Clearly these two find unpacking too exhausting and decide a nap in the sun is just the ticket.

Same dogs, same tricks, different country. Gotta love our “quality” rent-a-furniture.

Thank Dog for obedience! When our first set of contractors came over to discuss mandatory changes to the house to comply with the canton and country codes, of course I tried to lock them in a room. I completely forgot they can open doors and out they came, with a little cracker hello. Loki usually spends about 30 seconds with his rough tough manly barking “There’s an intruder! An intruder,”  before I’m able to get out my skillet and beat him into submission quieting down.  Seriously though, thank dog for the two years of obedience as I’m able to put them both on down-stays in the kitchen so I can chat with the contractors throughout the house and they don’t need to be bugged by a cracker dog and a wiggly husky.

“Hey Princess, why does this feel like jail if the doors are all open?”
“At least its the kitchen. Shut yur yapper. Maybe I’ll get a treat for this.”

Our neighbors invited us for coffee last Sunday. They have three children, who speak FIVE freaking languages (while all I can say “bun chore”), that love dogs and they wanted to meet them. After coffee, we went to retrieve the dogs. Juno slipped her collar just outside the front door and ran for the street. Thank Dog for obedience once again. Juno come! She flipped around and came right back to us for her no-slip collar. Juno greeted them with proper wiggles and wags, while Loki greeted them with barks, then yips of excitement. Rules are rules and Loki had to wait until his yapper was closed before he got to go meet them officially up close.  Later, they both obliged the children with many tricks and proper behavior. The little girls seemed to fawn over Juno while the little boy seemed enchanted with Loki.

After a good long meet and greet, we came home to this:

Hmm… funny, I don’t remember leaving my shoes like this.

By now, Internet readers, you must think I let my dog destroy my shoes for pure Internet entertainment value. I mean, it happens so much, clearly I can’t be this dumb, right? Let me assure you, I’m not independently rich and cannot  afford to buy new shoes every time I have writer’s block.  Besides, it was Mr. Wild Dingo who left the bedroom door open and there isn’t a single closet in this house.  These are brand new shoes. I’m now down to 1 pair of sneakers and 2 pairs of flip flops. Seriously. I can’t go on like this.

“It looks much better with a little white in it to match my natural loveliness, don’t you think mom?”
Damn Sibe.

Mr. Wild Dingo pointed out that Juno was kind enough to leave me at least 2-intact shoes on either foot that I can wear:

I’m thinking I can claim that this is all the rage in the US. Besides, the Swiss are not exactly known for their fashion trendiness. They’ll never know!

In the mean time, Juno has taken to “the drink” to replace her need for shoe masticatory rages:

“So light! So refreshing! Just the thing one needs to wash down all that shoe leather.”

Well now I’ve done it. I’ve gone and caused chaos for the canines. How dare I. Their entire world as they’ve known it has been turned upside down–starting with that dog-awful 13-hour jail sentence. And now they don’t have their luxurious home, their dog door, their tree house, NitWit Bridge or acres of land to run free on. Instead they were forced to trade it in for a beautiful lush green lawn, thousands of miles of world-class hiking adventures and the smell of fresh pastry just outside their door.

Truth be told, both dogs, aside from a little sulking about not yet being able to run free in the yard (hence this month’s masthead theme), both are handling the change very well. Routine has set in. Loki has gotten his appetite back. He had lost it a few weeks before we moved, no doubt sensing the change. In all rights, I should not have been able to relocate a dog like Loki. His anxiety can be over the top. But we’ve come a long way from two-years ago when bicycles, joggers, screaming children and people pulling luggage would send him over the top. Now, he’s prancing along side his Husky in a foreign land on farms and in crowded areas, still his suspicious-self, but none-the-less more confident, experiencing loud farm noises (I have no idea what they are, but it sounds like a gun shot or a car backfire), huge farm animals and for the first time, neighbors. And he’s handling it much better than I ever anticipated.

Well, except for the 3 or 4 times he wakes up Mr. Wild Dingo for snuggles each night when he’s feeling worried. It’s not unusual for Loki to do that. Whenever there’s been change in our lives, if Mr. Wild Dingo had been travelling a lot or if we had gone out of town, Loki would always deal with it by getting in two or three extra snuggles in the middle of the night making a good night’s sleep impossible. Unfortunately, Mr. Wild Dingo is a huge softy and reinforces it by complying to snuggle and Loki then builds up the habit. Sigh. Just like a child, a few nights of ignoring him and he goes right back to sleeping through the night. I’ll have to remember to duct-tape Mr. Wild Dingo’s hands and mouth to remind him not to snuggle with him.

Juno however, like the typical Husky, is taking it all in stride. Every day is a new adventure for her and she greets it with exuberant pouncing. She loves the farms and is completely obsessed with stalking cows, goats, horses and now pigs. While Loki is usually hiding his face, or looking to me to pacify him with a treat, Juno has been refusing food whenever she is near any livestock and can become at Tasmanian devil if she sees them before I do.  Both have seemed to gotten over their fascination or fears of horses, but cows… oh the cows… I don’t know what to do about the cows. Unfortunately, the cows are curious and friendly and will walk toward anyone passing their fence line (though it’s not acceptable to pet them here). I wonder if they are having a good laugh at us looking like The Three Stooges as we try to pass by without an embarrassing incident. I’m already fantasizing about finding a trainer that helps desensitize dogs to farm animals.

Both dogs’ favorite walk is downtown Morges. There are so many smells, plenty of people and for some reason, we get a lot of looks. I haven’t figured out if it’s the Husky or the GSFMD that draws the attention. Either way, these two are on their way to becoming international celebraties. But I’m sure they’ll both find a way to disapprove of that.

The variety of walking trails straight from our home is extraordinary. The terrain ranges from wide open farm lands to forest trails and from quaint villages to modern suburbs and bustling towns along Lake Leman (Lake Geneva).    Juno is in Husky heaven. We get a lot of stares both on the farm and in towns. Most people walk small lap dogs, Labradors or Goldens. We’ve yet to see a Husky or German Shepherd out and about. Juno gets a lot of French exclamations, “Hooskey!” And Loki? Well, he had 2 children look at him and run away. And he didn’t even bark “boo.” He and Juno are very well-behaved in town and on the farms. Neither dog makes a peep on our walks and for the most part other dog walkers are very “space-distance” conscientious; they go to great efforts to contain their own dog and provide plenty of space for other dogs walking in the opposite direction so there is no chance of interaction. This makes it much easier on Loki to keep his yapper shut.  It’s so different from what I’ve encountered in California where people leave their dogs off-leash, and just because  their dog is friendly, think it’s acceptable for their dogs to randomly approach strangers and leashed dogs. I think Americans have confused socializing a dog to surroundings in a civilized manner (in otherwords to ignore strange people and dogs) with being social with every Tom, Dick and Harry.

Anyway, enough obedience talk. On to the farms. Within 3 minutes from my door are the farms. The photos below seem a bit boring now that I look at them, but when you’re walking through the farms, the vastness of trails, miles and miles of open farmland is just breathtaking. I could spend a day just walking through the farms in my back yard. I always tell myself, we’re just going for a half hour. Ninety minutes later we’re barely home.

The photo above is the start of most of our walks, though we could potentially enter the farms anywhere. The sports center to the left is a huge field of 10 or 12 soccer fields and people gather to use them in the evenings and weekends for adult and children sports. Next to it is the town’s recycling center known as “The Tip.” I don’t know why it’s called that, except that it probably refers to the tip fee for using a landfill. Recycling is HUGE here and the government has even tried various methods of enforcing it.

The wide concrete paths are open to walkers, cyclists, skateboarders, dog walkers but not cars (except those that live on the farms and one may encounter 1 or 2 cars on a 60 minute walk). And these paths go for many miles. Tolochenaz Village is to the right. It’s a hop-skip-and-a-jump from my house. I haven’t photographed it yet because it’s under construction and it would be very boring, but I will share it later. Audrey Hepburn is buried in the town’s cemetery.

I’ve been walking Loki and Juno at the farms in the mid-late morning when there is less traffic on it and in Morges at the lake in the evening. During peek times (after work and weekends), the paths are not as deserted as this but there is so much space that it never feels crowded even at peek times.

The farm squares vary and include everything from vegetables and vineyards to sunflowers. The field of sunflowers we’ve gone by (photo not shown)  have since died and withered. I don’t quite understand why they plant sunflowers and just leave them to die rather than cut them, but it is common to see that here. Most of the fields have been harvested in my photos. It’s late summer. That makes sense.

Above, Loki and Juno spot a man taking his children for a walk. The children stop when we get to them and stare at Loki and Juno prompting me to ask in French  if they’d like to say hello to them (for Bougalou Bear’s Mamam: “Voulez-vous parlez ‘bonjour’ aux chiens?” ). They do and Loki obliges the little girl with a kiss on the cheek as she pets him. He’s sweeter than he looks obviously, while some children run from him, others adore him.

My French is tres mal and I’ve been reluctant to speak it because I’m embarrassed, but I always try and the Swiss seem pleased with that.

We get to another crossing and stop to decide which way to go. The other day, we walked toward the vineyards and I got stung by a bee. The swelling on my leg is still huge, so I opt out of the vineyards.

Juno looks longingly behind her. I wonder why?

Ah! There’s a herd of cows in the other direction. We opt for the direction toward the herd of cows.

So far, Loki and Juno have passed by cows, horses, donkeys and goats. Sometimes we’ll find 2-string fences that will hold a small group of 2 or 3 goats and 1 or 2 donkeys. So far, Loki had been on his best behavior never barking “boo” once at the donkeys, goats or cows. Juno (my quiet, non-barking dog) actually barked a wee-bark the first time she saw the cows. Then she licked her chops. I kid you not. Damn Sibe. 

Back in the states, one of Loki’s trainers taught him the “look at the goats” game, where you teach the dog to look at something that he finds frightening and look back at you for a reward. It’s a game he loves to play when he’s nervous and he instantly went for it when he saw the herd of cows. When we got within 80 feet of the cows, they began to gently walk toward us with interest, which of course is quite confrontational for a dog. Loki was so nervous he began mugging my hand which he never does. He’s always polite about waiting for his food. I swear, if he were a smoker, he’d be chain smoking at the pack of cows. Juno on the other hand, doesn’t know the “look at that” game and a pound of juicy chicken breast couldn’t lure her away from those cows. For a dog that dreams of food 24/7, I knew this had to be pretty serious for her to reject the chicken and that under no circumstances could I dream of letting go of her leash lest she’d make a run for catching herself a fresh veal dinner. Since Loki was at his limit and I was running out of food, I opted to turn around and leave it at 80 feet that day rather than try to walk past the cows and chance disturbing them. The Swiss are quite serious about treating their cows with respect and do not want anyone harassing them.

One of the farm roads leads to a castle. All of them lead to villages. We actually go quite lost today near our own village, Tolochenaz. We actually ended up on a pubic trail called The Trout Trail that leads from Morges to Lully and honors the ecosystem of the humid shoreline. The trail was heavily covered forest, unlike the open farms.  But I had no water (didn’t want to chance them drinking river or shore water) and it was hot, so I panicked. Luckily, just around the corner was our village, Tolochenaz and from there I knew my way home.

I keep trying to get photos of Mount Blanc. It’s a really ominous mountain to photograph. The weather plays a huge role in the mountain views. The best days to view the mountains are just after a few rainy days, when the winds have pushed the clouds away. I never really thought much about Mont Blanc until the other day when I was driving Mr. Wild Dingo to the airport. I looked to my left and said, “Holy crap, that mountain really is white!” The vision was so crisp and bright white.  But it’s very difficult to photograph, especially with my crappy pocket camera.

Above is a cropped image of it. You can see there are clouds just above it. Someone else managed to get a really good photo of Mont Blanc here.

I took the duo to the post office to mail a letter. The village is so small, it’s the only business there besides all the farming. If you want cup of coffee or tea, your best bet is to head to Morges.

Juno asks the post master, “Bonjour Madame, avez-vous un grand timbre pour envoyer ce chien Formosan à Taiwan?”
“Hey Princess, that sounds lovely. I didn’t know you could speak French. What did you ask her?”
“I asked her if she thought you were as handsome as I think you are.”

“I found these like this.”

All the rooms in this house have doors, including the living room and kitchen. We basically shut all the doors except the kitchen and “dog room” and leave them to the foyer, dog room and kitchen. Seems safe enough, right? Well, until Mr. Wild Dingo forgets to take his sunglasses off the window sill where the dogs love to watch us come and go.

“Nobody needs this many pairs of sunglasses mom. I’m helping Pop out here.”

“And this pair? Let’s just say I did him a huge favor here. The style is so five-minutes ago!”

To punish her, I took her and Loki on a long walk through the farms and vineyards. We got to see goats, donkeys and more horses. I got stung by a bee. Teaches me to punish a Sibe I guess.

Later, I rushed out of the house to go do some errands. The parking situation completely stressed me out. There’s more room to park a Hummer in a pack of sardines than there is to park a Smartcar in a Swiss parking spot. If I gain 3 more pounds I won’t be able to get out of any parked car in Switzerland. It took me 10 minutes to park in a spot, shuffling the car back and forth while a polite person behind me waited.

I came home completely exhausted from the ordeal. (O.K. so I’m jet lagged too. Anything is going to exhaust me.) And I came home to find this:

“Mom, I know you’re really upset that you can’t get the wireless router working so I let Linksys know how Siberians feel about technology that doesn’t work.”

Ooops. Looks like I forgot to shut one of the living room doors (there are two).  Sadly, this is not her first Suisse masticatory destruction/mischief. Her first mastication was with a bottle of T-9 bike lube in the basement. So now the nice cool basement is off limits to the Sibe.

I sure hope Mr. Wild Dingo doesn’t need to return that router.

“Sigh.”
He’s so depressed. It’s like torture being here.

Let me explain:  He and She don’t so much hate it here in Switzerland as they hate not being there (see below), at the lake just behind them, where all the action is.  At the lake there are lots of doggie smells and food smells and people who love to say hello to them.

“Awe Mom, I know we just got back from an hour and a half exploring the fresh pastery smells in Morges, but lets go again!”
“Ya like, this back yard is delightful, but it doesn’t have the Movenpick Ice Cream dude, or the trolly or the hissing swans. Like how are we supposed to entertain ourselves here?”

“Hey I think I smell fresh pastery being pulled out of the oven. Dang it, lets go!”

The dogs are wearing their long lines for the back yard because the fence hasn’t been installed yet. And though they are off-leash obedient, one side of the yard has a very busy road with too much traffic to be comfortable with their safety. So the long lines it is until we get our yard fenced. We’ll have two areas, one for the dogs relief area and the main back area for people.

We couldn’t have chosen a better location. We can leave our house and head up to the farms, vinyards and orchards on miles and miles of walking paths, where they get to meet all sorts of farm animals, or we can head toward the lake where there are hundreds of cooking smells, views of the Alps, city dogs and more. We’ll have tons of walking tours for you in the weeks to come. For now, enjoy our back yard view of the lake:

“View, Schmiew Mom.  Lets go be the action!”

Seriously though, they love their back yard too. They just can’t wait to run in it.

We were still moving last minute items out on Thursday and by then, the dogs were ready. I mean really ready. They knew we were going somewhere and tried several times to get in the car earlier than they should. They even didn’t want to go for a final walk knowing that their new adventure was just ahead.

“Come on MOM! We KNOW we’re going somewhere FUN!”

Mr. Wild Dingo and I looked into use pet relocation services, but the costs were so high. Services ranged from $4,000 to $9,000! On the one hand using the pet relocation services would take the hassle out of handling the crates plus your baggage at the airport, on the other hand, it’s kind of nice to not have to pay those fees. Mr. Wild Dingo’s contract only included about a quarter reimbursement for pet relocation so we opted out. And instead, we used these low-budget pet relocators:

“Hey can we come to Switzerland and be your doggies?”
Sure, they look a little unprofessional, but for the price of a few beers and a sushi lunch, you just can’t go wrong!

Seriously, we asked our good friends to send us away and help us out. They drove a van to take the crates while we drove a rental car to drop off at the airport. While waiting for Mr. Wild Dingo to get back from the rental car, they hung out with me and they also helped out handling the crates and luggage while I “handled” the lunatic.

All those crate games really paid off and both dogs willingly hopped into their crates to escape the hustle and bustle of the airport while waiting for Mr. Wild Dingo to return.

At the airline desk, the attendants wanted to meet the dogs. Loki and Juno obliged with big kisses to the ladies.

 Loki was his usual talkative self and pretty much drew a crowd.
“Big Boy, MUST you always keep your pie hole yappin’? It’s embarrassing my cool husky reputation to be seen with such a yak!”

One of the airport employees walked by and let us know where to walk the dogs in an enclosed fenced area before they were loaded. But our customs agent told us that there was no such place and that they had to be crated and wait in the holding area until boarding time. Next time I’m insisting on a potty/running break before loading. I’m sure they would have appreciated that.

The customs agents check the crates for anything illicit. All they found was Loki’s copy of PlayPup.
“I have NO idea where that magazine came from Mom.”
“Ya, sure thing there Big Boy. Everypup knows you’re all about the ladies.”

At boarding, we asked the airline attendants to check to make sure our dogs were boarded. All they told us was that 60 kilos of dog was boarded, but they couldn’t confirm if the dog/s were ours or not. Not exactly the most pet friendly service. Especially since I’ve heard most airlines are required to confirm pet boarding with their passengers. Each airline has different policies.  Again, the price you pay for handling pet relocation yourself.

The flight was uneventful and long, especially sitting in coach. (I’ve been spoiled by Mr. Wild Dingo’s frequent flyer miles, flying business or first class on most flights.) When we got to Zurich, we passed through immigration, then on to baggage claim. We didn’t wait more than 2 minutes and our baggage was out and the dogs close behind.  

I wish I could have captured the look on Juno’s face. If looks could kill… Oh my dawg, I’d look like one of Beatrix Kiddo’s victims in Kill Bill. Loki on the other hand was his usual “Oh my dawg! I’m so happy, but I’m so scared, get me outta here” high-pitched yapping self. He causes a scene where ever he goes. But nobody seemed bothered by it.  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

At the Zurich airport, attendants were helpful with information, but they wouldn’t let us use a large flat-bed rolling cart for the crates. Instead an attendant offered to push our bags if we pushed our crates with dogs inside to customs. After about 30 seconds of this, they broke down and let us use a flat-bed rolling cart. This is that part that is so difficult because without help, it’s nearly impossible to get your baggage PLUS both dogs and both crates (whether dogs are in the crates or not). While we had a driver meeting us at the airport to help us, they’re not allowed in baggage claim from international flights.

When we got to customs, both dogs were let out to be scanned for their ISO chips and their health certificates reviewed. Thank dawg for all the obedience training we’ve done in the last 2 years. Juno had jumped out of her kennel as Mr. Wild Dingo reached in to get her and as huskies are apt to do, slipped her collar and ran toward baggage claim. A quick “Juno come” made her turn her head, turn around and come to me. One of the reasons we use a prong collar is for this very reason. Slip collars are too dangerous for mouth wrestling dogs so I only ever use breakaways which she easily slips.  I didn’t make them wear the prongs in the crate for obvious reasons and they were packed away so they wouldn’t be confiscated during security checks with carry ons. I had expected her to slip her collar at some point during all of this.  Obedience training paid off!

After that incident, I immediately made a slip collar noose (like a choke chain) out of her leash and used it so she couldn’t slip out around the airport. Damn Sibe.

This shot is as close as I could get to “when their feet first hit the ground in Europe” for Khyra. There was too much comotion in customs, so we took some shots while we waited for our car outside the airport.

While we were waiting a German Swiss woman came up to us and asked us to take her photo with Juno. I shit you not. The woman in this shot seriously had her photo taken with Juno.

Juno’s celebrity spans internationally as she is instantly recognized and asked for a photo and a pawdograph.  Being their manager can be difficult when it comes to handling adoring fans.

I am thrilled to report that I did not have to resort to narc-ing the lunatic for the 4-hour drive from Zurich to our home. He was so fatigued from the stress that all he could do was be quiet, except during rest stops and potty breaks.  Then his yapper drew attention once again from truckers and road travellers who commented in French “he’s got a loud mouth.” Really? I hadn’t noticed.

Juno had jet lag too. She pretty much konked out the entire 4 hour drive home. In fact, I still think both dogs have jet lag.

So our first day here was Saturday. We took two long walks. One in the country, where Loki got his first look at horses close up. (That’s another post. He was really well behaved.)  The photos below are from our walk Saturday evening in Morges and Sunday morning in Morges.

It’s dusk. The Swiss Alps, Mount Blanc are behind us. But we’re all looking at the Movenpick Ice cream vendor. Who cares about stupid mountains when there’s Swiss ice cream?

Here I am having one of my many “Holy Crap! I’m in Switzerland! With My Dogs!” moments.
Lake Geneva is behind us at this beautiful garden and dog park. Morges is a 12 minute walk from our house. It sure sucks to be here.

There’s dog walking everywhere. It’s encouraged as there are tons of dog stations with clean up bags and dogs are allowed everywhere.

“I don’t think we’re in Los Gatos anymore Princess.”
“Really Big Boy? What gave it away? The big lake, or the funny language everyone is speaking to us?”

Lake Geneva is so clear many people swim in it. The water is refreshing. Not freezing but not warm.

Here’s a sculpture of dancers by Milo Martin, a Swiss artist that seems synonomous with images of Morges.
“Princess, would you like to dance?”
“Stud, there isn’t any music. Besides, there’s some big geese and swans over at the other end of town. Lets go watch them hiss at you!”

Juno was instantly in love with the new adventure and new walks. Loki, being the naturally protective dog, remained suspicous for a day and is finally beginning to relax.

“This pose is for my favorite chick back in the states. You know who you are!”

“Big Boy, you don’t fool anyone. We all know that there are at least a dozen chicks who dig your cross legged pose!”

We’re still establishing our computer equipment. Internet is up but we are working on wireless set up and more. We’ll try to keep you updated this week with new adventures. Mr. Wild Dingo heads off to Japan and China tomorrow and I have to drive him to the airport. That should  be adventerous enough for me. Or at least for the other Swiss drivers on the road.

“Hey Handsome, how about you and me paint this “cat” town a little canine before we blow out of here?”
“Cupcake, you crack the whip, I’ll make trip.”

First stop is the tree farm for a little off-leash time.  Juno  gives me ‘the paw’ one last time when I call her to come.

“You know what happens to the photographer who falsely cries ‘cheese,’ right Mom?”

“Princess, do you think we’ll get a spot on Dancin’ with the Stars?” 
“Stud, your paw choreography is workin’, but the tongue needs to hang a little more to the right.”

For a quick break, they make a stop at their favorite market and proposition the passerby. Summit market is very close to our home and whenever we go out for hikes, these two are always begging me to stop there. It’s not hard to see why.

“Hey Mister, we’re starving and could use a little meat.”
“No, we have no idea who that lady taking pictures is. Never seen her before in our lives.”

“Big Boy, stop looking so intense. You’re killing my helpless, in-desperate-need-of-juicy-deli-BBQ act. How are we gonna score any tri-tip with a face like that?”

Next we stop for a final visit to Dogtor Hilary, who gives them their final exam and a round of acupuncture needles for Juno.

 ”Look Dr. Hilary, until you hand over a couple of treats, I’m not going to cooperate.”

“Hey Princess, if you need me, call, I’ll be right over here, protecting you from afar.”
 ”Thanks Big Boy. Um, I feel so much safer. Not.” 

“Stop being such a tease Dogtor Hilary. Hand over that treat this minute.”

 ”Ooo, Dogtor Hilary, shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

“Well, ok, I’m a cheap date. I’ll take a treat instead.”

Next we head over to the Infamous “Cat’s Hill,” a 23% hill grade.

Every year, a famous bicycle race, the Cat’s Hill Criterium, is held on this course. In a 45-90 minute race, racers will climb that 23% grade 10-30 times.  In addition to the grueling climb, the course has plenty of technical elements from tight 90 degree turns to pavement cracks, bumps and lifting cement slabs that add to the adrenaline.  I raced it once. I like watching the race better.

“Hey cupcake? Why do you think they call this Cat’s Hill? I don’t see no stinkin’ cats!”
“Why don’t you tune in those ears to the local Wi-Fi and wiki-pawdia it, Big Boy?”

Next Loki and Juno stop by to pick up the mail. One good thing about having a ridiculously evil and stupid post-master who won’t deliver our mail, is that we are able to pay non-postal people, like the nice lady in this photo below, money to deliver our parcels to Europe. And US postal workers wonder why they don’t make enough money.

 ”Hey Lady, do you have a package that will hold a 67-pound product from Formosa? We’ll need bubble wrap for those ridiculously large ears.”
“Ha-ha Princess! Very funny.”

Later, they run into this black little fella who looks like a contestant for Dex’s Black Lab contest.

 ”Hey Big Cheese, that black labradog looks suspicious. I don’t like the looks of him.”
“Princess, I think he’s stoned!”

 ”Never mind him, Big Boy. I think I just discovered where we can get some fresh cat-iar.

  ”Hey Mom, why don’t you inquire within to see if they need some live models for Bow Wozer?”
“Ya, that black labradude over there isn’t much of a super model, is he?”

Loki and Juno sure have had some good times in a town named for cats. Many of the shop owners and shoppers have enjoyed meeting them and they always enjoy the attention.  But that doesn’t mean they haven’t had a few indiscretions. After all, one is a Cujo-cracker and the other is a Siberian. Trouble is in their DNA.

“Hey Mom, remember, What happens in Los Gatos, stays in Los Gatos!”

 See ya later LG! The cats can come out now.

 ”Princess, if we’re working dogs,shouldn’t we help the movers load the truck?”
“It depends. What are they offering to satisfy my taste buds?”

 ”Cupcake, maybe we should help them move that sofa.”
“Big Boy, every long journey always begins with a meaty bone. No bones? No work.”

Both dogs are handling the packing really well. They’re hanging out and watching the action without much fuss. Neither seems to be too disgruntled, yet. Just wait until they have to sit behind bars for 13 hours. I’m sure there will be hell to pay.

The big move to CH is now days away and I’m busy preparing. I don’t plan on narc-ing them up for the plane ride over the east pond. Airline regulations do not permit it and it is not recommended by most vets. But we’re landing in Zurich, not Geneva, so we’ll have a 4-hour drive to the new place. And we’ll have a driver. And because I know my cracked-out dog better than anyone, I know one thing: he can be unbearable in the car, a freak, a paranoid on crack. And I could not put an unsuspecting driver through his howels, cries and panic attacks for four straight hours. So I had my vet prescribe him a narc for the drive home, just in case.  I had to test it out to make sure they didn’t have any bad reactions.   

“Princess, how come the patio is spinning?”

Juno, the little stoner, didn’t seem to mind being toasted. In fact, other than the munchies (she has the munchies whether she’s stoned or not), she pretty much chilled out and enjoyed the trip. Loki on the other hand, of course panicked. He came to me, stumbling with those sad eyes wondering, “Why do I feel so funny Mom?”  I can’t believe he never smoked out. I mean, he lived on the streets of Taiwan. For dog’s sake, you’d think he would have ran with some stoner punks.

 ”WTF is going on here? How come I feel like I’m floating?”

“Hey big boy, how about you go raid the cabinets for some salty chips, chewy beef pizzles and a cold milk shake?”
“WTF Princess? I don’t think I can make my paws work. “

“Oh cheeses, don’t tell me you never got hammered before.”
“What’s a hammer got to do with this? My legs feel like jello.”

 ”Freaky. I think I can see my brains.”

The dog’s health certificates are completed, signed and stamped by the USDA. Their crates are prepared, Mr. Wild Dingo is on his way home and they’re ready to rock and roll. Next week is pack and go.

Maggie prefered the drivers seat when she sat in the Mini. Of course she would.

We bought the Mini when Maggie was still alive. She really dug the wheels. She loved the top down and pretty much thought it was her personal car.

Later, Loki and Juno loved it in their own special way.

Driving Miss Juno

“Who are you calling a sissy-dog? Come a little closer. I’ll give you 4 reasons not to call me a sissy: cuspid, inscisor, molar and fang.”

“I’m hotter than a 2-dollar pistol.”

“Knock me a kiss kitten.”

Juno showed the mini a little extra love.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just sitting here, minding my own husky-ness.”

There are a lot of memories in that car: long road trips, bike races, dog adventures and the regular stops from law enforcement. But I’ll never forget the feeling of freedom that came with motoring along NorCal’s notorious Highway 17 daily, carving the the road’s steep corners with ease, with the top down, the sun shining on my face and the wind blowing through my hair.  Next to Mr. Wild Dingo and the beasts, that Mini was home to me.

I’ll miss you Mini. But I won’t miss the speeding tickets.