The Grass is Always Greener

If you live with dogs in any place on earth where it rains and snows, you will know this to be true: there are only three seasons in a year.

Snow.

Mud.

Grass.

For the uninitiated, I will attempt to explain here. Tucker has volunteered to illustrate them for me.

Snow 

Snow is exciting. The dogs dig in it, push their snouts in it. Stitch trails across its pristine whiteness as they play Chase.  A short dog like Lilah bounces her way through it, ending up sprinkled with snowflakes and looking like a powdered chocolate donut. The snow sticks to Tucker's wiry fur as if he's part Velcro. When the gang comes back inside the house after a romp with their best buds through the white stuff, we go though a de-snowification process. While this isn't a favorite activity, we play a game called Treats for the Feets, where the dogs earn snacks for each foot cleaned, and that makes it just a tad more tolerable.

Snow sticking to Tucker's paws

Just as a pearl is formed around a minuscule irritant within a clam, snowballs form around just a few strands of dog fur. With her long black fur, Lilah has to deal with this every winter. Because she has fuzzy paws, she winds up with hard, cold pepples stuck between the pads. In the middle of a spectacular game of Snow Chase, Lilah will suddenly stop, sit down, and lick her paws. That's when I know she needs help digging rock-hard snow chunks from her paws.

One of my previous dogs, a Keeshond mix, had it worse than Lilah. Pasha's paws were so furry that it looked like he was wearing fuzzy slippers. And when snowballs formed around his fur, they could be huge. We're not just talking golf-ball sized snowballs. We're talking cantaloupes.

Yes, that giant snowball is stuck to poor Pasha.

Mud

Mud comes twice a year...before and after Snow.  Sometimes there is a brief interlude of frozen ground, but it eventually melts and we're left again with oozy, squishy, splashy mud.

The key word is splashy.

If you've ever watched a horse race on a wet track, and seen horse and jockey afterwards, then you'll have an idea what the dogs look like after a few minutes of Fence Running during Mud. This is why we have designated linens known as dog towels--towels that are so ratty and abused that one doesn't mind them turning a lovely shade of chestnut brown as we clean paws. And legs. And bellies. And tails. And sometimes faces.

We use up lots of Treats for the Feets during Mud. Sometimes we need a bowl of warm water to dip paws into, or we soak small dog towels in water to wipe down the pups. Treats are given freely while all body parts are cleaned on each of the three dogs. The washer and dryer get a workout as soaked and muddy towels are cycled through to make sure we have enough for the next time the dogs come inside.

You can see the mud all the way up Tucker's legs.

Grass

My favorite dog season is when the grass has grown in and there is little or no mud. The dogs run freely, and even when it rains, all we have to deal with are a dozen wet paws. If it's raining while the pooches are outside, however, they may need an overall body rub-down and dry off, or the resulting floppity will splatter everything within a five-foot radius. (The cats have learned this the hard way--hard for them, amusing for me.) Sometimes, particularly after the grass is cut,  Jasper and Tucker will sport green-tinged fur, but that wipes off easy. For the most part, though, the Feets don't require as much attention--or Treats--during Grass.

Tucker, a dog out standing in his field, or backyard. 

I think we all might agree that Grass is a favorite. As show in the picture below.

Grass time is play time!

Other folks look forward to the flowers of spring, the warmth of summer or the color of fall. As for me, I just wait for Grass season.

Paws to reflect: Doggy edition

I don't think it's just me. Really.  I'm not the only one who thinks that paws are among the cutest parts of a dog--or a cat. Of course, noses, waggy tails, whiskers and bellies are also adorable.

But there's something about paws.  They're not just for walking and running. They can shake hands and high five. They can tap you gently to remind you that petting and belly rubbing needs to continue. They are flexible and expressive. They can be fuzzy, furry, soft, rough, muddy, wet, slippery.  And--I swear--dog paws smell like popcorn.

In looking over the many photos I've taken through the years, I realize that there is a preponderance of paws, so it seemed like a likely topic for a post. Today, I'll feature puppy paws; next week, I'll look at kitty feet.

Lilah has delicate velvet paws, Tucker shows off his furry feet and Jasper stretches his long legs.

Even though Jasper is 60 pounds to Tucker's 38, their paws seem about the same size. Like a canine Clydesdale, Tucker's legs end in large hairy feet.

Lilah's small, pretty paws contrast with Jasper's moose feet.

Pasha used to cross his paws and look oh-so-sophisticated.

Jasper can create the same air of calm dignity. Sometimes.

I love it when Lilah's paws hang over the edge of a stair or bed. They look so dainty and sweet compared to her brothers.

Paws come in handy when you need to chew a bone. You can balance the bone just perfectly--to get the best spot for a good gnaw.

Rosie used her paws to hold frisbees--and sometimes to nearly catch them. Though usually she just grabbed them out of the air with her mouth.

Jasper and Tucker pause (can't resist the pun) to contemplate their next move.

Paws are also part of a good hug--or in this case a wake up kiss from Rosie to a young Aaron.

Or a hug from Lilah as she nibbles on Jasper's ear.

Paws are also good for stretching. Sometimes they seem to get stuck, with one or two legs extended in the air in a silly pose.

Even when he's not stretching, Jasper's paws look endless. We call this position "broccoli paws." Imagine how broccoli bunches look when you buy them rubber banded-together in the store, and you'll understand how we came to that expression.

Tucker's furry paws are a mud magnet. After he and his siblings come in from a run in our yard, they are all required to play the "Treats for the Feets" game where they give me paws to wipe, and I give them treats--one per paw.

If I don't wipe paws, there are sometimes consequences. Last spring, Lilah felt it was necessary to review my To Do list for the upcoming Passover seder.

One of the best things for paws is to lay your head upon them and ponder the big questions of the universe.

Vocabulary Lesson #3: Dogs, N through Z

In my last post, I introduced some dog vocabulary; these are words that aren't included in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, but perhaps should be. Or maybe not. 

Inspired by my dogs, my family has created words to describe them, their activities and their personalities.

After the last entry, I realized I had left a few words out. I'll have to add them in a future post. I'm sure I'll have more dog--and cat--terms by then.

Below are the N through Z in the dog lexicon. Enjoy.

nyng  (nyng) verb
For dogs, the act of chewing an itch, usually on a foot, sometimes on another dog. Features small bites with the front teeth.
Usage: Lilah must have itchy feet; she's nyning her paws.

Lilah nyngs her foot. I just love that crinkly nose that goes along with nynging.

pelt  (pelt) noun
What’s left of a stuffed animal after a dog has disemboweled or defuzzicated it; one of the Best Toys. The smaller, the better.
Usage: Tucker and Jasper, why are you playing Tug with that tiny pelt when there are two larger pelts right here?

Lilah and Jasper play tug with a pelt. It's all that's left from what once was a plush emu.

puff muzzle  (puf / muz / ul) noun
The expression a dog makes when his or her cheeks are puffed up a little above the teeth, kind a like a smile. Usually seen when the dog is really interested in something.
Usage: You heard me say the word "outside," didn't you Lilah? That's why you're giving me puff muzzle.

Lilah demonstrates puff muzzle.

pupster (pup / stur) noun
A cute smallish dog: Rosie; she was a pupster her whole life. She was the original--and only--pupster.
Usage: The pupster is requesting that you play ball with her. 

Rosie, the one and only pupster; she was only about 4 months old here.

pupstrating (pup / strayt / ing) verb
The act of hanging around and looking cute, probably planning some kind of mischief. Can only be done by a pupster.
Usage: Rosie is pupstrating under the desk.

Rosie pupstrating at the top of the stairs. Possibly she is pondering the problem of a ball that went bouncy bouncy down the stairs. Or maybe she's contemplating mayhem. You never knew with Rosie.

run mucks (run / muks) or run some mucks (run / sum / muks) verb
Playing exuberantly outside.
Etymology: From “to run amuck”
Usage: Rosie, do you want to go outside and run some mucks?

Rosie loved to go outside and Run Some Mucks.

shlorb (shlorb) noun or verb
That particular type of slobber that gets all over a dog toy after serious playing, usually seen on a ball, and generously shared by pups who want to give you doggy kisses.
Usage (noun): Oh yuck, this ball is covered with shlorb!
Usage (verb): Rosie shlorbed the rubber ducky so much that it lost its squeak.

You can just make out the glimmer of shlorb on Rosie's Ball.

shlorby (shlor / bee) adjective

The condition of an object after it has been shlorbed.
Usage: Rosie could always tell when someone didn’t want a shlorby ball dropped in someone’s lap, which I’m sure is why she chose to give the ball to that person in particular.

sleepy tongue (slee / pee / tung) noun
A particular licking or smacking by a dog’s tongue, usually as he or she stretches or moans, in preparation for a nice nap or snooze.
Usage: Lilah is doing sleepy tongue; she  must be tired out from a long day playing with Tucker.

stealth dog (stelth / dawg) noun
A dog that disappears when it is dark; Lilah at night.
Etymology: from stealth aircraft, that are hard to detect using radar and other technology.
Usage: I forgot to put the light on Lilah’s collar when I took  her outside last night, and of course, the stealth dog disappeared; I had no idea where she was for more than five minutes.

Obviously, I couldn't show a picture of Lilah as Stealth Dog at night, because you wouldn't see her. But she does tend to hide in the garden now and again. You can just imagine how she would disappear when it's dark out.

stretchy belly (strech / ee / bel / ee) noun
One of the best kinds of dog bellies to rub; appears only when the dog stretches, creating a tight, incredibly rubbable belly.
Usage: Ooh look; Jasper has stretchy belly and I’m going to rub it right now!

This isn't quite a stretchy belly; the best ones include all paws stretched out as well--and they're kind of hard to catch with a camera. But Tucker's belly is quite rubbable at any time.

tayul (tay / ul) noun
A very cute tail, usually waggy.
Etymology: tail
Usage: Look at those cute, happy tayuls, wagging their greetings.

I love this picture; three pups havin' a confab, complete with happy tayuls.

teef (teef) or teefs (teefs)  noun
Teeth, only cuter.
Usage: Watch those teefs, Tucker; bite the Tuggy, not me.

vortex of doom (vor / teks / uv / doom) noun
A spot on Jasper’s chest, where the fur swirls together...kind of like a dog version of a cowlick. It’s possible the vortex of doom has special powers.
Usage: Jasper loves to be petted, particularly near his vortex of doom, and will paw at you if you attempt to stop petting.

A close up of Jasper's Vortex of Doom. I just want to poke it and pet it sometimes. It is irresistible.

whisper woof (wis / pur / woof) verb
A short, quiet bark. Not loud enough to be a bark. Almost a whisper. Used when you think there's something to bark about, but you're not sure...almost like a test woof.
Usage: What do you hear, Kelsey, that's making you whisper woof? 

Kelsey, the originator of the Whisper Woof.

whissle fuppy swippers (wis / ull / fup / ee / swip / urz) noun
Pasha’s fuzzy paws.
Etymology: From little fuzzy slippers--only cuter.
Usage: It’s time to trim Pasha’s whissle fuppy slippers; they’ve grown so furry that snow keeps getting caught in them.

Pasha had the furriest feet I've ever seen. Corinne coined the term whissle fuppy swippers, and it is exactly what they are.

zipper (zip / ur) noun
The white stripe on Rosie’s chest, a good place to pet her.
Usage: What’s behind that zipper, Rosie? (Answer: a brave and beautiful heart.)

My Rosie, showing off her white zipper.

It's Not A Pack; it's a Family

The human-dog bond is universal. This is my dad, about 80 years ago, with his best friend Ruby, an Airedale.

Tucker sleeps all night in a crate at the foot of our bed. When I open the crate door in the morning, it would seem obvious that he would come charging out, ready to face the day. Yet he lingers, stretches, and falls back to sleep, quite content to stay in the crate, even though Jasper and Lilah are standing in front, wagging their doggy butts off, so they can give him a morning greeting. And often, during the day, Tucker will climb into his crate in the dining room, curl up and go to sleep. Yet when he first came to live with us, it was a completely different story; when I invited him to sleep in the crate, closed it and left the house, he went nuts and dug like crazy to get out.

Every day when I walk the dogs, I work with both Jasper and Tucker to be calm when they see another dog. We've made progress, but apparently Jasper remembers every house where he's encountered another pup, and begins to whine as we walk by--even if there's no dog there at the moment. On a walk the other day, Jasper saw Two Rabbits in a yard. He was not allowed to chase those bunnies, but he Really Really Wanted to. I gave him the Leave It command, along with lots of treats, but he still wanted to go after those long-eared varmints. Of course I didn't let him. On our next walk two days later, he whined as we walked past The Bunny Yard. There are no dogs in that yard. And we only saw rabbits that one time.

On a recent weekend, we went to dinner in the city for a birthday celebration. My son Aaron brought home a couple of helium balloons. Lilah took one look at these strange items that floated and backed away, looking very concerned. I brought a balloon down to dog nose level, and encouraged her to Touch It With Your Nose, which she did, accompanied by a long slow wary wag. She got treats for Being Brave. But later, as she walked down the hallway past the balloons, she gave them a wide berth. 

What were they thinking? What is going on in those doggy brains? I can't tell you how many times I've wondered that. In search of a few answers, I found Dog Sense, a book by John Bradshaw, that gave me an entirely new perspective on the wonderful creatures with whom I share my home and life. Bradshaw summarizes tons of in-depth research about canis familiaris in a way that even the non-scientist can appreciate.  He explores the evolution of our beloved pets, and writes about dozens of studies that give us non-canines a few glimpses into the minds of these fascinating animals.

Here is some of what I learned:

I’m the Mommy

It turns out that the thinking about domestic dogs in terms of a pack structure was based on faulty research into the way American wolves behave in captivity or stressed circumstances. Our current dogs probably didn’t evolve from these wolves, but instead from early ancestors of the Timber Wolf in Europe. In studying these animals, who are more closely aligned to the domestic dog, researchers have found that the groups they form aren't really all about the alpha male and alpha female. Most groups are formed around a central pair: the parents of the rest of the animals in the group. Thus, those of us who refer to ourselves as our pets’ Mom or Dad are probably a little more on target than calling ourselves pack leaders.  I’ve always thought I was Lilah, Jasper and Tucker’s mommy (and Kelsey, Pasha and Rosie’s mom, too); now I’ve given myself permission to say so in public. 

Rosie and Mommy

It’s all about time

Dogs have a very different sense of time. Very. Different. Think about it; if you have dogs, you know this already. When I leave the house, and then realize I forgot something (please don’t ask my family how often that happens), I'll come back inside seconds after I left and the dogs will greet me like I’ve been gone for days. Perhaps weeks. That’s one of the reasons so many dogs have separation anxiety; they don’t know that you’ll ever, ever come back.  

You're leaving us?

This was Tucker's issue; at first, when we left him home in his crate, he was so anxious that he’d dig up his blankets and make a terrible stinky mess (I’ll spare you the details.) We’ve been practicing leaving and coming right back and giving him treats—and he’s gotten much, much better: no more messes. He can stay in his crate comfortably for a good 3 hours while we're gone. 

Tucker, quite comfortable, in his crate.

Jasper, who isn't crated while I'm gone (because he doesn't chew everything in sight like his brother), still misses his Mommy (that’s me), and pines while I'm away, but doesn't act out. He has a special Waiting for Mommy spot where he lays, sighing every now and again. According to Bradshaw, studies show that even if dogs are left with other dogs for company, they still experience separation anxiety when their humans have left then alone. The strength of the human-dog bond can be more intense than that between dogs.

Jasper in his Waiting for Mommy Spot by the back door.

Tune In and Turn On

Bradshaw believes that dogs and people have co-evolved, and one of the results is that dogs are uniquely tuned in to humans. They are the only species whose members routinely look into our eyes. They understand when we point to something to look away toward it, or to look at what we are looking at. They learn our vocabulary. If you have dogs, you will sometimes think they can read your mind. 

Lilah looks like she's about to say something profound. I'm sure she'd have so much to say, if I could only understand her.

Most often, it is because dogs watch everything, and are alert to all kinds of nonverbal cues that tell them what is going on—not just your activities (I’m picking up a leash so it must be time to Go For a Walk), but also the smells and subtle changes and movements that speak loudly to dogs. If I do anything out of the ordinary, the dogs will notice--and react. Just the other day, I started a new exercise routine that required me to lie on my back on the floor and lift some weights. All three dogs came running to investigate this unusual behavior. I thought the dogs were going to lick me down to the bone. “Mommy isn’t acting right! She’s on the floor! She’s doing something funny with her arms.” Tucker laid down right on top of me. “There will be no more of that!” So much for my goal of Michelle Obama arms.

Tucker keeps an eye out for unusual activities.

We Don’t Know Nothin’

We’ve only begun to understand these awesome creatures. We really don’t know how they think or exactly how they feel. But after reading Bradshaw’s book, I feel honored—and I use that word on purpose—that these animals have chosen to share their lives with us. All of my dogs—and those that came before them—have given me a gift by allowing me to get to know them and love them. I look at them differently now, wishing I could tell them in their language how I feel. I guess some belly rubs, a good game of Ball, a Nice Long Walk and a Cookie or two will be the best I can do for now.

Jasper, Tucker and Lilah on duty; Mommy has left the building.

If you’d like to know more…

The book is called Dog Sense. The author, John Bradshaw, appeared on The Colbert Report and was interviewed by NPR’s Terry Gross on her show Fresh Air. He was also mentioned in a great story by Adam Gopnik in The New Yorker magazine, where Gopnik writes about a Havanese that joined a non-dog-loving family and made true believers out of them.

Places, Everyone, Part I

Years ago, when I lived in my previous house, my Keeshond mix Pasha liked to lie at the bottom of the basement stairs, sprawling in the tiny four foot by four foot space. With his legs sticking out and his head tilted back, he did a pretty fair impression of a dog with a broken neck. One look at him, lying so awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, and you’d start to think some evil being had thrown him down there. And he slept like a rock in that spot, perhaps because it was cool and confined. Sometimes he was so convincing that when he didn't respond to my calls, I’d run down the steps and wake him up, and he'd blink at me, sleep-addled, and wonder what the heck my problem was. He had been in the middle of a Really Good Nap in his Special Sleeping Place.

Pasha

Pasha was no different than every other pet I've had or currently live with. They all have their Special Sleeping Place. Or Places. 


There's no place like a cave 
Pasha in particular really liked to be enclosed. He loved to sleep underneath one of our end tables in the living room of our first house; the space under the table was dubbed Pasha's Cave. And it was the best place for a snooze, other than the bottom of the basement stairs...except when the Evil Vacuum Cleaner would come shoving it's nasty noisy nose into his private domain. He would leave very quickly when threatened with the vacuum; usually he felt so safe in his lair that I’m sure he couldn’t imagine how the Evil Vacuum Cleaner managed to bridge its defenses. 

Pasha sleeping in his Cave.

Though he wasn't crate trained at first, when we brought new puppy Rosie home and crate trained her (now in another house), Pasha decided that a crate made a perfect cave and would sometimes just go in it to sleep. We eventually had two crates, one for each dog, and every once in awhile, Pasha would cause a rip in the fabric of the universe when he chose to go in The Wrong Crate. Rosie knew which one was hers and was very particular about it; thus she went in her crate even when Pasha was already there. That lead to a somewhat overcrowded situation, which would cause Pasha to panic and get a little confused (particularly when he was older) and become unsure of exactly how to get past Rosie and out the door. We'd eventually help him out, and direct him to The RIght Crate, and all would be right with the universe.

This is NOT Pasha and Rosie in a crate. I still don't know how Jasper managed to fold himself up so that both he and Tucker could fit in.

Bizarrely, enough, Athena the cat seems to think that Tucker’s crate in our bedroom is one of the Best Special Sleeping Places. Perhaps this is because of the General Cat Belief that every thing, every where is put there specifically for their use. So even though the crate must feature a really strong Eau de Dog, it is comfortable, and there’s a pillow, and it’s kind of enclosed, but you can still see out, so it’s definitely a Cat Bed. Athena always seems surprised and incredibly offended when Tucker (or one of the other dogs) walks into the crate when she’s in there. And then there’s the tricky business of how to exit the crate with Kitty Dignity intact while trying to scramble in between the dog snout and four doggy legs. The effrontery! 

Tucker and Athena in his pen (before he graduated to a crate.) There's a lot less room in a crate.

Confined areas have been favorite spots for many of my dogs. One of Rosie's favorite spots was by my feet in the kneehole under my desk. She'd curl up under there and sleep while I worked in my office. Sometimes she'd rest her head on my footstool, and every once in awhile, I'd be typing away at my keyboard and I'd hear a soft sigh and a moan as she stretched and adjusted to get in the Best Position.  

Rosie curled up under my desk by my footrest. Notice the ubiquitous ball. Rosie was rarely far from one of her favorite toys.

When I was growing up, our dog Twinkle (I'll to write more about her in the future), used to sleep under our dining room table. The table was always covered with a floor-length tablecloth, and all you'd see of Twink would be her black snout and little black nose peeking out from under it. If you got down on floor level, you'd just barely make out her eyes. From her People Blind under the table, she could watch the world walk by, but she was so hidden, most folks wouldn't know she was there. Another favorite spot of Twinkle's was behind the living room couch where she could see out from under it; this spot had the same benefit as the dining room table; she could see and not be seen.


Hiding in caves is also a good thing if you’re a cat. The Underbed Cave is a particularly popular spot for Athena and Dawn. If either of the cats are not in the Specified Customary Cat Spots, you can be sure to find her under our bed, usually in Meatloaf position. (See "meatloaf" entry in my post on pet vocabulary.) Dawn, in particular, likes to hide Under Things. She even has a special look on her face when she hides; if she feels particularly hidden, she’ll drift off to sleep with a self-satisfied look on her face that stays there even while she drifts off to Kitty Dreamland.


On top of the world, or just about anything else 
And of course if you’re a cat, and you’re not Under something, it’s good to be On Top Of something. Dawn loves to sleep on the very top level of the humongous cat tree that dominates our family room. (In a weak moment, I let my son convince me we needed this monstrosity.) Athena likes to perch on the back of the family room couch. There’s also On Top Of a recently laundered blouse, On Top Of a grocery bag, On Top of a dresser, On Top of my stomach or chest (when I allow cats in the bedroom and I’m trying to sleep) and of course the old stand by On Top of the newspaper while I’m trying to read it. 

Dawn, high up in her crow's nest, at the top of the cat tree.

Athena On Top Of my laptop bag.

Athena On Top Of the family room Couch.

(Actually, I think it’s written in the Cat Bylaws, section III, subchapter 12, where the Comfort Factor is discussed as a direct relationship to interruptiveness or inconvenience. This applies as well, I believe, to the Cat On the Keyboard phenomenon.) And both cats are particularly pleased when they can sleep both On Top Of and Under at the same time, which they accomplish by sleeping on a chair when it is pushed under the table.

Dawn On Top of the chair and Under the dining room table.

Dawn, On Top Of the Chair, Under the kitchen  table. It's a completely different experience.

Of course, if you’re a cat and you’ve used up your Unders and On Top Ofs,  there’s always Inside. Inside a cloth bag. Inside a box. Inside a pillow case. Inside a corner. 

Dawn, comfortably "cornered" between the end table, the couch and the wall of the family room.

Basket + Towel = Cat Bed 
I actually put this concept to the test the other day. I had taken a basket out to use for hanger storage, and when I put it down on top of the clothes dryer I suddenly realized that the it was perfectly meatloaf shaped. Remembering that Athena often greets me from that very spot when I walk in the door, I thought that if I put a towel in the basket, I might just create the Perfect Cat Bed.


I knew enough about cat sensibilities not to breathe a word to either cat about this brilliant idea. I had previously purchased a cat bed--the kind that had soft tall sides for kitties to curl up in--and my effort had been soundly snubbed. Surely I wouldn’t expect the Cats to sleep in a bed made for...Cats! So, I put a towel in the basket, left in on top of the dryer unremarked upon, and sure enough, when I came home from work the next day, there was Athena, all tucked into her new basket bed.  Just a few days later, Dawn discovered it and found that it was just the right size for her, too.

A basket full of Athena.

Dawn snuggles in the Basket Bed. Just don't tell her I planned it that way.

I have to admit as a newbie cat owner, I am way too proud of myself for thinking of this concept and actually seeing it work. Somehow, I think it is all going to backfire on me the minute I post this entry; they'll find out. Cat spies are everywhere, right? And if they knew this was a bed made for cats, it Just Will Not Do.

It should be noted that when I first began this post, I actually thought I'd write about special sleeping spots and hiding spots and hang out spots. Since I hadn't really enumerated all of the Special Spots, I was quite clueless as to just how many there actually are. So, to preserve the reader's enjoyment, I narrowed the topic down to just the Sleeping Places. I'll get to Hidey Places and Observation Posts another time. However, even with the focus just on favorite sleeping spots, I discovered there are way too many for one entry. So stay tuned and come back again to read part II of Places, Everyone.