"Running Commentary"
Boulder McGraw – Me!
Hello. I’m Boulder McGraw. Woof!
If you haven’t guessed – I’m a dog. That’s me in the photo.
Cute, huh? Everyone says so … sooo, I guess I am. But I look forward to the day when people stop calling me that. Technically, I’m still a puppy, but I’m much, much older than I look. On Monday I’ll be 11 weeks-old. 11 whole weeks. Almost grown up.
Can’t wait ‘till I’m a REAL dog.
The old guy who usually occupies this space? He’s my daddy! Unfortunately, he’s very tired and needs to rest … he runs ragged trying to keep up with me. I offered to help out this week, and he seemed grateful. His last two words before passing out were, “Do it.”
I’m doing it. How do you like me so far?
I’m told by my editor at this newspaper – a woman named Dixie who likes to write emails with BIG CAPITAL LETTERS LIKE THIS – that I am the first puppy to write a column for this newspaper. Actually, Dixie did some research and she couldn’t find ANY newspaper columns written by an 11 week-old puppy – ever! IN CANINE HISTORY. Imagine!
I’m proud to be the first puppy columnist. I hope I can be an inspiration to other puppies who are considering a career writing newspaper columns. Trust me on this – there isn’t anything you can’t accomplish in life if your daddy is a powerful lawyer who knows a lot of important people.
Like MY daddy.
A little bio about me? I was born April 13, 2020, on a flea-infested street in Amarillo, Texas. Homeless and poor, Mommy was led astray by a stray, who, despite his mangy appearance, apparently smelled decent enough.
After 12 seconds of romance, he was “outta there.” Faster than you can say “Poop!”
Sort of like a hit and run – but it weren’t no accident.
I never heard from him. Never. No cards, no letters – nothing! What a bum.
My first lessons – sometimes life isn’t fair, and love is fleeting.
A lovely pooch like Mommy was attracted to the smell of a bad-ass mongrel, and two months later? A real catastrophe. Well, I mean – except for MEEE. (Daisy says it’s unprofessional to put an emoji in a newspaper column, but, if I could, I would insert a smiley face – right here!)
I was lucky to get out of Texas. Down south, if you aren’t adopted within seven days after you’re picked up? It’s curtains. Get my drift? Fini! Over and out. No muss, no fuss. Homeless in Amarillo gets you a one-way ticket to the Big Puppy Kennel in the sky.
Thankfully, I was rescued from my near-death experience by the wonderful, caring people at Mile High Canine Rescue in Colorado – that’s where Daddy adopted me. He said he loved me from the moment he first saw me. So, I guess it’s OK being cute … sometimes, anyway. Saved my little butt.
If you got it, I guess you can flaunt it.
I love, love, love my new home. But here’s the 800 lb. gorilla in the kennel – ACCIDENTS. Another life lesson – poop happens. Puppies pee and poop and accidents happen, OK?
I’ve had three or four. Probably more. I lost track. It’s not a number you wanna commit to memory. However, when you gotta go, you gotta go. RIGHT? And I don’t appreciate it when Daddy screams, “NOOOOOOOO!!!” It frightens the pee out of me. Just makes things worse.
Outdoors, it’s different. Daddy says, “Good boy! Good boy! Good boy!” Honestly, after a while, it begins to sound somewhat insincere. I already KNOW where and when I’m supposed to GO. It’s a question of bladder control, which will definitely NOT be a problem when I grow up to be a real DOG.
Daddy? Give your puppy a bleepin’ BREAK.
(Dixie and I really like capital letters – can you tell?)
Parents try to train their kids. In truth, it’s the children who train them. No different with puppies. For example, take my food – I want it when I want it, and I’m not going to be all warm and cuddly until I get it. After several days of paws-on training and two pairs of mangled Nikes, Daddy figured that out.
He’s learning. It’s a process.
As for my diet, I get the regular stuff – solid food, softened with some canned meat and gravy. But I basically eat anything and everything – ants, bugs, anything that moves, grass, Daisies, sticks, small pebbles and bigger rocks, Aluminum cans, dirt, paper, recycled cardboard and rawhide. Mostly, I gnaw things into oblivion and spit out whatever is left. Daddy says I’m teething.
For a balanced nutritional diet? Do what I do – eat whatever you find in the kitchen trash can.
Daddy doesn’t like it when my sharp baby teeth sink into his ear a little deeper than intended. But telling a puppy not to bite, is like telling someone else not to breathe.
The bleeding stopped. I’m sure Daddy will be OK.
Well that’s my story. Thanks for listening. And, if you know of other homeless puppies who need to be rescued and adopted? Send them to Mile High Canine Rescue.
If those puppies are really lucky … like me?
Maybe they’ll get a lawyer.
Boulder McGraw is a rescue dog. He won’t mind if you write to tell him he’s cute: Rmykl@yahoo.com