Helo, Mr. CrazyMan

I work from home. And on occasion, I have to make very important phone calls. I mean, we're talking 212 area code phone calls. And every time, I have to very carefully plan when these calls take place.

You see, Helo is still a puppy, albeit a 95-lb (and quickly fattening up) puppy whose shoulders come to my waist. And Helo has very specific times during the day in which he likes to be a crazy man.

Now whenever it's revealed that Helo is the reason I can't talk before 11am or after 3pm, I always get the same, sweet, well-intentioned but highly ignorant response:

"Oh, I LOVE dogs!! Don't worry about it! We'll be fine, I'm sure."

No, my friend. No we will not be fine. Because unlike most puppies who can be ignored during their romp around the dining room table or incessant banging into your leg. when Helo plays, couch cushions are flying through the air, the rug is skidding across the floor, and every once in awhile, my lap appears to be the perfect launching pad for his ginormous frame.

In other words, when Helo decides it's time to play, my work day comes to a screeching halt.

Here's what a very tame play time looks like...anyone want to suffer through the no-holds-barred version?

Helo's Big Adventure, Part 2

GO HERE to read Part 1 of Helo's Big Adventure.

We live in a small-ish neighborhood that is tucked behind a couple major roads. To put it in perspective, the big indoor mall in Fort Wayne (population 250,000) is about three quarters of a mile from our house (as the crow flies), and the highway is about a mile and a quarter away from us in another direction.

So even though we live in this quiet, remote, woodsy subdivision, it's blocks from lots and lots of civilization and one of the most trafficked areas of the city.

The moment we realized Helo had left our neighborhood (and had probably done so within minutes of getting hit), the whole plan of finding him seemed that much more impossible. According to Tad, Helo had been broadsided. He rolled up on the car's hood and winshield before being thrown into the snow.

So he had to be hurting and running on adrenaline at this point. And what chance does an injured black dog have of crossing a six-lane road at night without getting hit?

So, we set out to find him. Because if we didn't, chances were he'd end up having to brave a night of freezing temperatures and snow. And, of course, possibly death.

The snow, however, ended up being our best friend.

We had about six inches of it on the ground, and despite the police officer losing Helo's tracks and being unable to find them again, we found them (says a lot for Fort Wayne's finest! ;). This was a moment when we thanked God for Helo's massive paws. Because there was no mistaking our boy's tracks.

So, we followed his path. Through people's yards (one lady sent her dogs out after Tad, thinking he was an intruder) and across streets where we'd pick them up again hundreds of feet away from where they left off.

Basically, there was a lot of putting our ears to the ground and fingering the snowy soil and smelling scent rubbed against trees and you know. Aragorn-type stuff. Or Sully-type stuff, if that's your thing.

We followed the tracks until we lost them at the big road I mentioned. The road that is some hundreds of feet away from a giant, massive intersection.

Tad set out on foot, and I took the car. I knew that there is a trailer-type neighborhood behind the businesses on the far side of the road, so that's where I headed. I drive up and down these dead-end roads, until I spot a set of tracks that just seems a bit random. Like it doesn't lead to a mailbox or door or anything. Something tells me to check these tracks. So, I get out, and I'm convinced they're Helo's. I follow them to behind a garage, where I lose them in a rust pile.

Just beyond the rust pile, and on the other side of a really big garage, is a gas station and what would be another super major road in Fort Wayne. So, I get Tad, he stays at the rust pile to see if he can find where the tracks pick up, and I head to the big road.

I'm driving up and down this major road, hoping and yet fearing to see a black dog on the side of the road. Hoping, because the Interstate is now a quarter of a mile away, and Helo is headed north in its direction.

I eventually meet up with Tad, who picked up Helo's tracks and then lost them in a car dealership lot. So, he leaves word with the people who work there, and we go north to a neighboring fenced-in hotel complex. We can't find him or his tracks, and I'm beginning to wonder if Helo somehow snuck around the fence and is heading toward the Interstate. So, we head to the Interstate.

At this point, we start praying like crazy. Clearly, we've lost his tracks. We have no idea where he is, and he's been missing for almost two and a half hours. That's plenty of time for him to get far, far away. Or get snatched by someone. Or, get hurt even worse. Tad calls a bunch of other people, and they start praying. We pray, because we have nothing left. Which is really sad in retrospect, because it's totally one of the first things we should have done.

No tracks in the field leading to the Interstate. So then, we head north on this main road, wondering if maybe he stuck to IT instead of veering off of it (and onto the Interstate). It was here that we got a phone call.

Helo had been found. It's 9pm.

We go to the hotel, and the guy who called us says that it's actually the dealership that has Helo. So, we go to the dealership, and standing inside of the showroom, looking out the window, is our dog.

We run in there and get him, thank the people (the guy closing up for the night had found Helo between two big SUVs), then lift Helo into the car. He's limping. So we head to the emergency pet hospital.

After a quick exam, we head home at 10:30pm. Helo simply has a bruised hip and a few scratches. His prescription? The doggy version of Ibuprofin.

And it's at this point that someone asks us how the car who hit him fared.

Probably not as well.

I strongly feel that God led us to Helo. We never failed to find Helo's tracks, no matter how crazy of a path he took. And we talked to the right people...people who would be instrumental in helping us get Helo back. And, we found him a mile away from home. Think about your hometown or city. Think of where you live, or a spot in town that is heavily populated and trafficked. Then, choose a spot a mile away. A mile isn't that long. But when you're talking highways and crossing city streets and passing block after block, it's VERY long. So long, that had there not been snow, I don't know how we would have found him. So that's my God post for the month or year. I don't do these very often, because that's not the type of blog this is. But I had to do it here. Because I thought it was a pretty crazy story.

Helo's Big Adventure, Part 1

WARNING: If you are crazy in love with dogs, read with caution.

WARNING: If you think people are crazy for being crazy in love with dogs, read with caution.

ACHTUNG: If you are easily offended by God-talk, read Part 2 with caution.

Now don’t say I didn’t warn you....

Tad and I have a dog named Helo. He is only a year old, but he is pretty massive. So massive, that when Helo decides it’s time to play or be crazy, cushions are flying off the couch and random crap is falling down all over the place.

We got him from the animal shelter last January, and he is THE MOST SPOILED DOG IN THE UNIVERSE. He is more than our child (because I like to think he gets away with way more than our children would). He is our obsession. He sleeps in our bed with us, under the covers. He eats stupid expensive dog food. He gets a new toy about every month. He goes bye-bye with me on all my errands. He is our best friend.

So imagine our horror a few weeks ago when he got hit by a car.

It was dark. Around 6:30pm. We were packing up the car for a Christmas trip to my parents’ in Illinois. Helo ran into the street right when a car was coming. I was inside, so I didn’t see it, but I heard it. Tad yelled. Then the impact. Then Tad screamed. That scream, my friends, was the same scream that 60 year-old men give when they’re letting their little dogs run free in the park behind our house and their little dogs come straight for Helo. It’s the scream of a grown man who is suddenly terrified that his dog will die before his eyes.

So I rushed outside.

This part is still a blur. I remember not seeing Helo and seeing Tad run off through someone’s yard. Or maybe Tad said something to me? I can’t remember. The only thing I do remember is eventually talking to the guy who hit Helo.

Now you must keep in mind that I’m freaking out. I’m not a screamer and I’m not a crier. I’m just one of those people who covers their mouth and says “ohmygoshohmygoshOHMYGOSH.”

So I find out from this guy that yes, he hit Helo and yes, Helo ran away, and yes my husband went after him.

So then sirens.

Cops approach me cautiously as though I’m some crazy lady, pacing outside in 28-degree weather without a jacket.

They ask me if everything is alright and I’m like MY DOG GOT HIT BY A CAR AND RAN AWAY. And so they stop and they ask me about it and then they say that they got a call about a domestic disturbance. I say it was probably the accident that neighbors heard. And the cop looked at me and very sensitively asked ... “was...was it a loud impact?”

And I said yes. And that my husband screamed.

And he said “Ok, that accounts for both of the noises that were reported.”

So then the cops join the search for Helo.

So at this point I become the person who is at home, coordinating search parties and telling people what to do and when it’s okay for them to quit (NEVER). Eventually, I let the guy who hit Helo go home (he had graciously agreed to drive around the neighborhood to look).

And then the MOST UNHELPFUL thing happened. Animal Control called and was like “Ma’am, your dog was recently reported last seen on the yada yada block of yada yada avenue...”

“YES, I KNOW. WE’RE LOOKING FOR HIM RIGHT NOW.”

“One moment.”

Moment.

“Ma’am, police have cleared the area and can’t find the dog.”

“NO, ACTUALLY, THAT’S NOT TRUE. THEY’RE HERE RIGHT NOW LOOKING FOR HIM.”  Ugh...dude was totally wasting my time...time that could be spent worrying! and pacing!

So then the Animal Control guy comes to the scene and drives around but can’t find Helo. And he’s convinced that Helo is curled up somewhere, dying. He won’t give me even a glimmer of hope. So, I send that guy packing.

Then the one cop who went out on foot to track Helo through the snow returns without any luck. And another cop leaves to respond to a call. And the third cop is just enjoying some Internet in the warmth of his tax money cop car. And these neighbors are screaming Helo’s name in their redneck accents (pretty sure Helo doesn’t speak redneck) and every second, Helo is getting farther and farther away.

And I quickly realize that if we’re going to find Helo, we’re going to have to do it ourselves.

So, around 8pm, Tad and I thank everyone for looking, and we set out on our own...only to quickly realize that Helo had left the neighborhood long ago.

To be continued...

When Nature Attacks...Again!!!

Just when I thought these ridiculous encounters with nature couldn't get any worse...just when I thought my days of playing Snow White were over...just when I thought I'd had run-ins with every oddball creature in these parts, Helo and I were stalked by a deer. But let me rewind. Because before that, there was a goundhog incident.

ATTACK 6
(For attacks 1-5, please see my other post).

There are two huge piles of wood behind our garage that we can do nothing about. (This is one of the many joys of living in a rental). A*bout a month ago, I heard a weird noise every time I took Helo behind the garage to go potty. It was as if something was thumping on the wood. I got smart and began checking the wood pile as we walked back there. Eventually, I saw a furry butt disappear into the jungle-gym. A big furry butt.

Then one day, I walked Helo back there and heard the thump. I looked at the pile, but instead of seeing a retreating furball, my gaze was met by two beady eyes. A huge groundhog stared me down. We remained locked in this unspoken contest until moments later, he casually dropped into his hole. Message received, groundhog. Message received.


ATTACK 7
Okay, this one happened about an hour ago. It was dusk, and Helo and I were out for a walk. There's this giant forest/woods behind our house with many paths through it. We like to go through the woods on our way home, because one path in particular pops us out near our backyard.

So we're walking, and Helo is sniffing, and I'm daydreaming/duskdreaming and then I see this massive furry body about 20 feet ahead of us. A doe is staring us down. We stop, of course. Helo keeps sniffing (the dog is super oblivious). And this video starts playing in my mind:



So I start thinking about options. I'd like to think that if I were on my own, I would have been more brave. But with a 10-month old Great Dane puppy in the picture, all I could think of were outcomes that involved blood. SO, my mission became to avoid blood. Simple enough.

Now, deer are supposed to scare easily, right?
So, I take a few steps toward the deer.
It doesn't move.
At this point, Helo notices the deer and decides he wants to be friends. He starts jumping up on his back legs, pulling on the leash.
The deer doesn't move.
I calm Helo down and consider continuing on the trail (the deer was standing off to the side of the trail), when it STARTS WALKING TOWARD US.

This isn't a casual, aimless wandering that happens to be in our direction. NO, this deer starts walking a straight line toward me.
At this point, I realize we should leave. So Helo and I turn around.
I glance over my shoulder and here's the part where I almost started to cry...the part where Tad said it's like The Village. The deer is peeking at us from behind a tree.
We pick up the pace.
I look again, and it's behind ANOTHER tree. ONLY CLOSER.
We scurry as fast as we can and eventually lose sight of the deer.

At this point the thrillseeker in me takes over, and I decide to choose another path that will lead us right by where we spotted the deer...only we'd be closer to the edge of the forest and the safety of the better-lit clearing. So we're walking along when Helo comes to a complete stop. He starts doing this low growl and won't go any further, his eyes fixed on a bend in the path before us.

I realize I have no interest in being killed by nature, and so I turn us around again to find our way to the clearing. And Helo practically pulls me along, as he nervously glances behind us.

We make it into the clearing. Don't hear from the deer after that.

But as my friend Kyle Waalen hilariously pointed out. If I AM Snow White, the gatekeeper of nature, perhaps the deer was just approaching me so she could bless me? I mean what else could explain this erratic behavior? Do deer eat people??

yoga schmoga

Tad: How was your first yoga class?
Me: Good. We looked into ourselves at our past lives.
Tad: What did you see?
Me: I don't know. I didn't look that deep.
Tad: I bet you were a dog. You understand them so well.
Me: Yeah, that sounds nice. I think I'll go with that.

The Adventures of Mandi and Babe

Tad has said that if he were to write a children’s book, it would be called The Adventures of Mandi and Babe and would include all of the silly stories I have of my dogs growing up. Particularly, our black lab, Babe.

Babe was an ox. 100 pounds, I’d say. And definitely in the upper limits of the height index. I wasn’t a huge Babe fan. I mean, I liked him enough, but he could never replace our first dog, Traff (Yes, I was THAT child). Still, Babe made sure I had plenty of memories to make me miss him when he was gone…

The Falling Incident
One time Babe fell on me. I was sitting on the couch. Babe sat on the couch next to me with his back to me so that I could pet him. When I got tired of petting him, I stopped. The next thing I knew, Babe glanced over his shoulder at me. Then, he came tumbling backwards on top of me.

I was instantaneously buried in his fat and hugeness.

The Morning Incident
One time, Babe woke me up. It was sort of late in the day. I was dozing upstairs in my bed when I heard my dad very excitedly say, “Babe! Babe, go wake up Mandi. GO WAKE UP MANDI, BABE!”

And to my dismay, Babe came pounding up the stairs and jumped on my bed. He and I weren’t very cuddly, so he danced around on my bed for awhile as I yelled at him and told him to go away. Then, after I was successfully awoken, he left.

The Face-Licking Incident(s)
Babe liked to lick my face. He would do this by randomly attacking me as I sat on the floor. He was so huge, I was powerless until he had had his share of my face. Because of this, I tried to sit on the floor as little as possible. And every time I thought it was safe—every time I thought he had forgotten about our game because it had been like six months since the last attack—he’d still get me. It maybe took him twenty minutes or so to realize I was on the floor, but he’d still get me.

He didn’t do this with anyone else.

The Stale Graham Cracker Incident(s)
Babe would rarely go to his bed when asked. He would only go if you promised him a treat.

One night, I was so mad at him for demanding a treat. He was our dog, after all. He should gladly go to his bed when asked. So, I promised him a treat, he went to his bed, I locked him up, and left. Without giving him the treat.

The next day, Babe was super mad at me. He refused to come when I called, would bump into me on his way past, and wouldn’t budge from the couch or chair if I wanted to sit down. Finally, tired of having to deal with his moodiness, I gave him a treat.

It was as if nothing happened.

So ever since then, I always was sure to give him a treat if I had promised him one.

But of course I wouldn’t give him good treats. I’d give him stale graham crackers and stuff. I had to keep the upper hand somehow.

5 Reasons I'm Back to Wanting a Great Dane

1. This video

2. Last week's episode of The Office

3. Their longer expected life span

4. A fear of buyer's remorse

5. A solution to Tad's "No Dogs on the Couch" rule. A Dane is so big, it can cuddle you without having to get up beside you.

I promise this is the last time I change my mind.

You Decide 2009: Amanda's Best Friend

For years I've been saying I want a Great Dane. He's going to be black and I'm going to name him Achilles (or Snake Eyes, or Vader, or Gambit). But most of the time, it's Achilles.

I've only seen these giant dogs in person a few times, and each time I have experienced an uncontrollable urge to jump on them and hug them and cuddle them. (Admittedly, I have this urge with almost every dog, but nevertheless I feel it more strongly with the Great Dane). Thankfully each time I was able to control the uncontrollable urge, and save myself a bit of embarassment. But the truth still stands, these dogs make me weak. And so I must have one.

Until the other day...

I was out for my run when I came upon a Bernese Mountain Dog--big, beautiful, big. And out of nowhere I felt that uncontrollable urge creep up from within. I had to concentrate very hard on keeping my hand at a ninety-degree angle as I passed the perfect companion and try not to look directy into its eyes--for I knew I would be smitten. All the following day at work, I thought of little else. My mind took me back to that fateful run...and even more so, it took me to the time when I played with a Berner pup in a pet store. Yes, it scratched my arms to pieces, yes it ran around the cubicle like a medicated child, but I looked past all that when comparing the restless pup to the wonderful adult that he was destined to become.

And so now, dear readers, I have a great life conundrum.

Shall I get my Great Dane, Achilles? Or my Bernese Mountain Dog, name yet to be disclosed/decided?

I have ample time to decide--one year, maybe two. But do you realize how difficult it is to look forward to something when you're quite unsure as to what that something exactly is?

My Dog Spanky

Meet my little friend.

Sit.
Play dead.
Fetch.
Roll over.
Spin.
Speak.

At first, you'll probably tell him to do what he's expected to do.

When you're tired of that, tell him to 'kiss'. You'll be glad you did.