Observations by Hayley Lamb
Hello to everyone. My name is Hayley Lamb, and you can see my picture at the top of this page. It was taken recently at my human Aunt Cindy’s house, where she chained me in her kitchen because of my long-time perfectly reasonable determination, whenever I visit her, of getting rid of those horrible cats that she has allowed to live in her house. Just because I caught one of her cats a short time ago and had its neck in my mouth, and just because it was making loud and strange noises, is no reason to keep me chained while those stupid cats run all over the house. Why any humans would tolerate cats in their house (or in the city in which they live) is beyond me. Humans are always difficult to figure out. Have you noticed? But more on that later.
I’m a six-year-old female Pit Bull/Black Lab mixture. I not sure what being a “mixture” means, but that’s what my humans call me. I’m not sure, either, what being a female means, except I know that my gramma is a human female, or a woman, I think they are called. But my grampa looks different from her, so what is he called? I think he’s called a man (am I right?). Oh, I forgot to tell you—their names are “Grampa” and “Gramma”, and their last name is the same as mine. Obviously they look different than I do, and I sometimes feel bad for them because while they have four legs, they use only their two long legs to walk, and they don’t seem to be able to walk as well on them as I do on my four legs. They do have things on the paws of their short top “legs” that they call fingers that do seem to be quite handy and allow them to do things that my paw fingers aren’t able to do. Things for me, it turns out, so I’m glad of that. As far as I can determine, that’s the one thing that makes my two humans (and the others whom I meet from time to time) superior to me. (I’m the TOP DOG, in case you weren’t sure.)
I’ve complained to my Grampa often that his computer keyboard doesn’t seem to be made to allow me to use it, but he explained to me that I could narrate my thoughts to him in my dog language, and that he would translate and write them out with that computer thingy he’s always in front of. The same that my Uncle Boomer did with him. That’s how you’re reading this first article from me. He’s always doing nice things like that for me. (He even learned my “dog” language, so we can communicate well together and I can tell him what I want him to do). And since I came to live with them we’ve become very friendly with each other, and they pet me and scratch my ears often, and I give them lots of kisses in return. I occasionally have to growl at them to get their attention, especially when I have to go outside, especially when it’s dark, or when I want a snack, but I’ve got them trained pretty well now.
Over the years I’ve often heard my humans talk about my “Uncle Boomer”, who apparently was the same species as me (Superior Dog) and who often wrote articles called “Boomer’s Tales” in this newspaper in which you’re reading my thoughts. It’s called The Times Examiner. Uncle Boomer, they told me, looked just like me except bigger, and he was very intelligent and wrote articles for several years. He also belonged, as I do, to the “National Anti-Cat Society”, and he was an accomplished cat chaser. My humans have told me about his adventures when he lived with them—about all the cats he chased. He also loved to chase squirrels, but the few of them I’ve chased haven’t played fair with me, and ran away and climbed up a tree. Bad sports, I guess. I’ve also heard them remark that my Uncle Boomer was a real good howler. Now I’ve only howled one time, that I can remember. It seems like a waste of time to me, but my humans keep telling me that I should howl just like he did, so they could howl with me, just like they often did with my Uncle Boomer, I was told. Sorry grampa, not a chance that I will. I don’t like howling.
I never met my Uncle Boomer, who was 12 years old when, as my humans told me, he “crossed the rainbow bridge”. Apparently on the other side of that bridge is a place where dogs go after they live with their humans for many years, and I’m told it’s a wonderful place with lots of trees and grass and ponds to enjoy while they wait for their humans to come and be with them again. I asked my Grampa if there were any cats there, but he was noncommittal. Which made me very suspicious! (Perhaps there’s a separate place there for cats. I hope so.)
I never met my “Aunt Selena Lamb”, who also looked just like me, I’ve been told. She came to take care of my two humans after my Uncle Boomer crossed that “rainbow bridge”, and they told me that they really loved her. She was only three months old when she came to live with them. But for some reason she decided to cross that “rainbow bridge” when she was just 14 months old, so she didn’t live with my humans very long. I’m sad that I never got to meet her.
My humans told me the story of how they got me. Let me tell you. My story sort of begins when I was a puppy about 8 months old (I’m not sure what “months” are, but that’s what they told me.) I can’t remember the humans I lived with before that, but somehow I got out of their human den and got lost, and wandered for a few days around the human city in which I now live. A nice human woman (that’s how they identify themselves—some are woman humans and some are man humans, who look different from each other, but none of which walks on four legs like me, and who wobble around only on their two long legs. Poor things.) But I digress. Anyway, this nice human woman came up to me as I was wandering around, and I was hungry and thirsty. She took me into her car (I really love riding in my grampa’s car) and took me to a big place that had lots of other dogs (and also those infernal cats) in it. They examined me to see if I was healthy (I was) and then gave me something to eat and drink. But they put me in a cage, which I really didn’t like.
As my grampa told me, on the very same day that my Aunt Selena crossed over that rainbow bridge (I’ve often wondered why she did that so young), this nice human woman found me and took me to that place where I was safe, called the animal shelter. He told me later that he and my grandma were very sad because my Aunt Selena had left them, and they looked on their computer (I’m not certain how those things work, but my grampa uses one all the time) to see pictures of dogs that were living in that shelter. Well, someone took my picture when I was taken there, and put in “on line”, whatever that means. I think that it means they had a rope in the shelter on which they hung pictures of dogs, although I’m not sure how my grampa saw that picture of me in the shelter, because he was in his human den. Humans are sometimes very mysterious to me. But I digress.
Anyway, the next day I first met my two humans, who came to that shelter and told the humans who were taking care of me that they wanted to take me home with them, and a few days later they came and got me. And that’s how I first started to live with my grampa and gramma, about five years ago (I’m also not sure what a ‘year’ is, but I know it’s a long time). Now I live in their den with them, and they really seem to like me—I get lots of good things to eat, lots of bones to chew and toys (to also chew), I get taken on walks every day and best of all, I get to ride in my grampa’s car almost every day. I love to put my head out of the window and feel the wind blow my ears. I’m not sure how cars move, because they don’t seem to have any legs, except for some funny-looking round things where their legs should be. But they seem to be able to move from place to place very well, and very fast—which I like. I even like to put my head out of his car’s window when it’s raining and feel the rainwater splashing on my head. You should try that sometime!
Recently I met my first TURTLE (my gramma said it was a terrapin) on a walk next to a big building where my grampa often takes me. There are lots of trees and a big field with grass that I can run on. Anyway, near some trees was this strange looking thing all crunched up, looking like half of a big ball, but when I ran up to it its head and legs disappeared inside of that ball, which my gramma later told me was its house that it carries around all the time. Can you imagine anything so silly as carrying your house on your back all the time? Why do they do that? But I digress. My grampa said that the turtle put its head and legs inside its house shell so I couldn’t hurt it. I pawed at it and tried to get it to run, so I could chase it, but except for a few silly jerks, it refused to run and play with me. I nudged it with my paw to try to get it to move, but it wouldn’t. Soon enough I decided that turtles were boring, so I left it there all crunched up. It’s probably still there. Silly thing.
I often observe my two humans in their den, and I’ll have to tell you that they do strange things sometimes. Such as praying (what is that?) to someone they call “Heavenly Father”. They also call him a ‘Creator’, and I assume that means that he made everything—even me. I don’t understand praying to someone that I can’t see, (well to be honest I don’t understand what prayer is), but it seems to make them feel good. Now when that bright light in the sky goes to sleep each night, my humans watch something I’ve heard them call a T.V. It’s a big box with pictures that move, and people in it talk in some kind of strange sounds, not intelligent barks, woofs, squeals, and growls of my dog language. (It didn’t take me long to learn ‘people’, which is what their language is called—I think.) I’m not sure if those TV people are talking to my humans or not, but sometimes my grampa yells at that picture in that T.V. box and calls it a “liar”, or yells “you’re crazy”, or “you’re a stupid moonbat”. (Have you ever seen a moonbat? I haven’t. I’ve seen lots of regular birds that make silly noises when they fly over me. I’ve seen the moon in the sky, but I’ve never seen any bats flying around it). I’ve heard him call those people he yells at “stupid politicians”, so I guess they are examples of humans that are at the low end of human society, and greatly disliked. But that’s not too different from my dog society, because I’ve learned over my life that I don’t think very highly of other dogs. Some of them are friendly at first, but then get all snarly and want to try to bite me if I try to tell them that I’m the “top dog”. Apparently some dogs are just as difficult to understand as humans can be. We must be a lot alike (except we dogs are the superior ones).
One of the things I do every night before my humans and I go to sleep is to take a last walk around my yard with my grampa. It gives me a chance to do what I have to do (if you know what I mean), but more importantly I make certain that there are no cats lurking around, threatening to disturb my rest. Especially that stupid red cat that lives in the human den next to ours. That cat is always sneaking into my yard and sleeping behind my bushes. Anyway, I do like my dark walks, especially when the wet part of the sky is falling down on us, and especially just after it has stopped. I’ve discovered that’s when I can sniff out some real delicacies under the grass. When I first discovered them, and how tasty they were, my grampa tried to stop me from digging them up, and told me that he didn’t want holes in his grass. He told me that dogs don’t eat those “big grubs” (his name for my delicacy). Now I’ve seen him eat something he called “shrimp”, and they look just like a larger version of my grubs that I find tasty. He gave me one of his shrimp, and it was nasty. I don’t plan to share my lawn grubs with him, but if he can eat his shrimp grubs, then I should be allowed to eat my lawn grubs. That seems fair to me. Don’t you agree? I know you do.
Just the other day I heard my two humans commenting that they believed our country (can anybody tell me what that is?) was in for a very bad time because some incompetent human named Biden had been elected (?) as Top Human, or the “Pack Leader” of all humans. I heard them saying that half of the humans in our country must be stupid, or brain dead, to have selected (how do they do that?) an incompetent pack leader like Biden (whoever he is). My grampa was complaining that this Biden fellow wanted to be the King of America, but he was really unfit to rule over the humans of this nation, as were all of those who pretended to rule with him from some unknown place called Washington, D.C. (wherever that is). My gramma told him that this Biden fellow was guilty of the same complaints against him that the people who started America had against some king named George, long ago. I really don’t know anything about that, of course, for that all must have happened just after the world began, way back in 2015, when I was just a pup.
I don’t understand how these humans all around me will be able to get rid of their Pack Leader, Biden, who seems to have divided them into angry packs of people yelling at each other. Perhaps it will be soon, perhaps not. I don’t know. I do hear lots of other humans talking on something called a radio in our den (it’s like the T.V. but without moving pictures). I don’t understand most of what they say, but it seems to center around the fact that this Biden Pack Leader, who has only ruled over the human world less than one year, is a big failure as a leader, is mentally incompetent, and has caused our nation to get so far into debt (I’m uncertain what that is) that all humans will have to work for a million years in order to earn enough bones to pay off that debt (I may have misunderstood that, of course). My grampa said that this Biden will cause more bone debt than all of the other human Pack Leaders ever. And that’s a lot!
The other day my gramma said that the year is ‘flying by fast’. I’m not sure what a year is, or how it’s able to fly, but I assume that it must be a long time, as humans measure time. I think that my concept of time is different than yours is. My ‘days’ are measured from the time I get up when that bright thing appears in the sky, to when it disappears and everything turns black again. I concern myself with one day at a time, and I think that I’m happier than you humans who seem to get all concerned about months and years, as though you could do something to slow them down. I don’t think you can. But then, what do I know?
Well, that’s enough talk for this first article. Say a prayer to the Creator God for my humans. Perhaps we all need to think more of Him and less of ourselves. And say a prayer for me, a little 80 lb. dog (the Top Dog—don’t forget) who loves her grampa and gramma. But don’t ever expect me to love cats!