We euthanized my father's German Shorthaired Pointer, Zipper, yesterday at about 6PM. Zipper was 11-1/2 years old, a ripe old age for her breed. Earlier this summer she was diagnosed with the diabetes that would destroy her liver, kidneys, and thyroid. The poor girl wasn't in good shape at the end. Which isn't to say that she was ever really in "good" shape to begin with.

Dad originally bought Zipper second-hand, as her original owner found high-strung Zipper to be too much of a handful. Zipper was intended as pet for Chere, but that never quite worked out. Even as a young dog, Zip was neurotic enough to consider a pencil lying on the floor to be the equivalent of an electrified fence. In her need for order, she ended up being more of a tattle-tale on Chere's frequent mischief than a playmate. Though Chere tolerated Zipper, our first poodle was never really keen on having a stool pigeon for a pack mate.

Zipper was always skittish and was once full of nervous energy, hence the name Trey gave her. She never had full control of her hind legs, and they tended to vibrate at high speed when she was excited. Her hind claws could tap out something of a racket as she impatiently watched the clock hands work their way towards treat time.

Once the diabetes was diagnosed, treat-time lost a lot of its meaning. I can't think it much of a coincidence that not too long after we took away the very thing that gave her days meaning, Zipper finally gave up the ghost. She knew that some things just aren't worth living for.

She was a good dog, and I loved her.

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I was really hoping that 2011 would be better than 2010, but that looks less and less likely. I sadly announce the death of Marquessa, my father's Black and Tan Coonhound.

Always afflicted with an insatiable wanderlust, Marquessa apparently escaped from my father's yard while he was out of town on New Year's Day and was struck by a car. She died on the side of the road, like her father and brother before her. My father found out when he returned home yesterday.

Marquessa would have turned 6 this year. She spent her first year with Chere before her death. That was just long enough for Chere to teach Marquessa all of her bad habits. Rambo has spent his first year with Marquessa. So thanks to Marquessa, Chere's bad habits live on in Rambo.

She was a good dog, and I loved her.

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Latest painting is on eBay here. Fitting that I would finally get around to painting her. I was motivated to start painting dogs in her honor. (Ok, maybe she was a little spoiled.)

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My beloved poodle, Chere, died today at approximately 2PM. Though the cause of death will never be known for sure, my father, Chere's caretaker and best friend, believes that Chere suffered a heart attack. [Updated Sept. 3] At least she avoided one of the most common fears of humanity: she died not alone, but in my father's arms.

She was a good dog, and I loved her.

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This weekend, my father taught my poodle how to climb under fences on his ranch. My poodle immediately took that newfound knowledge and climbed under the fence protecting the chickens and ate one. Though father was very, very angry with Chere, I still think he should reward her. I mean, applied knowledge is a clear sign of intelligence.

On the up side, dad won't have to bother feeding her any more. After all, if you give a dog a bone, she eats for a night. Teach her to climb under a fence, however, and she'll eat forever!

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Today's Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran an article about a contest between dog groomers, er, "pet stylists" in downtown Atlanta this weekend. The goal of the contest was apparently to dress a dog up like some cheap Party City Halloween costume. To no one's great surprise, most, if not all, of the dogs in the contest were standard poodles. (One was painted to look like Paul Stanley, which I would think both the poodle and Stanley would take as an insult.) As much as I enjoy grooming Chere, I wouldn't dress her up like a tramp for a chance at a $500 prize. A poodle's got to have her pride.

I just don't understand the inclination to make dogs look like people. (Especially people in Halloween costumes.) Every time I don't pay enough attention, my father is painting Chere's claws. Don't ask me; I don't know why. You read stories about people who hold weddings and birthday parties for dogs. Some dogs see psychiatrists. And I'm sure that some dogs are over-medicated by well-intentioned but stupid owners. Try to get it through your thick heads: dogs aren't people, people. If dogs were people, I'd hate them, too.

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This weekend I learned how to put snow chains on my car tires. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I had to pay someone else to put them on my rental car. I'm so cheap, I avoid valet parking because I don't want to tip the valets a dollar, so paying thirty bucks for someone to put chains on my tires was like willingly participating in state-enforced highway robbery. But I watched the guy like a hawk, and should the ridiculously unlikely events of The Day After Tomorrow ever come to pass, I'll be ready!

The drive into Tahoe was easily accomplished. There wasn't any snow on the ground then. No, California likes to make sure it has you in its mitts before it tries to screw you over. The whole reason that I was in South Lake Tahoe in the first place was for the wedding of one of my oldest friends. I once swore that I would never again A) return to California or B) drive in the snow, both of which I violated for the wedding. If I've never mentioned it before, let me stress my disapproval of snow here now: it sucks. It's cold, it's wet, and it makes travel impossible. Sure, it looks pretty, but like most pretty things, it's just not worth the hassle. Some way, some how, I'll get Jason back for this.

Despite eating my own words (which, unfortunately, I've done more times than I can count), it was an otherwise eventful weekend for me. I gambled in a casino for the first time (and lost my seed money, all 50¢). I had a Coca-Cola Slurpee made from fresh, real snow (better than you can imagine). I attended an informal bachelor party with a table full of lawyers and teachers (but no strippers. It was commented that no stripper was hired because one couldn't be found who knew how to play chess). And, of course, I got to play in the deep, powdery snow with Chere. (Who goes to a wedding without a date?)

That's two weddings I've attended in three months on opposite sides of the country (Panama City, Florida and Lake Tahoe, Nevada), with another one coming up in May in New York City. Even though I don't care for the outdated and unnecessary concept of marriage, I do like free food and road trips. So it all works out in the end. Also I'm pretty sure it won't be snowing come May.

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I present, for you viewing pleasure, poodle:

This is an old picture from fall 2004, I think. Last week I gave her a jacket and pants clip (her normal summer attire these days), but she'll be back to her puppy clip in a few months when the temerature drops a few dozen degrees. I've tried giving her quite a few different style clips over the years, but in the Georgia heat, she prefers it short most of the year. (Only in the rare case where there is snow on the ground does she ever thank me for leaving her winter coat on.)

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My mother always said that if you don't have anything to say, you can always talk about poodles.

(Actually, mom said that about Scottish Terriers. She turned her car around in the middle of the street once because she thought she saw someone walking a Scotty. Turned out that it was. In fact, the dog's owner went to school with mom and recognized her. He had asumed that she had turned her car around to say hello to him. Mom was so embarrased that she hadn't recognized him and was only interested in meeting his dog. I was amused.)

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An hour ago I opened Photoshop to do a little touch up to some pictures I was using for the intro animation here at wriphe.com. (It's still only about 1/2 way done and I'm not sure I like it so far, so I might start over. Again.) Somehow I got distracted and instead made this:

There just aren't enough poodle pictures around this site yet. I'll soon fix that!

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