ohmidog!

Wouldn’t you really rather get there in a BMW?

Of course you would, unless “there” happened to be a neutering appointment.

This boxer is eager to hit the road until — thanks to the latest technology — he seems to become aware of the destination, and makes a quick exit.

(To see all our “Woof in Advertising” posts, click here.)

When a police dispatcher in Michigan got a call from the frantic owner of a choking dog, she offered a quick lesson in the Heimlich maneuver, and it worked.

A 10-pound dachshund had chewed on a present and swallowed either a piece of the gift or its wrapping, blocking her airway, according to the The Oakland Press.

The woman called 911 at 9:46 a.m on Christmas morning:

“I am so sorry to call you but I’ve got a dog that’s choking on a piece of Christmas present she opened,” the woman said between sobs. “She’s choking to death.”

Royal Oak police dispatcher Stacey Sheldon told the caller to open the dog’s mouth to see if the obstruction was visible.

When it wasn’t, she told the woman to perform the Heimlich maneuver in the manner generally recommended for small children.

Have a listen:

dispatcher 12.25.11 by Bruce MacLeod

The dispatcher told the woman to hold the dog in her arms, find the place where the dog’s ribs meet, and push in and up with force. The caller relayed the directions to a man.

Near the end of the recording, the caller can be heard saying, “She just coughed it up. I’m so happy.”

“I’m happy too,” Sheldon said. “Take her to the vet to make sure she didn’t hurt anything in her throat. Merry Christmas.”

“The dispatcher did a great job of walking her through the correct procedure of where to apply pressure to dislodge the object,” Police Chief Corrigan O’Donohue said. “I just learned about it from a thank-you note from the family. I listened to the call and the dispatcher did such a great job. She was compassionate but firm and patient.”

(Photo: Oakland Press)

“Putting My Trust in You”

Sexy voice … street smart

Kind, patient … You complete me,

GPS lady

(Highway Haiku is a collection of poetry, composed on the road, that appears semi-regularly in ”Travels with Ace. To see all of them, click here.)

“Directions in Maine”

Two lefts, six miles, right

Ay-ah, that’s how you get from

Hee-yah to they-yah

Hopelessly lost in Alabama — a road map might have been a good investment — I pulled over at a sad- and sleepy-looking gas station, just north of I have no idea where, to ask directions.

A big yellow dog was sound asleep at the foot of a gas pump. He didn’t wake up when I walked by. Nor, when I opened the door and walked in, did the proprietor. He was in an easy chair, facing the door, sound asleep as well.

I cleared my throat, and gradually his eyes opened — the proprietor’s, not the dog’s.

“Hep ya?” he asked from his chair.

“You sell maps here?” I asked.

“Nope,” he answered.

“Can you tell me how to get back to Tuscumbia?” I asked, not entirely sure he would be willing to do so.

“Go up to Russville and turn left.”

“Go up to where?”

“Russville.”

I thanked him, complimented him on his fine looking dog, and walked out. The big dog was still asleep. The gas pump dog being too bucolic a photo opportunity to pass up, I got my camera out of the car, took a few steps closer to him, and took a picture.

Though slamming car doors hadn’t awakened him, the subtle click of the camera did. He opened his eyes, looked at me, turned his head and looked at my car. That’s when he saw Ace, whose head was poking out a half open, or half closed, depending on your point of view, window.

His hackles rose and a growl began to form, though he still hadn’t gotten up. As he began to rise, I walked slowly back to my car, then not so slowly back to my car. He followed, slowly at first. I was in the car by the time he ran toward us, barking first at Ace’s window, and then, by the time I got the car turned around, at mine. He chased us down the highway a bit before turning around and going back to the station.

I proceeded in the direction the gas station proprietor had advised, for miles and miles, but didn’t hit Russville. So I stopped again, and got the same directions. “Go up to Russville and turn left on 43.”

A few miles later, I came upon the town of Russellville, which — its three syllable name apparently requiring too much effort to say — is locally known as “Russville.” Kind of like Rutherfordton in North Carolina, where locals drop two, maybe two and a half,  entire syllables when pronouncing it … “Ruffton.”

Eventually, I reached my destination, Tuscumbia — a lovely little town where residents pronounce all four syllables of its name, and home of the Helen Keller birthplace — having relearned an old but valuable lesson:

Let sleeping dogs, and sleeping gas station owners, lie.

Tomorrow: Big Mane on Campus, the lions of the University of North Alabama.

Monday: Coon Dog Cemetery.

For all of Dog’s Country, click here.

Finally, a good reason to get an iPhone.