DruBlood
Home
Dramatis Personae
Archives
Contact
Feed the Bleed
Amazon wish list
Cole’s birthday - 10/24
Monk’s birthday - 12/2
Dru’s birthday - 1/5
Search
Archives
August 2008
July 2008
June 2008
May 2008
April 2008
March 2008
February 2008
January 2008
December 2007
November 2007
October 2007
September 2007
August 2007
July 2007
June 2007
May 2007
April 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
April 2004
March 2004
February 2004
January 2004
December 2003
November 2003
October 2003
September 2003
August 2003
July 2003
June 2003
May 2003
April 2003
March 2003
July 2002
June 2002
May 2002
Categories
all my isms
anarchism
Animals and Pets
Art of Protest
audblog
austin
Being Mom
blog
Book Talk
civil rights
class war
Consumption
corporation watch
crushing
Day in the Life
deep introspection
Divorce
eating
Family Stuff
Fat Politics
Feminism
free press
geography
Green Machine
holidays/special occasions
Home Improvement
Homeschooling
humor
I am a nerd.
Important People
Lactivism
Linky Links
listening to
listy lists
Lit-Richer
living
Love & Stuff
lyric links
Memories
monk speaks
music
no war!
observations
politics
privilege
race
random news items
rant
reading
reading2kids
reminiscing
social justice
sxsw
Take Back Your Birth
Terrorism
The Spectacle
Those Crazy Kids
Travel
work
worker's rights
Special thanks
adam host
julie template queen
kd general lusciousness
pea guru
Powered byMovable Type 1.5
Twyla the wonder dog BRAT.
August 18, 2008
This is Twyla:
I rescued Twyla from the pound almost exactly 8 years ago. My pit/hound dog mix (Yes, that was quite an interesting combination...all the charm of a pitbull, all the laziness and stink of a hound dog...and I loved her to death) Cash had just died of cancer while I was pregnant, and I had to fill the emptiness with another difficult damn dog.
I found Twyla on my first trip to the pound. She was curled up in a silent little ball in the corner of her pen. The sign on the door said "I'm deaf." She didn't look up when I walked by. She just went right on sleeping. On my way out, though, she was standing at the door of her pen, wagging her stump of a tail and displaying what I came to recognize as her usual sort of hyperactive, yet vaguely confused expression. I fell in love with her, of course, as I do with all difficult things.
Twyla's arrival in our household marked the demise of my marriage. My ex was none too pleased at the prospect of bringing a hyperactive, deaf dog into the household. He marveled at the fact that I always did things the most difficult way possible. It kind of amazes me that the people who are most annoyed at my flaws are the ones who most benefit from them.
She behaved herself, at first. She was a sweet, demure little lady. The dog trainer I spoke to about her had told me that she would be extra super sweet the first 10 days after I brought her home, but then her bad habits would come to light. It was for that reason she wouldn't even make an appointment with me before she had been with me for 2 weeks.
When I did bring her to the dog trainer, she was still on her best behavior. The trainer was impressed with her elegance and grace, but told me that she didn't know how to posture or communicate with other dogs...most likely due to the fact that she was deaf. The dog trainer taught me a few hand signals to work on, and sent me on my way to enjoy life with my new deaf dog.
Shortly after that, the demure sweetness broke down. Twyla became anxious. She had separation anxiety, and would crap and pee all over my bed if left alone in the house. I had to buy a crate to put her in while I was away. This cured the problem, but the whole ordeal and being pregnant, separated from my husband, and working two jobs made it difficult for me to bond with Twyla. I was resentful of the fact that I had to deal with this other animal's needs. Maybe it was a mistake for me to have gotten a new dog so quickly. I wasn't really feeling the love for this dog that I had felt for my dear departed Cashy.
When the baby arrived, I went to Chicago to stay with relatives for 3 months, and Twyla went to live with a kind and generous co-worker who fostered greyhounds. I never even checked in on her, and I'm sure my co-worker thought I would never return to claim her...but I did. Life resumed upon my return, but I still did not bond with the dog. There was new motherhood and new singlehood, and new jobhood to deal with, and I just didn't have time to connect with another demanding, needy creature. I thought I might never bond with her. I'm not really sure I cared.
I won't describe the ensuing years. There were other dogs who came and went. Strays and castoffs, housemates' dogs. It seemed the days of me even caring about an animal in my home were long gone. Pets served a function. A dog was there to take on walks, and to provide a degree of protection from home invasion. Twyla was a challenge to walk, because she was so strong and so unwilling to leave other dogs alone. And, although she looked intimidating, it's difficult to say whether or not she would provide much protection against home invasion, because in addition to being deaf, she's about the sweetest animal you would ever meet. I find it hard to imagine she would defend the house against someone who might scratch her itchy spot.
Still, she stuck with us. And, I guess, I stuck with her. Over the years, she started to grow on me. In spite of all of the stolen sticks of butter and loaves of bread that she would swipe off of the high counter and eat off of the floor, I kind of developed an appreciation for her sweet, simple personality. And even though it annoyed me that she always "followed me in front of me" throughout the house, and would lay on my bed and pull down my windowshade to watch for me if I left the door open in my room...I appreciated that she did seem to be attached to me, ever so subtly more than any other ass scratcher.
But I never realized how much I loved that damn dog until we discovered a bleeding lump of something in her chest. Some mysterious thing. Something yucky that, as the vet said "had to come out." One day, she was running around joyfully in the back yard...the next she was doing her best to act like she wasn't wincing in pain. But she *was* wincing in pain. So it had to come out.
The vet had to make "relief incisions" because the tumor was so large and Twyla's skin is so taught that he couldn't sew her up properly. He told me not to worry about them. He also told me that when he opened her up to remove the larger-than-a-fist-sized tumor...he found another one, which he also removed...but which might mean the problem was not an infection, as we had hoped. That, he told me, we might have to worry about.
When I first got Twyla, I had read a lot about boxers. How they stay puppified throughout their entire lives, but how their lives are usually short (9-11 years). Twyla is now 9, and even though she acts like a puppy, she is not a puppy. She's an old girl.
But she's a tough old girl. She made it through the surgery and we had to FORCE her to lay down in the little bed we made for her when she came home. Within a day she was romping around like her old self, frankenstein stitches and all. Within 2 days, she was swiping butter off the counter like old times.
On the 4th day, she slipped out of an open gate and took herself for a romp around the neighborhood, which is something she hasn't done in quite awhile. I spent that entire day scouring the neighborhood, crying, anxietying, FREAKING OUT...until I found her listed on the web page of the animal shelter. FOUND. Fifteen minutes after the animal shelter had closed.
Of course, I drove down there, with her meds in hand, to see if there was anything I could do. I was worried she would be scared. I was worried she would be in pain. In tears and panic, I implored the ladies who were just getting off work to please just let me give her her pain medication. They were nice enough to let me in to talk to the vet who had attended to her. They knew exactly which dog I was talking about. I have a feeling they would have known even if she DIDN'T have stitches all up and down her chest. Twyla is just that kind of dog. She's memorable. She's a character.
The vet was glad to see me. I guess they were worried that someone had spent a sizable amount of money to have a dog stitched up and then just abandoned her? hahaha. (and believe me when I tell you that the way my luck has been lately, I was totally worried that she had been run over by a car to add to the tragic irony.) Since it was after closing, and everything was locked up, they could not let me take her home (I think the vet would have just released her to me, but the cashier who was on his way home said it was too much trouble to open the cash box or turn on the credit card machine. I told him I didn't want to get him in trouble, I just wanted to make sure Twyla was comfortable and not in pain...but secretly I thought he was a real prick, and I think the vet did, too.) but they did take me back to see her. The vet did, anyway. She told me she wouldn't let them put her in an outdoor pen, and I thanked her for that. She flipped the light on in the exam room, and Twyla looked up at us. She had knocked over her food dish, and spilled kibble all over the inside of her pen. The vet told me they gave her an antibiotic, but she was so amped up and happy, they didn't think she needed any pain medication. We both looked at her, looking up at us amidst the spilled kibble with that "uh-oh...I'm in trouble" look on her face, then looked at each other.
"She's such a brat!" I exclaimed, lovingly, through my tears.
"Yes. She certainly is." The vet responded. She rubbed my back, assured me that she was going to be ok, and that I could come back in the morning to pick her up.
We turned out the lights, and closed the door...I drove home.
(Sorry if that was disjointed. It was a rough, rough week over here. I really hope this week is better.)
p.s. Read more about white boxers here. I totally recommend the breed, and absolutely recommend that if you are looking for a fun-loving, playful, good-natured companion animal, you should rescue a white boxer.
Tyger
May 24, 2006
Ms. Dahlia hooked me up with this video this fine morning. I can hear the birds singing outside, and if I close my eyes, I can imagine it coming true.
I'll try not to draw analagous conclusions here.
March 22, 2006
BBC NEWS | Science/Nature | Sinister secret of snail's escape
Presumably if left-handed marine snails became more common, crabs would eventually evolve apparatus or techniques for eating them, and their advantage would disappear.But that cannot explain why in some populations they persist only in extremely low proportions, about 1%, or why in others they have gone extinct; other factors must be at play.
Sinistral snails apparently find it much harder to find a mate, and so may be doomed to remain rare or die out completely, whether or not they evade can-opening crabs.
Although I have to say that the headline writer at the BBC News is totally high. There's nothing SINISTER about the secret. Unless you consider lefties to be SINISTER. What is going ON there in the jolly old?
The more I know men, the better I like my dog*
October 30, 2005
What am I doing with all of that "extra time" I have, now that I am once again gloriously single?
I'm working on training my dog. The boxer. Not the beagle. The beagle can go fuck herself. I *puffy heart* my boxer.
In fact, I hadn't even realized how much I had been "working with her" until last night. All I've really been doing is taking her on walks as often as I possibly can, which equates to about 3-4 times a week (because it has been difficult to walk her during the day, as she is INSANE on the leash. But we are, evidently, working on that).
The issues I have with the boxer are manifold:
- She likes to steal food off of tables, counters, and out of the hands of small children.
- She is INSANE on the leash (as mentioned above)
- She is extra-super-aggressive on the leash. If she encounters another dog while she is on a leash, she will foam and growl and, given the opportunity, attack. She does not behave this way off-leash. She's fairly alpha, but she generally doesn't try to kill other dogs offleash, she just asserts her dominance.
- She barks. Loudly. When she is playing. And it sounds like a mean, agressive bark. Plus, it's LOUD.
...all of this is compounded, and made more difficult by the fact that she is deaf. So I have to use hand signals with her...which means I also have to train her to look at me. For instructions.
My workaround to the leash aggression/difficulty has been to walk her late at night. I take her across the street to the playground and let her run herself out a bit off leash before our walk, at which point she is generally pretty well-behaved on the leash. She doesn't heel, exactly, but she also doesn't randomly yank me in the direction of anything and everything she deems interesting. This has been working really well for us, except for the loud barking thing. As soon as I let her off of the leash, she barks and barks and barks.
Getting a deaf dog to stop barking is a tricky endeavor. First, it's difficult to discern if she even understands what she is doing wrong when you are telling her to be quiet. Second, she can't fucking hear you tell her to be quiet, anyway. I have been struggling with this dilemma for some time, until last night. Last night, we had a break through.
I'm sorry to say that the breakthrough occurred at the end of the leash. She was playing a game where whe was barking continuously, LOUDLY, and refusing to come to me so I could help her calm down. So, I had to pop her (as gently as possible) with the end of the leash. I don't think it hurt her, but it got her attention, which was something my crouching and patting my knees (which is our usual signal for "come and calm down") wasn't doing. She thought I was playing, and the pop told her, no. I'm not playing. Now shut up and get over here. Of course, I gave her a lot of love when she came to me, and put her back on the leash...and when I took her off again, she still romped playfully, but did not bark...and returned to me at my signal.
The coolest thing of all that happened last night, though, was I was able to take her offleash and have her walk by my side back and forth across the tennis courts. Even after she saw another dog! She stayed with me. And when she broke away, she ran a hundred yards or so towards the other dog, then checked back with me and came back when she saw me motion.
I'm so thrilled about these little breakthroughs. It's so much easier to have a dog who knows how to mind...especially since the beagle is such an untamable pain in the ass. I'm just sorry it has taken me 5 years to find the time to work with Twyla. She's been a totally pleasant dog in the meantime, but now walks with her are actually something to LOOK FORWARD TO rather than something to grit my teeth and tolerate because she's a sweetie who deserves to get out and walk around the neighborhood on occasion.
I wish you all could meet my dog. She's adorable and sweet. She follows me around the house (which is annoying unless I really focus on the fact that she's following me out of love and devotion rather than, you know, a desire to make me trip all over her) she's super sweet to all of the kiddos & while she's not the smartest dog I've ever known, she learns pretty fast, especially taking her handicap into account. Plus, like most boxers, she's fastidious about cleanliness, and never smells all doggy (although I need to start brushing her teeth more regularly, because...GAH...dog BREATH.) PLUS: She doesn't lock herself in her apartment and ignore me for weeks on end OR get into arguments about pants with me. She's my Twyla. My big, goofy-looking, beautiful, sweet puppy dog.
If I had a good picture on this computer, I would put one here. Since I don't, see the montage on the left.
*Ah, how well I remember the sparkly transfer of this, complete with little dog-heads poking out of each and every "o", on a t-shirt my mother used to wear while I was in my formative years. Little did I appreciate the wisdom of these words.
Kitty update
October 22, 2005
Well, a nice homeschooling lady and her daughter just came and took the kitty away. They were quite enamored of him, and I'm so glad that he's going to a home with children as he seems particularly fond of the wee ones.
When I came home from work today, before the people came to get him, he meowed me a hello and climbed up my leg. I was somewhat sad to see him go, but my sinuses will thank me for it tomorrow & I know he will be well-loved where he is.
I did manage to take some pictures of him before he went away, and I will try to post them later.
Yay, all around!
Roller Coaster of Kitty
October 20, 2005
Well, it appears we are not going to keep the kitty after all. Coley is allergic, and he also keeps getting freaked out when the kitty attacks him (in the usual kitty way.)
I'll probably sit the kids down for a kitty discussion tomorrow, and if Coley decides that he does not want the kitty, I will find a home for him this weekend. Better we find out now & take care of it quickly. I am sure I can find a home for him quickly because he's so cute & even though he does attack Coley, he's pretty mellow as far as kitties go.
While I'm on the subject of the pets, the dogs have been living outside ever since the weather became bearable, and it has made my life so much more peaceful. I go out there and play with them every once in awhile, and they seem pretty content, although Bailey is at this very moment looking for means of escape - I can see her out of my office window. Gah. That dog!
This one is for Monk, who is barfy today.
October 19, 2005
BBC NEWS | Science/Nature | 'Zombie worms' found off Sweden
Adrian Glover and Thomas Dahlgren tell the journal the new species has been named Osedax mucofloris, which literally means "bone-eating snot-flower".
Kitty Olympics
October 18, 2005
The kids were just in the other room squealing and laughing and beckoning for me to come in. I walked in to investigate & discovered that what is happening is that the kitty is hiding between two baskets of clothes and jumping out to pounce on them when they run by...then promptly re-hiding between the baskets in hopes the children will run past again.
It's a regular kitty hootenanny here.
God, I am such a sucker. Did I mention I'm totally allergic to cats. My eyes are all puffy and I'm sniffing. It's totally my fault. I don't actually get allergic unless I HOLD the kitty. But, I ask you...who can resist holding a kitty?
I'm actually worried about the kitty...
October 17, 2005
she/he/it seems very lethargic and way too mellow for a small creature. I did see her/him play a bit this morning, but mostly s/he just lays there in the sun. I know laziness is inherent in adult cats, but this is a tiny kitten. I'm going to bring it to the vet post-haste & make sure she's OK.
Isn't there a rule, though, that once you pay a vet bill for an animal, you can't give it away?
Man. I am already attached to this damn cat. Kitty fund paypal donations are welcome.
We are NOT keeping this cat.
October 16, 2005
I was innocently updating the blog this afternoon, when I started hearing plaintive mews from outside my office window. I instantly flew into "kitten in distress" rescue mode and ran outside to find a tiny grey kitty mewling in the middle of the road.
She/he (I never can tell with kittens) was coated with some sort of smelly wet goop, and was clearly looking for someone. It's difficult to tell how s/he got there, as s/he doesn't appear to belong to any of the neighbors in the near vicinity. There's a chance s/he escaped from someone at the park. There's also a chance s/he was tossed from a passing car.
However, she is one of the most mellow kittens I have ever met. She is not the least bit skittish or afraid of us, and she deals well with the rough handling Coley has been doling out. I told the boys we are going to put up signs around the neighborhood in an attempt to locate her owner who is no doubt very, very sad that she is missing and that they are CAT-SITTING for the time being. We gave her a bath and fluffed her up with a towel.
Right now, she's laying in bed between Monk and Cole, sound asleep. The boys, also asleep, each have one arm draped over her. Someone needs to keep reminding me that I already have too many pets, and that it would be a totally stupid idea to keep this cat, even if she did arrive immediately after Coley's birthday party and would make a perfect birthday gift.
For now, I'm going to have to just keep on reminding myself. And hope that she does something really annoying in the next few days so it will be easier to let her go when we do find either her owners or a new home for her.
Um...does anyone in Austin want a cute grey and white kitty?
The Beagle (a rant)
October 15, 2005
The gate came open today, and both dogs escaped. Basically, lately the beagle has decided that once she is out, that is it. She has decided that even if I am calling to her, she does not need to return. She has decided that if she is within arm's reach, she can turn tail and run. And she does.
But the boxer was out with her, and I actually give a shit about the boxer (again, I am sorry to say it, but when a dog runs from me as if I have beaten her whenever she digs, chews, or bashes her way under, around, or through the fence (and if you think I am kidding, I can show you the hole that stubborn brat chewed in the gate) I can only HOPE she doesn't return) so we got in the car and went on a search mission.
We found them harrassing some folks and their dogs. The beagle was in the middle of the street, barking. The boxer immediately came back to the van and hopped in. The beagle ran down the street, away from me. Barking. I drove after her. Stopped, got out. She ran. I drove (I had the kids with me, and even if I didn't - she is much, much faster than I am in a footrace and, like, no way I am going to run down the street chasing after the most stubborn fucking dog on the face of the planet) stopped...got out. She ran. She did this all the way home. At one point, some guy tried to catch her. Couldn't do it. She ran to the house and made like she was going to the porch. We all got out of the van, and she fucking took off barking down the road.
Seriously. That dog. I don't know. I know that everyone I know is sick of hearing me complain about her. They are all like "find her a new home!" or even "What if we 'accidentally' lose her in a forest somewhere?" But she is Monk's dog & it would destroy him to lose her. But she's won. I mean, there's nothing I can do to keep her in the yard (Clay has some good ideas, but it's like we have to build a fortress out there) & now when she gets out, she only comes back when she's damn good and ready (Which, granted, is usually within 30 minutes or so. At that point, she usually lets herself IN through the same hole she let herself OUT of and, if the back door is open, waltzes right back into the house - looking for water and a place to crash. She's like the reincarnated soul of all of the drug addicts I have ever known!)
I hate beagles as much as I hate Earthlink. Never again. Never, ever NEVER everevernever EVER ever again will I EVER take a beagle into my home. I realize now that it was a mistake to get rid of the boston. The boston at least had some redeeming characteristics. He was cute and bug-eyed and he didn't perpetually smell like someone's ass. I am totally tempted to just give up and never let that damn dog into the house again.
OK, I feel a LITTLE better now. I need to go bake a cake and clean up my house in preparation for Coley's b-day party. I've plugged up the hole in the fence (again) and when that damn dog comes back, I'm escorting her to the yard where she can stay until I'm damn good and ready to let her into the house (or until she finds a new way to escape which, really...it's only a matter of time.
Damn fucking stubborn ass dog.
This is Absolutely Heart-rending.
September 8, 2005
Boxer v. Beagle
August 29, 2005
When I got home from vacation, I opened the front door to let the dogs romp in the front yard while I unloaded some items from the van. My boxer ran and sat in the van to watch me unload. The beagle took off running down the street and didn't even flinch or look back when I called her.
The next day, I was bringing groceries in and I accidentally left the screen door unlatched. My boxer stood in the doorway with a glazed "Which way did he go, George" expression on her expectant face, while the beagle, once again, took off running down the street; pointedly ignoring my calls.
The beagle digs under the fence. My boxer lays and waits by the door. The beagle pees in her crate. My boxer waits patiently for me to wake up and does the potty dance by the door. The beagle slinks around as if we beat her on a regular basis. My boxer never leaves my side. The other night, a few of us walked over to the park across the street in the middle of the night. I left the beagle at home because I knew she would just totally run away. The boxer came with us and stood near us like a sentry, in spite of the fact that she's deaf & couldn't hear me call her back if I needed to.
They are both adorable, sweet dogs. However, I have come to the conclusion that I will run far away if anyone ever offers to give me a beagle again & I will always be a huge fan of boxers.
First muskrat love, now THIS?!
December 5, 2004
Yahoo! News - Scientist: Prairie Dogs Have Own Language
In the field, black plywood cutouts showing the silhouette of a coyote, a skunk and an oval shape were randomly run along a wire through the prairie dog colony."There are no black ovals running around out there and yet they all had the same word for black oval," Slobodchikoff said.
He guesses the prairie dogs are genetically programmed with some vocabulary and the ability to describe things.
[what a cool link from mquest]
scroll down
December 2, 2004
VideoHelp.com Forum Archive - Does this cat look like Hitler?
[via randomwalks flux]
Dog Update.
October 12, 2004
A lot of people have been asking me for an update about the pets. I think some people are assuming my silence on the issue means that I have some formerly mischievous creatures buried in the crawlspace....hahaha.
But, far from that, I've been enjoying a most mellow month when it comes to the little creatures I share my home with. Spike was neutered about a month or so ago, and it took awhile, but he seems to have calmed down tremendously. He's not peeing all over the house, and he's not even looking for escape routes in the backyard...although if the gate is swinging wide open, he will bolt.
Bailey has taken over duties as the digger and the Houdini. She still gets out on occasion, but spike doesn't follow her unless he's been out for too long....but, since I no longer have to worry about him pissing all over the kids' toys and various other important things around the house, I don't feel like I need to leave him out there for long periods of time.
Monk has started taking Bailey with him to his dad's house sometimes, which helps her feel more included. She has the unfortunate position as pretty much the bottom of the pack dog. So I think the extra attention is good for her.
Twyla, who is my favorite, only ever escapes when the gate is wide open (which sometimes happens if people don't close it right or lock it properly - they can bang against it and make it come unlatched) and is learning to walk on a leash a lot better, since it's been mild enough temperature-wise for us to go on regular walks.
So, we're really all doing well. The other day, Spike was laying on the floor next to Coley, who was hugging on him and saying "Do you love me, Spike?" It was sweet and wonderful to behold...and a month ago, it wouldn't have happened, because Spike would have been too busy trying to make sweet love with Bailey.
Yay!
I've had it.
September 16, 2004
I'm really through with the Boston. He has gotten out of the yard THREE TIMES TODAY, and I just can't keep plugging up the holes he digs under the fence. Today, I asked my kids to help out and make sure the dogs were getting enough attention out there. Monk was just out there playing with them and giving them dog treats, and 15 minutes later, Spike was gone.
I feel bad that I'm giving up on him, but he's so small, and if he keeps getting out, he's eventually going to get hit by a car...and it will be my fault because I can't keep him in the yard.
The suckiest thing is that he has taught the beagle to dig, and now SHE'S digging under the fence. I'm totally tempted to find a new home for her, as well, but she is Monk's dog, and he has promised he will spend more time keeping her entertained and keeping an eye on her.
It sucks to not be able to keep a pet, but it would suck even worse if he died because I can't take good care of him. He's a sweetie, but the way it is for him right now is that he's locked in a crate inside all day (because he pees in the house if he's not crated - even when there are people around) or he's outside digging tunnels under the fence. That's not a very fun life for an energetic little guy.
Blah. If anyone else has any other solutions - feel free to leave them. I've had it. My life will be a lot easier without that dog. I feel like I'm going to have an anuerysm if I have to go out there and track him down AGAIN today, so I'm just going to let someone bring him to me. I went across the street and stood on one end of the park and saw him running through the middle of the park...and I called him and called him, but he pretended not to hear. And it's like 5 million degrees outside,and the last thing int he fucking world I want to do is get the kids all ready, and walk out there, chasing after a fucking dog who doesn't come when he's called, and who will only come home to escape five thousand more times this week.
Fuck it. Now Coley is crying, and I feel evil.
I thought they LIKED being 'beaten into submission'...
February 23, 2004
On average, 54% of the dogs who start the race do not even make it across the finish line. Of those that finish, 81% have lung damage.Tom Classen, retired Air Force colonel and Alaskan resident for over 40 years, tells us that the dogs are beaten into submission...
dog blog
January 18, 2004
I'm getting really irritated with the dogs. It's been raining for the past 2 or 3 days, and I have felt like I've been trapped in this house with three stinky, farting animals. So, today it's not raining, and it has dried out a bit, and I'm really ready for them to spend a significant portion of the day outside.
Evidently, they have different plans, because they are sitting on the back porch, alternately sniffing under the door, whining, and scratching at the door. I keep going to the door and yelling "GO PLAY!" but they don't appear to be listening to me.
Gah, I just want one morning free of dog fart odor in my house. Is that TOO MUCH to ask?
Poe has returned
November 25, 2003
Well, I'm relieved. It's supposed to freeze tonight, so I went outside to bring in what I thought was the one remaining cat, and Poe crept out from the shadows...cautiously. She's kind of shy, so it took me awhile to catch her, but I discovered that she's made buddies with our other cat. This is a good thing. Bela's not very friendly with the children, but she's street smart and she knows her way around the neighborhood.
So, anyway. Yay! I'm glad that she is back, and both cats are currently hiding from the dogs in my office. The have yummy food, fresh water, and a litter box. What more could a cat want on a cold night like tonight.
Excess Doggage.
November 20, 2003
(click to make it bigger)
While I was away, the children named the dog spike. Cole says "Spike, for SpyKids 3-D"
And here you can see why Cole's other name for him is "Dude, put your clothes on!"
What I left behind.
November 20, 2003
I finally had to just leave the house. New dog was desperately attempting to score off of one of the female dogs, who were clearly not interested in his advances. Twyla just thought he was playing, so they had a grand old time of playing a game where newdog was trying to get into position at the back end of Twyla, and Twyla was just whirling and crouching and playing with newdog. It was funny, yet tragic, to watch.
Bailey, on the other hand, will have nothing of it. Poor Bailey keeps trying to sit down to keep newdog from sniffing her ass, but I think newdog considers that some kind of invitation to mount - and it ends up in teeth and a tizzy. I don't blame Bailey, and I'm hoping new dog turns down the hump machine a bit before someone get hurt. On the other hand, one well-aimed bite might save me a lot of money on neutering the dog if I can't find his owner.
OK, look. I know it's crazy to even consider the possibility of keeping this dog, but ya gotta see his face! I can't just let him roam the streets humping strange dogs and eating out of the trash! Maybe someone will call and retrieve him after I put the flyers up tomorrow. So far, it's been no dice on the owner finding tip. He's not microchipped, and no one has put in a search for him at the Town Lake Animal Center.
I'm very thankful that I got that freecycled bag of dog food over the weekend. At least I know I'm not spending anything extra. Maybe I'll even get a reward.
I left him with L, commenting that I knew dogsitting wasn't in the deal, but if he gets tired of referree-ing, he can just crate one of them for awhile. I'm hoping Bailey and newdog will come to some sort of resolution on the issue before I get home.
On the bright side, the two times newdog tried to jump on the table, he responded immediately to my stern "down" command. I'm hoping he's at least housebroken.
***
In other news, I'm considering changing the heading on my paypal cube to read "My husband refuses to pay child support, will you help me feed and clothe his children?" Would that be considered vindictive?
Pet Kharma
November 20, 2003
So, yesterday I was complaining about my damn dogs...and what happens? I go to the damn park and end up coming home with a stray boston terrier who was wandering around frightening the children (apparently everyone thought he was a pit bull? i mean, come ON...the dog weighs like 16 pounds or less.)
He's an intact brindle male, and he gets along with my dogs and kids just great...I'm hoping I can find his owner soon, because his ugly little face is starting to grow on me. I'll post a picture as soon as I can charge up the battery on the camera. Basically, he looks like a gremlin mixed with a wombat.
Anyway, what is the deal with me and pets this past year? I don't get it. But I guess I can't just let this little guy wander around being all horny and spermy and stuff. Damn, he sure is cute. Heheh.
Damn Dogs
November 19, 2003
We were out for three hours today, and before I left, I made it a point to push all of the dishes to the back of the counter.
When we came home, the tablecloth was on the floor, a wooden spoon was entirely chewed up, and there were several dishes on the floor, including my favorite coffee mug, which was broken.
I've decided that Bailey is the culprit. So I'm crating Bailey whenever we leave the house from now on.
Fucking dogs. We were having a perfect day until just now. I'm so angry. I have no idea how they are getting up onto the counters to do this, but I'm hoping keeping them separated when I leave will put a stop to it.
P.S. The snow day was a blast! I'll post pictures later.
Door to door cat delivery service
November 16, 2003
Last Sunday, my cat Funnyface died. We were prepared for her passing. She was old, and had spent the last month of her life basically slowly crossing over.
Yesterday, as I was cleaning out my e-mail box as I do every Saturday, I saw a posting on one of my homeschool lists about a cat needing a home. I responded.
Today, the kind woman who posted about the cat brought her right to my house. The boys were SO excited. This cat seems very sweet and mellow, and she's up to date on all of her shots and is spayed (which is important to me in my current financial state.) She's also gorgeous.
We tried to think of names for her. Monk suggested we name her (myrealname) the cat. Cole suggested that we name her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. We tried variations of pbj like pb and bj. I suggested Stella, Monk wanted Ella, but we have a friend named Ella, and I thought that might be a little inappropriate. Plus our other cat is bela, and that's a little too cutesy for me.
Suddenly, Monk came up with P.O.E. which are initials for a concept that I'm not allowed to tell anyone Monk actually might believe in because his reputation as a war-obsessed, hippy-hating seven year old might be in jeopardy if I told you. So, our new cat is named Poe...which I feel is a name that befits her.
So, say hi to Poe, our new feline family member.
Click to make it grow.
Deaf Dog Awareness Week
September 27, 2003
I just happened to click a link at Action Figures Sold Seperately, and wound up on the petfinder page, where I was informed that this week is "Deaf Awareness Week."
Petfinder has a bunch of adorable pictures of adoptable deaf dogs in various locations, and a link to the deafdogs.org.
My beautiful puppy, Twyla, is deaf. She's a great companion, is wonderful with children, is more obedient to hand commands than most of my other dogs have ever been to my voice. We had a difficult time getting used to each other, but at this point my only problems with her stem from the fact that she is SO sweet and lovable that it gets overwhelming sometimes. I'm glad that I found her. I'm glad that she somehow survived the "double penalty" of being born a white boxer AND being born deaf. She is no less able to live a full happy life as a deaf dog as a deaf person is able to live a full, happy life...yet there are those who would say she should not be allowed to live.
I was so afraid that I wouldn't have time to take care of a deaf dog, but I was so in love with Twyla when I met her that I took a chance. I'm glad I did.