D

I recently turned 11 years old. Yes, mathematical wizards, that means I’m the human equivalent of 77.

Of course, we’re never too old to stop learning. More importantly, we’re really never too old to learn something new about ourselves.

Let’s take a look at the last year, for example. Our family added a second dog. I subsequently “learned” that I did not like having another dog around. Specifically, I “learned” I really don’t like Chihuahuas.

However, I also discovered that my daddies were smart enough to see through my plan to return the “Chihua” to our local Taco Bell on the South Trail.

“Hey Chihua, they aren’t looking. Quick, jump in that window and round up our food. We’ll wait for you—TRUST me.”

The result: the Chihua got an extra Cinnamon Twist to appease his “pain and suffering” and my “selfish” actions are apparently the reason Taco Bell permanently removed the coveted Chili-Cheese Burrito from the menu.

TWJ embraces his inner child.

Truth be told, I have spent my life living with a big secret—so big, in fact, I didn’t know it myself.

You see, I don’t look like a “traditional Airedale:” brown ears, wiry hair, supermodel legs. I have black ears, Danny DeVito stumps and—dare I say it—Poodle-esque fur.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m super HOT and I certainly turn some heads and wag some tails but I have also been subject to taunts and jests from the other dogs at the Marco Dog Park: “Tony is a POODale, Tony is a POODale!”

They tend to shut up though after I go pee pee in their portable water bowls.

My overly sensitive daddies have always assured me I was a purebred Airedale—though they never could quite manage to serve up the papers to prove it.

Hmmmmmm.

Having spent the majority of my life living with the suspicion that my mother was a bitch of questionable morals, I still couldn’t bring myself to believe that any self-respecting Airedale would stoop so low as to schtupp a Poodle!

Finally, after all these years, my Facebook Friend, Lily Airedale, gave my life brand new meaning: it turns out I am a “Sheepcoat Airedale.” I’m legit!

Having since then joined an online Support Group for Sheepcoats—uh, that’s not a joke—I have learned that the Sheepcoat is a very rare, very special coat type.

But what’s more, I am not alone.

Yep, we all get older, but that does not mean we have to stop living and loving and learning and licking ourselves inappropriately in public places.

My Short Daddy (the emotional one) is 50 and is determined to focus a part of his career on helping people (www.rediscovercourtesy.org). And though he gets discouraged and constantly complains that “no one really cares,” at least he cares enough to try.

My Tall Daddy (the fun one) is 51 and never met a party he didn’t like. Of course, as the sidewalks on Marco Island roll up every night at 9 o’clock, he’s able to explore his inner party animal yet still be home by 9:15 for a quick Downtown Abbey re-run before going to bed.

As for me, now that I’m secure in my Airedale lineage, I am trying to be a better being.

Just last week I resisted the urge to raise my leg on the squatting Chihua in our side yard. (Baby steps. Baby steps.)

But the best part of the illustrious group of Sheepcoat Airedales is that we apparently don’t show our age.

You know, I may be 11 now but, with the perpetual Fountain of Youth genetically situated at my side, I’m actually looking forward to seeing what I look like when I’m 22!

Optimism Rocks!

Tony Wakefield-Jones is an 11-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He is on Facebook at  facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones and his complete body of work can be found at attackbunnies.com.

I suppose this should come as no huge surprise as my column is called “Dog & Style”—and when it comes to “style,” you simply can’t beat the Airedale.

However, what shocks me the most is when a reader actually inquires as to the opinion of our family “Chihua” as well.

For those who might have missed a column or two, let me explain once again, that second “hua” in Chihuahua is ridiculously redundant, so I have chosen to omit it.

So I ask you—is the Chihua a published author? Has the Chihua become Marco Island’s equivalent of a canine Oprah? Is the Chihua—well—an Airedale?

Uh—no.

I mean, our Chihua’s urinary trajectory is so haplessly miscalculated that the little beast pees on his own leg every time we step outside to do our business. Considering this tragic scenario, do you people really trust his opinion on throw pillows, paint chips or landscape lighting?

After all, most humans share a goal of keeping animal urine away from priceless objects such as area rugs, upholstery and babies.

First, depending on our size, we pups typically don’t give a flying Fido what you people choose to place at 24” or above, as our world revolves around the southern hemisphere of your home.

However, since you asked, here is an important tip:

Always choose upholstery that is “dog friendly.” Oh yes, you may think we dogs can be “trained” to stay off your priceless furniture, but guess what: YOU leave the house much more often than we do. YOU may think you train US—but the reverse is true. We train YOU simply by pretending to be trained.

As happens in my home, putting a travel-sized ironing board across your prized leather sofa is actually not much of a deterrent because THERE’S ANOTHER LEATHER CHAIR RIGHT ACROSS THE ROOM, DIPSTICK!

Plus, a little projectile spit-up on your precious upholstery from that precious new grandchild of yours and you’re pretty much hosed anyway.

Yeah, and like you’re going to make the baby eat out of a bowl on the floor!

Then there’s the question of whether to match the color palette of your dog to the color palette of your home.

People—really?

To be fair, the Chihua and I are both “earth tones”—shades of brown, black, tan and white.

The ONLY thing we have in common, by the way.

And yes, just two years ago, the daddies did, in fact, purchase an area rug—all the while boasting as to how its color scheme matched mine.

Fine. Get a life—but fine.

Then came the day that Short Daddy tripped over a sleeping me and launched himself head first into Tall Daddy’s beloved antique end table.

But that’s not the tragedy.

First, I weigh 50 pounds—a dog my size is never really going to “blend in” to the floor, you fool.

Second, how sad that Short Daddy had to begin his next phone call to the Tall Daddy by saying: “There’s been an accident—BUT I’M OKAY!”

True, had Tall Daddy known his darling end table’s life was at stake, there’s little doubt tears would have been shed…for the table first and (perhaps) Short Daddy second.

The end table was immediately rushed to the “furniture hospital” in Fort Myers while, according to the Short Daddy, he came perilously close to “bleeding out” in our “Jurassic Park “ (a.k.a. Fiddler’s Creek) home.

Actually, his medical attention consisted of a Band-Aid and a Diet Coke.

Now, if your dog sheds, like the “Chihua,” then complementary colors become a much more critical issue. Because, if you’re not prepared to vacuum daily, you better hope the excess dog hair is viewed by your guests as “creative texturing.”

Quick, someone call HGTV—I need a show!

About The Author

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He is on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones and his complete body of work can be found at attackbunnies.com

By Tony Wakefield-Jones

I’m the only bunny in my house. I really want to meet another bunny who will shred paper with me and scratch my ears, but the singles scene seems really weird.

I snuck on my human’s computer once. She had all these messages from other human males: “I don’t do monogamy” and “that’s how I roll.”

She told me guys who call themselves ‘ballerz’ need to go back in the toolbox where they belong and then promptly ordered me off her computer before I accidentally communicated with one of them.

Can I really trust my human to find me the right companion when she can’t even figure out her own love life?

Mr. Whiskers, Marco Island, FL

Lonely Mr. Whiskers finds company in the form of a stuffed animal. SUBMITTED PHOTO

Dear Mr. Whiskers:

First, as my Short Daddy is deathly afraid of all-things bunny rabbit (not kidding, see attackbunnnies.com), I’m risking homelessness if he ever finds out I willingly communicated with a member of the family Leporidae of the order Lagomorpha.

Second, I had to look up “ballerz” (meaning: human male sports enthusiast) because the most athletic show on my television is a Real Housewives reunion—that is, until Olympic figure skating returns in a few years.

Holy Peter Rabbit, NO you can’t trust your amorously inept human to choose you a mate! Do you really have to ask? And Mr. Whiskers, when it comes down to it, do you really want to limit yourself romantically?

As for that bogus bunny you are pictured with, you need to tell your human to “stuff it.”

After all, society has essentially defined bunnies and rabbits as veritable love machines. If you believe all you read, you lagomorphs really know how to get it on!

Before I proofread this, the above sentence inadvertently said “vegetable love machines” which is ironically true as well.

To prove my point, let’s just take a fresh look at some of the comments from your human’s mating mishaps: “I don’t do monogamy.” Mr. Whiskers, aren’t you genetically engineered to pretty much behave the same way?

Plus, in rabbitland, even a spontaneous “roll in the hay” can start out as a pleasant romantic interlude yet conveniently end up as a great location for a midnight snack. Right?

However, as we all know, too much of a good thing can also be simply exhausting.

Though Beatrix Potter famously reported that Peter Rabbit was slipping over to Mr. McGregor’s garden for food, the truth is he needed the energy boost simply to keep up with the intimacy demands of Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail.

Most of the heterosexual men I know have serious trouble keeping one woman happy. Peter Rabbit was tasked with three females—two of whom with less-than-inspiring names. Seriously, does one expect partners named “Flopsy” or “Mopsy” to really be all that skilled in the sack?

Poor Peter.

As to the issue of your computer access, PLEASE log on and assist in “coupling” your human when she is out of the house. She CLEARLY needs your expert guidance here.

Okay, so she may have to kiss a few “ballerz” on her way to finding her Prince, but one would hope she has learned something from you and will have a little more fun along the way.

All that said, sexually speaking, only you can determine the direction of your love life. Should you choose to do what’s natural and aggressively play the field, please be mindful of important healthcare issues such as STDs and unwanted pregnancies.

Considering humans typically have only one offspring at a time and bunnies have something like 43, I’d pay seriously pay close attention to the “unwanted pregnancies” issue or you could end up being the Arnold Schwarzenegger of the bunny bunch and end up with a bonus child (or ten) showing up on your doorstep one day.

“I’m here to clean out your bank account.”

Because yes, when it comes to “safe sex” in the rabbit world, I offer you with this oft-quoted and acutely appropriate proverb: “Do not rely on a rabbit’s foot for luck; after all, it didn’t work out too well for the rabbit.”

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He is on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones and his complete body of work can be found at attackbunnies.com

DOG & STYLE

Tony Wakefield-Jones
Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony,

Why does my human insist on dressing me up all the time? She even had a professional photo shoot for me. It’s ridiculous! Help!

B.B. Wrinkles, Goodland, FL

B.B. Wrinkles can’t escape
her owner’s dress-up obsession. Submitted Photos

Dear B.B.:

Sad. So sad and tragic. Essentially, your human NEEDS A LIFE! It’s one thing for every groomer on the planet to think we dogs look “cleaner and cuter” sent home with those silly little homemade handkerchiefs around our necks; it’s another when our humans try to haphazardly channel celebrity fashion designer Marc Bouwer and accessorize us.

I mean, Marc Bouwer is fabulous—and my daddies know him personally—but a canine-focused “Marc BowWow” mentality is completely unnecessary for any dog owner.

Marc, in case you’re reading, my daddies want you to tell “Shania” they say “hi.”

Bipeds seem to make a big deal out of their wardrobes. Trust me, I live with two gay men so I know whereof I speak. However, I prefer going “au natural”—as do many humans, if they have the guts to admit it.

Besides, nothing is more awkward than having to shimmy out of a pair of puppy capri pants simply to do your business. As those of you bipeds with dogs know, once we have sniffed every single blade of grass to find the very best possible potty place, WE GO IMMEDIATELY.

Poor B.B. Wrinkles has an owner that
insists on dressing her up for all holidays.

Canine clothing = doo doo disaster.

The real fault lies with Lisa Vanderpump from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and her televised obsession with dressing up her teacup pup, Giggy. Until we have a Real Housewives of Marco Island—and I’m all in favor of that as my friend, Kitty Kat Gravatt, really deserves her own show—we need to live by our own social mores and not let Hollywood dictate incredulous comical conventions on canine couture.

Yes, I love alliteration. Woof!

As for the photo-shoot situation, I’m kind of in a “glass house” on this issue as I have participated in several. Of course, I’m a literary “celebudog” and photo shoots and media tours are part of my job. C’est la vie! But you really shouldn’t get mad over the clothing situation—despicable doggie duds can easily be destroyed. But that NAME—B.B. Wrinkles?—that’s simply unforgivable!

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones isn’t the only canine who poses for professional photo shoots.

Dear Tony,

Why does my dog insist on chewing on my shoes?

Cindy L.W., Terre Haute, IN

Dear Miss Cindy:

An oft-asked and very important question. First, you must understand that anything left below doggy eye level is FAIR GAME. The floor is exclusively OUR domain.

Don’t blame us—you, the dog owner, determined this situation the minute you placed our food and water bowls in your household’s southern hemisphere and/or instinctively redirected us from comfy couch to inflexible floor when company arrived. So if you leave your precious shoes on the floor, they will be used as “toys.” Simple.

Oh wait, perhaps you are a tad on the “simple” side yourself so let me be very clear: DO NOT LEAVE YOUR SHOES ON THE FLOOR IF YOU DON’T WANT THEM TO BE DESTROYED BY YOUR DOG.

However, what many humans do not know is that the problem may rest with their own personal fashion sense. Sorry to be the one to tell you this—but you, Miss Cindy, may simply have appallingly bad taste in footwear.

If this is the case, then your precious pup is just trying to spare you the embarrassment of parading your peds in those particularly putrid pumps in public.

Alliteration strikes again!

Thankfully, I live in Southwest Florida, making shoes essentially optional. However, there was that “cold” day my Short Daddy tried to leave the house in white shocks and sandals.

Don’t get me started—it’s too painful—for HIM.

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He is on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones and his complete body of work can be found at attackbunnies.com

DOG & STYLE

Each year, as we enter into the holiday season and begin to reflect upon the year behind us, many of us serious journalists “Best of” ourselves. Though I would like to believe my readers have committed every piece of my sage advice to memory, even I wag my tail a tad harder at revisiting some of my more clever 2012 bon-mots.

As for 2013 and my upcoming 11th Birthday, don’t you worry—there’s life in the old dog yet.

On Covers Ups
As dogs, we are predisposed to being “naked.” However, we do not need to see you naked—ever. Yes, you think you can get away with it because what are we going to say—right? Well, what we’re really thinking is: ever heard of The Gap? BUY SOME CLOTHES and close the gap between my aching eyeballs and your bare bottom, please.

On Chihuahuas
As for this new creature in my house, I simply refer to him as “The Chihua.” True, he may technically be a member of a breed known as “Chihuahua” but, in my view, the second “hua” is awkwardly repetitive. After all, I’m not called an “Airedaledale” and I hate to waste time.

On the United Parcel Service
In the past few months, I have discovered how to open the front door— unassisted. Yes, I may have surprised my fair share of UPS men, but I now provide additional value to my household. I have also learned that, when shocked, “Brown” can do very little for you but stare.

On Human Vanity
What’s up with this thing you humans call Botox? I don’t know a single self-respecting dog who would consider taking such a non-essential step. For example, can you just imagine what a Bloodhound would look like after Botox injections? Yes—you’re right—Bruce Jenner.

On Telecommuting
And to you paranoid work-at-home humans: do you really think the house is going to self-destruct without your presence? Relax! The days of Lassie may be long gone but if Timmy is dumb enough to fall in the well—and you’re not here—Timmy can simply wait until you get home.

On History
True, the Mayflower departed Plymouth, England in September 1620. However, as the breed of Airedale did not even exist until over 300 years later, the beginning of “history” corresponds to the dawn of the Airedale subsequently deflowering the Mayflower as “hull and void.”

On Exercise
As a rule, humans are a fairly sedentary bunch. Even my Short Daddy has been quoted as saying he wouldn’t run unless he was being chased by a crazy man with a chainsaw—and then he claims he’d wait to see if he could talk the man out of doing bodily harm before making tracks.

On Canadian Expats
For the most part, American humans are too lazy to learn more than one language. Though most Floridians speak English, and a few lucky ones (like me) speak Spanish too, I’m not sure that many Southwest Floridians speak fluent “Canadian.” Eh?

On Celebrity Obsession
We dogs prefer to get involved. We see a car whizzing by and our natural instincts are car chasing as opposed to the human desire for star chasing. For reasons I will never understand, bi-peds often seem happiest when their motor skills are focused on moving their mouths and not their legs.

On being Tony Wakefield-Jones
I have a daily routine that suits me just fine: eat, sleep, poop, answer questions from ostensibly clueless humans that will be put into print by Coastal Breeze News, and repeat. It’s a pretty great life.

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook. com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative thinkers, his Short Daddy, Randall Kenneth Jones, can be found on twitter at twitter.com/randallkjones. 

DOG & STYLE

The human celebration of Thanksgiving is once again upon us. Thanksgiving—also known as the day before humans set their alarms at 3 AM to trample over other humans for something they call “doorbuster specials.”

One would think I would find this more appealing as I am a “doorbuster” every time our doorbell rings.

I admit—I have not been feeling all that inspired lately. Yes, I have many things to be thankful for: two misfit daddies who make me look brilliant by comparison, a bumbling “Chihua” who seems to understand the household pecking order, an exhilarating lifestyle in “Jurassic Park” (aka Fiddler’s Creek) which can—on any given day—prove more exciting than any visit to Disney’s Animal Kingdom.

Gators and panthers and bears—oh my!

However, like so many us in dire need of ego stroking, I chose to “beg” for inspiration from the best available outlet: The Facebook.

Turns out, my cyber cronies were more than happy to serve up some holiday inspiration with questions and suggestions for my gratitude-themed editorial.

On food preparation and consumption:

Debbie from Washington State asked how it feels to be omitted from Thanksgiving celebrations when just “people” are invited.

First, holiday invitations are crucial in my home. You see, the daddies cannot cook—period. As any major holiday approaches, they must begin a very well-rehearsed process of casually dropping their kitchen-impaired status into all communications. Typically, a Rachael Ray wanna-be will unwittingly stumble into the trap and provide the necessary invitation or our collective Thanksgiving dinner would be comprised of peanut butter, Raisin Bran, toast, Snausages and Mrs. Dash.

A special thank you must go to this year’s culinary victim, Carole Greene, who also understands that all invitations are addressed to me first—I choose the “+1.”

Yes, one of the daddies is not making the cut this year.

Food-prep expert Sharon from Kansas suggested that her dogs actually plot against her by wrapping themselves around her legs, tripping her, and hoping she drops the platters to a more advantageous ground level.

I was raised by a native Missourian who taught me Kansas didn’t really exist but was merely an urban legend making this comment null and void.

Kim from Naples wisely recommended I provide my readers the requisite holiday leftover suggestions including a) give them to the dogs; b) give them to the dogs; and c) you can always give them to the dogs.

Note for Kim: See you on Black Friday! 

On the history of

Thanksgiving:

Bill from Maryland suggested I provide an account of the Mayflower’s dog and his experience on the ship.

True, the Mayflower departed Plymouth, England in September 1620. However, as the breed of Airedale did not even exist until over 300 years later, the beginning of “history” corresponds to the dawn of the Airedale.

Sorry I just deflowered your big beloved boat, Mr. Bill.

On family bonding:

Ann from Naples asked me to explain “dog etiquette” when family comes to visit. For example, does the dog have to give up his chair or his bed?

If she has to ask, I am never going to visit her house again.

And Penny from Vermont commented, “I am sure some of us would rather spend Thanksgiving with the dogs than the in-laws!” It has to be said: I betcha her in-laws feel pretty much the same way too.

Score: Tony = 1, Penny = 0

Balloon Tony in the “Marco Thanksgiving Day Parade!” SUBMITTED PHOTO

On holiday traditions:

Mary from Missouri suggested I discuss my lifelong dream to ride in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Clearly, Mary does not understand my popularity and/or the lengths I will go to as an unapologetic publicity hound.

Ride in the Parade? No. Be the Parade? Much better!

However, perhaps the most astute observation came from my friend “Kitty Kat” from Marco Island: “Please be happy that according to eatturkey.com, 46 million turkeys were consumed in the USA for Thanksgiving last year. According to the US Census, there are approximately 115 million households in the U.S.—and they don’t eat Airedales.”

Bingo!

When it comes down to it—I guess I’m just thankful I have so many affectionate, playful and loyal friends. I’m one lucky dog.

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative thinkers, his Short Daddy, Randall Kenneth Jones, can be found on twitter at twitter.com/randallkjones.

D

Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:

My family is crazy about this “sport” called NASCAR and a driver named Carl Edwards. As a dog, I understand liking to chase cars, but I am unsure what they get out of it? They don’t even get out of their chairs. There is a lot of screaming involved.

Truman Schnoodle – Columbia, MO

Truman Brown

Dear Truman:

As dogs, we can spend our lives evaluating human behavior and never fully understand all their idiosyncrasies. However, it’s important that we try as, like it or not, we are forced to live with them.

Of course, that’s why I have chosen my new vocation as an advice guru. Just look at the successful careers of others in my profession: Oprah, Dr. Phil, and, my personal favorite, Jerry Springer. Besides, don’t a lot of NASCAR fans ultimately appear as guests on Springer’s show?

In my house, the results of any number of Dancing with the Stars episodes will induce similar human screaming fits. At least your humans worship a “sport” (and yes, I use that term loosely as well) where there’s a palpable sense of danger. I mean, is there anything really life threatening about DWTS other than the possibility of a wardrobe malfunction, an over-rotated pirouette, or head judge Len Goodman finally smacking Italian motor mouth Bruno Tonioli upside the head? At a minimum, your family has the chance of viewing action that could make Chitty Chitty Bang Bang’s antics seem lame by comparison.

Having done my research, I couldn’t help but to notice that your peeps hail from the same home town as NASCAR’s Carl Edwards, the aforementioned favorite. As you did not mention any sort of family connection to Edwards, one can easily surmise your humans likely think Edwards somehow belongs to them personally.

But Truman, watch this situation very carefully. If left unmonitored, your humans may start to feel an unhealthy personal connection to Edwards that could include recurring attendance at his public appearances, autograph hoarding, clandestine drive-bys at his place of residence, and/or—in extreme cases—unexpected pit crew participation. Normally, I celebrate those who demonstrate a dogged determination but this is simply wrong. Should any of the above situations occur, please contact Edwards’s management team and/or Jerry Springer immediately. Both will undoubtedly be happy to hear from you.

Of course, I completely understand the downside of our celebrity-obsessed culture—my Short Daddy sang with Sheryl Crow in college and, whether asked or not, he will gladly offer his opinion on everything from her wardrobe selection to her career trajectory.

However, what is likely most frustrating to you is the “sitting” issue. We dogs prefer to get involved. We see a car whizzing by and our natural instincts are car chasing as opposed to the human desire for star chasing. For reasons I will never understand, bi-peds often seem happiest when their motor skills are focused on moving their mouths and not their legs.

Now, if you want to see some real competitive action, check out Animal Planet’s Puppy Bowl on Super Bowl Sunday. That’s what I call a howling good time!

Tony

Dear Tony:

Why do dogs like to hang their heads out of the windows of moving cars?

Jeff C. – Port Charlotte, FL

Dear Jeff:

It would be easy to glibly answer, “because we can” and be done with it. Though there are many things dogs do “because we can,” let’s focus on your question for now.

As a rule, you humans are a fairly sedentary bunch. Even my Short Daddy has been quoted as saying he wouldn’t run unless he were being chased by a crazy man with a chainsaw—and then he claims he’d wait to see if he could talk the man out of doing bodily harm before making tracks.

So just look at it this way: cars are fun. They move at speeds most dogs are convinced they can meet or exceed. Like us canines, cars are fueled by humans, housed in intimate compartments, and taken out when humans want to be entertained. Plus, a human can prompt a dog or a car to “speak” and both dog and car have been known to play dead whether commanded to do so or not.

So let’s just keep this simple for you: have you ever tried it? Seriously, have you just opened the window, stuck your head out, and done it yourself? It’s freakin’ fun, Jeff!

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com

DOG & STYLE

Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:

What are your political views?

Lynn A. – Marco Island, FL

Tony (with Short Daddy and “friend”) travels in some very auspicious circles.

Dear Miss Lynn:

My views? Well, from my vantage point (mostly television), all the major candidates are actually quite attractive. Now, I’m not gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but the views from my couch are not too bad.

Nobody can work a suit and tie like President Obama. Joe Biden has really big teeth and an equally fetching smile. And if this run for office doesn’t work out, Romney and Ryan could easily be models for Abercrombie and Fitch Senior.

Once you look beyond their grooming habits, (though I still think my stylist, Trisha from Critter Café, could work wonders on Biden), there’s a treat for almost every taste in this year’s candidates. Most important, it’s quite clear that the President’s dog, Bo, has a pretty big say in setting national policy. Think about it—isn’t one of them usually tailing the other or vice versa?

Though some may claim to support, for example, the GOP, I always support the DOG.

However, if news reports are correct and Mitt Romney once stuck his dog, Seamus, in a kennel and bound it to the roof of their vehicle for a lengthy car trip and Paul Ryan tied his dog’s kennel to a pair of skis before sending both kennel and dog down a mountainside, I’m conflicted.

On one paw I’m thinking, “Oh, no, he didn’t.” But on the other paw, considering my household’s oppressed sense of adventure, I realize, “My life is boring—let me in on some of that exhilarating right-wing pup action!” Of course, my Short Daddy briefly met Mitt Romney last January and now he acts as if he has Candidate Romney’s personal cell phone number on speed dial. Truth be told, Seamus Romney wouldn’t take Short Daddy’s call.

However, if Animal Planet would wise up and host a debate, I’d be better informed on the issues. After all, when it comes to American politics, it’s a dog-eat-dog world.

Tony

Uh-O Canada

Maple is ready for the Sunshine State. SUBMITTED PHOTOS

Dear Tony:

My humans and I are natives of Canada and, as we now live in the States, we are considering a visit to Southwest Florida. As “foreigners,” do you think we’d feel welcome there?

Maple – Shetland Sheepdog

Lansdowne, VA

Dear Maple:

Visitors from all countries are welcome here in Southwest Florida. Why, just the other day I saw a Welsh Terrier frolicking with an Australian Sheepdog at the Marco Dog Park. Marco Islanders, in particular, are a very progressive people even if they don’t let the dog population on the beach—but don’t get me started on that topic or we’ll be here all day…

Our country is, in general, in favor of “foreign” dogs. Mitt Romney has an Irish Setter. President Obama has a Portuguese Water Dog. Joe Biden has a German Shepherd and, in a handful of unsettling photos, Paul Ryan looks just like a Mexican Chihuahua.

Take me for example: my superior breed originated in Airedale, a geographic area in Yorkshire, England—and everyone loves me.

But I have a—wait for it—pet peeve when it comes to you Canucks. We are all about being hospitable here in Florida—but we do not talk “a-boot” anything.

Maple, in Florida, “a boot” is something a human wears on his or her foot. “A-boot” is not an adjective (meaning: of; concerning; in regard to) or an adverb (near in time, number, degree).

Yes, the most difficult aspect of visiting Southwest Florida is the potential language barrier. For the most part, American humans are too lazy to learn more than one language. Though most Floridians speak English, and a few lucky ones (like me) speak Spanish too, I’m not sure that many Southwest Floridians speak fluent “Canadian.”

Yes, preparing yourself linguistically for your vacation to Florida might require a little extra effort, but it will be worth it. Just enjoy the process. (that’s pros-es, not proh-ses). Eh?

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com

DOG & STYLE

Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:
You previously mentioned a family dog named Zoey who is no longer living with you. Is there more to this story?
Holly G.
Romeo, MI

Warrior Princess Zoey served and protected her new home. SUBMITTED PHOTO

Dear Miss Holly

Though I never knew Zoey personally, I have certainly heard the stories. Zoey, described by my daddies as “a little white cotton ball with legs,” was actually a Miniature American Eskimo—a lap dog with an attitude. In fact, Zoey aspired to be a Doberman Pinscher but seemed hopelessly stuck in a little dog body.

Zoey came into the household in the spring of 1996 – several years before my arrival. To hear the daddies tell it, they knew almost immediately that Zoey was not a good fit for their home. She was skittish and submissive to the point that she would relieve herself every time a male simply reached down to pet her. As I know personally, when you have two daddies, a fear of men ain’t a good thing. Though loving and kind – on top of repressing a protective nature – Zoey apparently always seemed somewhat out of place.

Legend has it; diminutive Zoey’s desire for dominance was so strong she even mounted the 30-pound cat, Blackie, in a packed room at a New Year’s Eve Party. Though I wasn’t there, I have been told the look of humiliation on the face of the previously emotionless cat was priceless. Someone should have called Master Card.

I have openly shared that I was adopted; having come to the daddies through Airedale Rescue. Though I had a wonderful mommy in Maryland, she wisely recognized I was not a good fit for her home as I demanded more attention than her poor little family could provide.

The fact that I demand attention should not come as a surprise to any of my fans.

Just weeks after Zoey took residence came the first attempt to place her in a more suitable home. Though her fear of men and propensity to piddle could not be argued, her love of the daddies was strong enough for her to cleverly relieve herself in the middle of her new parents’ king-sized bed. So back she came having mastered the art of using urine as a weapon – a skill she would continue to employ as a part of other equally unsuccessful placement attempts in the years ahead.

Though her ultimate goal of being a guard dog seemed unrealistic, the task of finding her a happy home continued for ten years. But more often than not, the result was: “I don’t like you. I want to go home. So here’s some pee for your mattress.”

And then came Betty and Scott.

Betty, who Short Daddy always describes as the loveliest lady he has ever met, lived in a pet-free home with her husband of over sixty years. Sadly, when Zoey first went to live with them, Scott was already ill. Though Zoey’s time with Scott would only last four brief months, to hear Betty tell it, Zoey never left the ailing man’s side.

Finally, Zoey was a protector. Zoey had a purpose. Zoey was at home.

Betty also kept in close touch with our family. With each phone call she repeatedly shared her gratitude for the comfort, companionship and yes, the added “security,” she received from Zoey’s presence. Just recently Betty reported that Zoey had begun a new process of sleeping all day to enable her aging body to maintain the demands of her nightly tour of duty around the house.

Some things will never change – but, like it or not, others will. We recently received an email from Betty’s son that caused us all to take pause:

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but we wanted to share the passing of Zoey last week. Zoey, the beautiful girl who will be remembered for helping our family through good times and sad times. She passed in her sleep at a ripe old age of 100+ in doggie years.”

The first ache we all felt was not for Zoey, but for Betty. However, Betty is surrounded by an extraordinary family as well as friends and neighbors who will never let her want for anything. Even I have come to understand she is so very special.

The next ache was for the dog my family always loved – the friend they tirelessly helped to find her place in life.

But the last ache, no less sharp than the first two, was a bit more hopeful – whether man or beast, it’s simply better to live a life of purpose than to die without one. So good for you, Zoey.

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com

DOG & STYLE

Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:

My human works from our house and somehow thinks I should be pleased about this. He’s suffocating me! What do I do?

Deco, Labrador Retriever

Potomac, MD

Dear Deco:

Leapin’ Lassie, but do I feel your pain.

My Short Daddy “works” from home too and I never get a minute’s peace around here. Yes, I’m aware that I’m getting older, but that doesn’t mean he needs to yank me outside to pee every two hours. I’m sleeping here, you fool.

And just because he’s lonely and lacks the human interaction skills to work in a normal office and needs companionship, he doesn’t seem to get it: I’m still sleeping here, you fool!

And poor Deco, just look at the photo you submitted. Not only is your socially-challenged professional shut-in snapping pictures at inopportune times, but his lack of footwear indicates a clumsy attempt to redefine the concept of “casual Friday” with a homespun exposed-smelly-feet spin.

We dogs may lick our bums but we have to draw the line at feet in the face.

And to you paranoid work-at-home humans: do you really think the house is going to self-destruct without your presence? Relax! The days of Lassie may be long gone but if Timmy is dumb enough to fall in the well—and you’re not here—Timmy can simply wait until you get home.

Deco, consider this: when your human leaves his home office to turn the sound up on The View, hop up on your hind legs and give a paw swipe or two to his—I think they call it—keyboard. If you can manage it, focus specifically on the keys identified as “Ctrl,” “Alt” and “Delete.”

If you don’t have the patience for that, drooling on the keyboard is also likely to result in your human’s realization that “home-based” was a baseless decision regarding his/her full-time workplace.

However, proceed very cautiously. Any activity perceived as an “anxiety disorder” will result in a heapin’ helpin’ of Puppy Prozac, and you’re likely to mentally miss out on the balance of 2012 and the majority of 2013.

Of course, I’m already on record that I have learned to open our front door unassisted. What is not known to my daddies is that I’m busily at work on developing two new skills: closing the door and—yep—locking it behind them.

Tony

I’m a little bit country…

Dear Tony:

What is the difference between a City Dog and a Country Dog?

Bandit, Australian Shepherd

Harrisburg, MO

Bandit Froese.

Dear Bandit:

As a resident of “Jurassic Park”—wedged between the sprawling metropolises of Naples and Marco Island, FL—I am in a somewhat unique situation, because I live adjacent to both worlds.

I mean—what does a city dog have that a country dog would ever really want? Elevator races? Concrete pee receptacles? Starbucks?

Besides, as a “country dog,” I enjoy kicking back with other species. For me, there’s nothing quite as exciting as butt-sniffing an alligator on my morning walk or enjoying the spectacle of a free-wheeling boa constrictor slithering down the drainage ditch. Good times.

However, I have discovered that city pups have access to much better cable. When I am left alone—and we have already established that happens all too infrequently—my daddies are good enough to leave on the television “to keep me company.”

Clearly, they still don’t understand that I’ll most likely be sleeping—again.

But what dog doesn’t want unlimited Animal Planet viewing privileges? However, to be completely honest, my preference would be for a 24/7 Judge Judy Channel. Whether your pup roots originate in the country or the city—in a world obsessed with good and bad canine behavior—that Judge Judy Sheindlin sure knows how to make you humans sit up and beg.

Besides, I love me some Alan Jackson and Sara Evans as much as the next dog, but how much CMT can I really take?

Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com.

DOG & STYLE

We interrupt this advice column for a special message on the importance of aging—or rather, the lack of importance of it.

First, as an advice columnist, I am all too aware of the significance of keeping the home fires burning.

An odd proverb, to say the least, as I simply can’t see a benefit to a house fire of any kind. But I digress…

For many years now I have known, when it comes to managing psychological trauma, there’s no place like home.

My daddies, both the “Tall” and the “Short,” are turning 50 this year—and oh how they have whined about it.

Using the conventional dog-to-human-age conversion (actual dog age x 7 = human equivalent years), as a 10-yearold dog myself; I’m the equivalent of 70 in human years. And these two buffoons are worried about 50?

PHOTO BY PETER BEREC
Tall Daddy (50), Tony Wakefield-Jones (“70”), and Short Daddy (50). Short Daddy’s brown hair by Shari Brousseau.

Last February, Tall Daddy hit the big 5-0 and the steamy dog pile really hit the fan. He moped. He whined. He refused a celebration until our friend, Kathleen Gravatt, force-fed him chocolate cake.

Of course, the irony is that a woman named “Kat” was the one who accomplished the impossible. Certainly provides food for thought.

And now, on September 13th, my Short Daddy finds himself face-to-face with the mid-century mark. However, being the “thinker” (or I should say “over thinker”) of the family, Short Daddy already has some very interesting theories about how birthdays operate.

You see, he was born at 11:02 PM central time; however, we all know that Florida is in the Eastern Time zone. Allowing for the one-hour time difference, the anniversary of his birth actually takes place at 12:02 AM on September 14th—one day later.

So get this—Short Daddy has spent years trying to convince us we have to celebrate his birth over the course of two consecutive days with “two” as a recurring theme: two parties, two cakes, two sets of presents, etc.

Too much!

My thoughts? Is he really going to want to extend his seemingly horrific 50th birthday over two full days? Plus, considering you humans seem to love to use funky mathematical algorithms for age conversions (actual dog age x 7 = human equivalent years), using his time-zonebased theory of two birthdays each year, isn’t he really turning 100?

Oh, that’s gonna hurt!

I am a dog, so age simply doesn’t bother me. After all, I have a daily routine that suits me just fine: eat, sleep, poop, answer questions from ostensibly clueless humans that will be put into print by Coastal Breeze News, and repeat. It’s a pretty great life. And assuming I get in my required 20 hours of sleep a day, I’m fairly robust for the remaining four.

Sure, I have a “bucket list” too, but my bucket is filled with prime rib and not some ridiculous list of wanna-do missions like skydiving, Mediterranean cruises, and meeting Judge Judy.

Plus, what’s up with this thing you humans call Botox? I don’t know a single self-respecting dog who would consider taking such a non-essential step. For example, can you just imagine what a Bloodhound would look like after Botox injections? Yes—you’re right—Bruce Jenner.

Perhaps it’s just that we quad-peds are tougher than you bi-peds. Take a look at me: as a resident of Jurassic Park (aka Fiddler’s Creek) my daily walk has the potential to put me face-to-face with alligators, snakes, wild pigs, bears, lizards and even undomesticated golfers. Do I scream like a little girl and run away when faced with a wayward armadillo? No, I do not. I at least attempt a congenial butt sniff and a wag of the tail before being yanked by the neck to “safety” on the other side of the street.

But no one can say I run away in fear.

I guess what I’m saying is: perhaps you can’t teach old dogs new tricks. But, then again, you wouldn’t have to if the “old dogs” in question would accept the inevitable, quit complaining, lose their fear, and howl at the moon occasionally.

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony. wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com.

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Tony Wakefield-Jones 

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:
What are your thoughts on Wall Street?
Theresa G. – Marco Island, FL 

Dear Miss Theresa:

Why on earth would someone want to put walls up next to a street? That’s just absurd. Does the Marco Island City Council know about this?

From a human standpoint, Marco Island is a lovely little beach community— and you bipeds seem to place a lot of value on your ability to view mass quantities of water.

I say just take a bath but I digress… 

Wouldn’t erecting walls on either side of, for example, Collier Boulevard not only obstruct your precious gulf views but our collective access to commerce? Do not try to tell me you’re going to make it harder for me to get a table at Joey’s than it already is!

From a dog standpoint, that area between road and sidewalk, where I assume this wall would allegedly be built, is also where we pups primarily relieve ourselves. Unless you want us squatting on your beloved oriental rug, this easement of urination, so vital to the daily needs of the Marco pet population, must be protected.

When you stop and really think about it, wouldn’t this “wall” ultimately threaten the entire socioeconomic structure of our island?

Of course, if you’re speaking about “Wall Street,” the nation’s financial hub in New York City, there are days I’d like to take a big poop there as well.

Tony

Coastal Breeze News publisher Val Simon, Tony Wakefield-Jones and his “Short Daddy,” Randall Kenneth Jones, engage in intense salary negotiations. SUBMITTED PHOTO

Magically Delicious
Dear Tony:
Some members of my household are targets for extreme dog licking “attacks”—their necks, faces, and even their hair. It’s like my dog is trying to groom them. What’s up with that?
Derek W. – Naples, FL 

Dear Mr. Derek: 

Though I have my own opinions, I checked in with my buddy, preeminent pup professional Dr. Shelley Gothard:

Licking is a natural behavior for dogs. Excessive or obsessive licking, however, can be an issue. Dogs who excessively lick inanimate objects or themselves, may have either a medical issue (gastro-intestinal problems or even allergies are possible causes) or an anxiety disorder. A veterinarian should be consulted if an owner feels his or her canine companion may suffer from any of these issues. 

In this case, it seems your reader’s family members are the only “target” of this overly affectionate behavior, so I can offer two simpler possibilities. 

One, the owner has inadvertently “trained” his/her dog to behave this way. In many cases, humans unwittingly reinforce unwanted behaviors in how they respond to them. Some canines feel that any response to their behavior, either good or bad, is attention and they LOVE attention in any form. 

The other, and simpler explanation, is that the owner’s body lotion, hair gel, or even natural flavor is “magically delicious” to his/her faithful friend. 

Though I love my Dr. Shelley, despite the horrible things she has been known to do to my bottom, I have a different theory. Members of your family must smell bad— really really bad. Remember, we dogs self-clean our aforementioned bottoms so we have a pretty high threshold for “gross” when it comes to “magically delicious.”

Tony

For the love of the Chihuahua
Dear Tony:
Is there anything your household’s “Chihua” can do to get on your good side?
Maribeth J. – Naples, FL 

Dear Miss Maribeth: 

Move out.

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com 

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Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony:
How do I keep my dog, Mr. T, from helping himself to “people food” such as our peanut butter?
Adam C. – Columbia, MO 

Mr. T helps himself to an afternoon snack. SUBMITTED PHOTO

Dear Mr. Adam:

Forgive me for sounding a bit insensitive but you appear to be a somewhat shortsighted biped. In my home, I am encouraged to learn human skills. For example, in the past few months, I have discovered how to open the front door—unassisted. Yes, I may have surprised my fair share of UPS men, but I now provide additional value to my household.

I have also learned that, when shocked, “Brown” can do very little for you but stare. So now, when the doorbell rings and the urge hits me to run around frantically and bark like the house is on fire, I have an outlet for my energy. Plus, as our front door is down a flight of stairs, my perpetually lazy daddies can simply call out, “Tony, answer the door.” And I do.

Of course, if you had to eat the same grub day in and day out, I bet you wouldn’t let the absence of opposable thumbs keep you out of a sealed peanut butter jar either. Plus, I’ve seen Survivor—I know you humans are willing to do just about anything for food.

Tony

CATS, NOW AND FOREVER

Dear Tony:
What’s the best kind of cat?
Bob S. – Naples, FL

Dear Bob:

Though I suspect you are trying to set me up to say “dead,” I’m not falling for your seemingly clever little ploy. I am told that cats play an important role in our society—exactly what, though, is a mystery to me.

I suppose if one is not strong enough to handle a real pet, such as a DOG, a cat could be considered a viable—albeit somewhat irritating—substitute.

To be fair, my daddies once had a 30-pound cat—now that’s quite a beast. Even I knew better than to mess around in that litter box.

However, I do wish the “catapult” were an Olympic event. Who would want to miss a televised airborne kitty going for the Gold?

Tony

THIS SOUNDS FAMILIAR…

Dear Tony:
Living in my house are two dogs: a superior-breed Airedale and a passive-aggressive Chihuahua. There are also three adults. Despite my efforts, each dog prefers to spend his time with another adult, a situation that has placed me as runner-up in two canine relationships. What am I doing wrong?
Randy J. – Naples, FL

Dear Mr. “Randy”:

In spite of the fact that you share the same name and household demographics as my Fiddler’s Creek residence, I am going to pretend I don’t notice the similarities and answer honestly. Do not blame the dogs. There is clearly something wrong with you. You are broken and beyond repair.

Tony

GET OFF!

Dear Tony:
How do I keep all these pesky mosquitoes from ruining my life here in Southwest Florida?
Jan S. – Naples, FL

Dear Jan:

Run faster.

Tony 

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com

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Tony Wakefield-Jones 

Tony@mindzoo.com

Dear Tony: 

Here’s my dilemma. It’s all about that tear-jerk Sarah McLachlan commercial that runs endlessly on TV. You know the one: sad lonesome song, sorry little puppy eyes looking hopefully into the camera, Sarah McLachlan voice-over asking viewers to save homeless dogs.

McKenna is in a quandary. SUBMITTED PHOTO

My human always sniffles sadly when it’s on and gives me nice loving attention. So far so good, right? But here’s my concern. What if my human actually reacts to all this sadness by adopting another dog? There’s only room for ONE dog in this house and it’s ME.

Should I distract my human when the commercial is on? Or should I just accept the loving attention that comes with the commercial and keep my paws crossed? What do you think I should do? My human seems ready to fill my house with new dogs every time this commercial comes on!

McKenna, 9 

Chesapeake Bay Retriever 

Centreville, Virginia 

Dear McKenna: 

First, you must understand your human does not have the emotional control God gave a gnat so you must take charge of the situation. My Tall Daddy, the stoic New Englander, boo hoos like a little girl when that commercial comes on—he actually has to leave the room.

This is a tough one because I have been plagued by my humans’ S.A.D. condition (split-attention disorder) since the arrival of “The Chihua” in April. However, many years ago, I came to the daddies through a wonderful organization called Airedale Rescue in Maryland. Even The Chihua was adopted from the Naples Humane Society.

Though my first mommy is wonderful and remains an active part of my life, she recognized I needed to be in a home where I could get more attention and bravely called upon Airedale Rescue to assist her in helping me adopt my Tall Daddy and Short Daddy. This has worked out well because, as you have probably already surmised, my daddies act as though they just fell off the turnip truck so I pretty much do as I please now.

My Maryland mommy is also originally from Chile so I grew up speaking Spanish— and my daddies don’t speak Spanish—which gives me even more ways to manipulate them. If there’s one good thing I can say about The Chihua it’s that he speaks Spanish too. 

Even my daddies were placed in a difficult situation once when, after years of trying to make it work, they finally accepted that their “little white cotton ball with legs,” Miniature America Eskimo Zoey, would be happier in a different environment. Zoey went on to live with Betty in Chevy Chase, Maryland and ended up being there for Betty after the loss of her husband of over 55 years. And now, 5 . years later, Betty still calls us to say “thank you.”

The most selfless thing I have ever done is stop rubbing my wet-from-drinking Airedale beard on the sofa after being yelled at—repeatedly. 

However, let’s get back to your issue. You must have a good human if he/she cares enough to consider adding to your canine family, but that may not help in your stress over your cushy one-dog situation. I really do feel your pain. Just remember, when it comes to dogs, there is one Alpha—“and the rest”—just like the Season One Gilligan’s Island theme song says.

I still feel sorry for The Professor and Mary Ann when I watch those reruns. 

Besides, in my house, there’s not an Alpha Dog, but an Alpha—period. Humans are extremely easy to train.

Unless I miss my guess, by the time this column is published, you may already have a new little brother or sister. Just teach him or her Spanish and have a ball. Just make sure he/she knows who’s the boss.

Tony 

P.S. To adopt your own Airedale, please visit sunshineairedalers.org. To support Sarah McLachlan’s very worthy charity, please go to aspca.org.

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old psychologically gifted Airedale. He can be found on Facebook atfacebook.com/tony. wakefieldjones. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on attackbunnies.com 

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Tony Wakefield-Jones

Tony@mindzoo.com

First, a big old high-paw to those of you who read and responded to my first Dog & Style column in the last issue of Coastal Breeze. With your questions, requests for interviews, and social invitations now pouring in, I’m starting to feel like the Prince William of Marco Island. Plus, I simply refuse to be compared to a squatty little Corgi!

Even this week’s professional photo shoot with Marco’s own Peter Berec has been described as “unforgettable.” However, through his dogged determination, Mr. Peter finally managed to get the shot he wanted and I got a belly full of treats—so both of our needs were met.

I have sifted through your feedback and chosen a few of your questions for “pup-lication.”

Don’t groan. If you’re so desperate you have chosen to write to a dog for advice, you’re going to have to suffer through dog-speak too.

As I said before, one can only be a “know it all” if, in fact, one knows it all. Lucky for you, I do. Let’s get started.

Tank loves the ladies. SUBMITTED PHOTO

Airborne Legs

Dear Tony:
I’m desperately in need of your help. How can I convince my dog, Tank, that you don’t actually attract a “lady” by behaving like a “tramp”? He takes everything so literally…
Babs W. – Naples, FL

Dear Miss Babs:
The Chihuahua in my house (aka “The Chihua”) does the same thing. To be honest, so do I. As Lady Gaga would say, we were “born this way.”

You must realize that humans and dogs are not the same species. That being said, I have seen countless human males roll over on their backs in desperate hopes of receiving some sort of immediate attention. As many of these men end up on either The Real Housewives or Judge Judy, often with a female at their side, evidence exists that this type of behavior can actually produce modest results.

Keep in mind, we dogs also love to do the “butt sniff” thing and, of course, we clean our own private areas. By comparison, Tank’s rollover “come hither” pose should be considered somewhat benign.

My advice: don’t knock it until you’ve tried it—or have you???
Tony

Dog Socialization 

Dear Tony:
You seem like a very “social” dog. Are you on Facebook or Twitter?
Melissa F. – Marco Island, FL 

Dear Miss Melissa:
Why yes, I am on The Facebook. You can friend me at facebook.com/tony.wakefieldjones. I used to be on The Twitter, but my Tall Daddy and Short Daddy kept confusing “tweet” with “treat” to the point where they tried to feed me individual letters from the keyboard one day so I gave it up.
Tony

Cruise Control

Dear Tony:
Can Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes’s marriage be saved?
Kim H. – Naples, FL 

Dear Miss Kim:
No.
Tony

Tony Wakefield-Jones is a 10-year-old emotionally gifted Airedale. A member of a family of creative minds, his Short Daddy, writer Randall Kenneth Jones, has humorously chronicled his own personal and professional foibles on www.attackbunnies.com. Tony enjoys writing, eating, sleeping, pina coladas and being caught in the rain. Send your questions to Tony@mindzoo.com