I Am Shiba.

Dedicated to momentary thoughts and musings of A Shiba Inu.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

How to Create a Perfect Shiba Day

First, have it stop raining.

Second, take me all around town while you do errands. Stop frequently and let me out of the car so that I can let other dogs know of my presence.

Third, take me to the Park of Squirrels. Let me drag you all over the park as I pursue my furry-tailed quarry.

Fourth, take me to Pet Smart!

Yes. Yesterday was a good Shiba day.

I Am Shiba. I Am Content.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

A bird in the bush is worth being in your hand

t was still raining yesterday. I so passionately dislike the rain; I would rather hold my needs for hours than suffer the indignanty of wet paws. However, The Woman worries when my refusals to venture outdoors last for more than a day, and outside she drags me into the drizzly mists of the backyard forests, hoping for my cooperation.

As we walked the backsteps to the garden, I found this:

(borrowed from internet)

"Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you?"

Wounded as it was, this Blue Jay was insistent upon claiming my backyard as his own. The Challenge. The Chase. I pursued my insultor with vigor, who flew into the dense shubberies, continuing to scream his insults at my heritage, my birth, and my species. Intolerable. I made several attempts to penetrate his fortress, but the leash, oh the damned leash, prevented me from pursuing my insolent avian enemy.

The Man admires the Blue Jay for its tenacity and its fearlessness. The Woman has been feeding two of them for the summer, and watching their family life closely. Candy tried to take one once, and fled the yard in terror.

Now was my turn, and I am dragged from my quarry and placed back into the house as so The Woman might seek to capture what is rightfully mine.

I loudly protest while she seeks the bird.

She returns empty handed. I scold her for denying me the opportunity to prove my hertiage, the honor of my mother, and prove to her that Shibas were born to seek out and destroy whatever decidedly challenges their existence. She ignores my pleas to return out back and instead, we walk the streets filled with puddles and soggy grass.

My paws are wet. I am most displeased.

There are more birds gathering in the backyard in search of seed. Cardinals, Titmice, Sparrows and Chickadees. But I am patient. I shall await the return of my foe, even if it means having to seek for him within the driving snows of winter or under the blazing sun of the summer's heat.

I Am Shiba. Call Me Ishmael.

Monday, August 28, 2006

Not all those who wander are lost

But we were.

The Woman, The Man, and I decided to wander in one of our favorite forests. As I was busy checking for chipmunks and counting squirrels, I had not noticed a subtle change of scenery, a loss of scent, a decided confusion from those holding the leash. Fortunately, I was able to find us a path back to the road.

And then, it started to rain.

I am Shiba, the most catlike of all the canine breeds.

I hate to get wet.

Because of The Man and The Woman's inadequate sense of direction, I was forced to march in the rain until we got back to the car. This unacceptably soggy misconduct on their part was only remedied upon our return home by the gift of Milkbone.

And a belly rub.

I Am Shiba. I don't like to take the roads less traveled if it is raining.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Early Morning Musings

It is 4:30 AM. The Woman has been awake, and moving through the house for the last hour. The Felines are awake and moving. This means, I watch life from inside My Crate. My Crate is my sancutary from all that wander in the night. Today, I will not leave my sancutary for at least another two hours. Felines govern in the darkness.

Sometimes, The Man is up late at night. He stays downstairs and The Felines stay with him. This is good. I avoid their peering eyes.

I meditate within the darkness and await the coming of sunrise. The Woman awakens when she hears the birds. She greets The Felines, and vanishes downstairs. Returning without them, she releases me from my respite and we exchange greetings. The Man awakens later. Sometimes, I must retrieve him from his slumber; other days, The Woman and I leave, only to find him slowly waking somewhere in the house.

"We had our breakfasts-- whatever happens in a house, robbery or murder, it doesn't matter, you must have your breakfast." Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone.

I like mine with cheese. I am not particular.

During the months of summer, mornings are long walks with The Woman. We walk the woods or the town, and watch the world as it slowly moves with the Earth's rotation. In the forest, she looks for birds while I search for chipmunks and squirrels. At the lake, we watch the ducks, count turtles or chase a frog. In the town, we venture to the open market or we walk the streets as so she might admire the gardens of the neighbors.

Yesterday, I sighted three chipmunks while The Woman greeted a Red-Wing Blackbird. The trail was clean. The paths pulse with scent, and I walk them with primal confidence. There is one place where The Woman stops. The view looks out onto the pond and into the forest. Here, she speaks to me and offers her affections, thanking me for guiding her upon the path. 'Tis a distraction, albeit an appreciated one.

Another hour before sunlight enters the window. I envision where this morning shall take us.

I Am Shiba. The Sun is but a Morning Star.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Other Shibas In The World

Life with The Woman has been downright busy lately. In the crate, out of the crate. In the car, out of the car. Late meals, late walks. Paint fumes permeating through the house. A mouse hiding in the shubberies requiring my uninterrupted attention.

Whenever I am outside, people are always asking: What is a Shiba? Well, I Am Shiba however it appears that the unwashed masses need enlightenment beyond mere example. In today's age of reality television and Paris Hilton exemplifying canines as fashion accessories, visual stimulation speaks as loudly as my presence.

Shibas who make The News:

Fi Chai


Rin Tin Tin is overrated.

If you can read and comprehend what is written, please visit this website:


I am not certain of This Woman's mental status but if it is anything like The Woman's, well, I do pity Shassi.

I Am Shiba. Shibas > *

Saturday, August 19, 2006

There are no Shibas in Belgium

How do I know this? Look at this photo:

I Am Shiba. I do not eliminate on command.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

The Lay of the Land

Yesterday, there was a dramatic catfight right outside my backdoor. It was between Lucky and a grey/white intruder. Sadly, the door blocked my view but The Man and The Woman stated that Lucky won.

Within my own abode, live two felines: The Black and The Grey. The Black one is the meaner of the two, and the most likely to hurt me. The Grey is scared of me but The Black concerns me. She challenges my authority in underhanded ways and I end up banished if I meet her challenge. In general, The Man and The Woman keep us seperated to avoid World War 3 from starting in front of the television.

There is The Man and The Woman. They keep my crate clean and food bowl filled. In exchange, I let them touch my toys. We co-habitated nicely.

There are three orange cats in the neighborhood. Abby, the beat-up ancient tom from across the street. I often find him asleep in my shubberies. Lucky, the one-eyed tom who lives two houses over and drinks from our birdbath. Finally, there is Pookie, who lives in the corner house, and chases after me if I get to close to his yard. He is the fattest of the three.

Candy lives down behind our backyard. She is a calico who sits under the birdfeeder and get chased by The Man and The Woman frequently. I would chase her but I am limited by the end of my chain, and she always runs faster. At Candy's house lives Liam, a German Shepherd who challenges my right to scent in his yard. There is also another German Shepherd, a fuzzy mop, and a Pug who live here, but I seldom smell them.

Living with Abby, is a friendly furry dog Sadie who alerts me to neighborhood changes. Rusty is my dog friend who lives the next road over. The funny looking Yorkshire lives down the road from Rusty, and never ceases to amaze me with her insistence upon challenging my authority. Sydney, the American Pit Bull who lives down by one of my parks, is controlled by a radio collar. We have met on walks, and just glare one another. Oliver, a rat terrier, lives across the street from Sydney. He talks too much about nothing.

There was a Doberman and a large mixed dog living behind us. They were the enemy. Even Liam agreed with me on this issue. The Doberman tried to claim our yards as his; the year long war eventually ended with his leaving. Peace returned with his retreat.

There are a number of dogs and cats of insignificance stashed within houses within my reign. They make noise but seldom interfere with my day to day activities. Most I see behind their fences or from windows in their houses. They are inconsequential as their existence is limited to four walls and tiny cerebrums.

These are the performers within this play. To understand theater, one must know the roles that each actor holds.

I Am Shiba. All the World's A Stage, and all the Dogs and Cats merely players.

Monday, August 14, 2006

The Frantic Woman

This is a good time of year. The Woman stays at home rather than leaving me in the crate for the day. I have freedom, long walks, and independence. I am worshipped appropriately.

However, today is not one of those days. Today is what The Woman calls "Frantic Cleaning Days." This means loud noises, constant movement, strange culinary smells, and extra crate time because it seems "I get in the way."

This is not my fault. It is the damned "Dustbuster." I have no idea why any sane person would purchase such an evil contraption but it has long been my mission to attack and destroy this wicked noisemaker. My only opportunity to attack is when it is in her hand, making its inhumane noise. And for this, I am exiled to my crate. Revenge shall be mine, I vow from behind the wire gate.

"From Hell's heart, I stab at Thee. For Hate's sake, I will spit my last breath at thee."

So The Frantic Woman moves through the house, starting everything and accomplishing nothing. And I wait. I wait for my attack, and then, my banishment.

I can only hope my morning constitution will arrive before My Nemesis.

I Am Shiba. Mondays Suck.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Surrender to All that is Me

I have responsibilities. While many assume that a dog's life is just that, I have obligations to the pack and to the world.

First and foremost, I must escort The Woman everywhere. It is my job to chaperone her as she moves through her day. Whether this be as simple as moving from her office to the kitchen, or as complex as running errands all day in the car, it is necessary to guard her constantly.

And this is tiring because she seldom sits for any length of time.

Next, I must guard the house. My crate, my food bowl, and my toys are all located within this prime real estate. Invasion from the outside unknown is certain; Invasion from the cats downstairs, eminent. I must remain hypervigilent in my duties, ensuring the safety of all that is loved by me within these walls. People arriving in blue and brown clothing are highly suspicious. They leave boxes, which is my responsibility to open to ensure that there is nothing harmful inside. Distressingly, The Man and The Woman ususally run interference, only allowing me to destroy the box after the contents have been removed.

Boxes might contain dangers that The People can not smell.

I have my territory to march and supervise. I have my backyard, the parks and the local streets. Here, I require assistance and usually The Woman provides the back-up. I guard her in the house; she helps me to guard the streets.

I am responsible to the masses to educate them on all that is Shiba. I walk among the innocent and teach them the Zen of the Fur. The right look. A subtle glance. Quietly sitting while waiting for The Woman to finish chatting. It is all part of the ultimate plan of the eventual Shiba take-over.

This city is slowly surrendering to The Shiba.

I Am Shiba. Surrender to all that is Me.

Thursday, August 10, 2006


I am a ruthless but fair ruler. Respect me and I shall allow you to continue living here. Disrespect me, and I shall spare no effort in punishing the offender.

My territory is not large. Several blocks and two nearby parks- I patrol my perimeter twice daily, usually accompanied by The Woman. I check messages left by other dogs and assert my authority in strategic locations. I count the squirrels and make sure that the cats stay indoors. I rest not until I am certain the boundaries are secure.

However, the other day, The Woman was distracted by politics and The Man was required for my daily perimeter march. He opted to show me a new territory, prime for acquisition. I began to post my claim when a local decided to introduce itself in a manner undignified and disagreeable to my customs.

The Man attempted run interterence but this was my battle. I was not to be inhibited or stopped; the unwashed masses must understand that my laws are fair but my punishments are ruthless.

You are not allowed to smell my butt. At least, not without my permisssion.

I pursued my heathenistic offender with speed and immediately disciplined it
for its inappropriate indiscretion. The Man, however, stopped me before I lost my temper. This was most likely a wise move on his part. The last dog who sniffed my butt . . . well, I shall spare you that story.

I am home now. My new territory has been added and the masses subdued. My law stands.

I Am Shiba. I dare do all that may become a Shiba; Who dares do more is none.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Excuse me? No more red meat?!?!?!

It appears that The Woman and The Man have made a decision, again without consulting me. There is to be no more red meat in the household. They have explained to me that it is based upon the principle of mistreatment of animals with four feet (are dogs considered to be red meat?, I shall ponder this issue tonight). While most of my meals consist of organic chicken and cheese, I still enjoy the periodic cleaning of the steak pan. Sadly, it appears that this is no more.

Bland chicken and cheese. How do other dogs survive?

So today, they feasted on their last morsels of red flesh at a cherished restaurant. Fortunately, for me, there were leftovers.

They were good leftovers, I might add.

I Am Shiba. I Am The Final Word.

Friday, August 04, 2006

Typing from inside the crate

It is night and the dreaded felines are up, slinking about while I am attempting to slumber. I shall ignore them. They are not worthy of my attention.

It is hard to be omnipotent. As much as The Woman and The Man tend to my needs, I still have unspoken desires that they can not comprehend. I wish to dine upon sirlion nightly. I wish to run loose in the park without a leash so that the squirrels can not allude my jaws.

I wish to understand what that Yorkshire is constantly yapping about when I walk by her house.

I ponder why The Woman brings in pieces of paper from outside to in, and why early in the morning and late in the afternoon, people drop pieces of paper near the door. It is strange. I bark and they go away, but the paper stays. 'Tis strange.

I shall dream of a river of squirrels flowing through the kitchen. In the meantime, I shall watch to see if The Felines dare to drink from my bowl again tonight.

I Am Shiba. And I Dream Of Electric Squirrels.

I am Home.

My pack has returned me home, after sending me to summer camp for one week. Everything seems in order - I had to throughly check the house to ensure that the resident felines had neither rearranged nor stolen anything that was not theirs.

After a week of meditation, I have decided to write. The world needs to be enlightened.

I Am Shiba.