Category Archives: TRUMAN

July 16 — Truman enjoys posing in front of other people’s houses.

July 15 — The South Bay Puppy Raisers publish an annual wall calendar full of lovely photos of our puppies in training, breeders, and working guides. In 2007, Lomax’s winning smile propelled him to fame as “Mr. March,” a distinction of which we were both quite proud (and which no doubt helped boost calendar sales and the resulting proceeds to GDA).

Because I always seem to have the privilege of raising lively, handsome, personality-plus yellow Labs, I wanted to make sure I got some quality photos for this year’s calendar submission. Matt graciously offered his photography skills and superior camera for the cause, so we took the “brudders” Tai and Truman to the park for a photo shoot.

July 13 — When did little puppy Truman become big dog Truman? The little man is growing up so quickly. That’s why puppy raisers have to be so vigilant and consistent — a few months of development, with all those bad habits or good habits (depending on the work you’ve done), can take place in just a couple of weeks.

The milestones have been coming fast and furious. We received early permission to start using a training collar. We received Truman’s “big boy jacket” in the mail. And finally, FINALLY, he has all his adult teeth (can’t tell you how happy my wardrobe and I are about that).

For the longest time, I didn’t see one discarded puppy tooth anywhere, which seemed crazy to me, as I don’t have a yard for him to leave them in (and you’d think I’d notice a tooth on the floor in my apartment). It seems the moment I mentioned this out loud, however, Truman started leaving a trail for my amusement. I looked down one day to find a tooth in the middle of my living room carpet. Then there was one on another puppy raiser’s living room floor. Then there was one on the floor of my cubicle at work. But my favorite one happened at church.

It’s illustrative of the parental mode a puppy raiser can find herself in, even if she’s never had human children. Like the mom who puts the toddler’s used Kleenex in her purse when there is no nearby trash can, we find ourselves dismissive of any passing thought that what we’re touching is just plain gross, because life just has to go on sometimes. So when I was sitting in church that morning and noticed Truman playing with something on the floor, I reached for it immediately, discovered what it was and put the little tooth in my pocket. A few minutes later, I put the communion bread in my mouth, realizing only after I’d done so that I’d just employed the same hand that had picked up the tooth. The mental “oh, well” followed in a split-second.

A few minutes after that, as it dawned on me that our “sanctuary” is the gymnasium of the local Boys & Girls Club, I found myself saying a quick prayer and pulling the tooth out of my pocket just to make sure it was actually Truman’s.

July 8 — This photo, taken by the graphic designer where I work, will be the perfect headshot for Truman’s career in film noir.

July 1 — In an effort two combine two of my great loves (puppy raising and swing dancing) I took Truman on his first outing to Santa Monica’s Third Street Promenade, on a Sunday evening when the Third Street Swingers were holding one of their outdoor dances. It continues to be my hope that Truman will someday be mature and self-controlled enough to accompany me to my weekly dance class, so I wanted to see what he would think of loud music and lots of motion. Figured this would be a good introduction.

The group dances at the very end of the Promenade, blocks from where I typically park to go to the mall, so we had some walking to do. While Friday and Saturday nights see crazy crowds there year-round, a Sunday evening in the summertime can be busy as well. I was pleased; Truman navigated the crowds with surprising ease and confidence, and demonstrated impressive obedience once we reached our destination and parked ourselves on a nearby curb to watch. A few of my friends from dance class came over to tell him how handsome he is, as did at least a dozen passersby. He took in his surroundings, watching everything with great interest, but he seemed most interested in people who were walking their dogs, which was not a big surprise.

By the time we took this photo, Truman’s attention span was about shot, but I did manage to get him to hold still for just a moment:

June 28 — Truman just barked and woke himself up from a sound sleep.

June 24 — It’s good to have friends. My puppy group area leaders are wonderful people who always seem to have a house full of Labs, whether the dogs belong to them or not. I guess that’s what happens, though, when you live near several members of your puppy group. And when you are qualified to administer puppy shots.

Pictured below, L to R: Truman, Paige, Mika, Dusty (in the background), and Tai (in the lower right corner), otherwise known as the usual suspects. Not pictured: Jetta, Tallee, and Luke, otherwise known as usually on a couch somewhere napping.

June 23 — Truman attended his first human party.

My cousins have graduated: one from high school, his brother from college. Truman, being the delightful charmer and life of the party that he naturally is, was invited to share in the festivities. He was a pretty good house guest, considering his age…and the presence of two cats…and the amount of noise and activity being generated by the revelers, many of whom were adolescent males joyously engaged in raucous video games and the dropping of tasty food-bits on the floor within reach of a still-quite-low-to-the-ground dog.

The unflappable Truman didn’t flinch when the elder statescat of the house held his ground and hissed as we approached the front door. He didn’t take much notice of the ubiquitous balloons. And he weathered with good nature, as did I, the many drunken choruses of “Ain’t no bugs on me” (a refrain from a TV commercial for flea prevention, starring a Truman lookalike) sung repeatedly to him by an enthusiastic partygoer.

When things got to be just a bit too much, little Truman and I would escape to the relative peace of the upstairs bathroom (“The Queen’s Room,” as it is known in my aunt’s world) for a time out. Letting him nap and chew bones in the portable soft crate, set upon the cool tile floor of the bathroom, was just the thing to help him center himself. It was also just the thing to allow me to actually head back downstairs to partake of the party food and to hold conversations with other people that were not punctuated with “leave it,” “drop it,” and “sit.”