Santa's Little Helper

Not only would he probably go down a chimney, he'd probably find a way to climb back up it as well. Especially if he was after food or his ball. We have yet to find anything he can't climb from ladders to furniture to stone walls.

I like the jaunty angle to his hat. Merry Christmas '09 from Hathaway and co. He's the best gift we got this year.

The Remains of the Day

Hathaway has separation anxiety. That's one of the reasons we fostered him for a few weeks before adopting him outright. I'm home a lot -- or I was at the time -- but I had to be able to leave when I wanted without worrying that the house would be destroyed when I got back.

Or as Kim at the shelter put it, "That he's not going to jump out a window trying to find you." Um, yeah, that too.

The good news is that Hathaway is working his way through it. The neighbors say he no longer barks the entire time I'm gone. I can tell he still goes room to room looking for me. I can also tell he sometimes settles in and curls up in a warm spot to wait.

Often, though, he chews something. From the counter or my nightstand. He prefers things that will nourish him, which I must say, is effective multitasking that I can appreciate. If he can't find anything to eat or chew, he will pull papers or oven mitts off the counter.

In a way, it's a battle of wits. Can I put away everything that he will potentially chew/eat while I am gone?

He is winning. The Remains of the Day is the photographic evidence of that.

It's the first thing I look for when I come in the door -- The Remains of the Day -- and I anticipate it will be a regular feature.

This picture makes me happy

Oh, please, may I have just one.

Rookie mistake

1 a.m., settling in to finally sleep. Trying to get comfortable, wrestle covers from the dog, scootch 60-pounds of snoring dead weight out my space.

Felt something odd under my back. Round. Rubber. Tossed it out of bed. Thump.

Ball! In an instant he was full-on awake, sat up to consider the sound, the jumped out of bed to find the ball. Ball!

Rooted around for five minutes in the dark trying to find it, ignoring pleas to "Come!"

Finally, after a strange shuuuuushing, cascading sound, I gave up and turned on the light. The way the closet is designed, you (meaning if you are the size of a toddler or a pit bull) can walk in one set of closet doors and out the other. There's a bit of wall in between

1:07 a.m. Everything was quiet, still and in it's place. You could see Hathaway's head in one set of closet doors, his tail sticking out the other set. He looked up with a sheepish grin, lime green rubber ball in his mouth, then came back to bed.

Back in my spot, I turned out the light, told him to drop it and tossed the ball out of the bed ...

Muscle mag?

Josh, at age 5: Hey Mom, do you know how to sew?

Mom: Sort of, why?

Josh (flexing his scrawny arms): That's good, because I'm rrrripped.

If there is one word that describes my dog ... well, there's not. However, the first word we hear absolutely everyone else use to describe him is "ripped."

I have the only dog at the dog park with pecs.

Looking at Hathaway is a lesson in anatomy. You can see every muscle in his medium-sized doggy body. He has muscles in places I didn't know dogs have muscles. And yes, it's cliche, but his muscles have muscles. You get the picture.

So my 11-year-old daughter says the other day: "Hey mom, is there such a thing as magazines for weightlifters? Maybe we could get a picture of Hathaway on the cover."

I doubt he'd end up on the cover, but it might be worth looking into.

This is Hathaway and his friend Carmen, a beautiful Rottweiler, at the dog park today. Sunny and 60 near the water in Massachusetts in November. It doesn't get any better than that.

Hath has his eye on Carmen's ball, possibly because he doesn't have any of his own, most likely because tennis balls are his version of Trident. He chews them like gum. He also likes to take a ball if he thinks he'll get chased. He's been running like a greyhound with really short legs lately. Go, Hathaway!

Who's training whom?

The dog has some serious springs. Hathaway can jump more than 4 feet high. He can jump up to kiss my face when I'm standing. He can hurdle the end of my (now his) sleigh bed, and the children have encouraged him to jump onto the couch ... from behind. Yes, he leaps over the back of the couch and sticks the landing on the cushions.

But will he jump into the back of the SUV? Uh, no. Most of the time, he looks at me and sits down. Sometimes he thinks about jumping in, sniffs and then sits down. Sometimes he'll put a couple of paws up, sniff, then look at me as if to say, "Well, do you want to go to the park or not?"

And what do I do? I grab those meaty thighs and boost. I wanna go for a walk at the park!