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My family was doing what we normally do on Sunday night: Watching TV and reading in our family room. It was a nice night and the dogs kept wanting to go outside and play, come back inside and then go back out; typical summer behavior.

The hubby and I kept noticing a not-too-pleasant aroma when the dogs were inside. It was not skunk, we know that fragrance all too well. I thought it might have been more evidence that our dogs belong on the Wall of Shame. But unless they were spewing methane at a rate that would have Al Gore picketing my house for contributing to global warming, I couldn't imagine that was the cause of the stench.

Then Stormy jumped up on the couch with me for a cuddle. Ew. I found the source. He smelled like dirty sneakers and rancid grease. The stinkiest cheese would have faded in the fumes radiating off this ripe dog.

So he was banished from our bed for the night and yesterday my daughter gave him a bath. And to Stormy, b*a*t*h is a four-letter word. (OK, it is a four-letter word, but you know what I mean.)

This pup has always hated baths. In the tub or out in the yard with the hose, makes no difference. His first bath was after he played in the mud as a puppy, so maybe we helped form a negative connotation in his mind: He was having fun and we ruined it.

By comparison, our greyhounds will patiently stand for shampoo-rinse-repeat and almost seem to enjoy it.

By the time we came home from work, Stormy smelled like vanilla oatmeal but was barely on barking terms with our daughter, who was pretty exhausted from the struggle.

Any suggestions on how to make bath time more fun? I am willing to buy him a steady supply of rubber duckies if it will mean he smells fresh.

Last week my hubby and I decided to move Stormy's crate, where he has slept every night since he's lived with us for the last 14 months, to the family room where the greyhounds' crates are located. We only crate the greyhounds when we leave the house; they sleep on big pillows on our bedroom floor or on the small love seat we have in one corner of the room.

Stormy, we decided, is a big boy now and can sleep on a pillow or the chair just like Coral and Dexter.

It hasn't been a really smooth transition.

For the first few nights, he kind of wandered around the room like he was looking for his bed. He turned the pillow we placed in the spot where his crate used to be upside down, looking for his bed. We reassured him everything was OK, gave him cookies and cuddles, and he seemed to be adjusting to sleeping on the floor.

On Friday night, he jumped up on the love seat, a spot that Coral normally occupies, curled up and snored all night. Life was good.

On Saturday morning, my hubby got up and let the dogs out and then came back to bed. A little while later, Coral started whining like she needed to go back outside. Since Phil had been up once already, I figured I would take her downstairs to let her out. She started to follow me into the hall, and so did Stormy.

As soon as Stormy was out of the chair, Coral darted back into the room and took his spot there. She looked at Stormy like, "Thanks for keeping it warm for me, loser" and snuggled right in.

Stormy looks at me like "Hey, what the..." and then he jumps into my now vacant space in my bed.

I got played, people. I was the loser in this round of musical chairs. In my own bedroom. During my beloved Saturday morning snooze time.

So I did what any self-respecting pack leader would do. I climbed over Stormy, got back into bed and got my last hour of Saturday sleep with a snoring pit bull beside me to keep me warm.

When I did finally make it downstairs for coffee, the cat just looked at me and shook his head in shame.

Thanks so much for all of the comments and well wishes for our greyhound, Coral. She spent a long quiet three days at home with medicine and easy-to-digest grub and, as of yesterday, she seems back to her old self.  She had to miss out on a couple of play dates over the weekend, but we felt she needed the rest.

Dexter had been battling a nasty ear infection, so we are medicating both of them right now. Between the prescriptions and the specially prepared bland diet, it's like we are running a greyhound nursing home.

I think both hounds were a little feisty yesterday; after days of laying low and feeling poorly, they resumed their daily fun of rolling Stormy all over the backyard. When he came trotting back into the house last night happily covered in greyhound slobber, we knew they were feeling better.

Speaking of the little pit bull, his new favorite toy is a Kong Wubba. We picked it up at PetsMart on Saturday and he's having a blast. He really wuvs his Wubba. (Sorry, I couldn't resist that one.)

The long-tailed toy sails far and deep when pitched off our second floor deck into the back yard. On one particularly ambitious toss, it sailed all the way into the neighbor's yard. Thanks for bringing it back to us, Greg.

Stormy runs to grab it and comes gleefully galloping back with it, but hesitates to turn it over to us. He has figured out that fetch is kind of a goofy game, at least as far as the dog is concerned. Why should he give us his valuable prize if we are just going to throw it away and make him run after it again and again?

Smart dog. Lazy, but smart.

Discovered this week that Stormy has a taste for: canteloupe, watermelon, cherries (pits removed, but I don't know why we bother since I am pretty sure he'd eat those, too) bell peppers and sugar snap peas.

The other two dogs do not seem to share his enthusiasm for these healthy treats, which suits him just fine because there's more for him that way.

They all like shrimp tails, however.

Apropos of nothing, please follow this link for a brilliant illustration on the mind and body of a dog.

Click here and herefor more doggie treat recalls. Choosy pet parents may want to skip peanut butter flavored snacks for a while and just sub in some other type of goodies. I am not sure if any of these treats were sold in Southwestern Virginia, but my Google analytics tell me there are folks all over the country who peek in on this blog, so check it out if you are concerned.

If your pooch is a PB addict, jars of peanut butter are still OK, so you could bake your own cookies. I'll post recipes tomorrow. 

I roasted some butternut squash a while back and while the humans in my house weren't that crazy about it (it needed salt, I think), the four-leggers LOVED it.  Their other happy snack is blueberries, but those are awfully pricey right now.  So is butternut squash, actually.

And to be honest, we have yet to find anything that Stormy won't eat. Besides the aforementioned squash and berries, he really loves bananas and clementines.

And socks. He's a sock-snacking gourmet. He can rifle through a whole basket of laundry and come out with all the socks. But that's not really food. And we keep reminding him of that.

What kind of snacks makes your doggie sit up and beg? And does your dog make good calls on what's edible and what is not?

I, like most responsible adults with a day job, was pretty much sound asleep in my bed at 3:30 this morning. Stormy, our now 10-month-old puppy, was not sound asleep.

Of course, he is not responsible, an adult, or employed, so why not party?

We let all three of our dogs sleep in our bedroom, and Stormy is usually the one who wakes us up with his happy little song, occasionally as early as 5 a.m. But today he started auditioning for "American Idol" at half past three, and frankly, we just were't feeling it, dog.

We tried to ignore him and hoped he would fuss himself back to sleep. No luck. Shortly after 4 a.m., I'd had enough of his concert, thought maybe his tummy was bothering him, and woke up the other two dogs to let them all out. The other two dogs looked annoyed. Hey, this wasn't my idea, I tell them. Blame the little dude.

Sure enough, the little dude's tummy was bothering him. And by bothering him I mean he was hungry. I know this because while the greyhounds went out to potty, he planted his butt on the kitchen rug by his bowl and waited for me to fill it. This dog woke me up at this ridiculous hour for his flippin' breakfast.

In the interest of getting at least a tiny bit more sleep, I fixed his breakfast. Dog food looks pretty gross most of the time; at 4 a.m. it's positively disgusting.

While Stormy is dining I keep myself occupied by watching a little tennis on the kitchen T.V. and unloading the dishwasher. I am, at this point, wide awake.  After he scarfed down his breakfast and made a visit to the backyard potty, I corral up all the dogs, send them back up stairs and finish tidying the kitchen. Then I head back to try to catch a little more sleep.

I wandered back into my bedroom to find Dexter and Stormy in my previously occupied warm side of the bed. Snuggled up next to my husband. Stormy looks at me and rolls over. "Rub my belly" he says.

Oh. No. He. Didn't.

At this point I am calling him names that are not fit to print in a family newspaper.

Maybe the cat was right and I need to haul these pooches to the pound. But at half past 4 in the morning, I start wondering if the cat put him up to it ("OK, if you whine loud enough during the night she will get up to feed you," I imagine the cat whispering to the pup.  "I do it all the time and it works like a charm. She won't mind really.") I swear most conspiracy theories are born in the wee hours of the morning by sleep-deprived minds. Certainly all the ones involving talking cats, right?

Remind me again why I love these critters? Seriously. Remind me.

(Full disclosure: I really have no right to this bitter rant. Most mornings my sweet hubby is the one on early-morning dog care duty. This story is very familiar to him, except for the 3:30 part. That's a new one. Love you, honey, appreciate all you do. Really.)

My hubby took Stormy to see Santa today while I was working, and he tells me the little dude charmed all the ladies who were assisting the Jolly Old Elf. Since he was a good boy, there will be some goodies in his stocking this year.

 Stormy has his own way of celebrating the holiday. I hope you enjoy yours. Happy Thanksgiving!

There are many benefits to taking your dog to a park. The dog gets to play, run, socialize and exercise. And when you bring the dog home, he's tired. Very tired.

This is my sleepy little Stormy on Sunday evening, catching a much-needed nap under our kitchen table while I cooked dinner. He is normally my Little Sous Chef and helps me with meal preparation (he's very good at clean up if I drop anything) but he was worn out from the excitement of attending "Dogs for Dogs," the latest fundraiser for the Roanoke Dog Park, held yesterday in Highland Park.

Just imagine if he could have played off-leash with all his new friends. He might have slept through his own supper.

Yesterday's event raised an estimated $1,600 toward the $30,000 needed to erect the fence and add other amenities to the acre of land in Highland Park earmarked for the off-leash area.

The next fundraiser is “Going to the Dogs”, a block party to benefit not only the dog park, but also the RVSPCA and St. Francis Service Dogs. The event is scheduled for Oct. 29 in downtown Roanoke.

Click here for more details about the dog park and here for more details about the block party.

No, this is not Kevin Myatt's weather blog and not the latest news about hurricanes.

I haven't posted any news about our little Stormy lately, and I have had a few requests.

He's not really a little dude anymore. I think he has to be about 35 pounds now, with a stocky build and a low center of gravity.

He's still excavating holes in the backyard, so before winter sets in we plan to invest in a sandbox so we can have a safe and appropriate place for him to dig. (My hubby reads this blog, and I haven't really shared that tidbit with him yet. Surprise, honey! Can I borrow the SUV?)

Stormy and Coral play very nicely together now; they were engaged in a wicked game of steal-the-toy last night that was very amusing. Coral had a squeaky toy and Stormy waited for his opportunity to grab it. He snatched it the second she dropped it.

She chased him a bit to get it back, and he used his best evasive tactics, under the coffee table, behind the chair, anywhere she couldn't fit, jut to tease her. Eventually she just lied down on the floor and watched him.

After a while he came over and squeaked it right in her face. Coral waited. He squeaked it a few more times. Then she snatched it back. And the game starts all over again.

Hours of fun for the whole family.

Next step is to get Stormy into some classes so he can refine his "sit-stay-come" behaviors. "Sit" is no problem. "Stay" is getting better. "Come?" Well, we need some work there.

Stormy is pretty headstrong, emotionally and physically. Meaning that he has a head like a cement block, which comes in handy for butting open the screen door and, unfortunately, toppling the spring-tension pet gates in the kitchen. Oh well, we knew that would never last.