Momma instincts

Today, I've been reminded of the handful of mothers I know who swoop in to save their children before emotional or physical damage is done. Or even a distant possibility of harm, for that matter. In fact, on my flight to Cincinnati Monday, there was a child squalling and rolling like a rabid wildcat in front of the gate. And I couldn't help but to turn my head in annoyance and grit my teeth with the other 60 or so people waiting to board who were lucky enough to witness this poor excuse for a human being whimper and growl. My dog behaves better for goodness sake! Beside her on the ground knelt her mother, mercifully stroking, appeasing, negotiating a plan for peace with the little girl. Her grace was admirable, her tolerance, though, so beyond my understanding that I couldn't respect it. And I thought to myself, as I have many times before, "Someone please do me a favor and kill me if I ever become that mother."

Well, I have some bad news. I am that mother.

To bring you up-to-speed, yesterday I came across a development that was so vulgar, so disturbing, so immoral, so disheartening and betraying, that I was almost convinced I should toss this whole blog thing out the window and keep my petty dog thoughts to myself. It was the creation of my brother: a Facebook page titled, "I like to Kick Linus club."

As self-deprecating as it was, I had to join the group briefly to investigate. My heart sank when I saw the brutal truth: this blog was all about making a mockery of my baby. The blog described all of Linus' less desirable attributes (I've spared you thus far, perhaps it's time we address some of these), including his bad gas, goofy attire and other less than kosher "eating" habits. It was an obvious ploy to make me feel insecure about my blog, which could easily be construed as cheesy, obsessive or a hobby for someone who "has way too much time on their hands." Granted, maybe I do. There was even a building plot to form "National Kick Linus Day." The straw broke the camel's back when I realized this page had more fans than our newly launched blog page.

Who do these kids think they are? I thought, noticing many flirtatious female (and, oddly, male) posts directed toward my brother on this page. They don't understand me or my dog. Most have never even met my dog, and they are pledging to kick away, or in some circumstances, "punt." And why, after knighting my brother "Uncle Noah" and encouraging a special bond between he and Linus, would he embarrass us in this way?

I approached Noah as he sat at the counter musing at the latest Linus abuse posts, he was baffled I didn't join in the hilarity of it all. Rather than throw a fit, I thought it best to tackle this in a diplomatic way.

"Hi Noah," I said.

"Hi, E."

"I saw that Facebook group."

Pause.

"I don't think it's very nice."

He doesn't turn his face from the screen. 

"It's awesome."

I went to bed discouraged last night, defeated without another attempt to disband the group. I didn't have the patience to throw a fit or the desire to ruffle my little brother's feathers. I tossed and turned and then I resolved to do something that pained me... I had to destroy our fan page.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I am telling the exact story told above to a group of co-workers at lunch this afternoon. I am describing the despicable content and the unbridled empty threats that dance down the page of Noah's club. I am making a case for turning the group in to the Facebook authorities on counts of "hate speech." And in the middle of my theatrics, I notice everyone is smirking. Then the truth came out.

"It actually is kinda funny," Debbie, a co-worker said. "I mean, don't you think Linus would laugh at it?"

I hated to admit it, but she had a point. Linus is the ultimate guy's guy. He's the type of little boy who doesn't need Momma to swoop in because he doesn't care. Snuggling is on his time. He shuns Momma's smooches and embraces when he's surrounded by his buddies. If he was a human guy, he'd probably have a beer belly and play golf all day Saturday. He'd probably be voted president of his fraternity. He'd religiously watch football on Sunday nights and make plenty of time for his "bromances."As Debbie put it, "he'd probably be the kind of guy to sit back and smoke a joint." He'd probably find fart jokes funny, collect old spaghetti Westerns and Bruce Lee films, fancy cars that make a lot of noise, pig out on beef jerky, pick on girls, and he would definitely not have a problem making fun of himself to get more attention.

So, if he's okay with it, why shouldn't I be? Is it that crazy don't-hurt-my-baby-or-I'll-slit-your-throat instinct inside me that says, "They want to kick Linus! Do something about it! Call the HSUS! Call Animal Services! Get Dr. Phil over here! No... forget Phil, call Oprah! They want to hurt him, and we have to stop it!"

No, it's not. My "Momma Instinct" is actually my "Me" instinct in disguise. It's not my baby's safety that's in jeopardy, it's my pride. As infathomable as it is, what if people really don't like my dog and actually do want to kick him? What if they think he's gross, or don't want to join his Facebook page? What if the only person who reads this blog is me?

The most important question: Why do I care?

And that's our little "Momma" lesson for today. When you break it down and tear away all the pride, a Kicking Linus club really isn't all that harmful. In the process of the organization of the Kick Linus club, Linus' feelings weren't hurt, nor was his body. The worst result was I made a bunch of people I know feel bad for thinking a practical joke was funny.

Now, I don't think joking about serious dog abuse is funny, and I'll never condone or support threats to animals that have any merit. But I also know as a dog owner I can get so caught up in enjoying Linus (and all dogs) that I categorize people who don't like dogs as much as me into a group of enemies. And for that I am sorry. As passionate dog owners, sharing the joys of your pup without pride, but with sincere humility and respect for others, is the best way to win over people to puppy love. Isolating them is the best way to make people fear or hate your dog, or even worse, yourself. And ultimately, crazy dog owners like me, we have to realize... nobody is gonna love our dogs as much as us Mommies and Daddies. And some people will just plain not like them. Let's just deal.

I am sorry Noah for stomping on your fun. Linus loves you dearly and you two are the best of buds. But always know, if any Kicking Linus club dialogue turns into action, you will see some real Momma Instinct come into play. And that won't be pretty.  

Where Frenchie lovers reign

When Linus was very young, say around two months old, I took him downtown to Triangle Park during a community event that attracted a large crowd. A grown man, intrigued by Linus' bat ears, asked to pet Linus. He squatted down low, with a look of apprehensive confusion, to greet my puppy. He stood with the same look of confusion, slightly altered by the obvious delight my puppy impresses upon those he meets. As the man walked away, I almost winced when heard him call back to me: "That sure is a funny looking Chi-waa waa."

In New York, purebred dogs are such a common occurence that people rarely mistake the increasingly popular French bulldog for another breed when one waddles down a busy street. I know what you're thinking, some of that big city snot has rubbed off on me this weekend. But most of the French bulldog owners I encountered were very down-to-earth people who were tickled to share the commonalities of French bulldog ownership: the weird noises, the constant attitude, the fearlessness of dogs twice their size. NYC Frenchie owners have the same high standards that I do for their bulldog, which include health, happiness, social interaction and human affection. These sort of dog owners really do see their dog as a member of the family, which is why they stress over details involving their dog's nutrition, daycare and grooming. In this overwhelming, fast-paced, diverse city, this is something I can undoubtedly relate to.

(Left) Little Baguette, a New York Frenchie, plays in Central Park. Her parents let us in on the Jumping Bulldog and the booming French bulldog community in Astoria, Queens, NYC.

(Right) Baguette shows off her personality playing with some sizeable German Shepherds.

So when I discovered a community full of these people, located in Queens, I jumped at the chance to know more. In fact, the pet store that unites this community is called the Jumping Bulldog, named after the owner's own Frenchie. Although my schedule did not allow a trek from Brooklyn to this Frenchie Utopia in Queens (we had determined over an hour train ride on Sunday), I looked up a New York Times article on the Jumping Bulldog that describes this community, which includes an estimated 32 French bulldogs. These New Yorkers turned to the French bulldog for the same reasons as I had, which included their adaptability to apartment living, their resistance to making noise and their sweet smushed faces.

To me, The Jumping Bulldog community of Astoria is like my version of Never Never Land. Perhaps the puppy version of Tinkerbell could come sprinkle me and Linus with pixie dust and we could fly away to Astoria, where Frenchie lovers reign. I become envious and dreamy when I think about living in a community where seeing a French bulldog and a friendly owner on the sidewalk is just as common as seeing any other breed. But what's more inspiring about this group is the sense of unity that bulldog owners derive from the interactions they have at the Jumping Bulldog. It's the kind of unity and closeness that gives dog owners, who deal with the same struggles, questions and concerns, a supportive environment that can't be developed at a Petsmart. I can imagine this community sparks human friendships and creates a comfort in a daunting city where individuality and self-reliance is key. I extend a warm thanks to all local community-oriented pet shops that seek to unify all breeds of dogs. Perhaps one day I'll be able to visit this dream land where nobody would every mistake my bulldog for a "Chi-waaa waaa."

NYC and Bulldogs

It's been a long, long couple days with tons of fun to share, but I will keep it brief for now.

Bulldogs reign in NYC, making the place a natural home for me and Linus. Someday.

I ran into the most adorable local pet store in Brooklyn while shopping for vintage clothes. I found a Brooklyn sweatshirt, sporting the Brooklyn bridge, that Linus just must have despite the fact that there was only ONE of his size left, and I passed it up in order to get proper measurements via Aunt (babysitter) Jessica. I put the sweatshirt on hold, only to explain to the store clerk I was not a bonefide Brooklynite. Yes, this makes us automatically unworthy of the sweatshirt. Just more of an indication that perhaps Linus and I should consider making Brooklyn our permanent home. Maybe stop dreaming and start living. More NYC Frenchie encounters to come. Sorry so brief and dramatic.

A Taxi Cab gone Frenchie

My ride in the cab was quiet.... well, half way through. Most of the way from the airport, my cab driver stayed on his cell, chatting away in the most authentic NYC accent I've ever heard. Then we started talking. My accent, southern as could be, gave me away. So, we started talking about a ton of things... sports, football, politics and city life. Can you believe it, the sweet southern accent even gets to the grits of the hard core NYC expert. Well, if you can stand him criticizing how bleeping slow you are at everything, even giving him a tip. Can you guess what came next?

Yes, it t'was my dog.

This blistery, chistled cab driver, who was born and raised in Manhatten, knew the French bulldog... and well! He asked me if I treated my dog like it was a human. Uh.... yes. So, I'm one of "those"? Yes, I am. He laughed, which was my reward. I love NYC.

Bulldogs + Water = Disaster

With lake and pool season just around the corner, I've been thinking a lot about how to make my dog-owning responsibilities transition to the leisurely life of water sports. Before Linus came into my life, it was no problem taking off to the lakes of southern Kentucky for a weekend. Maybe I am living in a dream world, but I am determined that trips to the lake this summer will not be one of those things I "just have to sacrifice" as the owner of a, shall we say, "special needs dog." In fact, I've been semi-seriously considering solutions, if they should exist, for water people who want to bring coveted pets around pools or aboard boats. Maybe we're fetching too far on this one, but I have luckily come across one reliable source with testimonials of floating bulldogs to boot.

Pawsaboard specializes in lifejackets for pooches who weren't so blessed as to have been born with webbed feet - or, dogs with webbed feet who want live up the life of a water dog. Their products, which include designer lifejackets, puppy pool steps and even skii rope leashes, are backed up by touching testimonials. One of these stories includes a case of an English bulldog, Libbey, who plopped into the water while disembarking her parents' boat, and was able to paddle her way to safety thanks to her doggie lifejacket. The owner said the lifejacket kept Libbeys' bulky bulldog head "way above the water," preventing the 11-year old companion from inhaling in any water.

A directory to help you find your nearest Pawsaboard vendor is available at the Pawsaboard Web site. While the lifejacket seems like a good idea in theory, I still have my own reservations about relying on one to save Linus' life. If Linus ever was launched from a boat, suited in a lifejacket or not, I would probably lose my mind. Maybe for sanity's sake I should toss out this idea for now.

The Flying Tomato and his adorable potato

No, I am not lusting after his beautiful red locks... it's his beautiful carmel bulldog!

Alright, Linus and I really don't like playing in the snow, snow sports or being cold in general. But I followed this year's Winter Olympics enough to gain an interest in snowboarding and know that Shaun White, "the flying tomato," is practically the sport's god. But now Linus and I have an even better reason to be huge fans of this Olympic prodigy.

Meet Shaun White's Frenchie, Rambo. He looks like a Frenchie with his daddy's devil-may-care skater style and hip attitude. Apparently, Shaun has the same problem with Rambo that many Frenchie owners have: a fatal attraction to water. So, more of a surfer Frenchie. Though I can't yet speak for Linus, I've heard many Frenchies will plunge into sources of water, including pools, lakes, creeks and the like, only to discover they are not buoyant. Danger.

As for Linus, I'm not that worried. He hates baths.

P.S.- I promise to have more practical (less celebrity) postings soon... this one was just too tempting!

My fascination with the "PUP"arazzi

Okay, so I'm not going tell you my eyes have never drifted to the tabloids and celebrity news magazines while I'm standing in the check out line at the grocery store. And if you asked me whether I really cared about Paris' new line of shoes or the striking garb Jennifer Garner wore to the Oscars, the answer is a timid "yes." So, it's no wonder I have quickly fallen in love with People Pets, the celebrity pet site that connects celebs and non-celebs alike who adore their pets as much me (or at least like to flash them to the "pup"arrazzi).

Through this Web site I am moritified to report that I have learned:

• Brangelina own an English bulldog pup
• Martha Stewart is a big-time Frenchie fan
• Gerard Butler hangs with Lolita, a pug
• Nicole Richie owns a Pomeranian named "Foxie Cleopatra"
• Orlando Bloom babysits his girlfriend's Yorkie

And there's more, in case you are interested. The best part of this just-for-fun site is the opportunity to network with fellow dog owners. You can register yourself and your dog, create a profile and share pictures with other looney dog owners (who will probably appreciate your photos more than the average facebook friend). You'll also find some whacky dog news and videos, including stories about doggie fashion shows, training tips and trendy products. It's another way dog owners (most likely young female dog owners like me) can express their wild enthusiasm for their dogs.

Let's face it: Dog ownership is fun, and this site's genius is uniting puppy love with every girl's guilty pleasure: the celebrity gossip magazine. Throw in some multimedia and social network functioning, and you have a winning package for every girl who ever included Barbie dolls and puppies on her "favorite things" list. Yes, I may be too old for this stuff or have entered a new class of crazy... but how can you resist? Let me relish in it!

If anyone ventures on the site, my profile name is KYFrenchie.

What needs "fixing?"

Today I took Linus to the veterinarian to get "fixed." Let's ponder that word for a moment, shall we? To be fixed, I would think, is to be improved, upgraded, set right or adjusted to an optimal state of being or existence. When my car breaks down, I usually go get it fixed. The outcome: the car runs just as it was made to run. It functions properly and is able to perform the tasks or objectives it was created to accomplish, such as get me from Point A to Point B.

So, when I go get Linus "fixed," as I am told by innumerable dog owners and veterinarians, he's going to be made right... right? I've struggled with this issue for quite some time now. There's nothing "fixed" about having your natural, God-given reproductive organs removed from your body. It doesn't seem fair to me, especially when you're dealing with a dog as low-key, good-natured and, let's be honest, non-sexual as Linus. If he was embarrassing himself by accosting his fellow dogs all the time, then we'd have been to see Dr. Stoops several months ago. But, with the exception of a couple of incidents, he's really seemed unmotivated by sexuality. And, as the saying goes, if it's not broke, why fix it?

I think part of me has held out hope that we would run into some pretty little female bulldog who Linus would fall madly in love with, and they would have babies and live happilly ever after. I think I have had that fantasy for my dog (and myself... with a human man) since I saw Pongo and Perdie fall in love in a park in the original 101 Dalmations. I've practically bribed my sister to find an unrelated female"wife" for Linus. But I've gotten no dibs, though admittedly, my search has been constrained, and we've reached a point where we had to make a decision.

When I lifted Linus into the passenger's seat of my car this morning, he was innocently excited to go for a ride. Though I could sense he was suspicious - it's not common for us to wake up without breakfast and immediately take a ride. It was spouting rain and I was in a strange state of mourning (over Linus' ensuing loss of reproductive abilities). By the time we arrived to the vet's office, I knew he could sense something was about to go down.

I carried him across the puddles and up the stairs into Woodford Animal Hospital. I set him on the scale to get his weight. "Wow, we're 26 pounds now. All growed up." I could feel him quivering on the scale, and I knew he wasn't cold. He was scared.

We were led into an examination room where I helped Linus balance his shaky body on an examining table. A warm and way-too-awake for 7 a.m. vet technician entered shortly after us, and Linus greeted her with his usual enthusiasm for people. The questioning was standard as she sifted through the paperwork. But she detected my strife as I struggled to keep the tears back. As she held him on the table, I admitted to her I was nervous and didn't fully understand the benefits of this surgery. I expected that she would react with the same disbelief and annoyance as other dog owners had displayed when I brought up my anxiety about this "routine" procecdure. Instead she very knowledgably and empathetically shared facts with me about how I will be preventing prostate cancer in my dog by going through with this surgery. (SOLD!) She asked me his age, then followed up by saying he could still display more extreme signs of "dominance" in just a few months, and getting the problem taken care of now was a smart decision for both of us. She also told me the quick and easy procedure would likely not affect his pleasant personality.

"Unless you are dead set on breeding him, you are doing him a favor," she said.

Wow. Those words made such a difference to me. It struck me, the skeptic: this "fix" could possibly be something good for him. And while he was born with these natural reproductive parts that could be used for procreation, it's not mandatory. In fact, I would even say it's not important to him. 

I kissed my puppy on the head and released him into her arms. I turned on the radio and tried not to think about the surgery as I made my way to work. Just over an hour after I walked in my office, I received a call.

"Ms. Troutman, Linus just got out of surgery, and he did great."

Now that was a quick fix.

Easter Egg Hunt

For today's Easter egg hunt, Linus was "one with the egg." Literally.

With the help of Aunt Hannah, Shawn and some project management on my part, we crafted a Easter egg costume for our first Easter egg hunt hosted by the Bluegrass Barkery. The egg costume idea birthed last week when I noticed best costume won a prize during the Easter egg hunt. The picture of Linus carrying an egg across his back gave me a giggle, so I picked up some fabric and elastic and hoped the resourcefulness of my sister would carry us through this litte endeavor. I was right. I don't usually sew, but Hannah was gracious enought to wipe the dust off of Mom's old sewing machine and work a little magic. The finished product was a yellow, pink and purple egg costume, complete with squiggles and an elastic band. We wrapped up the sewing just moments before the Easter egg hunt began.

True to form, we were running a bit late. When we turned on Clay avenue I could see a sea of dogs and their owners at the front porch of the Barkery, probably receiving directions for the hunt. We parked and I anxiously lifted Linus out of my Honda and onto the pavement. With Hannah's help, we pulled the egg costume over his harness. He froze in objection to his new attire. His face said, "Mom, you've got to be kidding me." I didn't see any other costumes in the crowd. I felt kind of like that over-the-top mom that makes her kid look ridiculous by going all out making a costume for the school play.Fortunately, we saw some retreivers covered in plastic eggs, flowers and hats, and an English bulldog with bunny ears. It took a couple tugs before we could get him in the mix of the dogs.

Because most people were intent to find the golden egg, few were noticing the large egg tettering across this little Frenchie's back. But when they did notice, the reactions were priceless. I was so preoccupied with other people's dogs, I hardly paid any attention to the competition. We were immediately greeted by Haleigh and Kenzi, two of our favorite cousins, who came out with their mom Sandee to help with the hunt. Kenzi and Haleigh played with Linus and led him across the yard on a leash. They were so helpful adjusting Linus' bobbling egg and making sure he was getting noticed. When all the eggs were taken, they made sure Linus got some treats to take home and were kind enought to rehide a few eggs for him to find. They are the best for looking out for him.

Linus met many new friends during the hunt. We met a beautiful Doberman named Josie who wanted to play with Linus on the porch, despite her obvious advantage in size. Hannah and I were nuzzled by two rescued grey hounds whose sweet demeanor took us both by surprise. Hannah spotted a Great Dane, her "dream dog," and was immediately drawn away. While shopping inside the store, Linus and I met Eva, an English bulldog who was dressed to impress for Easter. On the sidewalk, Linus introduced himself to girl a Basset hound named Bear. We also ran into an incredibly friendly blue-eyed pit bull who was very eager to get to know all his canine commrades. We met a tiny black teacup Chihuahua who was accompanied by a sweet little girl with bunny whiskers painted on her face. Everywhere you turned, there was an interesting dog to be met. Most notably, we met two French bulldogs, Elvis and Hana. Elvis was a gorgeous, well behaved Frenchie with brindle spots. Hana was all brindle and very laid back as well. Linus could definitely learn from these two.

We left the Barkery with a wonderful bag full of goodies, just for sporting the giant egg, and a bunch of new friends that we'll hopefully see very soon. Our egg hunt was just another reminder to me that there's a wonderful community of dog owners here in Lexington who treat their pets as children. It's nice to know I am not the only "crazy" dog person around here and to know there's a great network of people who love to socialize and share the goodness of their dogs. We'll be out there, at parks and farmers' market and walking downtown, and we are eager to see you fellow dog people!

Thanks to the Barkery and all our friends there for the goodie bag and putting on this wonderful event! Happy Easter everyone!