Marmageddon!

Hi everyone! We don't have Gus' 30 below temperatures here, but it's been awfully cold. So cold in fact that on Saturday, I refused to go on my afternoon walk. The pics of Wimsey looking unhappy in his halti inspired me to wage my own houndly campaign of resistance. I planted my feet, hung my head (causing some sinister-looking wrinkles), and flatly refused to move. Mom finally decided it was too cold to stand outside and beg me to go, so I was returned to the comfort of my lounge chair and Mom went on about bloodhound stubborness.
If you're wondering about the title of this post, it's the new word Mom and Dad thought up to use when I exhibit particularly houndly behavior, most of which involve making some kind of mess. Recent examples are:
Eating canned food--it gets EVERYWHERE--my snout, my ears (perhaps I need a snood), on the walls, the floor... you name it. Mom always stands by with a wet rag for the wipedown.
Counter-surfing (the successful kind where I actually find and decimate something). The most recent episode involved Dad's spent grains from beer brewing, sitting in a bowl on the counter ready for me to take down and enjoy. Unfortunately, the bowl falling got Dad's attention and he snatched the yummy stuff away before Bernie and I could really go to town... oh well, next time.
My howl when I want to run over and sniff someone or tell off other dogs--usually the not-so-nice dogs in the neighborhood. My voice reverberates through the entire neighborhood--it's rather impressive, really.

Anyway, as promised are some pics of me in my new sweater, which is very snuggly and comfy indeed. Hound fashion and function at its finest. A-roo!

Leaf pile hounds

Hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving. I am feeling great and think that my duck and sweet potato food is the best stuff ever invented. Mom says I'm looking very shiny and is hoping I'll put on some weight soon.
Unlike lucky Wimsey, we didn't get to supervise the roasting of the turkey this year since Mom and Dad went over to Grandad and Grandma's for dinner. Mom still has nightmares about the turkey leg she had to pull out of Bernie's mouth last year. He was about to swallow it whole!
The weather was yucky, but luckily we still got some nice seasonal shots in. There is a mouse that lives in our wood pile and I was bound and determined to flush him out. Bernie, on the other hand, was playing in the leaves. Mom and Dad wouldn't mind him diving into the leaf piles if he didn't pee on them first... typical male dog, I say.

All is well in Marmie's world

Hi everyone! Just a quick note to say I'm feeling much better. I got home from the hospital on Saturday night and Mom, Dad, and Bernie have been taking great care of me. I'm on special food and tomorrow I start my new food--sweet potato and duck--YUM!! Hopefully I can start having my yummy chummies again soon. Thanks to everyone for their get well messages. It was a scary time, but Dr. Foster and the staff at the emergency clinic in Rockville were fantastic. They saved my life and this hound girl is forever grateful. A-roooo!

Bernie saves his sister's life

Hi everyone, it's Marmalade's Mom here. Marmie can't blog for a few days--she had emergency surgery tonight for bloat. It came on really quickly and luckily we were able to rush her to the emergency vet in time. It was thanks to her wonderful hound brother Bernie that we noticed and took action--he was so agitated and out of sorts--at one point going down to the basement and "marking territory", something he NEVER does. His strange behavior prompted us to examine Marmie and sure enough, she had bloated. The vets took great care of her--we were quite a sight dashing into animal emergency with Marmie's dad carrying her in his arms. The other dog guardians there were wonderful too--a great comfort since we were a real mess waiting for her to come out of surgery. She's all wrapped up in a heating blanket and in snoozing away. We'll visit her tomorrow. An awful night that turned out OK, thanks to Bernie. Big guy, this one's for you!

Presents from Alaska!

Bernie and I are so excited! This week a package arrived with my name on it (the postman knew which house to deliver it to without even looking at the address, since I serenade him through the window every day when he brings the mail). Anyway, there was much excitement as Mom opened the package for us. It contained Yummy Chummies--salmon dog treats from our friends Edie and Gus in the great white north. We were most eager to sample these treats and as soon as Mom opened the package, the living room was filled with the pungent odor of salmon (which Mom said warms her west coast heart). Check us out helping open the package.



Anyway, the treats are delicious! We get some after every meal. The best part is that they seem to agree with me--my tummy wasn't upset at all yesterday, which made Mom and Dad very happy. Anyway, there's some video footage of me enjoying my treats.



The humans say thanks for their "treats" too--they're going to have some this afternoon (although Bernie and I think Mom is wired enough without the espresso beans!) What wonderful friends we've made through this blog... Thanks again, Edie and Gus! Bernie and I will sniff around for some real Maryland or Washington DC treats for ya. A-roooo!

Here's me sleeping off the treats.

If hounds ran the world...

Hi everyone. Sorry for not posting in a while. It's been busy and Bernie and I were under the weather for a day or too. While Wimsey was withholding poop, me and Bernie were quite the opposite. Serves us right for raiding the compost! Anyway, all is now well. Speaking of eating stuff, check out our pumpkin--the squirrels carved it for is this year. Mom decided just to stick candles in it anyway. The trick-or-treaters thought it looked really cool.


Things were quite exciting in Washington with the election, which leads me to wonder what this country would look like if hounds ran the world. Let's see...

We're tenacious and resourceful--if we want something, we go after it. No flip-flopping here!

We're smarter than we look--always an advantage in politics I find. Never underestimate a hound!

We don't waste anything--talk about cleaning up government--there would be nothing left in the oval office--just a few pieces of shredded carpet.

We would drool on friends and enemies alike--helping them find common ground.

We would go our own way through any obstacle. Whoever coined the term "maverick" must have had a hound.

We would make our opinions known for all to hear. Mom says even people in the arctic can hear my howl.

We would make sure everyone would have a long nap every afternoon. More sleep = a more peaceful world.

Anyway, we had some family in town on the weekend and had a good time. We really enjoyed our outdoor time and the nice fall weather. Needless to say, we were pretty tired when everyone left. Bernie draped himself over the sofa and promptly fell asleep.

A very social weekend

We're sacked out this morning--the weekend was very busy and social. It rained all Saturday, so we all hung out and snoozed (hounds do NOT do H2O at all!). Yesterday, we went to Paws Fest at the Washington Animal Rescue League, an annual celebration of all the good work the shelter does to help homeless pets. We had a good time--lots of people and even tv cameras. I'm featured right at the end of the clip. (I wasn't feeling very verbose, but Bernie thought I looked very nice indeed.)
Check it out at: http://www.myfoxdc.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;jsessionid=83017B54D4161FD26E7788D274DD7202?contentId=7727965&version=1&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1

After the event, Mom and Dad decided to take advantage of the nice weather and took us for a hike in Rock Creek Park. We sniffed and snorted--there were lots of smells. Unfortunately (well, fortunately for Mom's shoulder) there were no deer to be chased.



Mom was laughing at Wimsey's comments about his guardians' "hound wardrobe". Mom definitely owns a lot of "hound clothes" too. It's funny watching her dash out the door in the morning if she's wearing something nice in an attempt to avoid drool and fur. One of her winter coats is black, and I take great pride in the fact that whenever she wears it, she has furry mementos of me and Bernie all over it. We believe that when you live with a hound, they are ALWAYS with you! Anyway, Mom and Dad also had time to take new howl footage this weekend--the results are impressive.

Critters galore

It seems like fall is definitely here (and as you can see on my face, it's getting harder and harder to get up in the morning). Forget daylight savings time, we need to be on Bloodhound Time--alarms going off no sooner than 8 a.m., with a mandatory mid-morning nap followed immediately by lunch. I've been happily wearing my warm winter coat on the recent cold mornings and have been making quite the fashion statement. I've even heard comments like "Marmie for Vice President". While this liberated hound woman is flattered by such utterances, I think that job would require early mornings, leaving too little time to snooze. Speaking of jobs, Bernie and I have been working hard keeping critters out of our yard, especially those pesky rabbits. Check out the photos from our last big "hunt".

A howling good weekend

Weekends are really fabulous when we spend it lounging around. The weather was great, so Mom and Dad treated us to a hike on Saturday. We also had Marmie-bath-day later that afternoon, which was not fun. I was most unimpressed and luckily Mom was too distracted to take the dreaded bath photos. Unlike Wimsey's guardians, my parents didn't spend any time inhaling our freshly-washed smell--probably because wet hound, no matter how clean, is not a very appealing smell. We were so exhausted after the bath ordeal that we spent much of the afternoon snoozing in the sunny living room.
Our big excitement on the weekend was a runaway dog on our front lawn--she had taken off out her gate a few doors down and her Mom was having a hard time catching her. Being a little thing, she yapped and yapped, which resulted in me and Bernie howling and barking through the fence at her (which probably did not help much). Anyway, she was finally caught and stopped yapping and all was well with the world. Check out the pics of us howling--I must admit, we make pretty fierce guard-hounds.

Howlin' and stylin'

A big howl to everyone from the houndly capital Washington, D.C. It's been getting cooler outside and Bernie and I are really enjoying our romps in the park. There is so much stuff to sniff. Since I'm an older girl, our friend Karin gave me a winter coat to wear on cold mornings. I was a bit skeptical, but I must say, it looks rather fetching on me. Check out the photos from my Saturday photo shoot with Mom. Luckily Mom was so busy snapping pics that she forgot that she was going to give me a bath. I'm with Wimsey--I'll do anything possible to avoid the dreaded B-A-T-H! Anyway, enjoy the pictures. I must get back to my morning power nap. Mom has Japanese class tonight, which means Dad gets to walk (be dragged by is more accurate) both of us together.

My story

Greetings from soggy, houndly Maryland. Despite the many H2O events the last few days, Bernie and I have been enjoying our romps in the park. Fall is here and the squirrels and deer are out in the mornings just begging to be chased. Last week I treed 5 squirrels on two separate trees at the same time. I was quite proud of myself. Life is definitely good.

Life wasn't always so good, though. Almost two years ago, I was left at a kill shelter in Floyd County, Georgia by my owner. I had an eye infection that had gone untreated for a long time. One Saturday morning, a nice cat rescue person named Liz was at the shelter looking to take photos of the dogs to put on the web so they would have a chance at being adopted. She saw me shivering at the back of my cage and couldn't believe it--my eyes were so infected they were barely visible. She pulled me and took me to the vet, thinking that at least I would be put to sleep and would not have to suffer any longer. The vet took a look at me and declared that all I needed was eye surgery and a bit of TLC. So there's Liz at the vet with me, a very large hound, with no idea what to do next. She called her colleague who told her to call the Washington Animal Rescue League. She did and they promised to be on their way in a few days. In the meantime, they took good care of me. When I came up to Washington, the vets continued to treat my eyes and the adoptions staff made me available for adoption. As a senior hound girl, I think they thought I'd be around for a while, but within a few weeks, I was living it up at hound central with Mom, Dad, and Bernie. I still remember everyone at the rescue league. When I go to the vet I greet all my former caretakers with great enthusiasm.
Below is a pic of how I looked the day I was pulled from the shelter. Mom says it still makes her cry. To end on a happy note, a video of me howling is also below. Enjoy!

The way to a hound's heart ...

... is definitely through it's stomach!
Mom and Dad spent Saturday afternoon searching for treats that would not upset my delicate stomach. I don't see why they're so concerned. After all, I'm able to digest all kinds of interesting things. Anyway, they're on a "Marmie's so thin--we need to feed her more and give her treats" tear, which is just fine by me. My hefty brother Bernie, who is built like a tank, has had his food portions reduced. He hopes Mom will stop calling him "Bacon Boy" if he doesn't gain his usual fall/winter poundage. I hate to say it, I think the Bacon Boy name has stuck.
I have a few nicknames too--Marma-hound; Marma-tank (since bloodhounds don't go around obstacles, but through them); Marma-lady; "neighborhood rooster"--not sure I like being referred to as a critter with feathers; and Marma-howler. Speaking of howling, I was in fine form this morning, greeting all the construction workers in the neighborhood. It's only polite to say hello, after all. I think I did wake everyone within a 4-block radius, though. But, as Wimsey argues, humans are around to serve us, so if we're awake, they should be too.

My brother Bernie

Hey everyone, I want to introduce you to my brother Bernie. He's also part bloodhound (and part cocker spaniel and great pyr--DNA doesn't lie!) He was rescued from a shelter in West Virginia when he was a year old. He's four now and is quite the ladies' man in the neighborhood. He loves sniffing just like me, but is a much slower, methodical sniffer than I am, so there is often a twenty-foot gap between us when we go for walks.
I'm trying to teach Bernie how to howl, but he can't quite get the accent right. He does have an incredible bark, though. When he hears someone coming, he stands in the front window and barks. The mail carrier and fed-ex man sprint up our door, leave the packages, and sprint back to their vehicles. He's a pretty impressive guard dog.
Bernie is also a food snob. He has to have olive oil sprinkled on his kibble. He was also afraid of going down the basement steps for the longest time--I had to show him how. His favorite thing in the world is playing with his squeaky egg toy. That thing is so loud. He'll play fetch for hours while I relax in the shade garden.

The "Marmalounger"

When I was adopted in February 2007, my parents promised that I would never be cold, sick, sad, or lonely ever again. Life definitely got better fast when I arrived home. There were regular meals, a warm bed, and nice long walks to the park. Since I'd never really lived in a house before, I hadn't really experienced furniture--especially the upholstered kind. At first, I took to climbing and sitting on the living room coffee table, but I soon discovered that the stuffed arm chair was much more comfortable. It was love at first snooze. I spend so much time in the chair that Mom and Dad named it the "Marmalounger". When we have guests and all the seats (including my armchair) get taken by humans, I'm known to stare at the offender and snort my disapproval. Wimsey would agree that after all, once an object is appropriated by a hound, it's for keeps!

Life with a Bloodhound

My Mom was refilling a prescription for me this morning and the pharmacist said,
"Wow, I haven't seen a bloodhound around here in a long time." Yes, we are rare on the east coast and people really don't know all that much about us. When the pharmacist asked what life with a bloodhound was like, my Mom gave him her usual answer: we're loyal, loving, affectionate, funny, good with other dogs and kids, and so on. My Mom also thinks we're smart (she's so convinced of it, she and Dad even put a bumper sticker on our car!), although other bloodhound guardians may disagree. Anyway, I digress. Bloodhounds are very special dogs and living with one is an experience like no other. Here are some things to know before considering being owned by a bloodhound:

1. We are LARGE dogs. Not only do the bones of your feet get crushed when our large paws step on them, but we have an amazing ability to spread out on furniture in order to take up as much space as possible.
2. We can smell everything. Absolutely everything. Don't think that we're not going to notice you silently opening the jar of peanut butter. We will and will be right there demanding a spoonful (or the whole jar if we can get it).
3. Kitchen counters are our domain--anything on them is meant for us. The fresh baked cherry cake last summer? The leftover Thanksgiving turkey? MINE--all mine.
4. We bloodhounds like to express our opinions and do so often. We do not have a volume knob--only two settings: loud and louder. Placing hands over ears is futile.
5. We snore. Loudly. My snore can be heard on all three floors of our house. Mom can even hear it through her earplugs.
6. We like smelly stuff. Poop, trash, dead things on the trail--if it's there, we will get into it. With three million scent receptors in our distinguished snouts, who can blame us?
7. We have a distinctive houndly fragrance that no amount of Febreeze can mask. We spend weeks working on this smell, only to have to go back to the drawing board after bath day. I don't understand why humans shower every day...
8. The bloodhound appetite is legendary. Mom heard a story about a hound that ate a whole goat on a spit (spit included!) and lived to tell about it. Sounds yummy!
9. Many bloodhounds have second careers as interior designers, specializing in rope drool art. We fling drool onto furniture, onto walls and clothing... the possibilities are endless. Of course, the humans in the house don't appreciate our art and feel a compulsive need to wash the walls on a regular basis.

Now, I hope this doesn't put anyone off. Bloodhounds are really wonderful dogs. As Mom and Dad say, life would be very boring without us hounds to keep them on their toes.

Welcome to my blog!

Hi everyone. My name is Marmalade and I'm a nine-year old bloodhound girl from Georgia. I was rescued in 2007 and now live in the Washington DC area with my Mom and Dad and half-bloodhound brother Bernie. My parents had never been owned by a bloodhound before they rescued me and it took them a while to clue in about certain things.

First of all, I sing... a lot. The first time I started singing for my dinner, my parents thought I was growling at them. Silly humans! But I don't just howl. I sing melodies with complex tunes and rhythms. Mom especially loves it when I serenade my friends on the street during our 6 a.m. walk! She keeps using the word "mortified"... I wonder why.

Inspired by Beijing games this past summer, my parents are convinced that drool-slinging should be added to the list of Olympic sports. During a recent dinner party at our house, Mom looked up at the corner of the ceiling and, lo and behold, a huge Marma-goober was hanging there in all its glory. Nobody else noticed, but it was kind of funny watching Mom balance on a chair trying to clean it off.

Third, this hound has a penchant for baked goods. Dad bakes a lot of bread and has taken to putting the warm loaves in top of the fridge to cool after losing one too many loaves to my intrepid counter-surfing skills. The great counter-surf of summer 2007 was an amazing event: Two loaves, two hounds, some agile moves, and a lighting fast sprint through the house with our prize.

Last but not least, I eat anything in my path. Last summer I managed to successfully digest a bird, a bat, and various rodents. I haven't tried horse-do yet, but I'll take Wimsey's word for it that it's yummy.