Sometimes my parents take me to this place that is very large and open and quiet.  I am told to “Sit” and they walk away but they are very close to me.

In the beginning, I’m afraid. I hear sounds of  “whack” popping all around me, again and again, then silence, then this “whack” “pop” sound again, and the sounds frighten me.  I am nervous here.

I see little balls everywhere, but they are not the kinds of balls that I want to catch and play with.

My parents turn to me and say “Hi Joey” and little by little I get more comfortable.  Then people come by and pet me. Then they leave. Then other people come by and pet me.   Then they leave.   I”m happy when the come toward me and distressed when they walk away. But soon other people come toward me.  Many of them stop in front of me and give me a pet and want to talk about me.

Eventually I become more comfortable and start to like this place!

My parents have me sit by a fence and they go and leave me alone for a while.  I’m on my lead and I’d rather be free. But this is where I am now and I accept that. I’m with my parents and I’m a good dog. So I sit where I’m told to sit.

I never think about the alternative. I never think about staying home alone. I like where I am, with my parents, with sounds of pop and whack all around me!

You wake up feeling really good.Your Dad takes you for a nice walk early in the morning: What a great way to begin a great day. Soon, your mom takes you on a nice car ride to your favorite animal hospital. There, your friends greet you with smiles. They take you into the back. You walk to the back and quickly forget about your mom. You see your favorite doctor!  Then, you become really tired. Later you wake up and can barely move. You try to walk and it’s not so easy. Your mouth feels strange.  You see your mom. She says “Good boy, Joey” and you start to walk outside, but you bump into the railings. You see a really nice bush and try to take a pee but it’s difficult even getting over to that bush. Beneath you, your legs are working hard to keep you upright.  You see the car and your Mom opens the car door and you have to jump up into that back seat but – are you up for it? You stop for a moment.  You have to do it. You’re a dog. You are a proud Labrador Retriever.  You are a chocolate.  And so you do.Your mom has the sheet laid out on the back seat beneath you.  You try to sit up like you always do, so you can see outside. Your mom says “Joey, lie down.” Then she says it again. This is something you rarely do.  Lying down in the back seat is not for dogs. But she motions to you to lie down so you do.  You listen to her. Besides, it’s difficult to sit up.

She drives slowly and opens the window for fresh air. You don’t feel so good. You don’t open your mouth. Not that day or the next.

You get home and home feels good and she gets you into your nice soft bed. Ah. You fall asleep. For a long time.

You won’t open your mouth that night.

The next morning your Dad takes you running. It’s hot outside and you are getting hot and the way you cool yourself off is to open your mouth and let your tongue hang out. But you won’t open your mouth. Not that morning, not that afternoon. Except when your mom gets you some food to eat. Then you do. But all the rest of the day, no way.  Maybe tomorrow you will.

This is dental surgery for dogs.  My parents and doctor all agree this was part of my being hit by the car many months ago, 16 months ago, and what started out as a little crack in my tooth has now worsened so that my tooth had to be extracted.

I don’t know how my parents knew it. I didn’t tell them. I never complained. I was eating less but my parents assumed it was because of the summer heat just tiring me out.

But one day my Dad noticed that my breath didn’t smell so good and that I needed a dental cleaning. When my Mom brought me into the hospital for my blood work, I had to get on that scale again.  70 pounds!  “Joey’s lost too much weight” my doctor said.  The next thing I knew is that my parents were giving me all sorts of nice foods to eat, adding rice to my breakfast, rice to my dinner, sometimes little pieces of meat and turkey.

Now I think they’ve figured out that the reason I wasn’t eating was because it hurt to eat.

During my dental cleaning, my doctor Tamara noticed my tooth was really badly cracked. And so she took care of it.

Now back home, my parents say, “Joey, want a treat?” and I go over to her, obediently sit, and then she puts those little things down my throat again – “medicine” my parents call it.  Then they say, “Joey, want a treat?” and I get some nice soft bread.  And I’ve been getting a lot of food again, with rice and chicken gravy.

Eating is suddenly fun again.  Maybe I’ll even open my mouth and give my parents some kisses some time soon.

A dog has a really unique family and set of relatives: He has his canine family and he has his human family. And then he has his adoptive human family.

It was a long long time ago when I had my first human family. So long ago I really don’t recall.

But last week when I met Gramps, when he stepped out of his car in front of our home and came into our backyard, I knew right away we had a connection. A very strong connection and bond. He knew just how to play with me, just how to talk to me, and I knew right away we were on the same side of the fence!  It’s like he had known me forever!

And he had!

And then Debra came over to me when I was wagging my tail at the fence looking at everybody who was on the other side of the fence, talking, being happy.  When I was a newborn puppy, Debra was my big human sister. Then I grew and grew.  I grew so big that when Debra saw me last week, after ten years, she hardly recognized little “Big Ears”, as she had named me when I was born.  Of course I don’t remember growing, but there we were again.

And see my first Grandma?  She and Gramps owned my mother, Cocoa. They owned her, and loved her, and took care of her when she was healthy and when she was sick. She and Gramps and Debra were also there with me right when I was born.   Before I became known to Debra as “Big Ears” and long before I became known as “Joey”.  (And maybe they will write about when I was born!)

I love my whole entire first family.

You can see this in our “first family” portrait.

And once again I have to say that I am a lucky dog!

Here I am, a runner, sitting beneath a statue to one of the great runners of the Boston Marathon, John A. Kelly. And I would say I’m a pretty long-distance runner, for a dog of my age. After all, I’m going to be eleven years old and I’m back to running with my Dad, anything from 2.3 miles (such as when my mom runs with us, or when she runs me alone) or 4 or even 5 miles. The truth is the more often I run, the better off I am.

This statue shows John Kelly as a young runner and John Kelly as an older runner. That would be just like me. I too am “Young at Heart”. Some people still say I act like a puppy. In fact, my mom calls me a puppy all the time.

The Boston Marathon runs right outside our home. This year my mom walked me with her along the route. I was a little too excited for her. I pulled and pulled on the lead, and it was very difficult for her to control me. There were many dogs with their owners and I, of course, wanted to say hello to each one. I wanted to greet each dog to my neighborhood and welcome him and welcome her to the ‘hood.

My mom’s response was “Joey, come” and that was the end of my Boston Marathon experience. At least for this year.

My mom likes to remember that it was just one year ago that I was hit by the car, along this very road.

Who would have thought! Certainly not I! Although I have always had faith, and I have always been young at heart.

What could a chocolate Labrador Retriever dog have in common with the Underground Railroad?

along the route to FREEDOM

I had a really nice walk today. I took a walk through history.  My mom took me to a place – well, the name doesn’t mean much to me but it meant a lot to my mom.

“Joey, this is the Jackson Homestead.  It was a stop along the Underground Railroad.”

I didn’t ask, “What’s the Underground Railroad?” but if I had, she would have been very surprised. And then she would have answered, “The Underground Railroad was the route that escaped slaves took on their road to freedom.  Many times people opened their homes to escaped slaves, and the William Jackson family, in our town, was one such family and one such place.”

Now that’s something I understand: FREEDOM.

Today this home is a museum that you can visit. But me?  I can stay outside, and that’s fine with me.

***

I used to have a little brother cat, a cat named Mickey.

Mickey came into my life one day when I was pretty comfortable in my home.  I love everybody, and the more creatures we have in our home, the happier I am, so I was anxious to become friends with Mickey. I had never made friends with a cat before, and now I had one in my own home!  All the time!

Except that Mickey didn’t see it the same way I saw it.

Here is a photo of Mickey, as he looked one day when I went up to him, wagging my tail behind me, to play with him. You can see that he wasn’t too happy to have me around.

My Dad used to say, “Joey, watch out. Mickey doesn’t want to play with you.”  He said, “Joey, wise up or you’re going to get an unforgettable lesson.”

I’m a friendly dog. I want to be everybody’s friend; I even wanted to be Mickey’s.  But as a cat and dog combination, we had a relationship that drove our parents nuts.  Mickey would lie down in my bed. He knew it was my bed and yet once he discovered it, he made a big point of laying in it.

I, in return, used to go upstairs, to where his food was, when nobody was looking, and eat his food and drink his water.  My parents were aware that this was personal, since I would have water and food in my own bowls.

And so our game played out, for years.

The last few months of Mickey’s life, he learned to accept me. He would walk up to me and allow me to lick and kiss him. We were learning to act like brothers.

Then one morning, I lost my friend Mickey.

Mickey wasn’t around our home anymore and everybody was sad.

Many people look at their dogs and ask, “Is my dog dreaming?” And if so, they want to know “What is my dog is dreaming about?

Here is a video of me, taken three months after I was hit by the car, shortly after the doctor took off my splint and bandages. It was July and warm and sunny during the daytime.  I was allowed to take longer walks but I was definitely not allowed to run.

In the middle of the night, my Dad will my Dad say “Joey’s dreaming.” Then he’ll say, “Joey.” Then pause. “Joey.” Or my Mom will do this, too. And then I’ll wake up, and look straight at them, then go right back to sleep.

Am I dreaming?   If you think I am dreaming, what am I dreaming about?

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So there I was, a Cover Dog, my photo on the cover of a newspaper, right there on the cover of the Daily News Tribune, for everybody to see!  And my story was the cover story, “Jottings from Joey”. And it said, “Chocolate Lab’s blog gives dog’s eye view of world”.

When my mom came home that day, she was screaming, “Joey! You’re right on the front page! You’re a COVER DOG!”  Not shouting angry, shouting excited.  And shoving this newspaper into my face.  Okay.  Does that make me famous? Does that mean my parents will feed me more chicken from the table when they sit down to eat? Does that mean that I will go on more and longer walks and runs?  Does that mean that they will allow me to sleep on their bed at night?

Today when I went to my veterinarian’s for some reason, they said, “Joey, you’re famous!”  Did I care?  One of the technicians went over to a jar of treats and got me one. Now that’s what I cared about! That and all the love that was there!

About my photo, most people say I looked “regal”.  People have said to my mom, “It’s amazing he could stand still for so long while his photo was taken.”  My mom calls me “statuesque” though I don’t understand what that means.

The newspaper story that my friend Dan wrote was very good. It was all about my blog, and about my book, the book that my mom wants to find a publisher for. When my mom tells people about my book, they say “My son would love reading that book.”  And so my mom keeps on trying to find a publisher.

My book is like my blog: I write it to help other people who have dogs, and to help other dogs, of course. I write it to help children who have dogs to understand their dogs. I know what it’s like to be a dog, and I know what it’s like to be injured. To be a dog is fun! To be injured is not.

There I am!  My photo was right next to the New York Times, right on top of Barron’s, and right under the Boston Herald.

How would you describe my closeup coverdog photo?