There is a new exercise craze invented by humans because they can charge for it. It’s called doga. The only reason I am excited about this, is because I can do it with Doc. Now, let me back up a little and explain.

One of Doc’s New Year’s resolutions was to do more exercises that will keep her flexible in her old age. (She is ancient in dog years). So one day, she turned on the TV and there was a man that is called the yoga instructor. He is sitting on the beach overlooking the ocean and you can hear the waves crashing in the background. Dressed in black tights and a tank top, his legs are folded like a pretzel. He speaks in a very soft and soothing voice, telling the humans to take a deep, cleansing breath in and then slowly exhale while clearing their mind. What the heck? I don’t mean to judge, but that man would never be voted the Alpha in any dog pack I know.

Anyhow, the instructor then starts demonstrating different ways to bend your body. One is even called the downward dog. I have to hand it to Doc, she tries her hardest to do all the poses, but her poor old  stiff body just won’t bend that way any more. At one point I become concerned when she is lying flat on her back with her eyes closed. She is sweating and taking very deep breathes. Thinking she has passed out, I lick her face trying to revive her. Her eyes pop open and she tells me to go away. That hurts my feelings and right away Doc feels bad and comes over to comfort me.

Leave it to Doc,  a few days pass and she comes home one evening all excited. She  tells me about a class called doga where dogs and humans do yoga together. She has paid for the class and we are signed up to start next week. You gotta love human ingenuity, create it and they will come. Rock on yoga man!

You would think that the early morning right before the sunrise would be peaceful. Most days it is, unless nature decides to rear it’s ugly head. The fact is, that wildlife can turn on you, especially if you’re a dog. The deer that come through the yard are big and annoying and the raccoons can get into the trash. But the skunk, I hate that stupid skunk and it is time to seek revenge for spraying me last fall.

I enlist the help of Doc as I know this is too complicated for one dog. Figuring we will get in the car and go to Home Depot for some rope, duck tape and maybe an extra large trash bag, I am surprised when she gets on the internet to research the problem. She hates the skunk as well, due to past encounters towards her and other dogs she has owned.

Soon she is making a list  of supplies and drawing diagrams like she’s planning a murder. I tell her I just want the skunk relocated, not fumigated permanently. She listens, but I hear her in the garage late into the night sawing, hammering and talking nonsense to the walls. Eventually she emerges with a homemade box that she says will trap the skunk . I become nervous when she suggests we relocate him to Michigan where he can become friends with the wolverines.

A few days pass when one night, Doc awakens me and says it is time. By the light of the winter moon we go into the back yard and set up the box. Complete with bait to lure the little stinker, we wait quietly until boredom sets in and we fall asleep.

We are awakened sometime toward morning by the sound of the trap closing. It is still too dark to see anything, so we wait until light to approach the box. With caution, we go to the front of the box. Looking inside we see two little eyes peering back at us. The skunk looks sad and is shaking with fear. My heart begins to melt and as I look at Doc, I can tell she is thinking the same thing. Doc gives me a nod and I back away as she slowly opens the front of the trap. The skunk scurries away, but not before he stamps his little feet, lifts his tail and sprays us both. Revenge always stinks.

According to a very reliable gossip web site called TMZ, self-proclaimed celebrity and socialite Paris Hilton has just purchased two Pomeranians for $25,000. Apparently she bought them in Canada, kept one for herself and gave one to her mother. She is introducing her puppy to other rich socialites and celebrities as Princess Paris Jr.

As a dog born on a goat farm, I have never been exposed to puppies from what you humans see as high society or met a dog that is carried around in a designer bag. I decided to talk all this over with Doc, because the more I read about Princess Paris Jr., the more I could see that Doc was not treating me as well as I should be treated. To be honest, I was starting to get a little ticked off. While that dog is riding around in a limo, served gourmet meals, is carried everywhere and drinks Perrier water, I have to work as a therapy dog and write a blog, walk on my own four paws, eat plain old dog food and drink out of the toilet. That just didn’t seem fair to me. I am also asking Doc if she had to pay for me, as that tiny 12 ounce dog cost a little over $1,000 per ounce. I think Doc owes me an explanation.

One morning before work, I approached Doc about my grievances. She listened quietly, patted me on the head, opened the door to the garage and said ” time to go to work Prince Grover, get in the back of the car”.  I even thought I saw her rolling her eyes as I walked away, but I could be wrong. After I got into the car, Doc looked at me and said ” I love you Grover.” Then she threw me a generic Milk Bone that I gobbled down with pleasure. I guess it’s true what they say, family will keep you grounded.