MR. MAGOO DINES AT CAFE MILANO BUT IS BANNED AT HOME DEPOT

The face they turned away

The face they turned away

Home Depot (7 Corners) bans dogs! Mr. Magoo tried to shop there and was denied entry.

When he was snubbed he experienced all of the emotions any of us would have. At first he was just astonished and confused. He had always been welcomed in the best places. Café Milano and Billy Martin’s Tavern welcome him with fresh bowls of water.

Mr. Magoo, Soft-coated Wheaten terrier, waiting for his table at Café Milano

Mr. Magoo waiting for his table at Café Milano

The best stores in Georgetown greet him as a long lost friend. He did his Christmas shopping at Streets of Georgetown and Tumi Luggage — and they have hardwood floors and sell expensive leather goods and clothing – not dusty cement floors stacked with lumber and bricks.

After the initial shock, Mr. Magoo felt hurt and depressed. The extent of the psychological damage is yet to be measured. I’ve talked with other people who live with dogs and learned many of them also suffered the snub.

Bones, the Labrador retriever shops at bodega

Bones, the Labrador retriever, shops at bodega

When asked how the ban made him feel, Bones, the Labrador retriever, said it saddened him so much it that even having the owner of his favorite Bodega give him a whole sausage didn’t lift his spirits m. But it did help a little that the owner listened – like therapy. Still he couldn’t smile.

Joe, the golden retriever who resides at Silverbrook Farm, Hillsboro, VA, was nonplussed. “I live in an 18th century bed and breakfast, for goodness sake. I’m practically a plantation owner. There is no human on earth who doesn’t want me.” But he went on, showing his newfound insecurity, “Is there?”

 Sammy and Lucky, Jack Russell terrier brothers, weren’t bothered, “We’ll go in, grab a few sticks, and get out before they know what hit them.” That is unless Sammy bites someone’s ankle.”

Mr. Magoo, Soft-coated Wheaten terrier, gets a treat at Old Pearson’s

Mr. Magoo gets a treat at Old Pearson’s

 

           After Mr. Magoo was comforted with treats at Old Pearson’s Wine and Spirits, and got love from the staff at Ace Hardware, he felt a little better. But he has made the commitment to support only those businesses that support dogs.

CONTINUED ON PREVIOUS POST — MORE PHOTOS

MR. MAGOO AND THE CHRISTMAS MOOSE

You said he was my moose!

You said he was my moose!

Bones, the golden Lab, gave Mr. Magoo a toy moose for Christmas. The moose was dead by nightfall! Perhaps his rubber chicken put him up to it — jealous, I suspect. No moose could replace him!

Whatever his reason, the moose didnt stand a chance.

THE STUFFING'S THE BEST PART

THE STUFFING'S THE BEST PART

 

I TOOK CARE OF THAT MOOSE

I TOOK CARE OF THAT MOOSE

 

POOR MOOSE

POOR MOOSE

DEAD MOOSE

DEAD MOOSE

Bones has not destroyed his Christmas toy — but it looks as though he might be trying to smother him.

Bones - smothering Christmas toy??

Bones - smothering Christmas toy??

 

Mr. Magoo, Sheep Herding Dog

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Mr. Magoo, bred to herd

Mr. Magoo, bred to herd

Mr. Magoo is a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier. Wheatens came from Ireland where they were bred to be farm dogs and herders. Now that he’s three I decided it was time he learned to do what he was born to do, so we went to sheep-herding school with Susan Rhoades at Keepstone Farms in Virginia.

This was the most fun Mr. Magoo ever had! Let off of the leash in the pen, he was joyous. He took off into the middle of his small herd, separating them and chasing them through the mud (thus I learned why all the other dog-owners had their dogs in crates rather than riding on the seat of the car). I was afraid he was going to

Mr. Magoo gets a time out

Mr. Magoo gets a time out

be expelledwhen he ran one poor sheep, smack, into the fence, but it

Yea!! I get to chase something!

Yea!! I get to chase something!

seems Susan has seen this before. He just got a time-out.

She explained the herding instinct is really a predatory instinct (My baby a predator? No way!). It’s true. Herding dogs start with the instinct to chase and catch the sheep – although I’m sure Mr. Magoo would have no idea what to do if he were to catch one.

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Save the sheep

Save the sheep

Susan uses the stick to protect the sheep and force the dog to stay outside the herd, instead of charging into it. Mr. Magoo clearly wasn’t being hurt by it. As the lesson progressed, he got frustrated that she was blocking him. He turned to her and told her off – if you don’t know Wheaten Terriers, they can look at you and “talk”. They sound as though they are actually speaking a language you should be able to understand if you weren’t so stupid.

Before the half hour was up, he was starting to catch on to as far as

Getting the hang of it

Getting the hang of it

keeping the herd together rather than attacking, chasing, scattering and terrorizing them.

Next lesson maybe he’ll learn to get them to move in a straight line.

Now you're doing it

Now you're doing it

MR. MAGOO COURTED BY THE REDSKINS

 

MR. MAGOO PRESS PHOTO

MR. MAGOO'S PRESS PHOTO

Football season begins tomorrow but Mr. Magoo, my soft-coated Wheaten Terrier won’t be in the lineup. He plays football and he’s been much sought after by the pros.  But I think it’s too rough a sport.

Still he loves the game and plays till he drops. Last night I got up in the dark and stumbled over him. He didn’t move — just lay by my bed on his back, front paws dangling over his chest, exhausted from the afternoon’s game.

"Mack" Magoo exhausted football player

"Mack" Magoo exhausted football player

Mack (a nickname more fitting a football player) started his football career when he found an old ball left behind when my son moved out. He knew instinctively what to do with it. Our front courtyard became his football field. Now every evening after dinner he takes me out to scrimmage. I throw the ball, he gets it, hangs onto it, and drives it home to blast it into the end zone, time after time, with no excuses or show of fatigue. For his size and considering he has no hands, he is a remarkably agile running back with a far better record than any player I’ve seen in recent years.

"Mack" Magoo never fumbles

"Mack" Magoo never fumbles

Of course the sport’s too dangerous to let him go pro as I’ve made clear to all of the scouts who’ve come around.

But some of them just don’t give up. I’ve seen Dan Snyder’s agents, nay spies, creeping past my front courtyard, eyeing my Mack, whispering to each other, as he holds the ball, zigzagging to avoid my tackles, determined to reach the end zone. I see it in their eyes. They’re thinking Clinton Portis, John Riggins, Larry Brown. And they know Mr. Mack Magoo is a name that could be up there with the greatest of them. They ache to sign him. No more 6 and 10’s for the Skins! No more fumbles.

"Mack" Magoo in the end zone

"Mack" Magoo in the end zone

Their offers are pretty tempting – not just the money, but all those sweatshirts with his picture, a Nike line of Magoo Shoes, and the Super Bowl ring which, of course, I’d have to wear — since Mack doesn’t have fingers.

I’M AFRAID OF MY CLOCK, VCR, AND MY REFRIGERATOR

Every thunderstorm reminds me of the night when the troubles that keep me awake didn’t wait till three A.M. They started at four in the afternoon when, on a day the thermometer hit 100 degrees and kept rising, my electricity went off. It stayed off for 12 hours.

I’ve known electricity is important to me. My whole life is plugged into some wall socket or another. The food I eat is plugged into an outlet behind the freezer that’s filled with Lean Cuisine dinners and meat. The meat, raw beef, bison, and venison, is for Mr. Magoo and costs about the same as caviar. It’s not insured. Its loss could mean I’d need a second mortgage.

Do I Iook happy?

Do I Iook happy? No! It's hot in here.

My entertainment runs on electricity. My laptop had just enough battery power to give me YouTube for an hour. Reading wasn’t an option because when I lit enough candles to read they smoked up my contact lenses. Sleep was my only choice. But I’m a night showerer and I can’t fall asleep without it. The water was frigid because the instant hot water heater I normally love for its unlimited hot water, needs electricity. How could water be so cold in a heat wave? Forget washing my hair. Without a blow dryer I was better off with dirty hair than hair that slumped down to ends frizzed as though they’d been electrocuted.
WHEN WILL THE AC BE BACK ON

WHEN WILL THE AC BE BACK ON?

Finally Mr. Magoo and I looked for the coolest place to try to sleep.

MACKIE IN THE COOLEST SPOT IN THE HOUSE

Do something!

He found his on the ceramic tile floor under the kitchen table. I considered it, but my back wouldn’t let me, so I chanced opening the freezer long enough to grab a cold pack to cool my neck and took the couch in the living room.

It was a rough night but there was a larger problem. The thought that sent bile to my throat the minute the lights went off was not the loss of TV and web, or the fear of food spoiling, or even sweltering in the steam bath that was my house. The worst thing was the dread of knowing I would have to reset clocks and reprogram things. There it is. I suffer from chronic fear-of-programming.

THE LOCKERS THAT STARTED MY FEAR OF TTECHNOLOGY

THE LOCKERS THAT STARTED MY FEAR OF TTECHNOLOGY

Like so many phobias, I can date mine back to a traumatic experience. It happened my first day of junior high school. Starting a new school, changing classes, and having different teachers every period were all intimidating enough, but something worse was to come – I had to learn to open a combination lock.

The experience taught me two important things:

First, when people say, “Please feel free to ask all the questions you want,” they don’t mean it. And when they say, “It’s simple. Just follow the instructions,” they mean they are going to judge you based on your mastery of the “simple” task.

At first, I was excited at the idea of having a locker. I accepted the lock with its accordion-folded instructions with enthusiasm. Then I unfolded the tiny paper and began to read it.

#1. Turn the dial to the left for two complete rotations and stop at four. I had a question already: “Should I start it at four to be sure the rotations were truly complete? And if I have to start at four, should I spin it twice first?” She made me repeat the question twice. Then she said, “Just spin it.”

#2. Turn the dial two times to the right and stop at seven. I raised my hand again. “If I started at four and turned it two times to the right, I wouldn’t be at seven. I’d have to make two and a half turns to get to seven, or should I stop at the seven that’s just one and a half …”

The teacher grabbed the paper out of my hand and pulled me to my locker where she made me do it over and over again, even after the bell rang for first period and kids flooded into the hall. For the rest of the year I was sure whenever my name came up I was sure the kids laughed and said, “You know who she is – the one who couldn’t do her locker.”

Eventually my electricity came back on. I had lights again. I cooled down. No food was lost. But until I can get someone in to reset them, my televisions allow access to all million or so available channels, including the porno channels. And as for the clocks on the stove and coffee maker, no happy ending either. The time is still blinking 0:00.

AN OPINION OF CHILDREN AND PUPPIES

OWEN

OWEN

Breathes there one with soul so dead that he can encounter a two year old child or dog without smiling or laughing….
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung.
(apologies to Sir Walter Scott – but his copyright protection ended 200 years ago)       
MR. MAGOO ON BEACH

WALKING THE BEACH

                    

I think two is the beginning of the very best age for children. From there they get better every day until they until, at their peak, they are the funniest, brightest and most curious creatures on earth. It’s the age before self-consciousness sets in – no guile or

OWEN

OWEN

judgment, just ideas, impressions, and wonder. The world is an inviting, interesting and hysterical place to be. No unexpressed emotions. They love, cry, laugh, sing, and whine with enthusiasm rarely seen in adults. They see the silliness of limits and boundaries. They see us in our own absurdity and think we’re comical, not sad.

I have a friend, Owen who’s four now. When he was three, he decided he needed to start paying his own way. He determined the future was in pinecones. He gathered pinecones and took to the sidewalk with his toy microphone to announce, “I’m selling pinecones today. My stand is open and I’m selling

2009 Mackie on beach

JOY

pinecones today.” But one day his mom told him they had to go shopping so he couldn’t sell. Committed to communicating with his customers, he took his microphone out and announced, “I’m not selling pinecones today. My stand is here but I’m not selling pinecones today.”

With that early success behind him, Owen is thinking of following the path of Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerman. He told his mom, “I’m

MR. MAGOO TASTES THE SEA FOR HIMSELF

MR. MAGOO'S FIRST TASTE OF THE OCEAN

finished with school. I’m ready to make some money. I’m ready for a man job.” Then he took his toy lawnmower and mowed the driveway.

Two begins the best age for dogs too. They still have the energy and spontaneity of puppies but they are beginning to throw off the limits. The

MR. MAGOO FEELING THE SAND AND SURF UNDER HIS FEET

world is there to enjoy. There are sand and sea to feel, to jump in, and to try a taste.

By two, dogs have added a few tricks and some social manners as well. Mr. Magoo herds me, grabs a toy and dares me to take it, and fights for a knotted rope, but he has other interests as well. He loves to go antiquing with me.

WE'LL TAKE IT IF YOU THROW IN A TREAT

WE'LL TAKE IT IF YOU THROW IN A TREAT

Store owners welcome Mr. Magoo because his shop manners put to shame many adult shoppers. When I lay his leash on his back, he lays down and stays there till I’m through looking (I taught him that!). When he stands at the counter to negotiate my purchases with the owner, I promise you I get a better deal.

Isn’t the world beautiful when we can experience it through the senses of Mr. Magoo and Owen?

MY LIFE WITH A CELEBRITY

I’m The Woman Who Lives With Mr. Magoo (Mackie to family and close friends). He’s a soft-coated

Wheaten Terrier with official fan

Wheaten Terrier with new member of fan club

Wheaten Terrier. I’m here to tell you, living with a celebrity is tough. For one thing, it means I’m invisible.

Mackie with one of his followers

Mackie with one of his followers

They said I’d meet my neighbors walking my dog. We walk. I pass neighbors with a big smile. They smile too but it’s never at me. In fact, I don’t think a single person in Georgetown could pick my face out of a line-up. They’ve never seen it, or anything else above Mr. Magoo’s head which comes just below my knee.

Mackie and I live in a creamy, yellow house with a front courtyard where I’ve grown eight, glorious rosebushes, but is that what people appreciate? No. All anybody knows is this is the house where Mr. Magoo lives and if they come by in the late afternoon, they get to pay homage. So they come. Georgetown University coeds bend down to kiss him, old ladies ooh and ah over him, even businessmen drop to their business-suited knees to adore him, and little children push sticky hands through the wrought iron fence (parents, where are your brains? I know he would never hurt a child. But you don’t know this dog! Handless is no way for your child to go through life!!).

 

 

Mr. Magoo [Mackie”]MR. MAGOO TURNED UPSIDE DOWN

MR. MAGOO TURNED UPSIDE DOWN"

One of Mr. Magoo’s followers was petting him when I thought, out loud, about letting him get his own Facebook page, he had followers waiting in line to be first to friend him. I’m afraid to get my own because nobody knows me except as the woman who lives with Mr. Magoo.