It has come to my attention...

So.... it's true. Chewy is my co-pilot, and, besides Chewie cameraderie stuff, I still have something to ask Harrison if I ever run into him: why on earth no "Regarding Henry 2"?

And there's this: Chewy isn't exactly an original name. Or idea. Or blog subject.

The other night, one of the too-friendly (it is nice, yes yes) women at the front desk asked me for Choo's name. I am still not sure if I'm supposed to say it -- some of my classmates say, Don't! Someone could call her and steal her away! But I'm -- yaknow -- overcommunicative.... and a name is what it is: meaningless without the substance behind it, without manner and knowledge and background and foreground. So, I say the name. Her name. Out loud.

To the hotel chick I say, Chuie. She says, that's a good name. I say, sure. She says, my parents have a lapso apso whose name is Chewy. I stop and pay attention now: what? She says, my parents have a... and i interrupt, I heard you -- my god -- that's so freaking random... it's Chewey? Your parents' dog's name? She says yes! It is! Unh huh! ... like it's no lightning strike deal that her folks (who are probably my age!) and I, have doggies with the same name.

I want -- crave -- unique.. and it's as if she's heard the name a thousand times.

I say, do you know any other Chewydogs?

She says yes. I think I do, she says. I slap my forehead and move on. But I stop and whirl: how, I ask earnestly, do they spell it? Like the granola bars, she says.

Then... I had the Chelsea Handler show (yes -- we're related) -- on the other night -- (holy muther do I despise hotel -- ie, non-dvr-able, ad-addled cable television) -- and her opening bit was about she and her pal, her sidekick, doing this and that, runnin around WeHo or wherever, snarkily, godlessly, ordering lattes, pulling fishing line across pedestrian walkways and making fun of non blondes, non hots, not cutes, non cools.

And her sidekick's name... Ms Handler says, is Chewy. He's not a dog, thankfully. It's a little tiny stocky dude. No, he doesn't look like me. Yes: he's adorable, like my Chooey. No, he doesn't spell it with an "ie" -- which is leading the Spell a Ladyservicedog's Name Poll. (Please -- again -- send me an email if you'd like to weigh in - philhand13@gmail.com).

So I got to checkin' out the Chewie's here and Chuy's there... and there are more than a few... and there's one limping little dog here who's PISSED. Like her handler, she itches and scratches (yeah) for wit and wisdom. For, originality.

Then there are the competition-by-blog (all real):

http://www.chewydog.com/

http://www.geocities.com/pugdogz1/

http://verychewy.com/

http://www.chewyjunior.com.sg/

http://bitsofmarshmallows.blogspot.com/


A few people have called her (not to her, bc they're not allowed to engage her... but, to me)... Granola Girl.

They say it, and I stare at them unblinkingly, blankely. Or stare at the computer or text, similarly.

They, eager to explain their funny funny joke: "She's gonna live in San Francisco!"

Me: "Um."

(and, scene).

Another person chatted me, "How's Pelosi's broken toe?"

I made a face and typed. Hunh?

"Female? In charge? San Francisco?"

I do a director-ordered eye roll and type, "Chewy wants a timetable for troop withdrawal, but stem-cell's her pet issue. (Pet?) A cure brings freedom from her indentured servitude. And health care. She can be set free."

The 'friend' wrote, "That's so cute! Troop withdrawal! Hee!"

Lord.

I guess I'm pretty much for sure going to be Princess Leah for Halloween.

The Scanvenger Hunt

Hello friends; hello family:

Dog camp is fun. Today we had a scavenger hunt. It was neat. But also boring. All the parents and kids were there. We had to find stuff and take funny pictures. We went to the state capital building and ice cream shops and different stores and the mall and Lowe's and the Post Office and a park and a mansion and other places. It was very hot. The dogs were hot. The people were hot too. We were all hot. Have i mentioned the heat? It was more warm than it is on the surface of the sun. I learned about the sun in science class. I also learned about the equator, and Jefferson City appears to be on it. Seriously: someone call Al Gore because there seems to be an emergency here. So, yes, it was hot and we all sweated a lot. Some of the kids didn't wear shoes. Everyone smelled. Especially the dogs. And the kids' feet. And the adults' underarms. And clothing. The dogs were all panting. Everyone drove around Jefferson City trying to fund the things we had to find. I wanted to go back to the hotel. I miss San Francisco. I wanted ice cream but didn't have any because Chewie took too long to walk to the ice cream parlor because of her broken toe. When we got there everyone was finished. The carbon footprint of a dozen people driving around Jefferson City for a scavenger hunt must be more steep than a shoot for a Hummer ad. Chewie was very warm and her toe hurted her and I had to lift her into the back seat of Shannon's car every time we got in, and every time we got out I had to lift her too, so she wouldn't get her toe hurted again. Actually, it was very sad when I lifted her because she wanted to scamper like her friends the other dogs, but she could not scamper. She could only walk slow. And pant. A lot. Gwen was in the front seat with Shannon and she panted a lot too. But at least she didn't have to walk very slow in the hot hot amazonian surface of the sun oppresive to high heaven heat. Does god hate me? Is that why it's hot? The heat! Why the heat? Woe is me. And woe is Chewie. And Chewie's toe. Sometimes I call her Chewchew and people laugh. The dogs laugh too though I know they think I'm weird. Picking up poop in the thousand degree inferno of a weather system here is gross. Seriously, it's disgusting. I can't imagine wanting to do that. Golly, was the scavenger hunt a smelly game. My nose almost melted. We were split into two teams for the scavenger hunt. Our team was the best team, and we won. We kept finding stuff, even though we were bored. Some of the parents on our team really wanted to win. What a sad commentary on fulfillment. I was carrying Chewie a lot and drank more water than anyone else. I wished I could pee on the grass too, from all the water. But I couldn't. One of the dogs on the other team pooped in Wal-Mart (for real! I'm not pretending!) and got in trouble. I'm glad Chewie didn't do that. It would be so embarassing! If she did poop in a store, I'd hope it's not a bookstore. And I'd punish her: I'd save up my allowance for a toe removal operation. Or change her real name to Chewbacca. In court. (For real!)

Back in adult human mode:

If you want to continue with your boredom, check out the following: On top is video of Gwen, Shannon, Chewie and I on left, on one of our car treks. Gwen is gorgeous, and she whines cutely, and when Shannon gets out of the car, Gwen follows her closesly with her human green eyes, and sometimes whimpers. She kills me. Chewie would nibble her tail if I let her, though Gwen's an alpha and would rip her a new one. (And one thing Chewwoman does not need is a new one. She does splendidly with this one. Just ask the parkway outside the grocery store. Holy Toledo).

Below, a thirsty labradoodle in the most unnatural of habitats -- a scorching sidewalk in the middle of America. NASA would have a tough time engineering heat shields to protect against this heat. The video itself? Might be the most boring 45 seconds in the history of humankind. Or puppykind.

And third and perhaps least, a brief, mind-numbing video of our winning, UVA-ray sucking squad of sweating smelly scavengers. Yay. We are inanely on a baseball diamond. Standing there like Civil War statues. For ten seconds. We drove there for twenty minutes; it took ten to get in place (and find my camera, which was hidden in my pocket), and we stayed for ten seconds. Earth will explode several days early because of our CO2 emissions.

And whose tuchus do I have to smooch to find a recycling bin? Honestly. We could build a missile defense shield with all of the Dr Pepper cans i see dripping over themselves in the garbage here. Double-u to the tee to the F?

Do NOT post on Youtube!

This is us being Us, verifiable, unabashed, Usness. Chewie and Phil. Phil & Chewy. Trying to learn. Learning to try.

Oy vey.

It's also pre-broken toe. (See "Playin' Rough; Pettin' & Frettin'" -- below -- if you missed that).

We're commanded (yeah) to shoot a 15 minute video every other day. This is Video 1, scene 2. It is an embarassment. Shannon and Gwen shot Chew and I; we shot them, though, as mentioned, Chui walked into about every shot.

It's not as good as The Shaggy D.A. -- with a much-worse plot, an untalented writer, and Suzanne Pleshette and Tim Conway nowhere to be found -- so don't get excited.

Jesus. Awful, eh? We shall improve. But not in this video:





Or this:

Playin' Rough; Pettin' & Frettin'

Chewy and I are relaxing this morning... and will be relaxing all day.

The Girl has a broken toe. We were at the emergency vet last night, until about midnight. She's okay -- and while our training will be slowed -- and her Alerting won't begin until she's better -- it shouldn't set us back too far.

After dinner, Chewy was out doing her business. I'd been low, and we did the requisite breathing exercises to start to teach her what *i* smell/taste like when my blood sugar drops... and after, we went out to do it. She went, and we kept walking around the building until we came to this gazebo area, where a bunch of folks were hanging. It's about 8-30, 8-45pm... and we're chillin. Two of the dogs are running -- Jen from California's dog, Jai, a cheeky chicky bright shepherd mix... and Odie, a 3 year old, usually slow moving Collie male, who belongs to Neal from Oregon, and his wife Kim.

I took Chew off vest -- i wanted to run her a bit too -- and she goes and plays, and they're running hard. It got a bit rough -- at one point, Jai tried approached another dog -- a black Lab named Tank -- who is -- and who's with a 4 year old and her parents from Florida -- who had a toy under his legs.

(This is like canine soap opera stuff. Boring, but you can't turn away.)

Jai grabbed at it; Tank grabbed at her, for a split second, with that loud intense double barking that scares the quiet, crickety night and low thrum of chatter. Tank went inside and Odie and Jai and Chewster, then, again, pranced and galloped and tried to buck the imaginary kittens off their rodeo-twisting dogbacks. They were running hard -- with some apparent nips and dog play... played some fetch, 3 on 1, as well... for about 15 minutes, maybe 20.

After, Chewy was standing near me, panting, looking around for a rock to eat likely since I seem to stand near a lot of delicious igneous (and don't even ask me about the scrumptious sticks i attract)... and Kim, Odie's handler's wife, who's a vet tech (and reminds me in wonderful ways, of a dear friend in Vancouver who's the same) -- Kim noticed Chew had her right rear leg raised.

A first.

What happened? Kim asks me. I am dumbfounded. I don't know, I say. She was fine... when we came out here... though when she was doing her business, I was on the phone with my pal Tom in Oklahoma. Maybe I missed something??...

We walk her up to the gazebo and lay her down, and Kim feels her right rear toes, one by one... and the outside toe is a little... 'crunchy' feeling when we wiggle it. There's something off. It's not smooth. Chew reacted slightly when we moved it -- as if it did not in fact hurt all that much -- but that, I'd later learn, was just adrenaline.

We lay there and I petted and fretted for a while... left Michele a message... talked to some folks... and Chewy is still unabashedly Chewie during this, looking to eat rosebushes and red stick mulch. But when we went inside the hotel, to walk down the long carpeted first floor hallway to our castle suite, her right rear leg was held high.

She was three legged.

Yes, it's cute, but it ain't funny.

She was off vest and still moving slowly -- usually, off vest and she's skipping around without my direction. We got to my room, each sweating, and she lay down near the doorway, and her eyes suddenly look very sad. I lay and pet her, fretting more, and tell her she's gonna be okay.

Michele calls when she gets back from her errand -- 10-45pm -- and her daughter Alice -- who's 15, and trained Chuy, and in whose bed Chuiy slept for 35 or 40 weeks, until last week -- imagine that bond broken? God. Alice loves this dog, and it's in her eyes daily -- but she's also very proud of having.... um. Raised her. Thank goodness for her; for them. ......

So they come and feel her toe, Michele's talking to the emergency vet as she walks in, and she feels it, and says, "Let's go. Alice, carry her out. I'll pull the van around. Now."

Alice picks her up - she's 52 pounds -- and I am scrambling behind. We go out front. We're waiting for Michele to bring the van, and I say, 'I just walked out without all my stuff!'

Go get it, Alice says. I sprint back, grab my backpack, take off my around-the-hotel-compound shorts that don't hide my boxers, and pull on jeans, and sprint back. Chewy's in back with Alice, I climb in front, and Michele peels towards the vet, 15 minutes down the highway, past the state capital building.

Vet's a middle aged guy who's not happy to be out of bed, but he's smart, Michele says, and good, and knows all of her dogs.

Chewster! he says. What'd you do, silly goofus? Didn't I just see you?

I had carried her inside, and put her down, and she looks at me and stands there, kind of looks around to all four of us human beings, one by one.

She knew she was where she was.

After Doc watched her walk a bit -- limping gimpily, looking utterly silly, but still sweet and curious -- just not as curious... I lifted her onto the x-ray table. Alice held her, i looked at her eyes and patted her, Doc placed the foot, and Michele pressed The Button. ZZZZZ sounded, and we lifted her off.

X-ray #1 verdict: inconclusive. A thin line that could be a fracture could also be a fold of skin; intuition at this point, Doc said, is No Break. I breathed easier.

I should say... I was indeed quite nervous about this. Firstly, when dogs are ill in any way, they don't alert, and training dips. And not alerting is okay once alerting is starting to happen... but at the beginning, i was afraid they'd send me home until October (the next class), or switch to another dog -- and I'm already... attached to her.

One can fall quickly, eh? (Don't I know it). (Again, and again). Falling for someone... or a dog someone... is both a place, and a process.

I'm falling.

True: I'm not sure if she's calling ME 'daddy' yet... but I didn't want another dog. And missing a day or two of training is one thing; a week, is another, and I knew they'd be assessing. Is Chew gonna hang in a newsroom, trek up to Napa, ride the N-Judah, prance in Golden Gate Park, see the Pacific, chill in countless coffee shops? Fly to LA to visit all my pals, head to Chicago to see my folks and niece and nephew and brother and sister in law, all of my friends and friends and friends and friends and blessed, loving, hearty, homestaying friends... I wanted Choo there with all of em, each of em, all and each and every.

So, the 'inconclusive / no break' chatter lifted my heart.

She sat next to me, waiting like we all were for what's next. A bird shrieked; a cat howled. Chuey being Chewy would mean she'd react, ears perked, eyes darting, looking for magic birdcat.

She didn't. She sat, sadly looked at me. Phillyphil, her eyes said. Let's go.

X-ray 2 required her laying down, and Alice lifted her, rolled her expertly (she's 15... and will be an amazing vet someday), as Doc splayed her bad foot. I patted her, whispered, wondered. ZZZZZZZ. Took her down. She bounced three-leggedly towards the Cat Room, bit we caught her and went to wait.

X-ray #2 verdict: probably a break, though still inconclusive.

I was looking at another x-ray on the light board. Doc noticed me. "That's a ferret elbow," he said. "Jumped off a high table." I shook my head. Where in hell am i?

Michele and Doc had a good rapport, too, and i had utter confidence in him... he was tired, and unhappy not to be sleeping as we neared midnight, but he was cool. They had a funny little makin' fun of each other thing going. I laughed along; Alice just smiled. It wasn't funny, and i was worried, but I liked that they weren't stricken. They weren't, so i wasn't.

Just like they teach us that Your Emotions Travel Down The Leash, to the dog -- if you're not confident, the dog won't be; if you're anxious, pooch will be as well -- Michele and Doc being as cool as they were, kept me okay.

X-ray #3 was again a lay-down, and it came back with a clear, Broken, verdict. Hairline fracture with a chip of bone, off.

She also has a bite mark on her thigh, and it felt warm, and bruised -- she was likely wrastlin' around with Odie or Jai, and got playfully chomped, and maybe her toe caught in a collar. Just a guess. Just a fluke. Life's a fluke. What a word. What a world.

We weighed her -- 52.1 pounds; still growing -- and Doc gave her some narcotics-by-injection, and some meds (anti-inflammatory) for three weeks -- which will, i said softly out loud, include time back in the Bay Area, Chewster's new home, hopefully -- she has no clue what a city is like, and she's gonna be like a belle just off the bus, bright lights reflecting each way off her eyes.

She's to stay off the leg for a few days -- we'd go to class, but not to the Mall for our field work, and none of our videotaping exercises... just the scent work (using my socks) and teaching her to bump my hand with her nose when i put it out (which will be an Alert signal eventually).

We have two days off -- Michele said it could end up being good bonding time, and be a disguised blessing.

Doc said this should heal completely, and NOT cause arthritis later -- and also, her favoring it for a few days, will not displace her hips negatively, either, which could have happened (and would have if it was an interior toe). If that was the case... they might have switched out dogs. Why train and bond with an alert dog that would have it's span of alerting shortened by several, or even many years?

Lucky, lucky, lucky. I breathed silently.

We drove home, and back in our empty classroom, nearing 1:00 a.m., Michele taped her leg with gauze, just to keep the toes bunched right. Chewy tried to eat the tape, but i stopped her... and when we finally got to my room - she didn't need the bano -- she hopped right into bed, and lay flat, sighing, Woe is me. Though she did wag as I called her Good Girl and scratched her ears. She again started to eat off the tape on her bum toe -- green medical tape, with a white cover -- looked kinda cool, like a sweatband. I wouldn't let her eat it, though, and soon she was zonked.

They said she'd be groggy in the morning, and she was. We kept on sleeping -- she didn't seem to have to go out -- and we caught up a bit on rest... I was overly affectionate, and she was sweeter than honey, even more than usual... I woke up a few times, and she was looking at me, and I'd open my eyes and she'd wag, wag, wag, wag, wag. Cutest. Thing. Evuh.

Today, we went to class -- everyone thought she was extra cute, and she was walking pretty good on three legs, hoppity hoppity sniff, hoppity hoppity stop, hoppity hoppity hop. She was chill, but we did the few things we could. Then we came back here and she's asleep after a viergous nylabone session.

We played some hard fetch Thursday night; she was clearly improving.

Hopefully, she'll be back able to walk and videotape and such by Saturday. She likes the video. Shannon, with Gwen the big brown lab, shot Chewy and I yesterday... she was okay. But when I was shooting Shan and Gwen on video, Chewy kept getting in the shot.

We did this "food temptation" stuff, where they toss food at the dog -- turkey slices, which they love. It lands inches from their nose. If they move towards it, we snap the collar. If they grab it, we rip it from their lips. It's heartbreaking... but Chew was good at it, incredibly. She would lay there with three pieces of turkey.. right there. And when a fourth came, she'd sit up and look the other direction. 'Three I can take, Mister... but four is my boundary, so I'm gonna bust my gaze yonder..'

When it was Gwen's turn, Gwen stayed, but Chewy trotted in an nabbed the food. I grabbed it out, and she looked at me as if to say, She's not allowed to eat it and i already passed the test... what the heck? Why waste good Schnucks turkey slices?

She wandered into most of Gwen's shots, like Borat with the weatherman in Mississippi... and I'd snap and say, stage whispery, Chewy! Get! Over! There!.. and she'd look at me, see the red in my eyes, and lay down.

We'll return to that stuff, hopefully Saturday. As she rests, we're renting a bunch of Sandra Bullock movies, and i'm making my special liver flavored popcorn.

She'll be okay. We both will.

Paparazzi Submission

These two shots were taken about 5 minutes after we met, when i finally moved her head off my lap.  We were a mess: her vest didn't fit quite right.  I had turkey sandwich breathe; she had liver treat breathe.  I wore my special Green Outfit (I;m encouraging composting; she's from Missouri, and doesn't know from it at all), but she's colorblind and didn't even comment thereupon.  

A mess.

So she was in my lap, and I had her sit, a half foot away: I'm a sensitive man, and wanted to look at her and pet; touch a little, talk a lot.  You know: get to know each other first.  I'm not that type of guy.  I'm easy, but not that easy.

You're right.  With Chewi, i'm that easy.

3.5 GPA @ Petco

We had a late night, eating a nylabone, watching the all-star game.

it was also an early morning.

i think chewy's doing alright.  we passed our public access test at petco -- SOMEone wasn't studying during our two hour free time prior, and instead was running in circles, but we still made it -- so now we're allowed in public.  which means, the grocery last night (odd -- many looks -- several questions answered -- everyone nice)... and walgreens today.  big day planned!

The test was just walking about, stopping and staying.  tw hard parts -- staying during the 'tempted stay' -- I put her in a Down, Stay, and she stays.  Then one of the trainers says, Chewie!  Com on!  Let's Go outside!  Chewie wanna treat?  Chewie wanna pottie?  Come here chewie!  come on!  let's go play chewie! -- and she has to stay.  She did it every time -- she looked sick to her stomach, in that 'what do i do now?" way that friends get when weighing Quit My Job or stay here? or Breakup or Keep trying? or Hybrid or Cheap Accord? questions.  -- and, I was allowed to say, over their calls, Chewie.  Stay.  Chewy.  Stay.  Stay!  Chewiestay!  chewystay, staychewie.

The only time she broke was the last time, when Michele said let's go play like eight times in a row (in 5 seconds) and clapped her hands.  So, B+ -- like law school; i'll take it.  Eventually, to graduate, they do that test, with the lead (lead = leash apparently) dropped (it was dropped this time; she was free to run)... but they have a stranger come and PICK UP the leash (lead!)... and walk off with her... she's supposed to stiffen, feet straight, not move... and get dragged (it'll be on a store floor -- slippery).  They say, security and such.. sometimes tries to move these dogs... and she's supposed to listen, obviously, to only me.  My command is everything.  

I better study my commands.

Chewie!  Learn about stem-cell research!  

Chewy!  Fetch my insulin but bring it here in needle-less form!

Chuey!  Grill some salmon while I toss a salad!

Chui!  There are no cabs!  Let me ride you to the Mission!

When I posted this a bit ago, it said here, 'Must off to class,' but i arrived at class, and everyone laughed.

What, i said.  

You don't have to be here till noon, they said.  Unlike yesterday, when i was in a hat and flipflops... today i am showered.  (Though again in flipflops).  We were also early, even for the people who ARE supposed to be there.  It goes unnoticed, apparently. 

The class is split up, they said, into our half-groups -- for more ibnstruction.  That's not till Wednesday! i said, scoffingly.  

They laughed again.  We socialized for a minute and now we're... heading to walgreens.  someone might also get to play with her new Kong toy, purchased at petco after test passage.  Who's my B+ girl???!!!??? WHO'SMYBEEPLUSGIRL??  

Oh, last bit.  So, Chew is tethered to the bed, on leash, overnite, so she learns to sleep next to me and doesn't wander off to do whatever she would.  Leash around a bedpost, hooked to her regular collar (she also has a soft lead collar, around her snout -- it's not a muzzle tho everyone asks if it is... she can eat and bark -- i havent heard her bark still! not even once!  -- and stuff with it on.... so, she's tethered.  next to me.  she must be right there, in close proximity, exceedingly close, nowhere but close -- all night.  

[ INSERT FAILED RELATIONSHIP JOKE HERE ].

She also has a toy there in case she's awake and I'm not, or bored.

[INSERT FAILED RELATIONSHIP JOKE HERE ].

OK... so, she's pretty good at it -- 

[INSERT FAILED... alright, yeah, we all get it -- ha ha ha].

-- but so far, she's not in (INSERT -- geezus, i've created a monster) the Right Position.  Um.  whistle.  so.... i have to instruct her... to be in... the right... position.  So, anyway, i haven't had a low yet -- even in daytime -- so we havent practiced her most vital role (it will take time -- more even for her, given her youthishness).... Last night, i was gonna read in bed, and she was laying down the bed, and then scooted up near me... on top of the New Yorker... so i didn't read.  Turned on the extra innings of the ballgame as she chewed a nylabone. Sweet.

Anyway, here were some possible titles to this post that we decided against:

The Glory of the Tennis Ball

She Looks at Me Like I'm Odd (& I'm already used to it)

Chewing! (on many things and being told I'm not allowed by my human master)

Everyone Poops.  And we mean EVERYone.  And we also mean POOPS.

Kibble, How I Love Thee

I Am Playing You Like A Fiddle

Let's Nap!

Someone Seems To Like Frogs

Show-me Frequent Urination in the Show-me State

Obama vs. Hillary, again -- Obama wins, again.  

We're Chew, we're Phil -- We're super duper chill.  Unless we're hungry.

The It Girl, Next Door

It's a girl.  

Chewie -- or Chewy -- or Chewi -- or Chuey -- or Chui... (I'll sponsor a Spell Phil's Dog's Name contest, later...)

I am sitting in my hotel 'suite'... with a panting, beautiful chocolate brown labradoodle at my feet.  She's the youngest pup in our class of a dozen -- youngest, funniest, wildest, sweetest -- like a standup comedian, hard charging mommy with career, and Olympic hopeful rolled into one.  She's trained -- they all are -- but a little ... how do you say... rambunctious, maybe rough around the edges -- the Poodle intellect is apparent, but not as much as the happy go lucky lab-ness.  

She is beautiful, and sweet, and I'm pretty much in love with her.  (It's something in the air...)

This morning, our first full day, we had first aid class and some other do's and don't basics.  I was exhausted -- up late, up early -- and sat with caffeine in hand for the full three hours.  Walked to walgreens on our 90 minute lunch break... this is ruralamerica, wal-martville -- not a walkey place, but i managed, sweating all the while, walking on grass medians, since sidewalks aren't to be found.  

It was my last hour of freedom before we met our dogs.

The conference room of the hotel is small, usually configured like a classroom, with four rows of about eight chairs, snacks along the counter in back, and a dvd player and TV on a cart up front.  But we moved all of the chairs into a circle, and formed the most communal of shapes. Headmaster Michele (and the trainers -- which include two of her teen daughters) was speaking softly, talking in soothing tones, as the trainers started to bring the dogs into the room, one by one.  Kids' dogs first, adults' dogs last, each at a time.

The trainer would walk the dog to the center of the circle (which was small -- say, 25 feet across)... and introduce the kid, to the dog -- kids wide-eyed next to mom and dad, parents snapping pics, everyone aglow, dogs In Vest, On Leash, quiet, sweet, submissive in the trainers' hands -- and then, in those of the kids.  

Josh, Michele would say... This is Fido.  He's a 2 year old lab, he's pretty laid back as you can see, but he's ahead of most of the dogs when it comes to alerting, and is very quiet, waiting for commands.

Denise, meet Toto.  She's 2 1/2, a shepherd mix, who's not the smartest of the dogs in your class but may in fact be the most loyal.  She's a pack leader, kind of like you.  I know you ride horses, and she likes horses too.  She also likes mud.

On and on it went.  Cameras were passed back and forth to get shots at different angles... everyone amazed, two dogs in the room, then four or five, kids finished, and the adults' dogs started to get walked in -- six dogs, eight, ten: once the introduction was made, the dog was put in a Down, Stay at the feet of the new owner (or new owner's mommy or daddy).  They allo seemed tired, nervous -- like all of us.

The 20- and 30-somethings congregate, as ever, in one corner, and I offered to take a shot of Gwen, a gorgeous brown lab, said to be quiet, but alpha, who's placed with a 20ish woman from Denver who's never owned a dog before.  Gwen was not posing well for my photograph -- she was staring at her new mom, and looking about; finally she gazed my way, I snapped and put the camera down, and felt something on my leg.

It was a furry face, soothing brown, deep and rich... with a little bit of light copper in the whiskers.   Brown pupiled eyes, sweet as a koala's, wanting, waiting -- saucer huge even if squinty, but wide open.  Soft wavy hair.  Slowly wagging tail.  

'Phil,' they said, 'This is Chewie.  She's a chocolate labradoodle, just a year old -- she's the youngest dog in the class, y'all, by a long shot.  She's a puppy, but she's bright, and thinks everything's a game.  She's extremely affectionate -- you're gonna have to watch that, so she focuses on alerting you -- but it'll be fun.  She plays games.  And she loves rocks and sticks."

The rock and stick lover was looking at me.  I patted her head.  I wished I had a stick in my pocket.  I scanned the edge of the room (really) for a piece of quartz or granite. 

None to be found.  So:  "Chewie," I said.  "Chewie!  Hello.  You're very pretty.  A very pretty lady."  

She sat and opened her mouth, and scrunched and rescrucnhed and re arranged and re re re arranged her snout on my leg, her nose in my belly, her eyes on mine. 

"Put her in a down stay!" said a trainer.

"Down," I whispered.  "Down, Chewie!"  And I moved my hand down, like a magician might at a kids show, waist to floor.  

She went down.  "Good girl!  Stay!"

I petted, and petted, for the next hour.  Chewbacita wriggled a bit.  (She's named after the Star Wars character; when her hair's shaggy, the kids think she looks like Harrison Ford's best bud from '77).  I patted.  She licked and looked, wriggled and seemed to be smiling a bit.

Michele talked to us, pooch stuff, as a dozen dogs lay at our feet, being petted, some scoochin around, an occasional position shift, but most of them good, sweet, clearly trained, unproblematic.  Two alpha girls growled once.  A trainer shouted.  They shut up.  

Over time, Chewy (Chuey?  Chui?  Chewey?) was indeed a bit exciteable -- she looked at each dog, looked at everyone, and got in trouble for some butt sniffin' (when the dogs are In Vest, they aren't supposed to butt sniff).... but she also was utterly cuddly, affectionate, wanting to be petted, putting her head almost into my hands.  She kept trying to scuttle another inch closer to me on this hotel conference room carpeted floor, closer, closer, scooch, scooch, over and over again.  She was sweet as all getup, and kind of looked like two dogs I well know: my parents Portuguese Water Dog, and my dear friends part porty part.. something else.  Each of them girls, sweet eyed, snuggly, but with a rambunctious streak.  

Chewie looks a bit like Laney and Rose.

I kept saying hello.  Using the word, "hello."  And roughling her head, like Santa does a 5 year old's.

Eventually, we all had to parade the dogs around in a circle, in front of the class -- heel, sit, stay, break.  My dog -- the puppiest of them all, though the prettiest girl, the It girl of this class, if only because as I very timidly -- for me -- walked, with apparent shyness (or nerves), in this everwatched circle, Chewie looked like she was in a Revlon commercial from 1976: she pranced, head high, tongue wagging, flipping what would be the dog equivalent of Charlie's Angels hair hither and fro, knowing she was seen, playing the part of the pooch class girl next door.

But: 

"Rough around the edges, arentya Chewie?" shouted the head trainer.  Chewie stopped and looked at her, then at me.  

"Heel," I said, and she just leaned.  "Come on!" I said, and she came on.

"You're gonna have some work to do Phil.  She's like one of those smart, flirty 5 year olds, who shimmies her shoulders like she's 15...."

I have some work to do.

She's at my feet now, after a hard outside, Off Vest, Off Leash romp, and a good hour of fetch. Girl Next Door is in my room.  Again.

I mean, Finally.