March 2008 Archives

Ever tango with your terrier? Or boogie with your beagle?

Well there's now a class right here in the South Bay -- offered by the Lomita Obedience Training Cub at Lomita Park -- to teach you how to liven up the dance floor with Fido.

Who knew? 

Here's part of the Dancing with Dogs class description:

 "This is a relatively new sport that combines precision obedience with the fun and entertainment value of tricks, forming the visually exciting of a dog and handler moving together to music. Amaze your friends at parties!" 

Indeed. 

I suppose the closest I've ever come is some coordinated stepping with my dogs is something that all owners are forced to master:  "dancing" around twisted and tangled leashes on a fast-paced walk, usually quite ungracefully. 

Throw in sightings of some furry urban wildlife, and things can get even more exciting. Walking downhill in a local park one morning a few years back, my two dogs spotted a squirrel. We were off and running, faster and faster we went. I literally had to slam myself into a tree to break what would have been a headlong race to disaster.

Normally, the journalistic powerhouse known as the Daily Breeze buzzes like a bee hive with activity. But on Saturdays there's just a few of us here.

All the "suits" are off playing golf at their country clubs, so with just a skeleton crew on hand, sometimes I like to sneak my dog into the office. He's even made friends with the copy editors, which in iteself is quite a feat. They're not easily impressed, those copy editors.

Anyway, I took the dog to the Redondo Beach Dog Park this morning, where he slobbered on all the other dogs and annoyed their owners for an hour.

Now he's chilling under my desk, gnawing on a rawhide bone. And I'm wondering how many other people bring their pets to the offfice? Do you take your dog to work with you? Let me know.

And please, whatever you do, don't tell my bosses about this. If they find out I bring my dog to work, they might tell me to stop. And then where will I be?

OK, you've just brought your new dog (or cat) home. "Hey, you" won't do for very long, so you begin the search for just the perfect name. I have friends who manage to do this in a snap -- my friend Shirley, for example. "Nash" she announced in all confidence in an e-mail to me, literally moments after she'd brought home a kitten so tiny he still needed to be bottle fed.

Me? Names are a bit more complicated in my universe. I think it's because I'm a writer, but maybe it's just some strange personal quirk of indecisiveness that can paralyze me every so often. I often spend days poring over lists, my own and others' (if you're not aware, there are exhaustive lists of pet names now online). I bounce various possibilities off friends, I try a few out on the dog. I wring my hands, I say to myself, "It's OK, but .... there must be a better name out there, somewhere. And so I stop thinking about it altogether. 

Last weekend, I adopted a new dog, a border collie. She is beautiful and she came with the very appropriate name of "Purdy." That's a fine enough name, except I've discovered that I absolutely cannot say it without using a long, hillbilly twang. "Purrdeee." I am making both of us crazy. 

The right name will come. I'm simply named out. So for now, it's "Hey! You! -- Purrrdeee." 

I have this theory that bad dogs come back as people in the next life, while good people get to come back as dogs. And the REALLY good people get to become dogs in Sweden.

Sweden has always had been an animal-friendly place. They've had rules there since 2005 to ensure that dogs and cats "have the opportunity to feel good and behave in a natural manner."

 But now they've gone further, codifying rules demanding that pets get lots of interaction and windows with lots of sunlight.

This is my first entry in a blog that is supposed to be tied somehow to the South Bay. So here's the connection: There's an Ikea in Carson!