Category Archives: Pets

Working dog…

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I’ve read countless times that dogs behave better when they have a job. Some are trained to sniff out bombs or drugs, others pull carts, a few, the happiest probably, carry drums of liquor to skiers stranded somewhere on an Alp.

My Maggie never trained to do any of those things. She’s the definitive house pet… mostly well behaved, but possessed of a few bad habits that I’ve simply allowed to develop over time because they didn’t bother me enough to correct.

This chocolate lab of mine has always taken her patrol duties in the yard seriously – birds, squirrels, and cats have all felt her wrath at one time or another. Interlopers are less welcome by her than they are by me. That’s saying something. Since we moved, though, she’s taken on a whole new role.

The front windows aren’t quite floor to ceiling but they’re big enough to give her an unobstructed view of the front yard and the street beyond. Her domain is all she surveys. My working dog has appointed herself protector of the cul-de-sac. Every living thing that moves upon it is fair game for her hell-hound-like bark and ferocious snarl. Children on small motorized scooters are particularly hated enemies. The barking for them is the loudest and most long lived.

Technically I should probably be correcting her at every opportunity… but if I’m really dead honest about it, I’m not sure I hate the idea of everyone who drives, walks, or otherwise wanders past having a thought that herein lives one of the most vicious dogs on the face of the earth. It’s not a job for your typical working dog, but it fits in just fine around here.

Masters of adaptation…

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I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating – the dogs are even more creatures of habit than I am myself. That’s no small accomplishment. Watching them wander from room to room trying to sort out what to make of the stacks of boxes was fun for the first 30 minutes. Now it’s just sort of sad.

These two southern dogs have been here now longer than they were in Memphis so it’s as much or more home to them as anywhere else. Conveniently, dogs are masters of adaptation and will settle in to the new and different far more quickly than I will. Well, they’ll adjust quickly enough to everything except not having a fence. I know I’m going to miss that far more than they will, but it’s a mercifully easy fix – in theory.

I love these little hoodlums, but having one under each foot every time I move is wearing a little thin. I’ll be glad of getting them introduced to the house a bit this weekend so we can start getting back to our own warped version of normal. If we keep up the current routine much longer there’s a fair chance I’ll accidentally kill myself while tripping over one of them, falling into a sea of cardboard, and never being heard from again.

Public service…

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It’s going to be damned cold the next few nights. If you have critters that live outside, go ahead and make room for them indoors for a few days until the worst of the cold passes. Unless you have one of a few specific breeds, the vast majority of domestic pets aren’t built to handle this kind of weather.

I’m not suggesting you have to drag every animal in shouting distance to sleep at the foot of your bed, but a basement, barn, garage, really any place that’s heated to a civilized temperature, cuts the wind, and gives them a warm place to ride things out is perfectly acceptable. A nice blanket or good bedding material wouldn’t kill you either, ya know? If you’re too busy or indifferent to be bothered, might I recommend you stop reading now. Seriously. Stop reading. Forget you’ve ever seen my blog. Unfollow me. Unfriend me.

If you can’t be bothered to even take basic care of your animals, I have no use for you and no choice but to declare you a miserable excuse for a human being and a douchenozzle of the highest magnitude.

This concludes tonight’s public service announcement from your kindly Uncle Jeff.

Go forth and sin no more.

Day three…

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It’s the third day in a row that I’ve been late getting away from the office. If anyone despises this turn of events more than me, it’s Maggie and Winston. Thanks to their upbringing to take joy in the marvel of a well executed routine, they’re finding the whole thing unsettling. The net result is from the time I do get home until lights out these two are attached even more closely to my hips than usual. I don’t see the week getting any more “regular” from here on to the end. In fact the next two days at a minimum can be relied upon to have a monumental amount of stupid baked right in.

I don’t think I’ve pulled a legitimate 12 hour shift since Hurricane Dean threatened the Gulf Coast in 2007. It’s not a level of effort I’m particularly eager to reprise. Even though I’ll be made whole for those additional hours at a later date I really have gotten to the point with this fiasco that eight hours at a time is more than enough to test what little patience I have left. Given their attitudes over the last few nights it’s clear that the dogs agree with me.

By George…

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From time to time I’m criticized for not posting enough pictures, stories, or thoughts about George, the Russian tortoise who’s been in residence here for almost two years now. Rest assured that George is alive and well. He’s living in a 100 gallon Rubbermaid tub in the living room, eating a eclectic mix of greens, and spending his days pushing things from one side of his tank to the other. He’s basically doing what a tortoise does. For the record, they’re not a pet I’d recommend for someone looking for an activity partner – unless your preferred activity is basking.

With fall and winter coming on (not that you’d know it from the temperature around here lately), the days for getting him outside to roam around the yard are coming to an end. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to building him a bigger indoor enclosure to replace the three giant blue containers sitting in the corner. I was looking at materials and what others had done online, but really struck on what looks like the future the last time I was wandering around Home Depot. I think the solution might just be the plastic pond liners people use to add water features to their back yards. It’s got high sides, lots of interior space, and should be easy enough to configure into multiple levels to give him room to maneuver. With a little work it also looks like it would be less obtrusive in the room than what I’m using now.

OK, so technically that’s more of an update on what George’s future home is probably going to look like, but hopefully it’s enough to earn some credit for discussing the least mentioned of my 4-legged kids.

Doggone…

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Last night was the first time in over a year that I didn’t have two furry little heathens keeping me company. It felt surprisingly unsettling. Once you’re use to waking up to a cold nose in the middle of your forehead, the buzz-saw like snoring you can hear from three rooms away, and having a couple of shadows following every step, it seems thoroughly unnatural not having them around.

What surprised me most, though, was how much my schedule was influenced by having them around. Morning, afternoon, and night, all my activities are apparently informed by their schedule of meals, needing to go out, and endless toys dropped at my feet. I had no idea how much time they bite out of the day until I showed up at work half an hour early this morning. I ran my normal weekday routine, minus the dog-related stuff, turned off the coffee pot, got in the truck, and drove away not realizing I was way, way early for everything. Feeding, medicating, and then trying to corral everyone back inside apparently takes far more time each morning than I thought it did. I’ve been doing it the same way for so long now that most of it happens on autopilot.

They way I figure it, I have just enough time to adjust to them not being around that it will be a shock to the system when they come home this weekend. Then I’ll get to muddle through a few days of running behind schedule for everything. Even with the expense, hassle, and (apparently) sheer volume if time they consume, I have to admit I like it better when they’re around than I do when they’re not. George is pleasant enough company, but at heart I’m a dog person. As giddy as I am about getting some well-deserved down time this week, I’ll be just as giddy to get back to drool covered floors and tireless barking at the neighbors.

Two rooms…

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Having been back for almost a day, I have exactly two clean-ish rooms to show for it. I say clean-ish because with Maggie and Winston around nothing is really ever what some might call actually clean. At best, you can say they majority of the hair, dust, and random crud has been removed… but that’s not really the point of this post.

The point? It’s simply that after less than a week away from the office I’ve been reduced to bitching and complaining about household dust and dirt. I have no idea what’s going on in the world – and what’s more, for the most part I really don’t care. I wouldn’t have known it was even Sunday today if my phone hadn’t made a point of telling me that when I woke up this morning. Maybe I’m too much the cynic, but I think there might be a life lesson in there somewhere.

I’m sure some people have a hard time adjusting to the unstructured life of not punching a clock twice a day. As I’ve long suspected, that’s not going to be a problem I’ll suffer when the time comes. For some reason a clean kitchen fills me with a greater sense of accomplishment than all the powerpoint briefings I’ve ever built. That’s one of those fun facts I’ll file away in the “good to know” file.

Day without dogs…

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Last night was the first time since I moved back to Maryland that I was home and the dogs weren’t. I’m not going to lie. It felt unnatural. I’ve had at least one of the furry brutes around for the better part of the last six years and a night without snorting, endless trips outside, slobber-covered toys dropped in my lap, and a constant attached at the hip presence Dogsjust felt odd. I’ve apparently grown rather fond of fighting a 70 pound chocolate lab for bed space and covers.

Sure, they’re a tremendous hassle with vet bills, specialized food, and a battalion’s worth of “stuff” that goes with them everywhere, but they’re my hassle. I won’t pretend that it’s not nice to have a break from the regular schedule of feeding, watering, chasing, fetching, farting, and drooling, but I’ll be glad to have the heathens back at the end of the week.

Hello, George…

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We all know I like animals way more than I like most people. If money were no object, there’s a pretty good chance that I’d be living on 500 acres surrounded by a herd so varied as to make Noah himself blush with shame. As it is, I’ve decided to add a 3rd mouth to my brood.

photo (8) George is a Russian Tortoise and from what I’ve been able to gather from research, his shell size indicates he’s somewhere in the neighborhood of 4-5 years old. Conveniently, he’s an herbivore who favors the same dark greens that I like in my own salads (translation: feeding means picking up an extra bag of spring mix and mustard greens when I go grocery shopping. He doesn’t do ant tricks, or really do much of anything other than hang out under his heat lamp and look like a tortoise. That’s about as low maintenance as you can get in an animal.

Before you decided to leave any smartassed comments, remember there’s every likelihood that George will outlive me, so one of you suckers might just end up with him camped out at your house one day. Talk about things you never worry about when picking out a puppy.

Sick list…

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The fact that I like my dogs more that I like most people isn’t exactly a secret. Of course means I’m not going to trust their treatment to just any schlep who’s got just enough smarts to slide through vet school and hang out their own shingle. After meeting with the orthopedic surgeon this morning, the only part of me that regrets being anal retentive enough to want to see an expert is my wallet. I spent a little more than an hour getting a crash course of canine anatomy and physiology and peppering her with questions about the specific benefits and drawback of the “top three” options. After selecting the tibeal plateau leveling osteotomy (TPLO), which involves changing the structure of the joint, adding a steel plate, and a few screws, I spent another 45 minutes with the OR nurse picking her brain about after care and things to avoid once Winston gets home. I was actually impressed with being able to spend almost two hours talking to the people who are doing the surgery, though I suspect they were happy when I reached the end of my laundry list of questions.

I’m satisfied that this is the best way to proceed, or I was right up until the estimated bill was placed gently in front of me. For the record, if someone in a vet’s office comes at you with a three page itemized bill, you should go ahead and sit down before you start reading it. I offered to trade them a kidney or a lobe of my liver for the service, but they politely declined, which is unfortunate since I’m pretty certain that would be less painful than actually paying the bill. Any plans I had for a vacation, or doing anything that costs more that a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, are suspended indefinitely.

I’m sitting here writing this with one eye on the clock. I know this hot shot doctor of mine was scheduled to do three surgeries this afternoon, but I don’t know what order she had them planned. Suffice to say every time the phone beeps, I jump halfway out of my chair. Yeah, you could saw I’m wound a little extra tight at the moment. With the ramp built from the deck to the yard and as much of the floor as possible covered with non-slip rugs, I’m down to the point of the day where all I can do is wait. No bets on how many of you can guess on how I feel about that.