For the past 3 weeks or so I have found it difficult to breath. Not just after a good run chasing birds but even when I am just lounging (which we all know I love to do). I do not believe I am that out of shape that I should get winded walking from my food bowl to the couch but there you have it. I wheeze and whistle when I breathe. My two-legs thought it was funny at first. Chalked it up to my getting older and being out of shape. Then I started hacking when I got excited. I never coughed up anything, just clearing my throat I suppose; however, it started to get less funny for my two-legs. Then, on Saturday, it got even less funny, I began to cough little specks of blood.

I am very upset. I am going to jump.

My two-legs and the skirted-one took me over the Animal Wellness Center on Main. They recommended I go to the Pet Medical Center to get some X-Rays. Little-big-bro was left at home for all this. He missed out on the fun.

I did not like it there. First off, there was a non-dog 4-legs just hanging out in the lobby. My two-legs went over and had the nerve to pet her! I got so upset that I promptly hacked and coughed blood on their floor. They then proceeded to whisk me into a little room. I guess they do not like it when you get your fluids on the middle of their lobby floor.

In the tiny room my two-legs proceeded to perch me on top of the little metal table suspended a good 4 or so feet off the floor. I did my best to claw my way back on to my two-legs but neither he nor the skirted one would let me down.

I went through the normal exam. Weight. Thermometer (not in my mouth). And then prodding by the V-E-T. She said my breathing was not normal. (She also said I seemed a bit skinny, suck on that two-legs and feed me more dinner!) Next on the agenda was X-rays. My two-legs was not invited to join us. Frankly I blacked out once I left the room. When I awoke I was in a cage, yelling. I do not like cages. I especially do not like them when I can see my two-legs standing 6 feet away looking at pictures of my innards. I was not a good dog.

They drew some blood (again I had blacked out at this point as my two-legs and the skirted one had left me alone in a cage) and soon I was back in the arms of my master.

Tests are currently being run. Word on the street is I have largish specks in my lungs. It could either be fungus or cancer. I am rooting for fungus as I do not think I will look good bald.

I should know more this week and will keep you posted. And in case you missed it, I posted another one of my back dated posts. I can’t believe in another 3 months I will have been here a year!

Thank the maker for giving me the ability to nap for hours end. I would have gone crazy if I had to stay up for that whole drive. My two-legs on the other hand did have to stay up the entire time, but I think he is crazy anyway so it just added to it. In spite of the old saying, sometimes it is the destination and not the journey that are important. Take for instance our journey. The first half (the pretty half where you go through forests and quaint towns) was all done under cover of darkness. While moonlight treetops are nice to look at for a while, it gets boring. Good timing two-legs…

My bed was in the passenger seat. Gave me a good view (when I wasn't sleeping).

The second half (the ugly half were you drive through straight sun-burnt valleys) was all done in the middle of the day in the blazing hot sun. Oh two-legs, you never learn. This is how I spent my time (see picture at right).

I was stressed, needless to say. I think I had a bone for stress chewing, but it did not help. My time was divided between sleeping and pouting. I probably was not a very good passenger, but whatever, my two-legs stole me away from my home. And who is the boss of whom anyway!

The road just seemed to stretch on forever. A never ending march to a destination unknown.

My two-legs hates to stop too, we stopped my three times on the whole way down, and that was just because he had to refuel. Not because his puppy was bored and wanted to run around and smell things. He never cares what I want to do.

*Sigh*

Ok, maybe I am being a touch melodramatic. I suppose if I rack my brain I could think of a few good things…. hmmm….

There were some good smells at the rest stops, mostly urine, not all of it human. I saw a few birds, smelt some bovines, sheepies, emus, et cetera, along the road. I got a sunburn. Yeah, that was not fun. My two-legs cut my hair too short before we left, then let me sit in the sun in the car for hours… it was to be expected.

Sometimes there were exciting things. The almond trees behind me are not one of them. (note my sunburn)

Coming through the mountain range and into the LA Basin our vehicle died. Putt, putt, putt, pfft. sssssssss.

But it was just a minor snag, my two-legs knows how to get his clunker going again. Some time, some water, some more time, and drive really slowly. We eventually managed to crest over the range and coasted into the basin. Phew!

Near the end of our journey I did start to get excited. My two-legs started to perk up and I felt like we were actually headed somewhere.

And we were headed somewhere. Somewhere new. Somewhere exciting. Somewhere I had never been and would in short order be calling my new home.

Santa Monica.

My new home.

I feel like every time I sit down to bang out a post, I have to start off by first apologizing for not posting more. I have excuses though, and this time good ones. Last month I was stricken with an illness that is all too common for us four-legs. Kennel Cough. The hacking, the wheezing, the licking up my own phlegm. I was not pleasant to be around. I had a pretty mild case but it really stuck with me, I just could not shake it.

So then my two-legs (technically the skirted-one) took me to the V-E-T. Yeah, they spelled it out to try to trick me, but I am smart enough to form simple sounds into words. I do have a brain. Anyway, that involved some booster shots, some probing, some sitting on a cold metal table while a strange two-legs examined me. The one silver lining is that it was confirmed that I am no longer a fattie. Hooray for being average weight! The icing on the cake is that big-little-bro is actually now the fattie. He could stand to lose about 5 lbs. Ha! Fattie.

For the past couple weeks I have honestly been too stressed to do much of anything. It all started mid August when my two-legs left me with a stranger for a few days. Then, when they came back my two-legs never left the house. He was just puttering around the house. Cleaning stuff, sometimes putting things into boxes. Something was definitely happening, but I just could not put my paw on it. Suddenly, in a flurry of activity this past weekend, our beautiful home was suddenly picked up an boxed away. They even tried to but me in a box!

I do not deserve this kind of treatment.

Every time they left the apartment it felt like it would be for the last time. I cried and cried. And pooped on the carpet (they did not appreciate that).  Then, two big burly two-legs came and took everything. All my toys, all my bones, the comfy couch, the bed, everything! The apartment was empty except for the skirted-one, my two-legs, and two sad, worried puppies (and tonnes of big-little-bro’s fur. Just look at the contrast where the bed was):

That dark stuff? Dirt and fur. Puppies are messy.

And then, we all left. Separately. My two-legs and I went to his car and the skirted-one and big-little-bro to theirs. I would not see them again for days.

This is all getting too emotional and I will have to break the post here. I will finish up the exciting conclusion in Part Two: It is Not the Journey.

Last week, he might as well have been out of town. I never saw him. He would leave the house early, the skirted one would still be sleeping, I would be nestled in my little bed. He would just get up, shower, and walk out. We were all still asleep. Sometimes he would not even pet me goodbye. How rude!

I would have to sit at home all day, napping and dealing with big-little-bro. He would stumble in with the skirted one at 2000 or 2100. Then we would take a quick jaunt around the block. Then he would go back to bed. Is that lame or what? If I was lucky he would pet me for 20 or 30 minutes before going to sleep, but those days were few and far between.

On the weekend, which is supposed to be our time, he mostly just slept. No 4-legs park. No long walks. No nothing.

Yesterday he was all grumpy because a hard drive of his failed. I do not care if lost tons of data. I want to go for a long walk dammit! (He apparently had most of it backed up somewhere, but not everything. Always backup your data, and never buy Maxtor drives.)

Today he left early again. I can only hope this trend does not continue. I am in dire need of attention.

If you direct your gaze further down the sidebar, you will notice a second Twitter account. “What? You’re going to post on two separate Twitter accounts?” No, gentle readers, you will only have to follow me in one place. I am trying to keep my Interweb chatter to a healthy minimum. There are however certain cold, dank corners of the Intertubes where shady, unscrupulous ilk live who like to impersonate innocent puppies, celebrities, organizations, and just about anyone they want. Sometimes this is unavoidable, for instance if you happen to have a common name. This happens to my two-legs all the time. With a surname of Taylor (15th most frequently occurring last name in 2000 census, down five spots from ’90) and a given name of Michael (most popular boy’s name in 1983 and 4th most frequent male first name in 1990 census) it can be quite difficult to find him amongst the plethora of Michael Taylors inhabiting the blogosphere and Twitterverse (my two-legs loves this slight edge of anonymity it gives him). Other times it is for far more malicious purposes meant to draw in unsuspecting Twits for nefarious purposes or to simply increase their follower/following count.

Ruffles is fairly uncommon surname. There are a number of Ruffleses out there, most appear to be in EU as they don’t show up in US Census data. But Ruffles is not my surname, it is my given name. I have yet to come across another being with a first name of Ruffles (OK, once there was this other four-legs at the dog park named Ruffles. She was a girl, and a schnauzer but things got complicated so I try to block it out). This should be a fairly easy process to find me. So, do a search for Ruffles on Twitter. I will wait. Done it? No? OK, I will help. Click here. Ok, scroll down the list, let us see here. The first three look legit, various two-legs with a last name of Ruffles. Hmm, Mr_Ruffles eh? PinkandRuffles? oh my… Ah, MrRuffles_ (not to be confused with Mr_Ruffles) appears to be a bunny. Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. Normal. rufflesthedogg? Wait, my name is Ruffles. And I am a dog (though in my world dog has only one “g”). His “name” appears to be “Ruffles aka Ruff-Man.” Huh? My two-legs calls me Ruff-man. What is going on here? From Seattle? I live in Seattle. Ok, 11 updates over a brief 16 day period. Updates include talking about birds, napping, eating, sleeping, and more napping. That is exactly what I will post about!

There you have it. It appears that some ne’re-do-well has pilfered my identity! And they already have 14 followers! I have no followers…

So this is why I need you, my readers, to start following me. It is the only way for me to boost my ratings in the world of Twitter. I must oust this imposter from his lofty height of hit number 13 in a query for ruffles. Click on “Constant updates by me” header to the right where you will be taking a stirring page containing my updates and a tiny picture (with my crazy beard that my two-legs recently shaved off). If you do not have a Twitter account, sign up, it is easy. While I fully expect Twitter to wither and die in next few years (or explode and die which would be much cooler) it can still be fun to be on what is now the butter knife’s edge of technology.

On another Meta related note. It appears that my two-legs has been man-handling my themes again. I have him do it as I tried to myself and got confused with all the widgets and sidebars and skins and plug-ins and stuff. This new one is pretty cool I guess. Still not me though, ya know?

I was sitting around, resting. Big-little-bro was destroying something. And my two-legs was sitting on the couch watching Futurama. He looks over to me, “Ruff, you’re getting pretty shaggy. I think you need a haircut.”
A haircut? Why does that word sound so familiar? “And you know what happens after a haircut? A Bath!!”
Bath? Bath?!? Nooooo! Damn you! The water is so loud, and it gets in my nose and ears. I just cannot stand it, I want to die.

I try to hide but he always finds me. Big-little-bro is no help, he just cowers in the corner. He knows what a bath is too, and he likes them even less than I do. The haircut is no picnic either. I am pretty sure I passed out while he ravaged me with that buzzing beastly thing. The next thing I remember is being lowered into that white fiberglass pit. Naked and scared. *guwarrrrrKswissssshhhhh* Indoor rain pours out of the metallic serpant head. He could at least let it warm up first. Then comes the soap. *scrub*scrub*scrub* This is torture, it has to be torture. The end is near, freedom is coming. *hnkft*snarf*pftht* Water up my nose. Must get it out. Ah, towel time. Wait, what is doing. This is no time for pictures two-legs!

I am so hurt by his attempt to bathe me.

Well great, now have that recorded for posterity. Can you please just dry me off and let me run around to dry? Must break free of this place! I paw open door and shoot out of the bathroom like a bolt. Bounding from couch to chair to couch to bed to chair to floor to big-little-bro to couch in effort to drive all of the water out of me. That. Was. So. Stressful.

Some 4-legs like the water. I loathe the water. The only thing I want to do with it is drink it, but even then, it must be contained in a shallow dish or bowl so it cannot attack me. I am going back to sleep now. That totally took all of my energy to panic and be upset over bathtime. My hair is not grey on its own… he stresses it into me.

After the stress of that wore off, I slept on my chair. All day.