Yesterday the girls had their annual checkup and vaccines. July got a clean bill of health. Victoria, on the other hand, has a "raised dermal mass on the skin below the commisure of the lips on the left side of the mandible," "gingival recession [on the] upper left second premolar... which is allowing thicker tartar to develop on the cranial root," and "mild crepitance palpable in her right knee." (My vet could have been in an episode of ER.) In layman's terms, Victoria is starting to get old.

I'll take this opportunity to notify my loyal readers that starting this month I'll be posting 3 poodle comic strips a month instead of 2. That's an extra 12 strips a year! (If Mom had her way, this blog would be nothing but poodle strips, but then where would I post about Batman or football?) I'll aim for posting a new strip every 10 days starting Friday, so pay attention.

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It's July in December.

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Returning to my neighborhood following an errand yesterday, I was surprised to see a single woman walking an entire pack of dogs down the street. As I approached, I noticed that two of the dogs were standard poodles, one white and one black. Those sure look like my dogs, I thought. It turns out that they were.

As I stopped the Jeep, I could see that the woman was walking her black Labrador on a leash. Following her were several dogs of various sizes. All wore collars, but none wore a leash. And all of them belonged to my family. I asked the lady, "What are you doing with my dogs?"

Her response was simply, "I figured they must belong to somebody." Unless she knows some way to teach poodles to groom themselves, that's a pretty safe assumption.

My July and Victoria quickly recognized me and willingly jumped into my car. (Although I think they probably would have jumped into just about anyone's car. They love car rides.) Leslie's two dogs were next: Charlie accepted my help up into the Jeep, but Rudy, recognizing my intent, sprinted back home at top speed, refusing to surrender his new found freedom.

I eventually returned home and wrangled the mass back into my yard. It turns out that my mother and brother had put the animals in the yard mere minutes earlier, unaware that the gate to the driveway had been left open. They both got a piece of my mind -- a loud, angry piece.

At least no one was lost or hurt. And the dogs got a taste of adventure. Hopefully, it was enough to last them a lifetime, because I don't plan to duplicate that mistake.

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Today at Home Depot I saw a woman with a service dog. That wasn't so unusual. What was unusual was the fact that the service dog was a standard poodle with a very froufrou hairdo. Smart, good looking, and well-educated? What woman doesn't want that?

Poodles require a lot of grooming. Monthly haircuts, frequent baths and combings; hair bows alone can get pretty expensive. It takes a lot of work to keep them so good-looking. I suspect that this dog was called a service dog because of how much service it requires from its owner, not the other way around.

I love poodles. I have two myself, you know. However, I'm not sure that either of my poodles would make a very good service dog. Victoria is plenty smart enough, but I suspect that she would only lead me to things that she wants. July is obedient enough, but she wouldn't ever move if she thought she was walking away from me. And I am sure that neither would be much help to me in a Home Depot.

This dog with his short Utility-style haircut, perfectly brushed mane, and well-manicured nails was standing patiently beside his owner in the trim moulding aisle. Meanwhile I hadn't shaved and was wearing a t-shirt with a hole under the right armpit. I was struggling to choose between 1-1/4" joint moulding and 1-3/4" picture moulding; he didn't appear to be doing much of anything at all. I don't mean to imply that there was something fishy going on. I'm just saying that whatever service that dog was performing wasn't readily visible. All I could be sure of at the time was that despite only being about 2-and-a-half feet tall, the dog was looking down its nose at me.

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Poodle Philosophy 101: Part 2

Good girls know that two heads are better than one when it comes to bird watching.

Bird chasing, on the other paw, is every poodle for herself.

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Poodle Philosophy 101: Part 1

Victoria always takes the opportunity to smell the roses. And squirrels.

July bites off only as much as she can chew. In this mouthful.

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Following my last post which revealed that the rainbow ends in disappointment, I present the two inevitabilities in life: death and poodles.

July looks very jaunty in this image, no? I think perhaps I need to start taking pictures of July in front of other bleak subjects and see if she can't liven them up a bit. House fires and auto accidents, here we come.

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My dogs have had a fight. Now they won't stay in the same room with one another. Victoria seems properly apologetic, but July still growls at her whenever she comes within 5 feet. Most surprising about this is the discovery that July can hold a grudge for longer than 24 hours, though I suspect that she may be milking the situation for a little extra attention. If this is anything like raising children, I'll have no part in that, thank you.

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New for 2010: Easter poodles! The adorability of a bunny combined with the fun of decorating eggs!

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It was recently brought to my attention that England is considering legislation requiring all potential dog owners to pass a test, microchip their dog, and buy insurance in case their dog attacked someone. In theory, this plan would prevent the implementation of mobile collection and euthanasia vehicles such as have been recently employed in parts of Japan in order to restrain out-of-control wild and dangerous dog populations. After all, who could imagine a scenario where someone would abandon their animal after having paid a substantial sum to acquire it, even if that someone had lost their job in a shrinking economy after having overpaid for a vastly overvalued animal in the first place? Come on, it's not like a dog is a house.

How to solve the problem of wild, dangerous dogs is the sort of problem that would only face a government that had already banned gun ownership. Now that guns don't kill people, dogs kill people. With no threat of weapons to keep them in check, the loose dogs have formed nature's equivalent of motorcycle gangs, resorting to wandering from town to town fighting other gangs tooth-and-claw over territory, eating from trashcans, and raping all the uptight bitches. In America, we'd shoot our beloved Old Yeller if he looked at us cross-eyed, but the Brits are searching for a gentler way.

I for one applaud the idea. Owning a dog is like owning a car, and users must be qualified lest they plow through a crowd of innocent pedestrians. Better yet, using the tried-and-true, infallible "slippery slope" argument, it is clear that this action will inevitably lead to the obvious conclusion: qualifying people for parenthood. For far too long, society has allowed the bumper sticker slogan "anyone can be a father" to dictate public policy. I say that it's about time that government qualified what, exactly, that "special" quality is that makes someone a "daddy."

I suggest we follow the format of the British dog law: all prospective parents should pass a written test and buy "child insurance" in case the child one day gets lose from its restraints and bites someone. Once a child is born, we'll microchip them, mainly to prevent child insurance fraud. After all, if it's good enough for dogs, it's good enough for people.

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