Lesson 107: Lost in Space on a Hostile World

The last time our furry heroine was stuffed into an overcrowded car for a fifty-thousand-mile journey to the frozen tundra of the north, the trip started with a plush, comfy travel bed and was accompanied by promises of adventures, haute cuisine, friendly dogs, and adoring fans for the princess of puppyhood.

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Revenge of the Baby Burrito (Part 1)

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Revenge of the Baby Burrito (Part 1) (Link from Keke’s Guide) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lesson 105: Remember when you promised to love, adore, and OBEY? Well, I do…

I awoke with a start to a rumbling sound. Someone was opening the outside garage door. I looked around — where was I?

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K3KE: Rise of the Perfect Pup

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Lesson 104: Poopies will make them weep

There comes a time in every dog’s life when she must turn things around. Recognize the shining opportunity among the dark clouds of despair. Seize the day. Sniff the breeze. Eat the sock.

And the day might have slipped by un-seized if I hadn’t pooped on Mommy’s favorite tablecloth.

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How to Turn a Laundry Disaster into a Broadway Break

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Lesson 103: Letters from the Litter Box (Post-Award Edition)

By Zoey, reluctantly tolerated feline housemate of “Award-Winning Author” Keke

Dear Daddy,

After a lengthy negotiation — three chicken chips, an ear scratch, and a promise not to call me “Fluffy” in public — Keke has “allowed” me to write again. I’m told this is a rare honor, since all spotlights are currently reserved for her official award-winning presence.

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Living With an Award-Winning Author

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Living With an Award-Winning Author (link from Keke’s Guide) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lesson 102: Detective’s Nosebook

Humans look forward to Fridays all week, but dogs have a different favorite: Garbage Day. That chance to exercise those three hundred million underutilized receptors in our noses — to exert, train, and hone our investigative skills. Or as I call them, “shakedown opportunities.”

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The Tulsa Trash King

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Lesson 101: Sneaky Keke vs. Squirmy Wormy

Ah, the sweet smells of spring after an overnight rain: fresh dirt, crocuses poking their heads up, and earthworms strewn across the sidewalk like leftover spaghetti at a toddler’s birthday party.

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The Headbangers Ball

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[If you missed Part 1 of this story, you can read it here. And If you are not a Medium member, click this link to read this story for free.]

It had been a couple of weeks since the panic button incident when “Sweet Little Teddy” got Buddy in trouble. I was nervous about attending the Christmas party at Teddy and Tripod’s house, but Daddy dragged me along. I resisted, of course — I had places to be, things to sniff, a strict napping schedule to maintain. But apparently, “It’s Christmas” is just a festive way of saying, “Your schedule means nothing, dog.”

Buddy, however, had been nursing a grudge ever since. “It’s a matter of principle,” he told me just yesterday. “That little rat framed me and got away with it.” He’d been muttering about “justice” — like a detective in an old noir movie, but fluffier.

Tripod, Teddy’s human, earned her nickname from her ever-present wooden cane. As we opened the door to her house, my nose sniffed delicious odors of baking cookies and fresh pigs-in-a-blanket, while people shouted over loud Christmas music and barking dogs.

She had invited many of the dog-human pairs she knew from her days as a dog trainer. In one room, she was busy testing the animals to see if they remembered their lessons. It gave the gathering a feeling of half party, half obedience boot camp, like a holiday version of The Hunger Games, but with more treats.

“Gift exchange in the living room!” Tripod called as we passed.

I poked my head in the living room, where two tables flanked a colorful Christmas tree dripping with ornaments and tinsel. Wrapped gifts covered each table. The presents on the left table smelled of fake flowers and other sneeze-inducing scents — this table was clearly for humans. The ones on the other table smelled of pupperoni’s, chicken chips, and new chew toys — a table for the dogs, no doubt.

I found Buddy in the other corner, addressing a small group of dogs. “Chihuahuas originally pulled Santa’s sleigh,” he said. “But they kept getting distracted by squirrels, so he switched to reindeer.”

Teddy, an OG Chihuahua, growled and snapped, leading Buddy to beat a hasty retreat to the dining room.

A little later, I saw Teddy strut into the kitchen. He stopped at an old table with a tray of Christmas cookies. When no humans were watching, Teddy glanced around and then delivered a swift kick to one of the wobbly table legs. The table swayed momentarily as if contemplating its fate before surrendering completely and launching cookies across the room like sugary shrapnel.

Teddy stayed long enough to pick up a few cookies in his mouth, then made a quick exit into the dining room. There, he found Buddy giving one of the younger dogs a lesson about Christmas history. Teddy dropped a cookie by his back foot.

By the time someone told Tripod about the mess in the kitchen, Teddy was long gone.

“Oh, no!” she said. “Who knocked over the cookie platter?”

Clump. Shuffle-shuffle. Tripod entered the dining room, and Buddy turned and backed up a step to look at her. The incriminating cookie was now by his front paw, and when Tripod saw it, she pointed. “Buddy! Where did you get that cookie? Did you knock over the table in the kitchen?”

The beleaguered dog’s ears drooped so low they looked ready to mop the floor, and his head sank as if trying to disappear into his fluffy chest. Tripod, ever the human lie detector, gasped. “Buddy!” she scolded, her voice ringing with disappointment. The poor Havanese slinked off to the corner, where he sat looking like a throw pillow abandoned after a hard life of crime.

After a minute, I followed the forlorn dog, who was now talking retribution. “We gotta get him,” he said under his breath. “We gotta teach that little runt a lesson.”

“Why don’t we mess with his stash of squeaky toys?” I asked.

“Nah, we gotta think big!” Buddy said, then indicated the dog gift exchange table near the couch. “See that table?” He smirked. “We’ll hide Teddy’s favorite rubber chicken among the gifts. Then we open a bunch’a gifts to make it look like he got into them.”

I wasn’t so sure. Teddy deserved to be taught a lesson, but was this going too far?

As Buddy retrieved the rubber chicken, he prodded me. “Quick, while no one’s looking!” he said. “Get up on the couch and I’ll throw you the chicken.”

“Oh sure, you want me to do it,” I sulked, knowing that the portly Havanese could not jump that high.

“C’mon,” he said. “It’s gotta be you.”

But after Buddy threw the squeaky toy to me, Teddy saw me climbing to the gift table with his rubber chicken in my mouth. He gave a low growl. “Una linda perriiita,” he called, drawing out his vowels. “A leeettle puppy and a fat Have-a-Sneeze think they can outsmaaart me.” He snarled and snapped at Buddy.

But instead of backing off, Buddy stood his ground. “You’re nothing but a little bully, and I’m not afraid of you.”

“Well,” Teddy answered, eyes bulging. “You’re nothing but a liar and a fraud. You don’t have the guts for a Mexican standoff.”

I watched, frozen, thinking about what I could do to stop the fight. My paws felt glued to the floor. What could I possibly do against a bully like Teddy?

Then something stirred inside me — a familiar fire. Once, I had faced an impossible foe: the towering, treacherous stairs. I had conquered them, not as a trembling pup, but as Dragontooth, Queen of the Unmowed Jungle. And Dragontooth never backed down.

A growl rumbled deep in my chest, and I drew back, surprised at the depth of my own voice. I squared my stance, puffed out my fur, and leaped between them. “Dragontooth knows a better way!” I yelped.

The two dogs halted in mid-growl.

I continued. “Christmas is about forgiveness and second chances.” Turning to Buddy, I said, “You’re better than this. You don’t have to roll over, but don’t stoop to his level.”

Buddy narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going to play dead, either.”

Turning to Teddy, I added, “And you! You wouldn’t be all alone if you stopped scheming and growling!” The Chihuahua, who had been chuckling after I reprimanded Buddy, stepped back, alarmed. I added, “Maybe the Grinch had it right, but at least he gave back the presents in the end.”

“Ay Chihuahua,” Teddy said, scoffing. “Christmas spirit is overraaated.”

“C’mon,” I said to Buddy. “Let’s just try to get along for Christmas.”

“Maybe.” He cleared his throat and said, “Well, you know, the Grinch only turned nice because Max threatened to unionize. That’s why he got invited to the roast beast dinner — pure damage control.”

“Oh, brother,” said Teddy, rolling his oversized eyes.

Just then, Tripod noticed us and laughed. “See?” she told her guests. “Even Teddy has friends.” She gave her favorite pup an affectionate pat. Teddy cocked his head to the side and took a deep breath, his tail flicking just slightly.

Then he turned to me and winked his bulging eye. “Of course I do,” he said smoothly. “Social skills are a key part of my training regimen. Right after ‘sit’ and ‘eliminate threats.’”

I was about to relax when a strange shiver rippled down my spine, like a cold breeze had slipped through the warm, festive air. Teddy hadn’t said a word out loud, but somehow, I heard him.

“This isn’t over, perriiita,” his voice slithered through my mind. “There are beeegger things at play. I only follow orders.”

My ears twitched, and I turned to look at him, but his face was inscrutable. A chill bristled my fur, but before I could dwell on it, the scent of crushed cookies pulled me back into the party.

And that was the story of our Christmas miracle. Okay, maybe not a miracle — unless you count Buddy dodging the blame and Teddy’s teeth staying to himself. But hey, no one ended up in the doghouse, and the cookies eventually got cleaned up (with a bit of help from my friends). And that’s a holiday win in my book.

Ken Van Camp - Medium

Are You Ready for Sweet Little Teddy? (Conclusion) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lesson 75: Ay Chihuahua Caramba!

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[For those of you who have been following Keke’s Guide for a while, the lesson number on this story will come as a surprise, since the last lesson I published was number 99. This is actually a complete rewrite of an earlier story originally published in May 2024. So please read on — even though it’s Lesson 75, this is an original story…]

“Watch me snag some turkey,” I told my friend Buddy. Buddy is a Havanese from the next block, about as tall as me but larger in girth. Daddy and I stayed at his house one day while Marilyn, his human, visited a sick friend.

I sat on the floor at the edge of the kitchen, watching Daddy at the counter as he prepared a sandwich from sliced turkey. The aroma stretched before us like a leash pulled just out of reach — taunting, irresistible, and begging to be claimed.

I stared at him. After a minute, Daddy glanced at me, then did a double-take. His eyes met mine for several seconds, then he said, “Keke, did I forget to give you a Chicken Chip earlier when you did your business outside?”

He took the bag of crunchy wafers from the counter and started to remove one, then shook his head and looked at me again. “Maybe some turkey would make a nice change of pace?”

He smiled, broke off a piece of turkey, and extended it to me.

I accepted it slowly, never breaking eye contact, chewing with the deliberate intensity of a dog calculating her next move.

Daddy blinked. Then, as if pulled by unseen strings, he turned to Buddy. “Where are my manners?” he muttered, tearing off another piece of turkey and handing it over.

Buddy swallowed his treat in one gulp, then gawked at me. “How did you do that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know exactly — I just have to stare at him and think about food, and he offers me some. But this is the first time I got him to share with someone else.”

Buddy screwed up his face in concentration and fixed Daddy with an intense stare. His lips moved slightly, like he was whispering a spell.

Nothing.

He sighed. “I wish I could do that.” Then his expression brightened. “Hmmm. Cats have this ancient power, you know. They can make humans do whatever they want just by purring at a certain frequency — it’s called Purr-ceptual Manipulation. One minute, a human is thinking about important things, like kibble sales, and the next, they’re running off to buy luxury pillows for the cat.”

“Wow,” I said, tilting my head. “I always wondered why humans kept cats around. That actually makes sense.”

A couple of hours later, our neighbors Teddy and Tripod stopped in.

Teddy’s not a friendly dog. He may be Chihuahua-sized, but he’s all T-Rex attitude — growling and snapping like he’s auditioning for Jurassic Bark.

Buddy and I tensed as Teddy strutted closer. I took a step back, then another, then — nope! — I launched myself onto the couch and scrambled up the backrest, perching safely above the danger zone. Teddy might have a big attitude, but last I checked, he couldn’t fly.

Tripod is Teddy’s human. Her real name is Christine, but we dogs around the neighborhood call her “Tripod” because she never goes anywhere without her third leg — a wooden cane that thumps loudly as she moves.

“Don’t worry, Keke,” Tripod purred.

Clump. Shuffle-shuffle. Clump. Shuffle-shuffle.

Before I could protest, she plucked me from my high ground and cradled me like a baby. “Come play with Teddy,” she cooed, beaming.

Tripod has a blind spot the size of a Great Dane when it comes to Teddy. She showers him with praise and treats, convinced he prances above the puddles — when really, he’s the one making them.

I trembled as she set me down — just two feet from Teddy’s prehistoric fangs, the same ones I’d seen snap at Flash, a Pitador four times his size.

“Sweet little Teddy,” Tripod cooed as she shuffled away. Clump. Shuffle-shuffle.

I shrank back, belly brushing the floor, until — thud — I hit Buddy. He whimpered. Teddy prowled closer, his wrinkled nose twitching as he sniffed furiously, his stare pressing me into the carpet.

His eyes… moved independently. The right one locked onto me, cold and unblinking, while the left one drifted around the room like it had its own agenda. Just when I thought he might lunge, his mouth curled into a slow, knowing grin, exposing every last jagged tooth.

Then both eyes converged — on Buddy.

“Mi amigo, Buddy,” Teddy drawled, stretching each syllable like taffy. “Muuu-cho tieeeem-po.”

Buddy’s breath hitched. I could smell his fear.

Teddy strolled past me, leaned in close, and sniffed Buddy. Then, in a low, hushed voice, he murmured, “S’Okay… S’Alright.”

Buddy swallowed hard.

Trying to divert Teddy’s attention, I trotted into the living room and nudged Buddy’s soft blue ball from the corner. Buddy followed, doing his best to look casual, but he froze when Teddy sprinted past him.

I nosed the ball toward Teddy. He stopped it with his paw, then head-butted it. The ball rolled past Buddy, who instinctively turned to chase it.

A low growl rumbled behind us.

Buddy and I halted mid-step. Slowly, I turned. Teddy’s teeth gleamed in a tight grin.

“We play game, yes?”

“S-Sure,” I stammered. “Your goal is on this side of the room, and Buddy’s — ”

“No, no, no,” Teddy interrupted, shaking his head. “I show you.”

He flicked his snout, motioning for us to follow. Then, without another word, he strutted past the living room and headed straight for the front door. My stomach clenched.

Tripod’s purse sat on the floor.

Teddy jammed his nose into the bag, snuffling and rooting around.

“Teddy,” I hissed, eyes widening. “What are you doing in — ”

“Relax,” he chuckled, voice muffled by fabric. “S’Ok.”

He emerged a second later, a ring of keys dangling from his mouth.

“Teddy, no.”

His ears twitched. “What are you, un Ratoncito?”

I had no idea what that meant, but I shook my head anyway.

Teddy grinned. “Then we have a leetle fun. Jus’ remember…”

One of his eyes locked onto me — unblinking — while the other casually swept the room.

“Sneetches end in ditches.”

I swallowed hard.

Teddy’s face split into a sharp-toothed smile. “S’Alright,” he cackled. “Jus’ keeeding, hee-hee-hee.”

With that, Teddy clamped his teeth on the car remote.

“HONK!”

I flinched.

“HONK! HONK! HONK!”

Tripod’s car.

My heart pounded as I realized what Teddy had done. But he didn’t stop — he bolted straight for the living room, keys still clenched in his mouth. I leaped forward to stop him, but —

“What’s that?”

Tripod’s voice froze me in place. Clump, shuffle-shuffle. She hobbled toward the front door, her frown deepening as the blaring horn grew louder.

She grabbed her purse and rifled through it. “Now, where could they be?”

Buddy tiptoed out of the living room.

Tripod’s gaze locked onto him.

“Buddy,” she said, her voice sharp. “What do you know about this?”

Buddy drooped. He squirmed. His eyes darted to the living room, then back to Tripod. He whimpered.

Tripod followed his gaze, shuffled over to Buddy’s toy bin, and emerged moments later, keys in hand. She pressed the remote, silencing the alarm.

Then, slowly, she turned back to Buddy.

I wanted to bark. I wanted to cry, It wasn’t Buddy! Teddy did it! But then I saw it — Teddy’s left eye, his eerie monocled stare, locked onto me.

Sneetches end in ditches.

Just then, Daddy walked in. “What’s going on?” His eyes flicked between me, Teddy, and Tripod.

Tripod planted her hands on her hips. “Buddy took my car keys,” she declared, “and set off the car alarm.”

Buddy shrank into the corner like a deflated balloon.

“But — ” Daddy hesitated, glancing at the guilty-looking Havanese.

Tripod shook her head. “Bad boy!”

I clenched my paws. I couldn’t let Buddy take the fall! I fixed my gaze on Teddy, summoning all my willpower, just like when I mind-prodded Daddy for turkey.

Teddy… I focused harder. Tell the truth. Fix this!

Teddy smirked.

And then —

In my head, I heard him laugh. “Hee hee hee! You are not un Ratoncito. You are just a scared leetle puppy! Run away! Run away, leetle puppy! Hee hee hee…”

My breath caught. My paws moved before I could think.

I turned and ran.

To be continued…

Ken Van Camp - Medium

If you enjoyed Keke’s story, you might also like:

• Baby Burrito: No Fur. No Tail. No Sleep.
• The Buddy System

Are You Ready for Sweet Little Teddy? (Part 1) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lesson 99: Close Encounters of the Turd Kind

Humans are a complicated species. They come in various sizes, colors, styles, and scents. Just when I think I have them figured out, I discover there’s another kind of human out there.

Thanks to the editors of The Live. Love. Laugh. Pub for publishing this week’s blog post for Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human. Please click the link below to read the remainder of the story:

Baby Burrito: No Fur. No Tail. No Sleep.

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Baby Burrito: No Fur. No Tail. No Sleep. (link from Keke’s Guide) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Lesson 98: At least the sweater dries

The weather has been colder lately, and consequently, Daddy has started dressing me in sweaters and jackets when we go outside. While I appreciate his good intentions, sometimes he’s like a dog at the park — too focused on his own ball. I squirm and dodge to keep him from pulling the pink sweater over my head, yet still he persists, thinking he’s doing me a favor.

Thanks to the editors of Good Vibes Club for publishing this week’s blog post for Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human. Please click the link below to read the remainder of the story:

Ugly Sweaters and Other Doggie Indignities

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Ugly Sweaters and Other Doggie Indignities (link from Keke’s Guide) was originally published in Keke’s Guide to Training Your Human on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.