<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214</id><updated>2011-07-31T04:27:43.538-05:00</updated><category term='agility'/><category term='training'/><title type='text'>Sue: A girl that needs a job.</title><subtitle type='html'>"A dog is the only thing on  earth that loves you more than he loves himself." 
~ Josh Billings US Humorist (1818 - 1885)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-7456073325231249974</id><published>2010-08-07T22:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-07T22:13:07.337-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Need Work</title><content type='html'>It has been so hot. In the 90s, so Mom and I are having a hard time running in the morning. Plus Mom went on vacation and Bridget is getting married and having a honeymoon so no agility. We got rained out for herding, too. I am going crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom took me to work with her Friday for something to do. She was helping teach a kids class at Wiggles-n-Wags. This week's theme was circus. The kids got to learn about agility. I sat in my crate most of the time, and I was really good. Some of the dogs were rude and walked right up to me in the crate, but I was nice and quiet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See Mom and I in our costumes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/TF4gpU5wx_I/AAAAAAAAAOg/viFU8CcCYKo/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/TF4gpU5wx_I/AAAAAAAAAOg/viFU8CcCYKo/s320/2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-7456073325231249974?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/7456073325231249974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=7456073325231249974' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/7456073325231249974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/7456073325231249974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/08/need-work.html' title='Need Work'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/TF4gpU5wx_I/AAAAAAAAAOg/viFU8CcCYKo/s72-c/2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-2316560518452552089</id><published>2010-03-30T23:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T23:19:49.762-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Yup... job well done!</title><content type='html'>So last night we were leaving for work and as I was rounding the back of the car... there is was a stray cat running. How could I just let it go? Naturally, I did not. I chased it up a tree. Mom called me back (can you say buzz kill?), so I started back to her. As I was leaving the cat climbed down the tree. What the heck? I just finished chasing it up the tree, so I turned and started to chase it down the street. Mom called me again. I admit... I thought about ignoring her... but I didn't. I came back (can you say Rock Star!) and I got treats for coming. That was nice but so was chasing the cat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-2316560518452552089?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/2316560518452552089/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=2316560518452552089' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2316560518452552089'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2316560518452552089'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/03/yup-job-well-done.html' title='Yup... job well done!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-3830423268183089142</id><published>2010-03-08T18:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-08T18:20:00.824-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dog walk</title><content type='html'>At agility practice last night, we worked on the dog walk. This was the COOLEST! I loved it and once I figured out what mom wanted, I took off like a rocket. Excellent. She was eating my dust. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also worked on the teeter again this week, but I had no fear at all of it. I flew back and forth and mom had struggle to keep up with me. I was having a great time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Class didn't start off that great though. Mom brought Holly, so I had to sit in the crate while she and Bridget played with Holly which was totally uncool. Sara was video taping me trying to get me to lie down with the manner's minder, but I wasn't having it. I was too focused on the fun that Holly was having with my two favorite people. It was great when she got tired and went to the car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-3830423268183089142?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/3830423268183089142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=3830423268183089142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3830423268183089142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3830423268183089142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/03/dog-walk.html' title='Dog walk'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-921648864163778210</id><published>2010-03-06T08:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T08:58:57.216-06:00</updated><title type='text'>agility</title><content type='html'>Okay mom is clearly doing something wrong with the jumping. Neither&amp;nbsp; Holly nor I will take the jump across (I know that is not the right term) her body. Where she wants us to jump and turn the opposite way from where she am standing... we just stop and stare at the bar or at her. We have been practicing the jump training at the neutral position and the recall to heel. Mom needs to put a&amp;nbsp; verbal cue of "heel" to this behavior because we have been conditioned to "come front" when she recalls us. She also lowered the jump to 16" for me and 18" for Holly until she feels like we are getting this. Holly actually took to the neutral jump training faster than me. Not that she is graceful or anything.I like to stop and start free shaping the bar sometimes. Sigh... I am so funny.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-921648864163778210?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/921648864163778210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=921648864163778210' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/921648864163778210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/921648864163778210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/03/agility.html' title='agility'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-8724303348372170820</id><published>2010-03-03T09:00:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T08:59:23.028-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='agility'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='training'/><title type='text'>Agility: night #1</title><content type='html'>Sunday night mom and I headed to Narnia to meet with Bridget... who is one of my favorite people in the world. I love to jump on her that crazy the way I use to do to mom until she told me I couldn't do it anymore. Sigh... those were the good old days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway we basically took a crash course in Agility Foundation class. I feel that there is going to be a lot of practicing/ homework which means TREATS in my future. We are learning &lt;a href="http://www.awesomepaws.us/about_us.htm"&gt;Linda Mecklenburg&lt;/a&gt;'s system of agility training, so mom ordered the book &lt;a href="http://www.cleanrun.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=product.display&amp;amp;Product_ID=1457&amp;amp;ParentCat=499"&gt;Developing Jumping Skill&lt;/a&gt;s this morning. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evidently, it has been noticed by mom that when she puts me in a sit, I like to go into a down. This is the first thing we practiced today. Sit stays with distance and recall to heel. Kasey just sat on his mat next to us... drooling. This is so cool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-8724303348372170820?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/8724303348372170820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=8724303348372170820' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8724303348372170820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8724303348372170820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/03/agility-night-1.html' title='Agility: night #1'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-5467343417395915398</id><published>2010-02-25T23:54:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T23:59:30.427-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Working on it...</title><content type='html'>So mom got this "great" idea. Yeah, right. She is teaching me how to do a handstand. I am not sure why she thinks this is a great idea, but it involves treats, so I am cool with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In theory, I am suppose to back up to the wall and then lift my legs up onto the wall. Well, first of all I prefer to walk to the wall and then turn around. We are using books to stack up slowly to get me use to lifting my legs. Tonight I got up to 5 textbooks. Plus mom used a combination of shaping and verbal commands to get me to understand that I have to back up verses walking up to the stack and turning around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where does she come up with stuff? Seriously.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-5467343417395915398?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/5467343417395915398/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=5467343417395915398' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/5467343417395915398'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/5467343417395915398'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/02/working-on-it.html' title='Working on it...'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-1214354936668658979</id><published>2010-02-19T12:49:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T12:52:59.441-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring it on! FINALLY!</title><content type='html'>My Mom has often said that each dog that comes into her life opens a new door for her. Holly turned her into a dog trainer. Kasey turned her into a trainer of reactive, high energy, HIGHLY intelligent working dogs and sheep herding. I am pushing and pulling her into agility. I love it. I am built for it. Sunday night we officially begin our lessons. I can not wait. I know mom will love it once we start. I miss working with Bridget, and I enjoy when Julie runs me through the obstacles at class on Monday, but it is high time Mom and I got serious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-1214354936668658979?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/1214354936668658979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=1214354936668658979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1214354936668658979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1214354936668658979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/02/bring-it-on-finally.html' title='Bring it on! FINALLY!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-6636996543522273151</id><published>2010-02-11T11:58:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T12:00:12.175-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Help is here.</title><content type='html'>Last week during class, mom was walking around talking to people and their dogs. I was just sitting in my crate. Mom was very involved in a conversation with a woman with a reactive papilion. I figured I would help. Quietly I walked over there and sat next to mom. She suddenly looks down and didn't seem as happy to see me as I was to help her. She gave me the... "Susan Reilly get back to your kennel" command, so I bolted across the room back to my crate. Hmf. Whatever. Just trying to help...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-6636996543522273151?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/6636996543522273151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=6636996543522273151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/6636996543522273151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/6636996543522273151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/02/help-is-here.html' title='Help is here.'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-3878326072747919679</id><published>2010-02-01T15:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T16:02:51.340-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Controlled Unleashed: No Problem</title><content type='html'>Mom is working with this lady named Julie who is teaching a Focus/ CU class for reactive agility dogs. Mom knows NOTHING about agility. It is kind of embarrassing, but I try to make her look good. We aren't actually taking the class; we are working. I get to demo. Julie thinks it is funny because I totally ignore all the other dogs. Hey, if I am working who has time to pay attention to barking dogs?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom is trying to teach me to do a handstand. I am not sure why and quite honestly I do not think it is one of my favorite tricks. I like jumping over her arms and under her legs better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-3878326072747919679?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/3878326072747919679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=3878326072747919679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3878326072747919679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3878326072747919679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/02/controlled-unleashed-no-problem.html' title='Controlled Unleashed: No Problem'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-9177409250235177076</id><published>2010-01-12T22:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-12T22:40:58.125-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Winter and it is only January</title><content type='html'>I really feel that I have a few certain jobs as a member of this house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Protect the backyard from squirrels: I look out the window until I spot one then ring the bells to go out. I run out the door at neck-breaking speed (or so that is what my mom calls it) and run to the squirrel and jump to scare it. I then run the perimeter of the yard to check for more. Sometimes I lay in wait for them to come back. Unlike some dumb dogs in this house (i.e Kasey). I do not bark. This takes the element of surprise away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Bite Kasey's face: I need to wrestle with Kasey multiple times a day. I like to bite his face. The winter is great for this. We wrestle and run in the backyard and play. It is fun. Sometimes he can be whiny that it is cold and he wants to go in, but then I just go get a ball and shake it in his face to get him to chase me. Mom has a "no wrestling in the house rule". I just ignore it, but Kasey tries to listen so sometimes if we are in the house we sneak behind some furniture and lay on the floor and play.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Let people pet me: I like to stand next to people and let them pet me. It makes them feel happy. Most days Meredith gets tired in the afternoon and sits in her kid chair to watch tv before her nap. I stand next to her and she pets my ears over and over again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Herd cats: This is an endless job and one that I take seriously. I am starting to think the three cats that live in house don't like me? Weird hu?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom says that sometimes I am "a little much" to deal with. I have third child syndrome right now so I get away with things that Holly and Kasey have never been allowed to do. Having a three year old human in the house really helps. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have not done a lot of herding or running because of the cold. Mom is ready for spring, but I kind of like the snow. It gives me something to eat while I am outside working wildlife. I run with my mouth hanging open like a bulldozer. Yum.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-9177409250235177076?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/9177409250235177076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=9177409250235177076' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/9177409250235177076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/9177409250235177076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/01/long-winter-and-it-is-only-january.html' title='Long Winter and it is only January'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-4518376595766968950</id><published>2009-12-16T11:08:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-21T18:27:45.030-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy, busy, busy</title><content type='html'>Wow! I can't believe it is almost Christmas! It was a year ago this holiday that I was offically adopted. What have I been doing? Sue stuff of course. Mom and I run together whenever we can. I like running with her, and after the first couple of houses, I settle down into a nice trot next to Mom. She calls it heel postion and seems to like me there, so I got with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have not gotten back into agility. Mom has it on her "to do" list. I can't wait. In the mean time, I am still working sheep. I have no passed Kasey (duh). We are working on 50 yard out runs. Sometimes I get exctied and get sucked in, but most of the time I really understand that I am working with my mom/ handler and trying to get work done. I love the sheep herding trainers boy dog Luc. Big party when he is out to play after my lesson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of the time I play with Kasey and Meredith. Kasey being a boy dog is fun to play with because I can bite his face... which is a really cool game if you've never played. Sometimes when we are in the backyard, I grab a toy and shake it in his face to get him to chase me. I love that. Meredith is the little girl that I live with. I like to just sit next to her while she watches tv and she reaches out to pet my ears. I love it and just stand there... UNTIL a cat runs through the room. Everyone has to have a job and mine is to keep an eye on the three cats in this house. Trouble, they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later! Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-4518376595766968950?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/4518376595766968950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=4518376595766968950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/4518376595766968950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/4518376595766968950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2009/12/busy-busy-busy.html' title='Busy, busy, busy'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-556554936498911688</id><published>2009-12-05T22:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-25T23:53:20.612-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dXkLMZdGI/AAAAAAAAALw/mbWkd7KrhIk/s1600-h/IMG00282.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 206px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dXkLMZdGI/AAAAAAAAALw/mbWkd7KrhIk/s320/IMG00282.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442414953692230754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So last year... as I am sure you remember... for Thanksgiving I went to Bridget's house (which was the coolest by the way). This year Bridget has a new puppy, and for reasons that I surely can't not figure out, mom and Bridget decided that it might be a little too busy at Bridget's house for 4 dogs. Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This resulted in me getting to take a road trip with my BFF Meredith and mom and dad to Nebraska. This was THE BEST! I got to be the only dog, which never happens around this place. I sat in the backseat with Meredith watching movies and snoozing on the way there. Quiet as can be. Oh, except for tha&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dXYDo3xsI/AAAAAAAAALo/UjDFH-F2Bbw/s1600-h/IMG00285.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 157px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dXYDo3xsI/AAAAAAAAALo/UjDFH-F2Bbw/s320/IMG00285.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442414745505744578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;t one high pitched bark in dad's ear while he was driving to let him know I had to go potty. It was right around the I-80 truck stop. There was so much to smell I almost forgot why we stopped!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we got to Nebraska, I cuddled with anyone that came near me. Mom and Dad brought my pop-up crate but I dragged the blankets out of it the first night and slept on the floor next to their bed. That was very nice because at home I sleep in my crate. Something about how the cats need a break from me at night. Again... whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rhonda and Bob (dad's parents) had this fabulous backyard with about 100 squirrels. Okay maybe no&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZ9k1ZxTI/AAAAAAAAAMg/9Y8BYsriQ-I/s1600-h/DSC02108.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZ9k1ZxTI/AAAAAAAAAMg/9Y8BYsriQ-I/s320/DSC02108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442417589095089458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;t 100, but a lot. This was heaven for me. I even pushed a chair over to their big window so I could sit comfortably and watch for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dX8wzNeQI/AAAAAAAAAMA/gY5gcHmwW0Y/s1600-h/DSC02111.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 171px; height: 128px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dX8wzNeQI/AAAAAAAAAMA/gY5gcHmwW0Y/s320/DSC02111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442415376103995650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We took tons of walks while there. Every night mom and Rhonda and I would take a walk. It was really nice not to have to walk with that slobbery Kasey dog. We saw lots of other people out walking, but you know, I like to do my own thing so I just sniffed away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZOTAKtXI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/JgsdXLYNWio/s1600-h/DSC02117.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZOTAKtXI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/JgsdXLYNWio/s320/DSC02117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442416776854549874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the time I pla&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZc1o6b3I/AAAAAAAAAMY/X1ObvZuKHJo/s1600-h/DSC02122.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 193px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dZc1o6b3I/AAAAAAAAAMY/X1ObvZuKHJo/s320/DSC02122.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442417026670423922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;yed with my toys and pretty much forced everyone to either nap with me or pet me. Oh yeah, they could not resist me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did not leave Nebraska without leaving my personal mark. Anytime the people left the house, they put me in a bathroom in the basement. The first time I was fine, but then I noticed that there were marks on the door frame from another dog that had tried to dig her way out. This seemed like a good idea, so the rest of the time I was put in there... I would continue what I saw as a dog family tradition and scratch away the wood on the door frame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And who says I am not a team player? Clearly, they do not know my work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-556554936498911688?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/556554936498911688/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=556554936498911688' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/556554936498911688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/556554936498911688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2010/02/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/S4dXkLMZdGI/AAAAAAAAALw/mbWkd7KrhIk/s72-c/IMG00282.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-8827775973611826377</id><published>2009-10-31T11:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T11:41:43.227-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SykbowJhG9I/AAAAAAAAALg/EvChSGVFoT0/s1600-h/DSC01976.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SykbowJhG9I/AAAAAAAAALg/EvChSGVFoT0/s320/DSC01976.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5415890413823269842" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What do you mean I am NOT going trick or treating?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-8827775973611826377?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/8827775973611826377/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=8827775973611826377' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8827775973611826377'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8827775973611826377'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-do-you-mean-i-am-not-going-trick.html' title=''/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SykbowJhG9I/AAAAAAAAALg/EvChSGVFoT0/s72-c/DSC01976.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-3469328398201894653</id><published>2009-03-04T08:35:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T08:36:39.042-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Time for a change.</title><content type='html'>I guess I need to change the name of my blog. When I started this blog, I was looking for a new home, but quite frankily I see no reason to leave this place. My foster home is what I have always wanted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-3469328398201894653?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/3469328398201894653/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=3469328398201894653' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3469328398201894653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3469328398201894653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2009/03/time-for-change.html' title='Time for a change.'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-2651713427554154562</id><published>2008-11-29T16:49:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-17T16:50:59.245-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Letter from Sue's Thanksgiving Visit</title><content type='html'>Here is a letter that my new friend Bridget sent to my foster mom while my foster family was away for Thanksgiving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Hi!  I hope you had a good Thanksgiving!  Things are going well.  Sue is a bundle of energy... she was awake all day today until about 7pm.  Summer and Duke were sound asleep in the family room and Sue kept trying to play with Duke while he was asleep.  He would just lay there and play with her- I took some video of it.  She finally settled down and took a nap!  I took her and Summer to Superdogz today to rent the ring.  She got to do the full size A-frame and dog walk, table, and all of the other equipment there.  She did great!  She was pretty spooked by the teeter because it's so tall and loud, so we'll work more on the low teeter here.  I'm going to go again tomorrow and I'll try to get Andy to come with me to get a video of her.  Sue and Summer were in the house together and Summer brought a tug toy over to play- I think they got too aroused and got into an argument.  I pulled them apart and separated them, and they calmed down quickly with no problems afterwards.  Then Sue and Duke got into it over a toy.  Sue growled at him and he totally ignored her growl, so it's his fault for being stupid. Today Sue and Duke have been playing quite a bit inside.  Summer really wants to play with Sue but is cautious, and Sue just ignores Summer.  She's been really good about sitting by the door to ask to go outside.She's eating well, pooping well, and she has been chewing her nylabones a lot.  She has also been playing with toys out in the yard.  She just grabs a toy and runs laps and she brings the toys back better than my dogs!  We've been taking them on walks with no problem.  She's all about business on walks!  Kelly e-mailed me and is going to pick her up sometime in the afternoon.  I'm going to be sad to see her go!  I hope you're having a good time. &lt;br /&gt;Bridget&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-2651713427554154562?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/2651713427554154562/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=2651713427554154562' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2651713427554154562'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2651713427554154562'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/11/letter-from-sues-thanksgiving-visit.html' title='A Letter from Sue&apos;s Thanksgiving Visit'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-6212741228883813068</id><published>2008-09-29T10:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-29T10:17:58.254-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Girl</title><content type='html'>So my foster mom decided that I have been laying around doing nothing for long enough. I had to get a job. I spent the summer keep seagulls off the beaches, and now we are into goose season, so I am on goose patrol. Mom works for a company called &lt;a href="http://www.wildgoosechasers.com/newindex.html"&gt;Another Wild Goose Chase&lt;/a&gt;. It is very cool. Mom sometimes takes me and Kasey or me and Holly. She said I have a really strong desire to work, and a strong prey drive that makes this kind of work fun for me. She has to keep an eye on me though; I sometimes like to take things into my own paws.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past Sunday I started agility lessons. I go and hang out with this really nice trainer named Bridget. Bridget has been completing in agility with her dogs, and she has a course set up in her backyard. Bridget is actually training me because mom said that I have to learn to work with someone else besides her. Everytime I did something right, I ran back to mom to make sure that she was watching. She tried going in the house, but I sat at the door and waited for her... not even treats would get me away. We are going to go every Sunday to work with Bridget.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lastly, I am still working sheep. I have decided that flanking isn't that bad. :) Mom now calls me zippy. Although I would still prefer to hold them in one place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well time for a run with mom. 5 miles today. Easy money I say. Why does Mom sweat and breathe so hard?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later~&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUE&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-6212741228883813068?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/6212741228883813068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=6212741228883813068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/6212741228883813068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/6212741228883813068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/09/working-girl.html' title='Working Girl'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-8710905485517699689</id><published>2008-07-07T13:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-07T13:09:57.540-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy little dog</title><content type='html'>Time sure does fly. I wonder when I will find this "forever home" place. I do like my foster home. Here I get treats, I play with Kasey my foster brother, I play with the baby in the house Meredith, and I get to go to obedience class. I also enjoy going on lots of walks with my foster mom and Meredith. I also get to go to sheep herding lessons once a week which are very cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do manage to get myself into trouble though. I chew toys sometimes, and I am forever hunting squirrels in the backyard. This drives mom crazy. She keeps trying to stop me. Why? A girl has to have hobbies! I have worn a path in the yard where I run to look for squirrels. Mom is not happy about this at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom says I have a lot of puppy in me, so if someone is looking for a clean slate to train into some type of performance dog... I am your dog. I can jump REALLY high without any effort at all, and mom says I am pretty fearless of new things so she really thinks I would be a good dog for a home that is looking for a dog to train at agility. It sounds cool, but right now I have only read about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-8710905485517699689?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/8710905485517699689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=8710905485517699689' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8710905485517699689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/8710905485517699689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/07/busy-little-dog.html' title='Busy little dog'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-2422239520000127121</id><published>2008-06-03T22:59:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T00:32:52.387-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Squirrels and birds and bugs</title><content type='html'>Wow. It really is all I can say. They seem to come out of nowhere. I use to be excited to go out in the yard because it meant running and playing with Kasey, but now... it means WORK! It was sometime last week that my eyes where opened to the work of chasing squirrels and birds. Kasey, my foster brother, showed me how to do it. I will forever be grateful; mom forever annoyed. He even showed me how to climb the fence, too. Mom took a video of me trying out his technique. We have a 5 foot fence that Mom feels I could take. Of course,... I could. Duh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The birds are also very interesting. Yesterday Mom let Kasey and I out into the yard and there were birds in the grass. Kasey and I flushed them out every quickly. I was exciting! Then I decided to kick it up a notch by jumping in the air and catching one in my mouth. While I thought it was pretty impressive, Mom did not. She yelled, "DROP IT!" which I did. Lame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another cool thing I have discovered are June Bugs. These little critters fly around the windows and the yard lights at night. I just jump up and make a tasty snack out of them. Mom thinks I look like one of those dogs doing freestyle dance. She also says it is gross. What does she know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later,&lt;br /&gt;SUE&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-2422239520000127121?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/2422239520000127121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=2422239520000127121' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2422239520000127121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2422239520000127121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/06/squirrels-and-birds-and-bugs.html' title='Squirrels and birds and bugs'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-7543915170041683260</id><published>2008-05-18T17:22:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T16:56:29.093-05:00</updated><title type='text'>List of tricks!</title><content type='html'>Here is the list of tricks that I either know or I am working on. Aren't I just the best?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;sit&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;stand&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;down&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;off (leave it)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;look at me&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;swing&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;finish&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;halt&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;shake&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;figure eight&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;sit stay&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;down stay&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;settle &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;settle stay&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;sit at the door before going outside (I hate this one. Doors were meant to be charged through)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;go to your kennel&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;potty&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;come&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;reliable&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;recall&lt;/span&gt; (I come to a whistle... any tune)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;gotcha&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;say hello&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Mom as saved all my training sheets, so when I get to my forever home, my future mom/dad will be able to pick up where my foster mom has left off. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-7543915170041683260?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/7543915170041683260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=7543915170041683260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/7543915170041683260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/7543915170041683260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/05/list-of-tricks.html' title='List of tricks!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-1848802574102291493</id><published>2008-05-16T15:31:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T17:48:18.601-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Likes and Dislikes</title><content type='html'>Well now that I have been here awhile I am feeling comfortable with being the cute little Sue that I am. I decided to make a list of all the things that I like about being in at my foster home:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going to obedience class&lt;br /&gt;taking car rides&lt;br /&gt;going for walks&lt;br /&gt;going running&lt;br /&gt;working sheep&lt;br /&gt;having a young male dog to play with&lt;br /&gt;my crate&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nylabones&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;pink collar, pink blanket,... quite frankily, I look good in it!&lt;br /&gt;tricky treat ball&lt;br /&gt;clicker training&lt;br /&gt;cuddling&lt;br /&gt;staring at the cats&lt;br /&gt;chasing squirrels&lt;br /&gt;living in a yard with a 6 foot privacy fence&lt;br /&gt;jumping, jumping, and more jumping&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some things that I have learned that I do NOT really like:&lt;br /&gt;dog parks&lt;br /&gt;dogs that run&lt;br /&gt;other female dogs&lt;br /&gt;bossy dogs&lt;br /&gt;water hoses&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe there is more, but I am a positive kind of girl, so I can't think of anything else right now!&lt;br /&gt;Peace out,&lt;br /&gt;Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-1848802574102291493?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/1848802574102291493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=1848802574102291493' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1848802574102291493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1848802574102291493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/05/likes-and-dislikes.html' title='Likes and Dislikes'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-1754355000370780563</id><published>2008-05-01T23:40:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T17:49:59.941-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Training, training, training.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SCPFRmt3NWI/AAAAAAAAAEo/LjrJuIcVkPE/s1600-h/Sue__supervising%5B1%5D.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5198215301157041506" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="182" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SCPFRmt3NWI/AAAAAAAAAEo/LjrJuIcVkPE/s320/Sue__supervising%5B1%5D.JPG" width="262" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I mention that my foster mom is a dog trainer? It is pretty cool because I get to do lots of fun stuff. Tuesday night my mom works, so I get to go help with classes. Here is a picture of me watching class thorugh the window. I have to wait in the office sometimes. In the Advanced Class (&lt;a href="http://www.narniapets.com/"&gt;http://www.narniapets.com/&lt;/a&gt;), the dogs have been practicing lining up against the stage. I am then recalled to my foster mom past all the other dogs. I can't visit with them; they can't break their stays and visit with me. I recall on a dime, so it is easy for me. Sometimes, I can feel the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pres&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SC4PbIsmvMI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RRfAFGBpq0o/s1600-h/Sue_gauntlet_sm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5201111578524957890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="157" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SC4PbIsmvMI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RRfAFGBpq0o/s320/Sue_gauntlet_sm.jpg" width="227" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;sure&lt;/span&gt; of the other dogs about to break, so I curve out. This gives their owners a clue that their dogs are not comfortable or settled in their stays. I do like to be a helper girl, you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also played a game where there are cones on the floor and each dog has to walk the different cones with their owners and preform a series of commands... voice only. I came in second place. Everyone was happy for me because I am so knew at this! I thought, "If they knew how good liver was, they would do it too." After class, Uncle Kelly let his dog, Bryce, out to play. I love to herd Bryce. Mom and Uncle Kelly do not like this, and I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; understand that. I still wish I could lunge out and give him a good nip, but I control myself because Mom is right there. Seriously, how is a girl suppose to have fun?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thursday night I went to my class: Beginner Obedience. There were a lot of dogs there and at first I could care less... that was until I tasted the best treat of all time: HOT DOG! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;OMG&lt;/span&gt; that was wonderful. This really nice lady named Joy came around the room and gave each dog a piece of hot dog. Yummy! I tried to follow her because I wanted another, but mom said no. Whatever. We got this piece of hot dog again if we came when called. Easy money for me. A quick whistle and I come flying... fast. I don't stop until I slam into mom's legs in a sit. I like to end with style. I then realized that the dog next to me was getting hot dogs the entire class. What the heck? I tried going over there a couple of times, but again mom said no. Whatever. Then we learned a new trick called "settle". This required me to lay on the floor on my side totally relaxed while mom gave be lots of petting. I liked it. Later we worked on "off". I hate this word because mom loves this word... off the couch, off the counter, off the cats, .... sigh.... see what I mean? Anyway, we were working on "off" the treat on the floor. Mom's hand was covering the treat. I tried licking mom's hand to get the treat. It didn't work. I tried pawing mom's hand. It didn't work. So I sat back and thought for a minute. What the heck... I flopped into a settle. Mom seem to like it at the beginning of class, so why not? It worked. Mom started laughing, and I got the treat. I win.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-1754355000370780563?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/1754355000370780563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=1754355000370780563' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1754355000370780563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1754355000370780563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/training-training-training.html' title='Training, training, training.'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SCPFRmt3NWI/AAAAAAAAAEo/LjrJuIcVkPE/s72-c/Sue__supervising%5B1%5D.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-2726413303855541125</id><published>2008-04-25T10:16:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T23:27:16.038-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Herding sheep instead of dogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKrXm-2gRI/AAAAAAAAAEA/-LX0pGke2xI/s1600-h/sheep1blog.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193401742401110290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 296px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 208px" height="172" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKrXm-2gRI/AAAAAAAAAEA/-LX0pGke2xI/s320/sheep1blog.JPG" width="265" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Last weekend, my foster mom took Kasey and I to a herding clinic. Evidently, Kasey knew what was up because he started pacing the closer we got to the farm. I just laid down in my crate and chewed my bone. Once the car stopped, I rested in my crate enjoying the breeze and watching all the dogs and people going by. Eventually, mom came back to the car and took Kasey. Wow... when he came back he was tired and so happy. Sheep.... &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;... what kind of drug are these sheep? It makes Kasey crazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom then took me out of my crate and lead me down to the pasture. There they were: SHEEP! I got to spend the rest of the afternoon watching the best border collie &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt; I have ever seen. Sheep and dogs working in a pen. It looked pretty cool. My mom and the other people there were impressed because I was so calm in my watching of the sheep. I liked that everyone stop to pet me, plus I made some new dog friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKsvW-2gUI/AAAAAAAAAEY/NE_ZPqt_6j0/s1600-h/sheep2blog.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193403249934631234" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" height="202" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKsvW-2gUI/AAAAAAAAAEY/NE_ZPqt_6j0/s320/sheep2blog.JPG" width="256" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toward the end of the afternoon, the trainer Kathy (&lt;a href="http://www.dancinghearts.org/"&gt;http://www.dancinghearts.org/&lt;/a&gt; ) took me into the pen with the sheep. She kept trying to get me to come closer to the sheep, but I felt safer moving them into a corner and laying down and staring at them. I started to worry that maybe I would get in trouble, so I climbed under the gate to find my foster mom. She brought me back into the pen with Kathy and the sheep. Kathy's dog Russell came in too, and he was moving the sheep all over the place. I began to get the idea that I was suppose to hold the sheep to mom and the trainer, but I really felt safer working them from a distance and holding them in one place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The trainer said this is what happens when people let their dogs work livestock through a fence or when chained up. She thinks I lack confidence due to probably being corrected for what is my natural &lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;instinct&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we went back on Wednesday for Kasey's weekly lesson, I got a turn too. This time it was just mom and I. Every time I tried to lie down, mom made me get up and start moving. By the time we were done, both mom and I were tired. I heard mom making plans with Kathy to bring me back. Cool.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5193402558444896562" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKsHG-2gTI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/NXZcSNoIRNs/s320/hhblog.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-2726413303855541125?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/2726413303855541125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=2726413303855541125' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2726413303855541125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2726413303855541125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/herding-sheep-instead-of-dogs.html' title='Herding sheep instead of dogs'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SBKrXm-2gRI/AAAAAAAAAEA/-LX0pGke2xI/s72-c/sheep1blog.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-2636766755826795979</id><published>2008-04-18T17:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T17:14:00.318-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What a week &amp; it isn't over!</title><content type='html'>I am been so busy this week, which is very cool. I love to go for walks with my foster mom, and I even walk nicely next to the stroller, so Meredith comes with us. Today we walked to the park, and while Meredith was swinging in the swing, I sat next to Mom. I love being with mom, sometimes she says it is too much. While I don't shove the baby aside, I do try to push my foster brother out of the way. Mom says that it is rude, but hey, I love to love... how can you not like that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can see from my video, I have finally meet my foster brother, Kasey. He is crazy just like me...but he is 3 years old! We run around and play in the backyard together. I hope my forever home has a boy dog that I can play with. I like playing with other dogs better than toys. I am still learning about toys. Thursday morning, Mom, Meredith, and I went to the pet store. Another cool place, I sniffed practically EVERY bag of dog food that I could get my snout on. Yummy. I was in heaven. We bought a squirrel toy for me... which no offense... I don't get it. It doesn't move like the real thing, so what is the point? We also bought a little pink heart charm with my name on it. Mom said that if something happens and I get lost, people will be able to call her to come get me. Lost? I am not leaving this place... let me tell you. At the pet store, people gave me little treats and pet me. I was warming up to people quickly. Mom said I did a good job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I am going to take off. I have had a hard day of walking, playing, and training. Tomorrow we are going to a sheep herding clinic. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;... I wonder if I am going to like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later,&lt;br /&gt;Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-2636766755826795979?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/2636766755826795979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=2636766755826795979' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2636766755826795979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/2636766755826795979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/what-week-it-isnt-over.html' title='What a week &amp; it isn&apos;t over!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-1052413360083687758</id><published>2008-04-14T14:17:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T14:43:56.632-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ready for a nap</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOyKl8phaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/IHDKF30-pfU/s1600-h/DSC00801.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189187090715870626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOyKl8phaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/IHDKF30-pfU/s320/DSC00801.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That whole vet thing was exhausting. We woke up early today and went on a walk. When we got home, my foster mom put me in the car. I love to sit in the front seat, although the past couple of days she made me sit in the backseat. This morning she put me behind a gate in the far back of the Jeep. I was like... "What the heck? How am I suppose to see?" So as soon as mom went in the house, I pushed the bars apart and climbed up to the front and took my seat... shotgun. All of a sudden, she looks out the window at me. I was happy to see her, but she didn't seem as happy. She came outside and moved me to the far back again. Before she even got back in the house, I climbed up to the front again. When she brought Meredith out, she made me get in the far back again. What's up with these cheap seats? How is a girl suppose to see? I decided while we were driving to climb up front to visit. Mom gave me a stern "ah-ah" sound. Ooops! I don't like that sound, so I climbed back. Fine, I'll look out the back... although it seems pointless to look at where I have been instead of where I am going. People are weird sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOyLF8phbI/AAAAAAAAAAU/A_TgIdgxblw/s1600-h/DSC00802.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189187099305805234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="173" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOyLF8phbI/AAAAAAAAAAU/A_TgIdgxblw/s320/DSC00802.JPG" width="245" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We dropped off Meredith at the babysitter's and then ended up at this vet place. I'll be honest; I've liked other places more. They were nice, or at least trying to be, petting me and talking to me in nice voices, but I wasn't enjoying this. My eyes were big and I kept trying to hide behind mom. The vet said I was in beautiful shape: clear eyes, clean ears, great white teeth. He couldn't find a scar from a spay (What the heck is that?), and he says there is no sign that I have ever had a heat cycle (Again... what are these people talking about?). He and mom discussed me coming back. Are they serious? I guess we are waiting on a heartworm test and a fecal exam. Really? More tests? I am tired. When we got home, I went straight to my crate for a nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gotta go,&lt;br /&gt;Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-1052413360083687758?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/1052413360083687758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=1052413360083687758' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1052413360083687758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1052413360083687758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/ready-for-nap.html' title='Ready for a nap'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOyKl8phaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/IHDKF30-pfU/s72-c/DSC00801.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-1306435582356708046</id><published>2008-04-14T07:58:00.009-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T21:37:10.017-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What a weekend!</title><content type='html'>Wow. I was busy this weekend. Saturday some of my foster mom's friends from the dog training facility that she works at came over. Plus, my Aunt Amy and Uncle Kelly came over too. I had a test to take. I was kind of nervous, but mom said I would do fine. The test was called a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;temperament&lt;/span&gt; test. I guess it is given to a lot of dogs that come to rescues or shelters. Bonnie, the nice lady that administered the test, pet me, talk to me, and gave me some really yummy canned food. She had this weird fake hand that I was kind of scared off, but she said I did good! Whew, I was nervous. It was nice to have all those people over to pet and visit me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday was another busy day. My foster mom walks me twice a day, plus we have three training sessions a day. I have not been able to meet her dogs Holly and Kasey yet, so there are gates everywhere. Each of us has time in our crates to nap and time out &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOzYV8phcI/AAAAAAAAAAc/4vM9Evg2eSw/s1600-h/DSC00800.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5189188426450699714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOzYV8phcI/AAAAAAAAAAc/4vM9Evg2eSw/s320/DSC00800.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;to hang out with the family. There is a little baby here named Meredith that I have been able to meet through the baby gates. She held up her hand, and I gave it lots of kisses. I think I like kids. I don't even care when she screams in a really high pitch scream... although mom doesn't seem to like it. Anyway, in the afternoon, we went over the Uncle Kelly and Aunt Amy's house. They have 3 border collies. All boys. I meet their dog Bryce. We walked around the neighborhood together, and I was kind of scared of him at first. When he leaned out to sniff me, I ran behind mom and poked my head between her legs to peek out. I will tell you this... Bryce loves these things called balls (I don't really get it. As a matter of a fact, I don't understand toys at all!). Anytime he would move suddenly for the ball, I would lunge out and nip him. You just can't have dogs moving all over the place like that. Mom and Uncle Kelly were not happy about this, but I am not sure they understand that I am just trying to keep things orderly. Can you blame a girl? I heard them formulating a plan to teach me not to do this. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;... I wonder if treats will be involved. I also heard mom say that my forever home should not have cats because my nipping would hurt them. Forever home? What is this place she speaks of? Do you know? It sounds pretty cool, and I can't wait to get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best part of the day was my Aunt Amy brought me a very delicious cookie from &lt;a href="http://www.two-bostons.com/"&gt;Two Bostons&lt;/a&gt;. I loved it. It is the most excited I have ever gotten about a treat! :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, we are off to the vet. I'll report back later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love ya,&lt;br /&gt;Sue&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-1306435582356708046?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/1306435582356708046/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=1306435582356708046' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1306435582356708046'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/1306435582356708046'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/what-weekend.html' title='What a weekend!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kuvA4Bb_23c/SAOzYV8phcI/AAAAAAAAAAc/4vM9Evg2eSw/s72-c/DSC00800.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4659335341807018214.post-3870798699545730393</id><published>2008-04-13T13:36:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-14T21:38:32.154-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So this is Illinois!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Hello! My name is Sue. Well, that is my name as of Friday, April 11th. That is when my foster mom, Rebecca, and my foster uncle, Kelly came and picked me up. Originally, I am from an Amish farm in Kentucky. I used to be chained to a barn and not feed a lot of food. Then a family saw me one day, and took me to their home in Illinois. They had such good intentions, but... hey... I am a border collie! And a young one at that, probably about 10 months. I found their cats so interesting, and I just had to chase them. I didn't mean to torment their Chinchilla, but she was right there in that little cage running around! I didn't realize that when their lab was playing fetch that I wasn't suppose to herd her! What can I say... I am a border collie. I have had very little training and very little socialization, so I am scared of most things at first. But once I get to know things, watch out, I am all snuggles, hugs, and jumps! My foster mom is going to take care of me and train me, so that I can find my forever home. It sounds pretty cool because I have been moved around a lot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Talk to you later, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;Sue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4659335341807018214-3870798699545730393?l=bcsue.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/feeds/3870798699545730393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4659335341807018214&amp;postID=3870798699545730393' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3870798699545730393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4659335341807018214/posts/default/3870798699545730393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bcsue.blogspot.com/2008/04/so-this-is-illinois.html' title='So this is Illinois!'/><author><name>Rebecca</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11952127517462290080</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
