Happiness is a Warm Puppy…

…and a Cool King


photo credit: Monica Medina

Oliver Twist, our Maltipoo puppy, is almost three months old! And, in case you’re wondering how the little tyke is getting along with the Master of the House, aka, Henry, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who descends from royalty, you need wonder no more.

Turns out, these fellows are as happy as can be. Two peas in a pod. Actually, more like, two pigs in a pen. In other words, they’re getting along just peachy!

Or, as Henry would say, “We are treating each other with the respect and civility befitting a royal of good standing. That would be me.”

So herewith, some recent photos of the dynamic duo in action, showing how they spend their day. After all, the proof is in the pudding!


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Julienne Aquino


photo credit: Monica Medina

Until next time!

Puppy Fever!

Ash and Josie

Puppy Fever has arrived at the office. Much like Spring Fever or the ticking biological clock—the one that makes you want babies—but instead of wanting babies–we want puppies!

It all started with Ash. She got a bee in her bonnet that she wanted a puppy and soon she took to regaling us with stories of puppies. Puppy this and puppy that and at first we paid her no mind, but soon she was showing us oodles and oodles of pictures of puppies, and you’ve got to admit, presented with a cute puppy, it’s hard not to fawn and sigh with joy—even if it is only a photo.

So, before you knew it, Ash had us all talking about puppies. And by all of us, I mean, us women in the office, and even Jack, our sole male, who’s been known to tweet using the following hashtag:



Anyway, I swear I’ve seen Jack get all gooey-eyed when shown a video of a sweet little dog frolicking in the grass. And, I don’t believe him for a moment when he says, it’s just allergies.

So, one day, I said to Ash, after hearing her go on and on about a certain Morkie puppy that she really, really wanted (and for those not in the know, that’s one of those hybrid dogs or designer mutts, as I call them), half Maltese and half Yorkie,

“Okay, Ash, let’s go look at your puppy.”

Ash did one of those double takes that you see happen in cartoons, where they look away and then, they look right back at you with their eyes as wide as saucers, wondering if you really meant it and getting excited in case you do.

“WHAT??!” she asked exuberantly. I could hear her heart pounding from across the room.

Clare wants a puppy, too!

“Let’s go! Today at lunch, we’ll go see your puppy, the one you want.”

So, Ash, Clare and I piled into her car. (Trisha was out sick that day and Jack was nowhere in sight, while Laura had already gone to lunch). And, off we went.

Well, we were there in five minutes flat, and it took less than 30 seconds for all of us to fall head over heels in love with Ash’s Morkie.  And, while she went back and forth, trying to figure out whether or not to adopt the little thing, I said,

“Ash, if you don’t walk out with that puppy today, I’m taking her.”

Because suddenly, just like that, even though I didn’t mean to, I’d become another victim of puppy fever!  After all, doesn’t my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel deserve a little companion–a sidekick? Someone who’ll play Dr. Watson to his Sherlock? Rather, a mini-me, puppy-in-waiting?

Well, Ash didn’t get the Morkie that day, but she went back two more times to have a look-see (four times, in all–but who’s counting?). And, she took her boyfriend so he could give his input, and before you knew it the little Morkie was finally hers!

I just love puppies!

So, now Ash has her puppy, named Josefina Calisi. (Yes, Ash and her guy are big fans of HBO’s Game of Thrones.) Or, Josie for short.

And, I still have puppy fever! Clare does, too, by the way, but her roommate, who happens to be her sister, Hannah, refuses to cave to puppy madness.

As for Trisha, who was out sick the day we went to see the puppy, she swore never to leave us alone in the office again, because, as she puts it, she’s the only practical one among us (puppy insanity hasn’t hit her yet, but I figure it’s a matter of time).

Sure, Trisha’s laughing now, but she’s tired of all this puppy-love talk in the office. (This, coming from a cat owner, which is why I take everything she says with a grain of salt.)

Trisha says, had she been in the office that day, she would have told us not to be so impulsive. In other words, someone’s got to be the wet blanket, ahem, reality check.  😉

Jack: The struggles of being the only man in our department. Must be very trying, indeed.

So, what do you think? Should I succumb to my serious bout of puppy fever? Or, listen to Trisha and let sleeping dogs lie?

Luckily, DiDi and Bella from Paws to Talk are going to help me figure this out. Can’t wait!

In the meantime, Happy Fourth to all my American readers! To the rest of you, Happy Wednesday!  May the Fourth be with you!

Laura, seen here at one of our events, is the newest addition to our department, and has admitted a certain fondness for puppies.

It’s a Dog’s Life

My Henry is very high maintenance. Even more so than me. He’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, which means he sees his groomer precisely every four weeks, whereas I’m lucky if I can see my hairstylist every eight weeks. During Henry’s last visit, his groomer informed me that she can feel some tension in the back of his neck and that it might be from stress. That I should try to massage his neck and shoulders, on a weekly basis, to help Henry alleviate this stress.

My Cavalier King Charles Spaniel takes a much-needed nap to alleviate his stress.

Stress? What is my dog stressed about? I’m the one working day in, day out. I’m the one blogging and trying to figure out what I’m going to write about next. All Henry has to do is decide if he wants to nap on the sofa, the comfy chair that I sit in when I’m watching TV, or simply lounge on one of three dog beds scattered around the home. There’s even a fourth dog bed in the garage that he sometimes likes to use. And there’s always my bed. So, is that the real problem? Have I given him too many choices for napping, that it has turned him into a basket case, simply because he can’t decide?

Then there’s Henry’s veterinarian, who has a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel of his own. Which makes him an expert when it comes to treating my dog. He’s given me a laundry list, which could fill a novella, if you ask me, that contains specific instructions on what I need to do for the care and comfort of Henry. Here’s a sampling:

  • Ear cleaning fluid: I’m supposed to squirt this in his ears twice a week and then rub them. Henry hates this and furiously shakes his head when I apply the solution, causing the liquid to spray all over me.
  • Toothpaste for sensitive teeth: I have to brush his teeth at least once a week. Then, Henry’s supposed to rinse with a medicinal solution, but try as I might, I still can’t get him to gargle and not swallow.
  • Oral gel: This removes plaque from his teeth and freshens his breath (I guess he needs this for when he goes out on dates, thus proving even a dog can get more action than his owner). Problem is, Henry refuses to sit calmly with his mouth wide open so I can apply gel on his canines to my heart’s content.
  • Medicated shampoo for washing his face, to help reduce bacteria from getting into his mouth, which seems pointless, if you ask me. Apparently, Henry’s vet has never seen what this dog puts in his mouth when he’s out for a walk. Bacteria? Henry’s response to that is, bring it on!

Well, I guess I have to do all this because Henry is, after all, descended from royalty. His ancestors romped in some of the best palaces of England—Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, you name it. While my cavalier is confined to living in my tiny abode. Trust me, my place is no palace.

Did I rob Henry of his royal birthright?

Maybe Henry is stressed because he feels he’s been robbed of his birthright. Kind of like “The Prince and the Pauper.” I’m sure Henry’s thinking someone forced him to switch places with a pauper dog. My little “prince” probably takes stock of my place and says to himself, “I could do better.”

I told a saleswoman at the local pet supply store about my dog’s plight. She suggested I have his aura checked. Aura? How about his horoscope while I’m at it? Which, if I am to believe his, it’s time for Henry to put his nose to the grindstone and set long-term goals. I imagine Henry’s long-term goals consist of making sure he squeezes in enough nap times between meals, avoids having to take long walks with me, and collects as many tennis balls from the tennis court as he can muster. At last count, Henry had 34 tennis balls in his possession. (Best not to look under the sofa.)

So, there you have it. I’m living with royalty and all I can say is, who ever said it was a dog’s life?