One hundred percent

Scout is finally 100% house trained. He's five-months seven-days old. Don't know why it took so long.

What a relief though! Up until this, raising Scout was a full-time job. I had to constantly keep my eye on him. "Aught, aught, aught!" "Bad, bad, boy!" was about the only thing I had to say to the little squirt all these months. Now, finally, we are getting to know each other, having meaningful conversations, such as "How are you today?" to which Scout smiles. Speaking the words "Want to go car bye-bye?" sends Scout running to the garage in anticipation of a road trip.

Oh, but he doesn't run exactly. He bounds, soars, hurdles, leaps. His tiny, pink-padded paws rarely touch the ground.

And it's curious the way he holds his left ear upright instead of flopped over in the standard Jack Russell Terrier style. I've been told that when JRTs are teething, their ears sometimes stick straight up. But my theory is Scout's trying to imitate Casey the Westie's ears.

At night, when the inside lights are on and it's dark outside, Scout is fascinated with his reflection in the sliding-glass doors. He sniffs it, pounces at it, and raises his rear end in an attempt to get the reflection to react and come in and play.

I wonder if he's aware that he's looking at himself?

Better than staying home

Anna wearing a muzzle so she can ride a tram in Italy. In Italy, dogs must wear a muzzle to ride on trams, trains, and other public transportation. While being a nuisance, it's better than leaving your dog at home.


Like so many other dog owners in the good ole U.S.A., I think my little West Highland White Terrier and Jack Russell Terrier are the most free, most lucky, most liberated puppies on the face of the earth. But, that's simply not true. Anna, a Greyhound in Europe, is really the liberated one.

Have a look at Anna's adventure photo blog, and you'll see she's been everywhere, is loved by many, and has experienced so much!

Anna goes on trams and trains in Italy, as long as she wears a muzzle. Can your pup go on a tram up the Colorado mountains? No! Can your pup ride the train from Emeryville, California, to Reno, Nevada, and beyond? No! They're not allowed on government-owned AmTrak--not even with a muzzle. I'd be happy to muzzle my dogs so they could travel with me on the train. Of course, if the dogs wear muzzles, they won't be able to carry on their own luggage.


Two dogs with their luggage at train station.
For poster, see posters.com.

Presenting Casey

Video clip of Casey running circles around the late, great Duncan at Carmel by the Sea, California, U.S.A. Video taken August 2007 (30 seconds).

Overall, my dog Casey, a West Highland White Terrier, is a kind and gentle little gal. She is somewhat athletic and has a sweet temperament. For example, she:

• Tolerates a child's rough handling


• Stands still when having her nails clipped


• Climbs up the back of my chair to look out the window but won't sit on my lap


• Loves to go "car bye bye"


• Demands her independence


• Thinks she a big dog


• Holds a grudge when insulted, criticized, or scolded


• Bolts when off leash and won't return when called


• Requires frequent brushing because her rough coat doesn’t shed on its own


• Gets very protective when I'm eating


• Bites through bones like butter


• Walks mile upon mile with her nose to the ground and tail in the air


• Kills rats, mice, snails, flies without remorse


• Chases cats, squirrels, geese, ducks, children with glee


• Runs in circles like a thoroughbred at the race track


• Swims a perfect dog-paddle stoke


• Rolls in anything dirty, stinky, or both


• Watches dog food commercials on TV and dog videos on YouTube


• Barks when an animal or human approaches her territory


• Enjoys the company of humans and canines

Casey's old-world ancestry shows in her dignified expression.

West Highland White Terriers probably suffer from inbreeding more than any other breed. As everyone knows, excessive inbreeding results in health problems, and mental and physical degeneration. Casey is from old-world stock. She's blessed with excellent genes, and a vigorous body, sound mind, and hardy spirit.

Tomorrow I fly to Colorado to pick up Scout, a Jack Russell Terrier. We'll be a pack of three again.

Remembering Duncan

On March 9, 2008, after a three-month long illness, Duncan, my beloved West Highland White Terrier, died.

During the course of his illness, he lost 10 pounds. His once thick white coat became thin, stained, and soiled from skin lesions and too many runny bowel movements. Duncan stopped eating, so I fed him DogSure, a liquid food supplement, using a plastic syringe. I knew his days were numbered--I just didn't think that particular day would be his last. It started off as such a fair morning. Tiny leaves were just beginning to bud on the Japanese maple in my backyard. The sun warmed the room through the sliding glass doors. Jasmine blooms smelled so sweet.

That fateful Sunday morning, we sat together in a big, over-sized leather chair and watched Paul James the Gardener Guy on TV--just like so many times before--me sipping coffee and rubbing Duncan's head, he taking it all in. Mean while, my other dog Casey was outback, chasing birds.

After watching Paul James, I went upstairs to get dressed so I could take Duncan and Casey out for a walk. When I came back down, Duncan was lying on the floor, gasping for air. I picked him up, and thought I should perform artificial respiration, call the vet, do something heroic, but instead, I just held him close to my breast. He looked up into my eyes and wept, the way only a dog owner knows a dog can weep. I whispered in his ear, "Everything's going to be all right." Within five minutes I felt only one heart beating. Duncan was dead.

Later, my son and I took Duncan's remains to the emergency vet for cremation. What torture, standing at the counter, paying the fee to a detached cashier who had no idea how miserable I felt, missing Duncan so much I could hardly stand up, answering the cashier's silly questions though tears, sobs, and snot. "Who is your vet?" "What did your dog die from?" "Do you have pet insurance?" "Can I see your driver's license?"

Then, the vet on duty brought out on leash a bouncy, bright-white Westie that looked just like Duncan in his prime. The vet handed the leash to a woman, and said, "Here you go. Your dog's fine now." The little Westie came over and licked my shoe, looked up into my eyes and smiled, the way only a dog owner knows a dog can smile. It was a enchanting and magical moment.


The late, great Duncan (March 19, 1998-March 9, 2008) scouting around the hills he loved above Castro Valley, California, U.S.A. Photo taken April 2006.





But this blog isn't exclusively about Duncan. It's about life after Duncan. It's a forum for exploring the profundity of the dog/human bond, expressing myself, presenting my other beloved Westie Casey (born January 31, 2001), and introducing my new dog to the pack (an all white Jack Russell Terrier named Scout, born March 1, 2008). It's time to walk off the field of grief and go Scout Around!