“There’s nothing worse than soaking wet Jodhpurs!”

The only downside of the dogs vacationing at Bernard’s is that in the winter, they come home smelling like smoke. All dogs are indoor dogs at Bernard’s, and he and his wife seem to be smokers. But it’s a small price to pay for the luxury of having them stay in a “home” environment. That’s O.K. Neither dog had a bath in months before we left, so they went to their spa ripe with a dirty dog smell. When they came home, the first thing we did–after a long walk at the wet farms–was stick them in a tub.

“That bath sure gave me the blues. I’m lower than a snake’s belly.”

We bathed Juno first knowing she’d be the most vocal.  Naturally she cried like we were stabbing her in the heart as we washed away 6 months of trail runs and floor lounging topped with cigar smell. Loki on the other hand, although not pleased with being picked up and placed in the tub, seemed to enjoy his warm Pantene Shampoo and Avocado rinse, never peeping once. In fact, he leaned into our hands as we massaged the shampoo into his fur and stopped just short of groaning with delight.  But, as each one was in the tub, the other was behind the door in the hallway, crying in sympathy for the other. They may rough each other up but they stand together in solidarity against bath-inflicted torture on the other.

“Princess, you look bought and sold and done for. Who broke you doll?”
“Button your gabber Big Boy. Let’s just say I’m gonna deep-six a pair of
someone’s Danskos.”

If you told me 10 years ago, I would adopt a lunatic dog from Taiwan with a serious case of crackery-nosis, maybe I would believe you. But if you told me I would be journaling his ridiculous behavior on the Web and writing in his ridiculous tough-guy Raymond Chandler voice, I’d laugh and ask you who the hell Raymond Chandler was.

As far as I’m concerned, Loki wrote the book on crackery. When I got him, I had no idea what I was in for. Blogging about that crackery helped us discover we are not alone, but in a world filled with cracked-out dogs.  And because of that, Wild Dingo, for the second year in a row, is a proud sponsor of Mango Minster, only the hippest, most righteous annual dog show on the Net. This year, all categories are open to all critters, canine, feline, equine, bovine and more. Naturally we sponsor the cracker critters category.

In addition, this year, Loki was honored with being called to Judge the cracker category at Mango Minster.  And as a cracker would do be prone to do, he jumped 87 feet high for joy at the opportunity. Obviously, Loki knows a lot about being a cracker. Just check out his entry for the first year cracker was offered at Mango Minster.

For those out there not familiar with cracker dogs, here are a few photos and videos to demonstrate a few of their fine qualities:

Toof-Showin’ Bitey Face isn’t just a sport. It’s a lifestyle.

Highly and vocally opinionated. 
Um, Dogtor Hilary, don’t look back. There’s an long-toothed Formosanorous Rex behind you. Stay perfectly calm. I hear they will walk away if you just remain still. Or at least shut their pie hole.

Full of sass while they’re trying to look like Cujo.
“Cupcake come any closer and I’ll cancel your Christmas.”

Able to leap to tall tugs in a single bound.
“Your tug, is lifting me higher, than I’ve ever, been lifted, before.” Sing it babies!

Speaking of singing: They usually have an inappropriate crush.
“My momma told me when I was  young, we were all born superstars.”

They have irrational fears.
“You mean to tell me you did ALL THAT WORK just for a drink of water that you could have gotten less than a foot away without any work?”
“Yes but Princess, the Lac Leman-ness Monster is constantly moving that lake and he’s gonna get me!”

And in case  you didn’t know, cracker dogs are a little edgy as the video below will show. Warning, turn down the volume. The cracker is in da house.

I could go on and on about the unexplainable zoomies, non-stop talking, hissyfits and well, just more plain crackery. But I think you get the picture.

Naturally, the show is very competitive, so there are allegations of judge-bribing running rampant among the blogosphere. But here’s Loki’s official response to all of that:

“It’s totally hip-to-the-tip to be called for jury duty at Mango Minster. The cracker category is only the most righteous category in the show. Top of the heap, babies.

Some crackers are born. Some crackers are made. I was born and made a cracker. I was one of the first crackers outted on the ‘Net. And I know all the cracker tricks in the book. Crackery isn’t about blowin’ your jets or losin’ your cool. It’s about flippin’ your wig, chargin’ your choppers and blasting yourself whacky for no reason at all.

Just because I’m a cracker doesn’t mean I don’t have ethics. I got a points system. But it’s under wraps. After all, cracker rules supreme. Chaos is part of the game.

Word on the street is that some judges at Mango Minster are on the take. But not me. This ain’t no flimflam. And I ain’t no goon from Saskatoon. I got morals. They may be low, but they’re morals. And living in Switzerland, I’ve already got friends in the bones and treats bank.

But every hepcat has his price babies. So if you are into bribing, fess up. Throw me a bone in the giggle department. See if I take the bait. 

So don’t let the grass grow in your ears. Get up and hit the crackery high and hard. Give me a large charge with your entry. Then fall in and dig the happenings babies.  Go, cool cat, go!”

***

As his PR agent, I can tell you, I’ve never seen him on the take. He’s cracked-out for sure, but he’s always been loyal and righteous. Sometimes a little too righteous if you catch my drift. Still, it takes a cracker to know a cracker and I’m pretty certain that though I haven’t seen him on the take, only a real cracker dog can flip him to the dark side.

So are you cracker enough to crack the King of Crackers? Go ahead and try. I won’t report you. Honest.

Nothing makes me happier than to make Mr. Wild Dingo uncomfortable. So when our neighbor stopped me in our driveway Friday night to ask if Mr. Wild Dingo would like to be “Father Christmas” for his three children, I didn’t hesitate:  “Yes of course he’ll do it,” I answered. Like I’m going to ask Mr. Wild Dingo his permission before I commit him to something so outside of his comfort zone.  I could already see him squirming. I mean, it’s not like either of us is equipped to entertain any 2-legger under the age of 25. And yet, I felt a grinch-like smile form at the corners of my mouth as I pictured Mr. Wild Dingo in a red suit and struggling over what to say to the kid on his lap waiting for his present.

“Father Christmas? I don’t care if you twinkle your nose or hand out presents. Ain’t nobody looking as whack as you getting by without complete investigation from me!”

After many years of playing the role of Father Christmas to his kids, our neighbor, Guy, thought it would be a hoot if just this once he could be in the room at the same time. “Our Father Christmas speaks in an Irish accent,” he told us. Well, that totally makes sense–given that the family is British and Swedish. So Mr. Wild Dingo spent the day practicing his Irish accent. Apparently, no extra stuffing was needed as Irish-accented Swedish Father Christmas’ are rather trim.

“Princess, do you think we should let him in? I mean I don’t see any presents.”
“Big boy, he IS the present. He’s your big chew toy for the evening. Go for it!”

All went well, and while the teenager knew who it was, the younger two were completely perplexed and a little weirded out by the Father Christmas with bushy brown eyebrows, who’s accent wavered between Irish and American while struggling with all the Swedish names.

Loki on the other hand was delighted at having a life-size chew toy.

Does anybody out there have the illusion that having a working dog will help pick up some of the slack around  your house? Think again!

“This basket is empty. What we have here, is a problem.”

Working dogs are a lot of work. I’m constantly battling my guilt over not working them enough.

Loki has a lot of drive to work and some juice for search. But, besides the mistakes I made early in his training, I’m also a sloppy trainer, progressing too fast from step to step, skipping important details between easy and more challenging behaviors. It’s evident he wants to work. He’s at full attention whenever any training tools come out. The rewards are part of his drive, but for him reaching the goal is as important as the reward itself. Even if I had the lowest value reward, he’d keep working for me.  I wish I had more time for formal training. But I don’t. So we make it up as we go along. And I keep reminding myself he’s so much better off with me, a sloppy trainer who doesn’t work him nearly as much as he’d like, than how his life started.

And Juno’s not half bad at search or other work herself. Not surprising for a husky. But many of her handling issues would require even smaller, more broken down steps than Loki’s. Her drive is more tied to the reward itself. Are you surprised? Still that doesn’t stop her from giving me her paw, or pulling out a roll over just because I want her to. And boy does that just tickle me when she shakes her paw for nothing but a giggle from me.  But because her focus is distracted by the reward so strongly, even if it’s hidden, her brain doesn’t connect her behavior  as quickly. So she’ll offer about 87 other behaviors until she gets it right. She requires so much more repetition before she’s confident about the right behavior. Once she’s confident, that will be her new “go to” behavior.

So you see, working a working dog is whole lotta work! And I have two. Woah is me.

Enjoy the 3-minute video below. Even if you’re bored watching the search games, you’ll probably enjoy the music!

“Mini Me, if I ever lost you I don’t know what I would do. I’d probably move on, get another stuffy. But there would be a 15 minute period there where I would just be inconsolable.”

“I try not to over think these things.”

Their’s is a relationship beyond me.  On our walks, he takes control, pushing her aside when she finds a mole or bullying her into rejoining the pack when she’s too far away.  In the house, he wouldn’t think to take away her toy, food or her bed, even if any of those belong to him. She takes advantage of his early morning potty break to take his warm spot. Her reasons, complex by Siberian genetics, have nothing to do with a warm spot and instead vacillate between “just to bug him” and “so Pop will give me more attention.”  You’d think he’d take what’s rightfully his. Instead, if he’s lucky, he’ll find the tiniest corner and squeeze in next to her. Never mind that he nearly bowled her over earlier in the day for first chomp at the field mouse that she found.

A dog is infinitely more complicated than his or her behaviors.

No day is so bad that can’t be fixed with a nap.
Don’t you just want to pull on those ears? I know I do.

“Why yes, I’d be delighted to look pretty and walk while you hand me some treats.”

Mr. Wild Dingo and Juno head out for some tricks and training time. As usual, Juno is delighted for one-on-one time with him. But then the inevitable happens.

“Juno, platz.”

She rebells and does her best to convince him otherwise. ”But I don’t want to platz, Pop! And here is a wee nibble to show you how cute I am.”

He insists. Reluctantly, she complies.

Voila! Stink Eye in 6.5 seconds.

“I can do this with my eyes closed!”

She’s an entirely different dog from her first days and months with us where she showed no interest in training, or tricks and least of all, Mr. Wild Dingo. Now, nothing makes her happier than when Mr. Wild Dingo pulls out the training treats. She puts on airs and struts her sexiest heel. Sure you can say it’s for the treats, but honestly, they aren’t that great. Not that I’ve tried them. Nothing makes her happier than one-on-one with Pop while Loki is forced to look on.

Sometimes there’s no better motivation than sibling rivalry.

This is the face of a Siberian husky when you won’t share any fresh cherries with her. “I’ll find a way to pay you back. When you least expect it.”

“Uh, Princess, there’s another bed right next to this one.”
“I’m stayin. Get over it.”

Mind games. She doesn’t even like the beds. She prefers hardwood floors. The only thing she likes better than a hardwood floor is screwing with Loki’s head.

He’s a creature of habit. He doesn’t like change. Once he chooses a bed, it’s his spot, his refuge, his zen.

Some nights, she races him to the bedroom to steal that bed. Even though there’s another exactly the same right next to it. If he’s already in it, she will squeeze in next to him and he doesn’t much mind. If not, she sprawls across it making it impossible for him.

Instead of choosing the other bed, he comes to me to fix the problem. He paces the floor and looks at me as if his whole world has been turned upside down. Then I get out of bed and make her move.

A dog’s bed is his castle.

“Everything’s fine here. Hope you’re having fun without us. Booo-wah-ha-ha-ha!”

Can someone call my neighbor and make sure the house is in one piece?

Whether she’s pirating his favorite bed just to screw with his head, forcing him into bitey-face action or swishing her tail  flirtatiously in his face, never a day goes by where Juno doesn’t push his buttons. She’ll have plenty of time to push those buttons while I’m in London the rest of the week.  I almost feel sorry for him.

“Bitin’ isn’t a disease, it’s a symptom.”

It was a lovely Friday afternoon at Lake Leman. I let the dogs off leash in an area where they wouldn’t bother anyone. Juno went down shore a bit to sniff out the beach while I watched Loki focus on a duck close to shore.  Loki doesn’t like water so I knew the duck was safe from him. I searched for my camera to get a shot of him. The dog still digs holes next to the shore to drink the lake water just to avoid going into the lake. How likely would he swim after a duck?

Just as I turned on the camera, Loki pounced into the lake.  The look on his face was priceless. Obviously he bottomed out and didn’t hit the lake floor.

The duck quacked non-stop, “Get lost dog! You can’t even swim! Losah!”

Only inches away from the duck, he was so close to his dream come true. He kept his head above water and swam the clumsiest doggie paddle I ever did see back to shore.

I held down the camera shutter button thinking I took a photo. Instead I took this six-second video of his first swim.

I’ve had them three years now and still know nothing about dogs.

But at least I know he can swim.

The fluff makes a nice pillow. And you never have to vacuum your house again. Because why bother?

“Hey Daddy-O, you ever get that feelin’ like somebody is watching you?”

“WTF? Princess, six o’clock. Suspiciously big fella with ginormous ears.”
“You’re tack-sharp Daddy-O. A real nine-nine on the alert-o-meter.”

“It’s like lookin’ in the mirror, isn’t it, Big Boy?”

Do.

Don’t.

“Come a little closer, Big Boy” she innocently said to the skeptical Formosan,
“I promise it won’t hurt—much.”

I made a mistake and didn’t get Juno vaccinated. She caught it from Loki.

 And now she looks like this. 

Internet: save your doggie and yourself. Vaccinate against crackery-nosinous.