Oscar, How do you do it? I heard that, in one weekend...

... you crewed for a participant at North Conway's Tuckerman Inferno, you attended a Baptism in Hartford, Connecticut, and you were a spectator at the 2009 Boston Marathon. Is this true? Sincerely, Impressed

Dear Impressed, It's not a big deal, really. I will say this: The opportunities for a dog to pick up food at the Inferno are excellent. Extreme athletes at the Inferno just shove food in the direction of their mouths -- not really noticing what they're dropping on the ground. Very good pickings. And babies? They're a dog's best friend. Babies not only drop food on the ground; they throw it! And the Marathon-watching-crowd in downtown Boston? They dropped hot dogs, yogurt, ice cream, French fries... you name it, they dropped it. I especially recommend the sausages they were selling on Boyleston Avenue.

It was, all-in-all, a very rewarding weekend. Oscar

Dear Oscar, How do you feel about birds? Regards, Stanley

Dear Stanley, I LOVE birds! Chasing them, that is. But on the other hand, I do resent their unfair advantage. I mean, it's one thing that just when you almost have them, they flap their wings and take off. But then they'll just sit in trees. I can't climb a tree. How are we going to play if they're going to sit in a tree all day?

And what's the deal with sandpipers? Sandpipers are those grey spotted birds with the semi-long beak and the moderately long legs. They whistle and whistle to get your attention, and they limp around like their legs and wings are all messed up. Then once you're there to sniff and lick 'em, they take off -- no injury after all.

I guess on second thought, I have mixed feelings. I love running after them, but I'm not fond of fakers or flyers. Put us on a level playing field and I'll show you who's standing after an afternoon of old-fashioned romping. And it won't be our feathered friends, I'll tell you that right now.

Thanks for the question, Oscar

Dear Oscar, You need to post more often! PS Nice running with you today. Your friend, Todd

Dear Todd, Likewise to you, Mr. Speedy. I'd keep up with you, but I am leashed to my slow owner. Oh well, maybe another time.

As for the frequency of my posting, I completely agree. But I have good news: you can expect more posts from me moving forward. You see, my owner (the same slow runner to whom I just referred) is changing jobs. No, he wasn't laid off, and no, Stowe is not downsizing. Rather, every spring, my owner, a career skiing professional, shifts gears. And this summer he will be working full-time at home as a freelance writer. And you know what that means, right? That's right -- it means editors take notice: the world's best writer is available to write for you!

And do you know what else it means? That's right! Instead of turning the computer off and heading up to the mountain every day, he'll be here at the house, and the computer will be on. And whenever he takes a break, yours truly will be jumping on to add another post to my blog. It won't, of course, be easy. My owners would freak if they caught me playing on their computer! Obviously, neither of them knows about this blog. So let's just keep it our little secret.
Your sneaky friend, Oscar

Inevitable

Well, it happened, and no one can say I didn't warn him. I have been telling my little brother Waffle the kitten for weeks that if he's going to play on the toilet, he better be ready to fall in. I know that Mark and Alison make every attempt to keep the lid down, but sometimes they forget, and when they do, you can always find that orange kitten precariously balanced on the rim.

And then Friday night the inevitable happened. Sure enough, something caught his eye, he made a quick move (and I will give him credit; he's usually quite agile -- sometimes I can barely catch him), he slipped, and in he went. There was a big splash, a high-pitched "meowwww!," and then an orange streak running from the toilet to the basement cat door.

Well, you can't say I didn't warn him. You won't catch me standing on that toilet. Drinking from it, maybe. But standing? No way.

Oscar, Does your house have a yard? Just Wondering in NYC

Dear Wondering, Yes, my house has a small fenced yard. My owners painstakingly set up an area surrounded by basically a heavy-duty chicken wire. It does the job, although if I wanted to I could probably just knock it over. For the most part, however, I make them happy and just stay in the yard when they ask me to. But, seriously, the yard is where I go to the bathroom, so am I really going to hang out there? I mean, come on, do you hang in your bathroom? I didn't think so.

So every now and then, I lose my head, see a squirrel or something, and sneak out. There are plenty of weak spots, so I try to rotate them. I always come home though. I just like to run in the woods, get a little exercise, sniff some smells, and pee on some bushes. No big thing, but sometimes a dog has to do what a dog has to do.

Dear Oscar, What do you eat for dinner? -- Curious in Cincinnati

I eat 2-and-a-half cups of Nutro Lamb and Rice two times a day.

Awhile back, in an attempt to slow down my dogfood inhalation at mealtimes, my owners tried giving me sliced carrots with dinner. It didn't work; I wolfed down my food just as quickly as ever, and usually just swalled the carrots whole. They also tried broccoli, spinach, and squash, but to no avail. Nothing slowed me down. I love my breakfast and dinner!

Lately, though, Mark has been experimenting with a new approach. He has been grating up carrots with a shredder and putting a pile of shredded carrot on the middle of my food dish. I have to admit, the first time he did this, it threw me for a loop. I was like, what is this? Sometimes I try to eat around the carrot, which, I guess, does slow me down some, and amuses the heck out of Mark. That's probably what slows me down the most; it's weird, I tell you, being watched while I eat, you know? What's the big deal? I still like the carrot, of course (I have yet to try anything I don't like), but sometimes I like to eat the dogfood first and then inhale the carrot.

Find Yours

My owner Mark works at Stowe Mountain Resort where one of their marketing slogans is "Find Yours." I'm no marketing genius, but I believe the idea of the jingle is that whatever turns you on, you can find it at Stowe as long as you're willing to look. If you like quiet wooded glades, go find it at in the out-of-bounds at Stowe. If you like ginormous jumps, check out the big park on Tyro. If you like 5-star hotels and restaurants, check out the new Spruce Peak hotel. Get the point?

I found mine last night. Like I said, I'm not into marketing or sales pitches, so I'm not going to try to convince you that my behavior lately has been stellar or that it was anyone's fault other than my own that Mark hasn't really let me off the leash much lately. I know, I know, I should come when he calls. I just get caught up in the moment, you know? However, last night when he came home at dusk after we received 16 inches of snow in 24 hours, he had decided to give me a chance. We went to the fields at the end of our road (the ones far from the river, so I wouldn't be tempted to run across -- I know... the ice isn't safe!). He put a light and a dog-bell around my neck, strapped on his snowshoes, unhooked my leash, and off we went, bounding across pristine powdery fields under a cloudy yet sparklingly snowy nighttime sky.

And as I charged around at full speed, leaving dog tracks about 6 feet apart in the snow, I found mine. Yep. I love winter, I love snow, and I love romping around in fresh snow on a cold, windless night, with snowflakes floating down and reflecting off my light like stars. I am sure the expression on my face -- if you weren't blinded by the headlamp around my neck -- said it all. Pure bliss. I am a dog who knows what I like, and I found it in the snowfields of Richmond last night.