Posh & Poo

Both Posh and I are trained to pee and poo in the playpen, just so that we can have the freedom of doing our businesses at our own leisure, instead of designated time of the day.

At the same time, the playpen also doubles up as our punishment grounds. When we do something wrong (or rather something that displeases the humans), we will be confined to the playpen and ignored all the time. I call it the Ice Palace.

While 'serving our time' we were given benefits like access to water. Posh decided to take 'revenge' one day by pooing into the water bowl. No, you did not hear me wrong. She POOED in her water bowl! How disgusting can she be!!!


Warning!!! Please do not scroll down if you've got a a low threshold for disgusting images.

























Posh really thinks that she's a human and that her water bowl is the toilet bowl.



That very silly girl did not realise that her water bowl does not have a flushing system!

National Dog Walk

It's been a while since I last blogged about my life. Sorry friends if I've not visited your blog for some time. You're not forgotten. Give us a little time and we'll drop by your blog.

For the past week, Rane was kept busy caring for the strays and herself (she was still recovering from her flu) that she didn't have much time to help me with the blog.Now that she has a little time to spare, I've gotten her to transfer some pictures of us at the Charity Dog Walk that Rane has signed up for both Posh and I.

We went for the dog event last Sunday but we missed the walk itself as Rane ended her class late. However, we still went for the carnival and had fun in the dog run.


There were so many humans and dogs joining the event, that the car park was filled to the max and I really meant it because every single space was taken up; whether or not it was legal.


We only took pictures in the dog run itself because it was so crowded at the booths that both Rane and Mage had to prevent Posh and I from poking our noses into other people's/dog's butts.


Rane made us run after her because she thinks we need the excercise to keep fit; she's been complaining that I was a tad too fat. Moreover, she thinks it'll be good physiotherapy for my knee since my last injury.

It was here that she realised that Posh seems to run a little 'funnily'.

Rane's Words

When Posh walks, it seems as though she's trotting. She looks exactly like how dogs are depicted in cartoon, walking lightly behind their owners. Initially I brushed it off thinking it's just her 'style' of walking.

However, when I brought her to this very big field to run (as in really run), I noticed that she tilts on one side. If I rememebered correctly, she tend to put on more weight on her right side. I also noticed that she had very poor stamina and pant very badly in the midst of running. Even though Sugar is overweight and is much fatter in comparison to Posh, Sugar still managed to run much faster for a longer period of time.

I wonder if it could be due to poor muscle development, since she was kept in a cage that was way too small for her and was never let out except during bath time. (The cage measured 3 feet by 2 feet.)

I'll continue to monitor her at the moment. Meanwhile, I'll try to arrange slow walks instead of the initial plans of jogging. (Usually we'll have interrupted walks.) Hope that she'll be fine after some building up of her muscles. I certainly hope that it's not some hidden problems like hip or elbow dysplasia.


I ran and ran and ran for a long long time.


All because Rane wanted to take a nice photo of me in mid-air whilst running.
However this was the nicest shot, because of the lousy camera and lousy photography skills.


I got sick of running and decided to go visiting. And I made myself comfortable on someone elses picnic mat.


However, Rane thought that it was pretty rude of me and chased me off. Thus I decided to make more new friends.


Rane and Mage got sick of me poking my nose into butts (both humans and animals) that they decided to put me on a down-stay near the competition area. She asked me when will I start being such a coach potato and be more pro-active by joining agility classes.


I kept quiet and looked away.

Posh decided to be funny and closed her eyes when being asked to pose for a picture.


Thus I decided that I should make a funny face too.


After all that sniffing, running, posing and exploring. I felt so tired that I decided to catch forty winks on the car, even though it was a short 20 minutes drive.


The pictures do not justify how much effort the organisation had put in and definately do not reflect the fun we had. We had taken very few photos because that silly owner of mine (Rane), did not charge the battery pack for the camera before leaving. Sighs. How silly can she be!

Charity Walk

Rane has signed up for the National Dog Walk 2008 for us. Posh and I will be there in the evening at 4pm, just in time for the walk itself because Rane has lessons earlier in the day. Never mind that we will probably not get any free goodie bags; the goodie bags weren't the reason why we signed up for the dog walk. I just hope that Rane will recover before Sunday; she's down with influenza and is on 3 days medical leave.

Back to the main topic. Though it cost $10 per dog, we think that it's worth it, because all funds raised will go to Noah's Ark. Noah's Ark does rescue work with animals, regardless of breeds and species.

Here's an article on Noah's Ark.

To know more about Noah's Ark, you can visit the following website:

Noah's Ark (Blog)
Noah's Ark Cares
Noah's Ark Natural Animal Sanctuary (NANAS)

Even a young girl like Adreanna is doing her bit for the charity walk.

If you have yet to sign up for the dog walk, it's not too late yet. You can register on the day itself on 3rd August 2008, Sunday at West Coast Dog Run.

Details are as follow.

More information on the Dog Walk.

National Dog Walk 2008 In Aid of Noah's Ark CARES

National Dog Walk 2008 Date : 3 August (Sunday) 2008 Time : 8am to 7pm Venue : West Coast Park, Dog Run, Car Park 1 Cost : $10 per dog and receive a goody bag worth more than $50. * All proceeds will be donated to Noah's Ark CARES

Paws for a Cause Show your support for little Andreana Tang, 8 yrs old, as she attemtps to walk 1.5km with puppy Prince to raise funds for Noah's Ark - Project Industrial Dogs. Andreana donated her piggy bank savings of $8.20 to Prince to kick start our Project Industrial Dogs. She made a card for Prince too! Her cards says "Dear God, please bless Noah's Ark with all your might and love them." Catch Lady and puppy Prince as they make their guest appearance at the NDW 2008, 2pm to 5pm only. Have your photograph taken with them for $10 per pic. All proceeds will be donated to Project Industrial Dogs. Mike Ellery and Larry Lai do their part for charity! Catch Mike Ellery and Larry Lai as they host tele-match games for dogs and their owners.There will also be live entertainment, photography booths, games for dogs, agility demo and competitions. So come on down and spend the day with us!

Noah's Ark CARES 42 Cairnhill Road # 02 - 01 Singapore 229661 Email Us : info@noahsarkcares.com For regular updates on our animal rescue work, please visit our blog http://noahsarkcares.blogspot.com

Noah's Ark CARES Website : www.noahsarkcares.com To be on our mailing list or unsubscribe, please email us at info@noahsarkcares.com

Friend or Foe

Remember Rane was commenting on how Posh and I can't get along, and how Posh always bullies me?

Now Posh & I get along pretty well, but barely for a minute or two.

Usually Posh will browse around and check that no one else is looking at her, just like how she did above.

When she's sure no one is watching, she will behave as if she's lying on the floor, but in actual fact, she's finding a chance to nip/bite/snap me.

I always try to remain calm and try to ignore her, but who in the sane mind will succumb himself/herself to tortures?

And even when I try to get away, Posh will still continue to 'attack' me.

Please tell me that I'm not going to spend the rest of my life with such a bully!

Rane's Words

I really have no idea how to handle the dogs. Day and night, they are just chasing after each other, nipping and pawing. When the situation gets worse, Posh will attempt to bite Sugar at her neck.

Sugar will sometimes attempt to 'fight back'. But being the fatter and clumsier dog, Sugar usually loses the fight and gets bullied instead.

I used to love Sugar's ears a lot and kiss them endlessly. Now I hardly want to touch them unnecessarily, because her ears smell of Posh's saliva . Most importantly, the fur on ear stiffens after Posh's saliva dries up.

I really do hope that they will get along well soon. I am sick of them knocking over my furnitures and other belongings. Most importantly, I don't want them to injure themselves. (Sugar became a Tripod after one of their 'fights' and Posh also injured her paw. I'll post what happened to Posh at a later time.)

Meanwhile, I'll place Posh in the playpen at night, when everyone's sleeping and nobody's monitoring them. During the day, I'll let the two of them out, but when Posh starts to bully Sugar (and sometimes us) by nipping or biting us, we'll send her back to her playpen.

I'm feeling very helpless now. Sighs.

System Down

It's been ages since I last blogged. All thanks to Rane's lousy computer which never fails to breakdown each time I am ready to blog. The very impatient me has decided to lend a paw and help solve the problem. Ever since I poked my nose into this problem, it's been working fine.

I think I should consider working part-time as a system engineer, along side with Mage.

I was trying very hard to see what's wrong,
but there are just too many cables blocking my view.

So I had to poke my head right in, squint my eyes
and sniff with my nose before diagnosing the problem.

After finding the root of my problem,
I instructed my human assistant, Mage to help me solve it.

Sighs. If only I had hands like humans, then I can do
everything by myself without relying on others.


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Rane's friend showed her this video clip the other day about on Christian, the lion. It was so touching, I've decided to share with you guys on my blog.

Christian the Lion on YouTube.

** And the man who held a stick in the background was George Adamson, a man who devoted most of his life to working, saving and helping lions.


This shows that animals are not just 'any other living things'. We know how to reciprocate and be grateful to our caregivers. Just look at how a lion whose nature is wild and fierce, can even be tamed by humans through lots of love, care and concern.

Why can't some people be nicer to us, animals (especially domesticated ones)? Why must our fate be in the hands of humans, who determine our fate of lives without sparing a thought on how we would feel? Why are there people who just take joy in abusing and demeaning our lives? Why?

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Before I end this post, I would like to share with you an article which Rane and I read online a few years ago written by Jims Willis. It's written in year 2001, titled How Could You?

I strongly encourage anyone who is rearing or intending to rear pets (of any kind) to read before getting one on impulse, because you never know how much hurt/harm/damage you are doing to a life.


HOW COULD YOU? By Jim Willis, 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend.

Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together.

I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."

You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room.

A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place.

And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.


A Note from the Author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters.

Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a non-commercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.

Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

Jim Willis

It's the nth time Rane and I have been reading this story and each time we do so, we never fail to get upset and tear. Maybe, the greatest strength and weakness of a dog is his pledging loyalty and entrusting the whole of his life to his 'best friend'

How Could You?

HOW COULD YOU? By Jim Willis, 2001

When I was a puppy, I entertained you with my antics and made you laugh. You called me your child, and despite a number of chewed shoes and a couple of murdered throw pillows, I became your best friend.

Whenever I was "bad," you'd shake your finger at me and ask "How could you?" -- but then you'd relent and roll me over for a bellyrub. My housebreaking took a little longer than expected, because you were terribly busy, but we worked on that together.

I remember those nights of nuzzling you in bed and listening to your confidences and secret dreams, and I believed that life could not be any more perfect. We went for long walks and runs in the park, car rides, stops for ice cream (I only got the cone because "ice cream is bad for dogs" you said), and I took long naps in the sun waiting for you to come home at the end of the day.

Gradually, you began spending more time at work and on your career, and more time searching for a human mate. I waited for you patiently, comforted you through heartbreaks and disappointments, never chided you about bad decisions, and romped with glee at your homecomings, and when you fell in love.

She, now your wife, is not a "dog person" -- still I welcomed her into our home, tried to show her affection, and obeyed her. I was happy because you were happy.

Then the human babies came along and I shared your excitement. I was fascinated by their pinkness, how they smelled, and I wanted to mother them, too. Only she and you worried that I might hurt them, and I spent most of my time banished to another room, or to a dog crate. Oh, how I wanted to love them, but I became a "prisoner of love."

As they began to grow, I became their friend. They clung to my fur and pulled themselves up on wobbly legs, poked fingers in my eyes, investigated my ears, and gave me kisses on my nose. I loved everything about them and their touch -- because your touch was now so infrequent -- and I would've defended them with my life if need be. I would sneak into their beds and listen to their worries and secret dreams, and together we waited for the sound of your car in the driveway.

There had been a time, when others asked you if you had a dog, that you produced a photo of me from your wallet and told them stories about me. These past few years, you just answered "yes" and changed the subject. I had gone from being "your dog" to "just a dog," and you resented every expenditure on my behalf.

Now, you have a new career opportunity in another city, and you and they will be moving to an apartment that does not allow pets. You've made the right decision for your "family," but there was a time when I was your only family.

I was excited about the car ride until we arrived at the animal shelter. It smelled of dogs and cats, of fear, of hopelessness. You filled out the paperwork and said "I know you will find a good home for her." They shrugged and gave you a pained look. They understand the realities facing a middle-aged dog, even one with "papers."

You had to pry your son's fingers loose from my collar as he screamed "No, Daddy! Please don't let them take my dog!" And I worried for him, and what lessons you had just taught him about friendship and loyalty, about love and responsibility, and about respect for all life.

You gave me a good-bye pat on the head, avoided my eyes, and politely refused to take my collar and leash with you. You had a deadline to meet and now I have one, too. After you left, the two nice ladies said you probably knew about your upcoming move months ago and made no attempt to find me another good home. They shook their heads and asked "How could you?"

They are as attentive to us here in the shelter as their busy schedules allow. They feed us, of course, but I lost my appetite days ago. At first, whenever anyone passed my pen, I rushed to the front, hoping it was you that you had changed your mind -- that this was all a bad dream... or I hoped it would at least be someone who cared, anyone who might save me.

When I realized I could not compete with the frolicking for attention of happy puppies, oblivious to their own fate, I retreated to a far corner and waited. I heard her footsteps as she came for me at the end of the day, and I padded along the aisle after her to a separate room.

A blissfully quiet room. She placed me on the table and rubbed my ears, and told me not to worry. My heart pounded in anticipation of what was to come, but there was also a sense of relief. The prisoner of love had run out of days. As is my nature, I was more concerned about her. The burden which she bears weighs heavily on her, and I know that, the same way I knew your every mood.

She gently placed a tourniquet around my foreleg as a tear ran down her cheek. I licked her hand in the same way I used to comfort you so many years ago. She expertly slid the hypodermic needle into my vein. As I felt the sting and the cool liquid coursing through my body, I lay down sleepily, looked into her kind eyes and murmured "How could you?"

Perhaps because she understood my dog speak, she said "I'm so sorry." She hugged me, and hurriedly explained it was her job to make sure I went to a better place, where I wouldn't be ignored or abused or abandoned, or have to fend for myself -- a place of love and light so very different from this earthly place.

And with my last bit of energy, I tried to convey to her with a thump of my tail that my "How could you?" was not directed at her. It was directed at you, My Beloved Master, I was thinking of you. I will think of you and wait for you forever. May everyone in your life continue to show you so much loyalty.


A Note from the Author: If "How Could You?" brought tears to your eyes as you read it, as it did to mine as I wrote it, it is because it is the composite story of the millions of formerly "owned" pets who die each year in American & Canadian animal shelters.

Anyone is welcome to distribute the essay for a non-commercial purpose, as long as it is properly attributed with the copyright notice.

Please use it to help educate, on your websites, in newsletters, on animal shelter and vet office bulletin boards. Tell the public that the decision to add a pet to the family is an important one for life, that animals deserve our love and sensible care, that finding another appropriate home for your animal is your responsibility and any local humane society or animal welfare league can offer you good advice, and that all life is precious. Please do your part to stop the killing, and encourage all spay & neuter campaigns in order to prevent unwanted animals.

Jim Willis

It's the nth time Rane and I have been reading this story and each time we do so, we never fail to get upset and tear. Maybe, the greatest strength and weakness of a dog is his pledging loyalty and entrusting the whole of his life to his 'best friend'

Tripod Stand

Just before Rane left for vacation on Friday, my right hind leg got injured. I have no idea how I hurt myself. I guess it must have happened when Posh and I were being rough with each other.

No one noticed it, especially when I still moved around reasonably fast. Not until I hobbled towards Mage on three legs.

A video of me hobbling on 3 legs.
Since then, they started calling me Tripod Stand.

Rane and Mage rushed me to the veterinary clinic the very moment it was opened for the evening sessions. The doctor was surprised to see Rane, as she has just been to the clinic during the afternoon session (Rane brought Posh to the doctor for a checkup; all thanks to her swallowing the durian seed.)

After some pulling and stretching of my joints, the doctor concluded that I have loose joints and is probably suffering from a 'slipping kneecap' condition known as luxating patella in medical terms. However, I could also be suffering from an injured/torn ligament.

The only way to confirm the doctor's suspicions is an x-ray, but even an x-ray will do little help to the treatment as surgery is the only way out. Even a surgery does not mean regaining 100% use of my limb as I am overweight, and that will hinder the recovery of my surgical wound.

Thus the doctor decided to give me some painkillers to stop the pain temporarily, and a week's time for my joints to recover by itself.

She also suggested separating Posh from me, so that my injuries will not be aggravated/worsened when we play rough. (This happens every other minute). So off Posh goes into her play pen, while I rule the household yet again. Hehs.

Meanwhile, Rane still left for her vacation that very night. I wished she would stay behind for my sake, but she didn't. She chose her vacation over me. Sighs.

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It's been almost two weeks since I injured myself. I am happy to announce that I am a Tripod Stand no more. I can now walk as per normal, however Rane is considering sending me for alternative/complementary medicine like TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine) and/or nutritional supplements like glucosamine (which the doctor encourages.)

Any advises?