Five Factoids

Yep, your Fio is a delicate flower. As she confessed to you yesterday, she does not fare well in hot weather. Neither, she wants you to know, does Sonia dog. Poor baby follows Fio out the door, then, five minutes later, barks to be let inside again. Mastiffs aren't designed for Texas summers.
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Three words that Fiorella wants newscasters to memorize the pronunciation of: realtor, nuclear, and athletic. They are NOT re-la-ter, nu-cyu-ler, and a-tha-letic.
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Every life hangs by a thread. Anything can happen any minute, no matter your age, your health, or how careful you are. Fate is fate.
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The way one says "Good morning" in the Nigerian dialect that Tosin at the Verizon store speaks is "e-k-a-a-r-o," which is pronounced like a rainbow. starting at a lower pitch, rising in the middle, and settling at the end. Fio would have loved to have studied a pitch language at some time in her life, but maybe there's still time after she learns Spanish, reviews her Russian, and picks up Telugu again. And then there's her Latin that she'd like to renew, and her German, Fio's study of which was cut short after ein semester. Oops, she didn't mention the French, which she passed a reading a exam on long ago, but which she never did learn how to speak.
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Surely the circus act in DC cannot continue much longer.

BOYCOTT BENEFUL DOG FOOD!

Sometimes there's nothing interesting happening in Fio's life. Other times, she's overflowing with topics.  Right now, she's caught in a biblical flood.  The situation reached its zenith yesterday afternoon when Fio drove (yes, her car is working now) to PetsMart and discovered that Beneful has reprocessed and repackaged its dry dog food, which means that Healthy Fiesta is no longer available,

Fio hit the roof, and let everyone in the store know why.  Healthy Fiesta is the only brand that left Sonia Dog free of the of the pungent odors mastiffs usually exude, and Fiorella does not look forward to being gassed out of the house.

Sonja Wendysdottir

• I'm sitting in front of the dying fire and thinking about Wendy the Weimer tonight.  I remember the compliments our gray lady got from strangers as she pranced around the drive, how seductive she looked when she reclined like a canine courtesan on her princess bed, how amazed we were to learn that her cast-iron stomach could handle Kleenexes, paper towels, acorns--even mustard--before, at ten years of age, it finally turned on her, a common affliction of big dogs.

Wendy was part of the fabric of my life.  I burst into tears the morning after she died when I saw that her princess bed was empty and realized that there was now no reason to put my cereal milk on the floor after breakfast.

Four months later, we acquired Sonia, a mastiff, very different from Wendy, with whom we knew there could be no comparison, but we claimed Wendy as her spiritual mother and gave our new doggie a second name in the Icelandic tradition: Wendysdottir.

Sonia is my darling, but she is, indeed quite different from Wendy,  While she does like to walk around the driveway and will drink my breakfast milk, she is quite discriminating about what she eats, and she won't use the princess bed.

So, after three years, it's time to let it go.  I'll donate the bed to The Caring Place for another dog to enjoy, but not without a tear in my eye.
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Of Brain and Beauty

What deer make up for in grace and beauty, they lack in intelligence. The brains within those big-eyed, delicate little heads are truly minuscule.

Fio and Sonia Dog had barely left the front porch for their morning walk when doggie froze and pointed. About forty yards away, a deer was standing at the edge of the cedar thicket on the other side of the driveway.  As it walked slowly across the drive into the far west yard, Fiorella stuffed treat into Sonia's mouth and convinced her to turn around.  Looking back, Fio saw another deer come out of the cedar thicket.  Then a third one, then a fourth one, then a fifth one.

Yes, five deer in plain view with a mastiff under tenuous control.

Not very bright.

Sharks, Tylenol, Mastiff, Weed Spray

Husband has been watching crocodile and shark horror movies all afternoon and Fiorella is doubly convinced that lakes, rivers, and the ocean are perilous to humankind.
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Don't know what's in Tylenol Nighttime, but it insists that Fio get a full eight hours of sleep.  Blessings on it.
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Sonia Dog has taught herself to push open the back porch door to come back into the house.  She's also learned to anchor a rawhide bone with her paw when she pulls at it. Obviously we have a mastiff genius on our hands.
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Sometimes the most beautiful sight in the world is dead weeds along the driveway.  Now we know the spray works.
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Fiorella may have told you before, but she'll tell you again--a psychologist reads this blog on a daily basis. Be warned.

My Mastiff Loves Me

Those shiny stains on Fio's jeans?  You may call them dried dog drool, but Fiorella calls them love juice.

To the Tune of Tennessee Ernie's "Sixteen Tons"

116.4 pounds and what do you get?
A tail that wags and a tongue that's wet
A dog who cleans out her bowl when she's fed
And sleeps in love at the bottom of our bed.

Olive Oil, Sonia Dog, Kinkaid House

Ah, the joys of olive oil.  Husband uses it when he cooks and Fio sprays it on her nails.
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Fio left her laptop open on the couch yesterday, and when she returned to it, she found Sonia, sound asleep,  her big mastiff head resting across the keyboard.  Fio would have gotten a snapshot of the scene if only she knew how to work her cellphone camera.  Remember, Fio is a Luddite.
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The divine Liza, Fiorella's literary agent, sent Fio a nice email yesterday to catch her up on what was happening with Kinkaid House, which is making the rounds of the publishing houses.  No one's grabbed it, but no new turn-downs since Ballantine a couple of months ago. That leaves some biggies and a couple of smallies to go.  Wish Fio well.

Dog World

Son brought Bosco Dog over Friday night to spend the weekend with Fio and Husband.  Inkspot's coat was glistening black and he was strutting with pug-nacious self-importance.  But by the time Son picks him up this evening, Sonia will have dusted him up some and cut him down to size.
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Sonia's appetite evolved from power cords and window sills to shoes and wood carvings, then on to foot-long rawhide bones, and that's where Fio hopes it will stay for a while.  Doggie demands a new bone every day, and they're rather expensive--but less so than power cords and shoes.
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You've never lived till you've come out of Home Depot and walked toward your car, where Husband and Doggie await, Husband in the front seat and Doggie in the back, with her big mastiff face hanging out the window, smiling at you.  If everyone were as nice as dogs, this world would be a better place.

Mama Fix

Sonia came over to Fio, tossed her head and made strange clacking noises. 

"She's got something caught in her throat," Husband ventured.

With visions of Puppy choking to death in front of her, Fiorella opened Sonia's great mastiff mouth and checked on the top of and underneath her tongue--clear.  But still Sonia tossed, still she clacked.  Fio ran her fingers under Doggie's lip.  Bingo.  Sonia had a  splinter of rawhide bone stuck behind her upper front teeth.  She hurt--and she'd come to Mommy to rectify the situation.

Now Fiorella understands why her own Mother was so thrilled when, years ago, little Fio came to her with a broken toy and said "Mama fix."  

Our Sonia

Turns out that our Sonia is a mini-mastiff, not as big as we expected her to be--just ninety-five pounds, just twenty-eight inches at the shoulder.  But she's still got that beautiful black face, that calm disposition, that loving heart.  And, come to think of it, if she were any larger, she couldn't snuggle in bed with us every morning.

Rawhide Addict

Every morning after breakfast, Sonya leads Fio to the kitchen and points at the pantry, whence she knows all good things come.  But Sonya doesn't want more kibble--she wants a rawhide bone that she will tear to shreds by the end of the day.  The bones are fairly expensive, but Fiorella shells out gladly because Sonya's other options have been metal screwdrivers, wireless landline phones, the television changer, Fio's shoes, and her eyeglasses (two pairs so far).

Just give Sonya another year, say the experts, and she'll be through teething.

Baby Picture

Thank you
Pamela Tu
Who
Drew
This cartoon view
Of Sonya sweet
We think it's neat
What a treat
And you
Are too

Real Dog

We've had beagles, a shepherd's collie, a black ragmop. a ridgeback, and a weimer, but never before have we had a dog that would bury a bone. I wondered what was happening a couple of days ago when I caught thirteen-week-old Sonya digging a shallow hole in the dirt and laying a stick in it. But Husband caught her yesterday digging a deeper hole, dropping a bone in it, and covering it with leaves. Good grief--we've got a real dog!

On the other hand, what else should we expect from a mastiff, one of the oldest of canine breeds? Her racial memory must go back centuries.

Sonya Comes Home

Congratulate us--Fiorella and Husband have a new baby in the house. They drove to Luling yesterday and picked up a ten-week-old Mastiff.

The ride was long and arduous, and, as soon as Sonya was in the car, she raked Fio's arms with her cat-like claws, causing her new mother to bleed like a sieve. But all was forgiven when Baby Dog slept the rest of the way home--well, except for that pause midway when she threw up.

Anyway, Bosco welcomed the newbie, and the two of them played nicely together, Bosco being the more dominant because he's been in the house longer. Besides, Son's year-old pug is heavier--a situation which won't last very long. Adult mastiffs weigh in at 100+ pounds.

Then we'll see who's boss.

Great Puppy Hunt

Fio and Husband are on the dog hunt again. They've decided on a mastiff because it's a large dog, has a good temperament, and its appearance will not remind them of any previous dogs, especially Wendy the Weimer. They would prefer a one-year-old female--old enough to be thoroughly housebroken, but young enough that Fio and Husband could enjoy a fair number of years with this notoriously short-lived breed. Unfortunately for Fio et al, rescue mastiffs are not only few and far between, but have been so terribly abused as to need lengthy medical treatments before they can be released for adoption.

So now begins the great puppy hunt. Yes, Fiorella and Husband are gearing up for the crate by the bed, the midnight forays into the backyard to maintain the housebreaking, and the gnawing on anything that is remotely gnawable.

But it's worth it.