Deciding how I should go potty was an important decision in Mama and Daddy’s life. At first, Mama wanted to use me to use a litter box inside the house. When that didn’t pan out, they decided that I should go potty outside.

However, they didn’t want to install a doggy door because Daddy was afraid that someone would crawl inside the doggy door and rob us.

Daddy remembered faintly about reading somewhere that an owner used a “bell.” Upon ringing the “bell”, the owner would let the dog go outside to potty.

Mama visualized the “bell” as a receptionist bell, a small round bell with a little button on top. Under Mama’s vision, they would put a receptionist bell under a rubber mat. When I have to go potty, I should stand on top of the rubber mat.

On the other hand, Daddy visualized the “bell” as a string with a bunch of little bells tied to the door knob. When I have to go potty, I would hit the string with my nose.

Daddy won the argument (surprisingly). In protest, Mama decided that she was not going to go shopping with Daddy to buy the little bells. At the time, Mama was quite stubborn (still is).

Daddy went to JoAnn to purchase the little bells. Daddy’s memory of this shopping trip is a little blurry. Somehow prior to driving to JoAnn, Daddy got the idea that the little bells were called jingle bells but he wasn’t sure so he asked an assistant at JoAnn for help. The assistant, a blonde, wasn’t sure if the little bells were called jingle bells either. The assistant, holding a bag of little bells, asked another assistant whether these were jingle bells.

She replied, “those are jingle bells, YOU DORK.”

I got the hang of it right away. Mama would shake the string with the little bells, open the door, and take me outside to go potty. Upon successfully completion, Mama gave me a treat.

Later, I would hit the string with my nose when I have to go potty. There was one time when I rang the bell while Mama was on the phone. Mama didn’t come to the door because I went potty just an hour ago. Mama, however, didn’t realized that I was ringing the bell for Misty, my foster golden retriever buddy, who was living with us at the time. But that is a story for another time.

Mama told her sister about the string with the little bells and she decided to try it. Couple of months later, she removed the string because her dogs kept ringing it when they wanted to go play outside.

The air conditioning in our old house wasn’t always set to go on when it reaches 87 degrees…

Daddy and Mama purchased our old house when they were really young (in their twenties). In order to make ends meet, they would cut corners on certain expenses. Air conditioning being one of those expenses.

For those that never been to Las Vegas, in the summer months, the daily temperature would routinely be above 100 degrees.

In our old house, the air conditioning is set to go on when it reaches 87 degrees. It is set precisely at 87 degrees because a fan turns on automatically when it reaches 88 degrees. Once the fan is on, Daddy and Mama didn’t know how to turn it off and the fan would be on until it gets dark, which is usually not until 8:00 pm. Daddy thinks that it must be some sort of safety feature to prevent the house from burning down. Mama didn’t care so much about safety. Instead, she thought that it was probably cheaper to have the air conditioning for a brief period of time than having the fan on for the whole day.

Of course, the upstairs bedroom is usually cooler than 87 degrees because we had a ceiling fan. But Mama had a rule where we can only turn on the ceiling fan when there are three bodies in the room (Mama, Daddy, and me).

One day, Mama was in her office and Daddy and I were in the bedroom. The ceiling fan wasn’t on since Mama wasn’t in the room. Daddy and I were taking an afternoon nap when Mama woke us up and said “quick, you guys have to get downstairs..”

Daddy thought there was an emergency. Daddy grabbed me and ran down the stairs.  When we got to the bottom, Mama told us that she messed with the thermostat settings by setting the air conditioning too high so the air conditioning did not go on at 87 degrees. Instead, the fan came on but the upstairs bedroom was over 95 degrees and she got worried since our bodies were so warm.

Ever since that day, Mama never messed with the thermostat setting. But we still couldn’t turn on the ceiling fan unless there were three bodies in the room. Sometimes when Daddy is at school, I would take a nap with Mama and get hot from napping. I would look at Mama and then at the ceiling fan but Mama would say, “sorry P-, no exceptions…”

One of the things that Daddy regrets is that he never taught me the stand command. After sitting, instead of getting back on my four paws, I would just sit pretty (stand on my back two paws).

Daddy, who was an avid gamer, is familiar with the concept of a build order. However, Daddy never had a dog before so he wasn’t sure what the proper order was in terms of teaching me the basic training commands.

Daddy knew that the first command should be sit and he taught me sit right away. It was easy. Daddy placed a treat in front of my face and just kept raising his hand until I couldn’t see the treat anymore without sitting. After I sat, Daddy gave me the treat.

Now if Daddy had read some training books, he would have known that the next trick would be “stand.” You would say “stand” and give me a treat when I got back on my four paws.

Unfortunately, at the time, Daddy was not the studious type, so he didn’t read any training books. Consequently, the next command that I learned wasn’t “stand.” Instead, Daddy taught me the “sit pretty” command.

Daddy remembers that day very well. We were still living in the old house and we were either in the bedroom or the living room. Daddy remembers the carpet. Daddy and I were practicing some basic commands with treats. We weren’t playing ball because Mama wasn’t in the room.

Daddy got me in the sit position. Daddy, facing me, then put the treat behind my ears as I was sitting. In order to get “taller,” I sat pretty. Daddy laughed out loud when he saw me sitting pretty. Daddy, in his high pitch voice, said “hon hon, you have to see P-.”

When Mama arrived, I had to show Mama my nifty trick. When I did it, Mama got really excited and flooded me with treats. I’m P-, a purebred golden retriever – my grandfather was a champion. I  was born for the spotlight.

The problem, however, is that sitting pretty is not always the proper response. For example, one time daddy was vacuuming and he wanted me to move. Instead of moving, I just sat pretty. Daddy got mad but he just vacuumed around me.

Daddy tried to teach me the “stand” command after I learned “sit pretty” but I could never get a hold of “stand.”  Why “stand” when I can “sit pretty” and have people be amazed and shower me with praise? Indeed, sometimes when I meet new company, especially those with food, and I don’t know what to do, I just sit pretty.

One night, during one of our daily walks, a neighbor was telling Daddy and Mama about how Doxie, their golden retriever, ate some food off their coffee table earlier that day. His daughter had left some churro from Taco Bell on the coffee table.

Doxie gave two barks — “anybody? anybody?”

When no one replied, Doxie ate the churro off the coffee table.

After hearing the story, Mama and Daddy laughed about it. But they also felt good about themselves because they thought that they were good parents since I haven’t eaten anything inappropriate in the house. At the time, Mama and Daddy couldn’t imagine me eating anything off a coffee table. We didn’t have a coffee table. But even if we did, Mama and Daddy didn’t think that I would be capable of such a savage act because they thought that I had good manners.

Of course that all changed one Sunday afternoon.

Mama and Daddy had a Sunday afternoon routine where they would buy Pho takeout (Pho is a type of Vietnamese beef noodle) and eat it in front of the television. Most of the time, they would watch reruns of the Munsters. Since we didn’t have a coffee table, Mama and Daddy ate on two matching lazy susans and sat on the floor. While they ate and watched television, I would play with my toys.

One Sunday afternoon, Mama and Daddy decided that they weren’t going to eat Pho that day. Instead, they were going to eat rice with Sardines that Daddy’s Mom got from Macau.

Mama placed the sardine can on one of the lazy susans. While Mama and Daddy were in the kitchen scooping up the rice, I was in the living room licking the oil in the sardine can.

Of course I was really quiet about it. Slurping ever so quietly. When Mama and Daddy realized what happened, all the oil was already gone.

Mama and Daddy laughed.

Daddy said, “boy we are sucky parents. P- didn’t even ask if anybody wanted this before he started eating.”

Mama smiled and laughed some more.

Later, whenever Mama and Daddy are eating by themselves and there is a last piece of food, they would ask each other, “anybody? anybody?”

I didn’t always sleep on the bed. It actually took a long time before Mama and Daddy allowed me on the bed.

When I first started living in the house, Mama and Daddy left me in the family room because it had tile flooring. They were worried that I would have an accident in the house. At night, they baby gated me in the family room, said their good nights, and went upstairs to their cozy bedroom with carpet flooring.

Of course, five minutes later, Mama returned because she couldn’t sleep. So the next thing you know, Daddy went and got the sleeping bags from the closet and we all slept on the floor.

The next night, Mama’s back started to hurt from sleep on the tile flooring. Daddy and Mama were both young at the time and they didn’t have enough money to furnish the family room. In other words, they couldn’t afford to buy a couch for the family room.

Also at the time, Mama and Daddy never went camping before. Later, we went camping once. But at the time, they used the sleeping bags as cheap blankets.

Since they never went camping or have any prior experience with sleeping on hard surfaces, they didn’t know about a nifty invention called an air mattress, which is a good thing because I got to sleep in their bedroom since Mama didn’t want to sleep on the floor anymore. Of course, they still worried about me having an accident in the house so they decided that they were going to buy a crate.

Mama and Daddy went and got a crate.

The first night, Daddy carried me up the stairs. At the time, I was unable to climb up the stairs. They moved a baby gate from the family room and blocked the stairs from the top — just in case I fall down the stairs. They also closed the master bedroom’s door at night but with Daddy, you could never be too safe.

Daddy placed the crate next to the bed. Mama put me inside the crate and they went to bed.

Of course, I cried since I never been inside a crate before. Mama would have none of that. Mama told Daddy to ignore my cries — she read somewhere that it was the best to ignore a puppies’ cries.

I kept crying. Daddy, being the weakest link, felt sorry for me and said “maybe, he is crying because he can’t see us. Let’s move the crate to the top of the nightstand so he can see us.” Mama, who was torn between following the rules and craving in to my cries, said, “Okay.” So they got up, turned on the lights, released me from the crate, moved the crate on top of the nightstand, and played with me for a little bit.

I cried immediately when they placed me back inside the crate.

Frustrated, Daddy moved the crate back on the floor, got the sleeping bags from the family room, and Daddy and Mama slept on the carpet.

This was our sleeping arraignment when I was a puppy. The next day, Mama placed me in the crate at night but she left the gate open. Mama and daddy got into their sleeping bags and slept next to my crate (of course, Mama’s back started to hurt the next day).

Years Months weeks one day later, Mama  removed the gate from the crate and we converted the crate into my toy box and I slept on the bed with Mama and Daddy.