OK, I know it’s been a while. Here is what’s on my mind:

• When you own a dog, you clean more than ever, and yet your place is generally messier.


• It’s snowing on the high peaks. Winter is just about here. While I like the look of the mountains with the snow on them, I’m dreading the thought of a winter like we had last year here in Boulder.


• The Colorado Rockies (baseball club) are absolutely tearing it up, and they remind me of the Phillies of 1993, another team of lower-paid gamers who ended up playing like a team instead of a collection of overpaid egos. I’ll be rooting for a National League team this year in the World Series.


• Speaking of baseball, I would love to see the Red Sox fold like the bunch of pussies that they are. They should already be declared the losers of the ALCS simply for Manny Ramirez’s bullshit posturing when he hit that home run last night. Sorry, I just fucking hate that guy. Actually, I’m not sorry. He is a douchebag.


• Speaking of baseball, who’s idea was it to have Dane Cook do ads for major league baseball!? I truly believe I’d rather watch Carrot Top try and generate enthusiasm for the game than this no-talent ass wipe.


• I got a new camera; just wait ‘till you see the incredible pictures.


• I saw my sister and my brother-in-law.


• Things are generally good.

Six hours, that’s what it takes to tire him out. Like, I mean, really tire him out. Hooper spent six hours at Camp Bow-Wow today, his first experience with this so-called doggie day care deal. What a friggin’ hoot.

Brenda has a bunch of deadlines to meet, and since she’s been working from home, half her energy and time is spent managing Hooper during the day. So today we thought it might be a good idea for me to take Hooper off her hands and let her make some headway without poop and and chew-toy distractions. Now, Hoop’s spent half-days with me in the office before, but knowing that he starts getting cranky and rambunctious around 3pm we thought maybe today we’d try a new program: morning with Rob in the office, and afternoon at dogie day care. It couldn’t have worked out better.

To begin the day, my co-worker Mike dropped by my office with his two dogs Hoodabai and Snap around 9am. I’d met “Hooda” before, as he’s brought her in in the past, but Mike’s wife had both Hoodabai and Snap—their other dog, a beautiful Red Tick Coonhound—in the car when she dropped Mike off at work, and he wanted me to meet him. And so it was in the hallway outside my office that the three dogs had an impromptu meet-n-greet while half the office looked on from the kitchen at the end of the hall.

The rest of the morning was the usual ADD experience of work peppered with visits by co-workers (generally brought about by yours truly IM’ing co-workers to alert them of Hooper’s office attendance) and checks to make sure Hooper wasn’t eating anything he wasn’t supposed to. But at noon, it was time for Hooper’s life to change.

We walked down the street to Camp Bow-wow, the doggy daycare facility; and while Hoop sniffed and chewed, I filled out paperwork. A dog was brought out, and the two of them sniffed some more. Then the two of them went into the play area with the other inmates, and the warden came out saying Hoop had passed the “interview” with flying colors. Hooper was gonna spend the rest of the afternoon in a large indoor/outdoor area with about 15 other dogs, and all I needed to do was show up before 7PM to bring him home. And, as an added bonus, I could watch the proceedings on a webcam.

We’ve had Hooper for two months now, and we know that he has no off-switch. If a dog is in the room, he will play with it, so I was wondering how he would do in a room full of dogs without me to say “enough” and clip a leash on him. Turns out, he just keeps on going, and going, and going, until I show up to bring him home and the staff at the doggy daycare all breathe a sigh of relief. Seriously. The webcam—which is like crack for canine owners—told the whole story; the picture updates every three seconds or so, so you get this sort-of flipbook glimpse of the proceedings at the facility. The thing is, some dogs will change position a little bit each update, but Hooper would be in-frame one minute and completely gone by the next update, indicating a dog in constant and rapid motion. This continued throughout the afternoon, as I took continuous deep and long hits on the doggy daycare webcam crackpipe.

When I picked him up at the end of the day, the “camp counselor” was smiling ear-to-ear and said “Hooper was great, he played with with everyone, all day; he messed with the big dogs, and played with the smaller dogs, he didn’t discriminate”. Hooper emerged looking like a teenager coming down off an extacy high after an all-night rave, which is about the canine equivalent of doggy day care as far as I can tell. His usually shiny coat took on a dull patina of dog saliva and dirt. He sniffed randomly and had the eyes of a partier; he was in the throes of denial that the party was over.

When we got home, he slumped down and went to sleep, and for the remainder of the evening it’s been as if we have a Pug in the house, not a Lab/Border Collie mix. It’s been awesome. I’m sold.

Best dog picture ever, for now:

All he wanted to do was to bring happiness and teething relief to a little puppy someplace. Endorsed by the American Kennel Club, this little bear toy came into our home courtesy of my sister Christina. While I thanked her for the gift, I predicted a short stay in the house.

The following pictures were taken over the course of ten minutes; swear to god. And Hooper was kinda mellow tonight.

If you ever get a squeaky thingy stuck in your anus, Hooper is the guy to get it out in record time:







And there you have it, the deconstruction of Teddy. What a great night.

Hooper has been hanging around the joint for a month now. He’s changed our lives.

First off, Brenda now gets up at 6:30 a.m. regardless of whether she wants to or not. She’s the designated dog driver in the morning, and she’s seen some amazing sunrises and met freakish yoga people. Me, I have the night shift, and walk Hooper immediately after arriving home from work. We’ve met cyclists and weirdo dalmatian owners.

We’ve met a lot of dogs and dog owners in fact, and I know more of the neighborhood dogs by name than the owners; Morgan, Shylo, Hannah, Buster, they are all familiar faces. So are those of their owners, but I’ll be damned if they are anything other than The Lady who Owns Morgan and Hates Hooper for his Goddamned Energy, The Dude Who Owns Shylo, The Grad Student Who Owns Gorgeous Hannah, and The Self-Appointed Dog Training Genius Who Owns Bratty Buster.

Speaking of the use of the word “owner” in the context of dogs and their, uh, owners, it seems that hippie town Boulder prefers the term “guardian” for people who own their dogs. Whatever. Look, hippie, I love Hooper more than you ever will love your Grateful Dead mix tape, and besides, I have a receipt for Hoop. A receipt. So, shut the fuck up.

Hooper knows stuff. He looks to us for permission to eat and to walk through a door. He also just took a piss in the guest bedroom, so he knows how to do that too. This is unfortunate.

Hoop has gained some weight, but I think he will top out at fifty or so pounds, which is perfect. I think he will end up looking like a perpetual Lab puppy, which is perfect.

Did you know that they give out treats at the Good Times in Boulder? Well, they do. Hooper & I found this out today, mostly to Hooper’s delight. Most people driving around town also seem to melt in the presence of Hooper’s little face gazing out the rear quarter window of our Golf.

Hooper’s looking fairly dead on the floor right now, and Brenda’s looking equally expired on the couch eighteen inches from me as I type this. Currently, life is good.

Boulder Municipal Airport (KBDU) had an open house today. Not an airshow per se, but there were a couple of cool airplanes parked on the ramp (including a very rare two-seat Supermarine Spitfire trainer) for inspection. I took Hooper to the airport for our very first “father-son” type outing. It was great. At one point, a flight of three AT-6 “Texan” aircraft flew overhead, and my friend Michael got a shot of Hooper and I enjoying the show.

A few moments later, they all landed and taxied up to where we were, and Hoop didn’t even flinch. So, he likes airplanes, even the big, loud, radial-engined ones. I was so proud.

Hooper has been in our house, and our lives, for one week now. I have a week’s worth of memories, that include racing to a peeing dog; picking up poop—both outside and inside; checking under Hoop’s belly for evidence of a pee stream in the black of night; begging him to walk as he stares at me on the sidewalk; begging him to stop nipping me in the midst of one of his freak-out sessions; petting and stroking his beautiful coat; sniffing: me him, and he me as well as various piles of poo and god knows what else outside; stressing about his play skills with the two month-old puppy around the corner; stressing about his hips; stressing about how much room he has to play in our living room; joy over being a part of teaching him his first command, “sit”; the ADD feeling of trying to read seven (yes, seven) dog training/care books at once; the despair of listening to him whine; the pride in his farts.

I know Primo was a failure, but I still have a few names I wish I could call him: Coppa, Stugots, and—my personal fave—Guidry (look them all up; great names inspire research). But I guess he’s Hooper now and forever, since he actually looks at me when I call him that half the time.

Today, Hoop decided that he’s afraid of bicyclists. When he sees or hears one approaching, he stops dead in his tracks, and watches the apparently demonic mechanical cyborgs roll past. Once they pass, he’s up on his feet and ready to walk again. I know it’s a passing phase, but today’s discovery was akin to Mr. Holland the music teacher discovering his son Cole was deaf.

There are about a thousand other little gestures, smells, discoveries, fears and observations, that have been absorbed this week. I can’t believe this is happening. I love this, and I love Guidry—I mean, Hooper. (oh, he just stretched and as he did so, his paws patted my feet. How cute.)

We’re gonna go pee now.

Announcement:
Friends and family members, who may be thinking of buying a DVD copy or one-sheet for the 1978 film “Hooper”, thinking it would be a great gag gift for us, don’t do it. Because I already did.

Kinda makes me want to get him a cape and name him Underdog.

ANNOUNCEMENT:

After half a day as Primo, Hooper is once again Hooper, the name he was granted at the shelter. It just fits, we’ve decided. And, we can call him HooperSuperDuperPooper this way, which is like, excellent.

Besides, unlike most people, when I first heard his name I did not first think of lovable Mister Hooper from Sesame Street, I of course thought of the beer-swilling, bar-fighting rocket car-jumping stuntman Sonny Hooper, played by Burt Reynolds in the 1978 film by the same name. You probably didn’t see it. That’s OK, but I still recall the credits rolling to a song with the lyric “there ain’t nothing like the life of a Hollywood stuntman”. And Hooper the Dog definitely resembles a stuntman when he goes barreling down the stairs; a successful outcome usually seems unlikely.

So, yeah. Hooper. Hooper Primo King-Guglielmetti. Now all we have to do is train him to wear a cowboy hat, blow bubbles with gum, and drive a rocket car.