finally Amber and Hudson, the Pit Bull twins, arrive. As we’re watching The Maltese Falcon, which is a Bogie classic, the lights are low and everyone feels a chill in the room. Bogie plays the famous Sam Spade and he’s pulled into a web of mystery by a woman who claims her sister has been kidnapped. Kali is stuffing the cookies in and I’m subtly scooching toward Lovely. As Bogie reaches for his gun and Mary Astor throws herself on his mercy, Busco lets out a great belch. Busco always has great timing.

As everyone says their goodbyes, Lilith throws me a warning look. Now Danes are known as being even tempered, but when someone a billion times your size throws you the LOOK, you react.

“No one move,” I say, walking slowly around the room, Lilith’s eyes following me. The Pit Bull twins get rigid and I realize we could have a situation here.

“Kinky’s gone,” Lilith says, in a low growl.

“Ack!” yells Lovely. “Someone’s kidnapped her!” She faints gracefully to the floor.

“Why would someone do that?” I ask. “She’s probably hiding, scared by the show.”

We yell her name and look everywhere, at a loss because all of the objects we used have been put back and she wasn’t under any of them. Lovely recuperates, has a fine show of hysterics, and faints again. Suddenly, Kali pokes my rear with her nose.

“Over there.” She motions toward Fatty.

Fatty’s fast asleep, still in front of the computer. I grab Busco and we push the mountain of a dog over. A very shaken little Kinky says, “Hello. How was the movie?”

I don’t know how long we can get away with these Wednesday night fiascos. Mostly, I wonder how long it will be before Max ruins it for us by asking his people, “What’s it to ya, bub?”

Kali and Kobe - Woofgang's Puprietors

Several dogs have asked what is involved in being the puprietors at Woofgang. Sure, it’s fun. We get to meet lots of cool people buying things for their dogs. We get to taste test the yummy cookies for sale. We get to hang out with our people a lot and the petting is good. But we also have to work.

We are always models for Woofgang, so our public appearance must be good. Attending trade shows and dog events can be awfully tiring. The most important thing is to always remember our business cards.

Comfy Coats

It’s tough staying so pretty but afterall we are the image of the bakery. Regular groomings and brushing and nail clippings and the funny thing they rub on our teeth can be exhausting. For post grooming, we love the comfortable doggie jackets. In addition to our appearance, we have to be cheery and friendly, though that’s not too hard.

We do have adventures, like the time we rescued the Jack Russell Terrier from the Great Dane. Or the time we stopped a Doberman cookie thief. Or when we talked a Yorkie down from a high shelf he had managed to jump to. But more on those later.*

Sneaky Cow

Many dogs have asked me what is in this season. Well, we Are the ones to ask, as our opinions are invaluable to the owners. It’s our job to point out the best products, like this huge stuffed cow. I have one of my own but watch-out – that sucker is really sneaky. You think you’ve knocked him out by shaking him and he flies up in the air and hits you from behind.

I also recommend my favorite turquoise leash. Turquoise and gold are very In right now and they compliment almost every fur color. For slimming, stick with basic black. Of course, you’ll want the matching collar.

Give the Dog a Bone

In beds and strollers, I’m partial to bright colors such as the red bone bed and the orange carriage. All the choices are good, though, and anything your person buys for you from Woofgang will be something you like.

* Stay tuned for Kali’s and Kobe’s adventures.

What's usually on Falstaff's mind.

4:30 a.m. — The humans may have tricked me onto the dog bed last night, but it’s time I assumed my position under the covers in between them with my head on the man’s pillow. Since I weigh something like 90 pounds, it makes it tight, but I don’t mind. I’ll make sure to blow hot, slobbery air into the woman’s face as she sleeps. I think she likes that.

7:30 a.m. — That dratted noisemaker goes off again and the humans drag themselves out of bed. My other two canine companions follow them downstairs. I burrow deeper under the quilt.

8 a.m. — The woman comes in and pulls my covers off and pinches me. Unwittingly, I am persuaded into playing with her, making sure I try to roll over her on the bed and flatten her. I think she likes that. I must admit it is fun. I go back to sleep.

9 a.m. — If the food isn’t already being poured, I go downstairs to remind everyone what time it is. Geez.

9:30 a.m. — After my brother, Hudson (the crazy little black dog), gets back from his walk, I go for a walk with the man. It is nice except he is always making me hurry and I prefer to do things on “Falstaff time,” which just happens to be slower than anyone else around me. I point out cats and squirrels along the way to the man. I think he likes that.

10 a.m. — I lie on the rug in the living room (humans call this “napping;” I call it “regenerating”).

10:30 a.m. — I go upstairs with my sister, Amber (a tough broad, but a pushover for me), and chew on bones, treats and sometimes balls. My brother (the crazy one) stays downstairs and barks at whatever treat he’s been given. I know he often doesn’t eat it and I always look quickly for it when I go back down, but it seems the woman always gets to it first.

11 a.m. — I lie on the rug in the kitchen.

Noon — The woman is usually home and makes some sort of food concoction for herself. I position myself deftly beneath her and between her feet in order to catch anything that drops.

1 p.m. — I play in the yard with my sister. She likes to bury things which, frankly, baffles me, but to each his own. I don’t see the point in hiding something instead of trying to eat it. Sometimes the humans play with us; they throw balls, which I’m perfectly willing to catch if they come to me. I don’t see the sense in actually running after one, though.

2 p.m. — I lie on the back deck in the sun.

3:30 p.m. — I tend to look out the front window around this time. There are lots of passersby on my street. I love to watch the mailman. I’m very, very quiet, so that he goes about his business unknowingly until he senses my stare. Then he gets in a hurry all of a sudden.

4 p.m. — I lie on the couch.

5 p.m. — Again, I sometimes have to remind them what time this is. I get very little food, I must say, but I can make up for that on my evening walk. I make sure to be encouraging and compliment the chef with ardent burps. I think she likes that.

5:30 p.m. — Back out on the ole’ leash. If dinner was not satisfactory, I do not despair. There is almost always a piece of burrito or part of pastry somewhere in the square.

6 p.m. — I lie on the couch.

8 p.m. — The humans force us canines outside. I think we’re supposed to do our “business,” but all we really do is stand at the back door until they let us in again.

9 p.m. — We all go upstairs and pile onto the bed. Amber manages to get the best spot because she’s a tough cookie, like I told ya. Hudson just seems nervous as usual.

9:30 p.m. — They trick me with treats to get me off the bed. I dream of Snausages and Scooby Snacks and cheese until I can make my maneuver and reclaim my rightful place between the sheets. Sometimes they wake me when I’m dreaming of giant cats. Then we settle down, their arms around me as I breathe soothingly. I think they like that.

Falstaff dons his straw hat and his sunscreen.

My person has just made this mechanical thing she calls a car pull in next to a tiny little house. It is eerily quiet, unlike my hoppin’ home in Boston, and I can’t imagine what this is all about. We’ve been in the car for an eternity, me staring out the rolled-down window in the back, occasionally letting my position known with an annoying whine, and she staring straight ahead as if she were getting ready to pounce on something. At this juncture, she is very excited and is saying, “Falstaff, blah, blah, our, blah, blah, inside, blah, blah, treats.” I get that last word and mosey on in.

I look around and hope she doesn’t notice that three-quarters of this house are gone. There’s a bed — jump up on that — not too bad; there’s that room with the big water bowl — have a sip (“No, Falstaff, not That water”) — whatever; oh, and what’s that — the place where food is kept and I smell cheese. Well, that’s what really matters. She throws me a treat and opens a door into another room, only this room is outside. “Blah, blah, your deck,” she says and smiles. The wooden floor is warm. Not too shabby.

Well, I’m ready for a nap after that long car ride but my person is pulling things out of her bag thing, clipping something to her pants, grabbing treats (!), and my leash. It appears this is only a short stop and she pushes me back toward the car. The air is different here, moist and salty and fishy. I like it. As we drive, it gets moister and saltier and fishier. This time, when I step out of the car, I step on something that tickles my feet and sinks in between my toes. I try to shake it off. It’s a persistent little sucker. I have misgivings — I seem to be sinking in it as I walk. I pull back but here is where the problem with a prong collar comes in — my person can control me wherever I go. I don’t hold a grudge but it means I have to trust her a heck of a lot.

After a few feet, I realize I’m not going to be swallowed up and walk happily ahead. Maybe I can claim this unmarked territory for my own — but wait, what’s that? Another dog has been at this log, a male Schnauzer, 5 years old, who just ate a hamburger. Darn. Well, here, I’ll just cover that up… She walks on, toward the big bluish object making lots of noise. She seems very excited to show me this — “Come, Falstaff, blah, blah, blah, cold water, blah, blah, sea.” See?

Yes, I see as she pushes my bum into the water which can’t decided whether to stick on the sinking stuff or go back to the huge bluish thing. It’s Cold! What’s the point? I look up at her.
She’s staring out, looking very thoughtful like humans do when they want you to think they are deep, patting my head. I realize now this is some sort of big moment for us; that we’re connecting somehow. I look out again and see a vastness. I imagine she is wondering where it goes. I am wondering when I’m getting my next treat and, like a telepathic miracle, she hands me a cookie. We both turn and walk away, happy by the sea.

Falstaff regretting his actions...

There are few things more annoying to a dog than when your owner puts you in a car and starts off toward the beach only to turn at Massachusetts Ave. Everyplace has a Massachusetts Ave. – it’s the way to the vet.

I, personally, call it Hell but my woman calls it the vet when she’s talking in whispers to my man about my weight or tummy ache. Lots of times I get out of the trip (probably out of my owners’ laziness) but this time there was no hope. I had stupidly picked a fight with my brother, whose dad was apparently a champion fighting pit bull. My foot was broken and the toe hung off which the woman seemed to find interesting. The man couldn’t look at it.

This was the special vet, the vet where we go when we need more than just shots. As I walked through the magical sliding doors, I spotted a terrier to my right. We exchanged the usual whines and glares but, from the pulls on my collar, I guess my human didn’t want another fight. I could have taken him.

The foot wasn’t bothering me – I thought it was kind of cool – until we got into a little room and this tall lady started poking it. It took my human, two big guys and the vet to hold me down. Now, I wasn’t going to bite anyone, just scare them a little but they thought it smart to put a strap around my nose. Thank God no other dogs could see – my reputation was definitely taking a hit.

After a few minutes, I calmed down (what could I do?). The clean smell of the place was nauseating and I noticed a bit of blood on the vet’s otherwise white coat. Terror struck as I realized it was probably canine and I resolved to behave so I wouldn’t experience her wrath. That’s likely what they do in that back room – silence bad dogs.

I heard an eery howl as I lay there, very close by, then human feet shuffling outside my door. Expecting a dog ghost to enter at any minute, I focused on the thing hanging on the wall. It was a picture of cat hanging on the limb of a tree with some human words beneath it. To my embarrassment, my human noticed and said in her way-too-high voice, “Do you like the kitty, Falstaff? He’s “hanging in there,” just like you!” They all laughed. Silly woman – she knows I hate cats.

After however long it was (I don’t wear a watch), I was lowered to the ground. I looked down at my foot. I couldn’t move it – there was some sort of stiff stuff around it all the way up my leg. Everyone else seemed to think it was great, praising me and cooing about how good it was. I felt differently.

Hobbling out to the car, I was blissfully unaware that I’d be visiting the vet lady again and again. My thoughts were on how I was going to keep my place in the pack with this obstruction on my foot. If they wanted to discourage me from fighting, they had done it. Next time, I’ll pick on a Chihuahua.