Airline travel for us miniature poodles is a spaced-out, smelly and very
constricted experience, stuffed in a breakout-safe “doggy-bag” under the airline seat in front of mom, only inches away from smelly feet odors coming the from the passenger under who’s seat I am forced be for the next 11 hours. Even worse is that there is no food or service on the trip, not even a bathroom visit is allowed for us poodles. Isn’t that discrimination or what!

The trip usually starts with eating two of mom’s irresistible home made but “make-me-drowsy” cheese-balls right before we board the plane. Not sure what is in them, they taste just great but they sure make me sleepy! So sleepy that for the next 7 or 8 hours I am all spaced-out, no need for a movie with those kind of dreams! The next few hours I am slowly waking up from my drug induced sleep and I am feeling an increasing need to go to the bathroom. Final two hours I am trying to make different type of sounds in order to make mom and dad (and everyone else in my section of the cabin) aware of the situation; I really have to go, NOW! Right after landing, an accident is close to happen. It is now a matter of minutes! Either dad will have to carry an accident-dripping 'doggy-bag' through customs or he better reach outside of the terminal carrying me in ithe "doggy-bag" in record time! This time reach we reach the outside just before I bust. I crawl out of the bag, briefly stretching my neck, my nose pointing up in the air, trying to get my nose in shape to smell something else than the smelly feet on the plane, it is not always a blessing to pick up sents 100 times better than humans! I start pulling dad in the leach towards the closest lamppost or at least vertical standing object (you can’t be picky in this situation), really any object looking like it could use a fare share of humidity is my target right now. In just seconds I reach the closest lamppost, my highest priority is relief, and finally, with one leg high in the air, a miniature version of Niagara Falls is in making! After a minute or so it is over, the yellow stream is slowly making its way towards the closes sewer. I will just need one more stop now (requiering dad to take out one of his plastic bags) and I am ready to go inside the terminal for the last leg of the trip. I wonder if mom brought any more of those
cheese-balls…..

Each day at 9 a.m. my nerves tie up, my neck stiffens, my back is absolutely straight and the curls on my back extended to their maximum! I am ready, listening to every sound; I listen for my neighbor dogs signaling system that we cleverly set up alerting all other dogs in the neighborhood about the Mailman’s arrival long before I can actually hear him myself. Is he coming? Is he coming now or later? Will I be the first to alert the other dogs of his arrival? Will he come to our door delivering a packet to my mom (usually from Amazon.com) or will he just put bills in the mailbox? As soon as I get the slightest sense that he might be coming I rush to my favorite window where I stand on my two strong back legs, my front legs pulling on the windows sill, stretching my neck to its fullest, pressing my cold nose against the windowpane in anticipation that I might get a glance of the mailman before he arrives. 

Suddenly my neighbor and dear friend “Danger”, the big black Rottweiler, starts barking, signaling the mailman's arrival and there he is, I see it is my favorite mailman Henry! I start joining Danger, I bark like a "crazy dog", barking as high as my vocals allow, almost hauling! I have to stop for a second, filling my lungs with air again and then I continue barking. My mom is apparently with me because she is barking to (or so I believe) as she is telling me to be quiet. My dad joins in, barking much in the same way as mom, not a real bark because it sounds more like “be quiet” but it will do. So there we are, all three of us barking! I run towards the door, the adrenalin rush makes my heart beat faster than a drum roll at Circus, I am way ahead of my mom and have to put the breaks on, sliding and backpedaling the last six feet towards the door in order to not crash into it but I made it, now faithfully waiting for mom or dad! What is keeping them so long? I am much faster than my two legged pack members that joins me at the door almost a minute after I reached it. My mom tells me to "sit"(!), a command I know well because it us usually followed by an irresistible dog treat, so I immediately sit and I am quiet (I know the rules, no treat if I am barking). The door opens and there is Henry the Mailman, and yes he has a packet for mom, from Amazon.com (mom’s favorite site on the Internet). The door closes and it is over for today and … well, I did not get a treat, because I was barking mom said, but it was worth it, today’s excitement nevertheless! Hmm…I wonder, maybe the UPS guy will be here in the afternoon???...

What can be more wonderful after an exhausting day, filled of exciting moments such as my morning run with dad (imagining I am on an expedition hunting for prey) and the obligatory once a day frantic barking at the mailman, than to happily crawl through the perfectly sized opening into my cozy and wonderfully crafted (sorry, should be…willfully copied…) mass-produced plastic crate, imported from China? It is in my mind the most beautiful creation of two molded gray plastic halves with screws on the sides to hold the two halves together, much like two gigantic shoeboxes where one is put upside down on top of the other and glued together in the middle with an opening cut out in one of the short ends. 

The crate gives a bachelor male poodle like me a private hideaway and penthouse with a sturdy roof over my head. Inside the crate there is plenty of room for me and my most precious must have dog toys, such my favorite chewy bone and the essential breath refreshing gum sanitizer. I have a cozy and soft wool pad on the floor to keep me warm when resting. However, mom wrapped the pad in a scratch resistant fleece blanket because I always carefully prepare myself for resting by walking in a circle inside the crate pushing down and scratching away the (imaginary) tall grass that are in the way of having a restful nights sleep and I got through two of the wool pads before mom had the idea of wrapping the pad in the fleece blanket. Now I can scratch as much as I want and no real damage occurs (just shredding a few blankets a year but they are much cheaper than the pads says mom). 

My crate is also my dear travel companion. Wherever I go with mom and dad I have to bring my crate, it is like bringing a peace of safety with me. Nothing can happen to me in the protection of my crate. However, I once traveled for a day without my crate (the airline temporarily lost it) and I will never do that again! I cried all night because I could not find rest when I did not know if my crate was safe. Next time I will be inside the crate all the time. If it gets lost I will at least be where my crate is! I am also in the crate (belted in the backset) when driving with mom and dad. I heard that child seats have to have a child safety rating. I am pretty sure my crate has that rating too but it is poodle safety rated. I think it says it is safe for poodles up to 10 pounds... 

Well it is almost naptime I will end this blog now and waddle down to my crate, push down the “grass” by wondering in a circle for a minute or so as usual, scratch my pad a little, settle down and get to sleep on my back with my legs in the air in resting position, as always! Nighty nighty!

There is nothing like “Fika”, I just love it! My mom and dad thought me, what
they say, is the most used Swedish word in Sweden and I would not be surprised if this is the most famous Swedish word in the world. My mom explained that in Sweden, two times a day, one time in the mid morning and one time in the mid afternoon there is “Fika rast” ("Fika break" or shorter “fika”) at every workplace in Sweden during which work stops for 15-20 minutes and all sit down together and catch up on world events and/or just to have a cup of coffee and perhaps a snack of some sort. I say skip the cup of coffee and the world events lets just go for the snacks part.  I can really assure you that if we stay with just the snacks part, then the word “fika” is a good word, in every possible meaning! ...Continued below...

Where is my Fika?

If I hear the word “Fika” anytime, even when I am deep asleep (in my fantastic and comfortable crate that will tell you more about another time), even if someone would just whisper the word “Fika” 50 feet away from me, I would bounce up, probably even hit my cute head in the crate opening on my way rushing out, in my excitement to as soon as possible be very close to any person that utters such a lovely word! Say “fika” and I will make myself more than available at any time, day or night! Mom usually makes my “fika” and it normally consist of special dry food with a salty cheese biscuit crushed and sprinkled on top. Oh my… I just love the taste of that salty cheese biscuit so much that even the dry food tastes good and from the time the small bowl of “fika” is put on the floor next to me, all my “fika” is absolutely gone in 15 seconds or less so I am not sure why Swedish people need 15 minutes “fika rast” when I just need 15 seconds! Anyway, I think that all languages should adopt the lovely word “fika”. It just makes sense that something that tasts so good would be universal and globally recognizable. In fact, it should be a law in every country to have “fika rast” and if not for 15 minutes, lets make it 15 seconds and maybe allow everyone additional 5 seconds to reach their bowl of “fika” and that’s all there is to it, as I see it!

Last weekend my mom and dad took me on a road trip to the coast. I think they said something about Hunting Ester Bunnies, or was it Colored Egg Hunt because it was the Easter holiday. I like to think it must have been hunting the Ester Bunny because why would someone hunt colored eggs that cannot move by themselves? We saw two rabbits (bunnies) on the hunt and both times they showed up unexpectedly on the trail …but I was prepared, I stated my hunt, accelerating rapidly, zero to 30 mph in one second and I am sure I would have couth them but both times I was suddenly snatched back to reality because my mom and dad must also have liked to be part of the hunt and attached themselves to the other end of the too short leach and I had no chance to catch the rabbits having to drag mom and dad along with me. But mom was prepared for the possibility of an unsuccessful Easter bunny hunt and - in the car - she had already prepared food that we did not have to hunt.However, next year, if I have to be attached to mom and dad via the leach, then I vote for hunting Colored Easter Eggs instead

 I am ready for the hunt, bring on the Easter bunnies!