Tag Archives: dog

Stuck…

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Maggie and Winston are two of the great joys of my life. With a few exceptions they’ve been around longer than most of the people I know and frankly I’d rather spend time hanging out with them than most two legged critters. For all the medical bills, late night trips to 1931518_140947123584_1995326_nemergency vets, special foods, and number of times I’ve nearly killed myself stepping barefoot on a toy or pile of sick in the middle of the night, I can’t imagine a time when there won’t be dogs in my home.

With as much affection and regard as I hold for these noble animals, it’s helpful to be reminded from time to time that while dogs can give us the impression of being surprisingly smart and adaptive, they can also be incredibly stupid creatures. Take for instance, my Maggie – the sweetest, most gently disposed Labrador God ever put on this green earth. Since she was a puppy she’s had an innate ability to almost predict my thoughts – which way I’m going to turn, what room I’m headed to, or when dinner is about to be served. This morning, though, I woke up to find she has chewed through my comforter at some point in the night and somehow managed to get her head stuck in the resulting hole. I wish I had the wherewithal at 5AM to snap a picture because it was one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever actually seen in person… a 50 pound lab wearing what amounted to a queen sized barber’s cape with a tell-tale look of guilt on her fuzzy little face.

This can only mean at some point in the early hours of the morning, the thought that this was a good idea when through her baseball sized brain. Apparently she’s not as good at independent decision-making as I’d been giving her credit for being. Instead, it just makes me wonder what else she’s up to while I’m catching a few hours of shuteye. Then again, it’s probably one of those things I’m better off not knowing.

Life with dogs…

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Aside from the occasional inconvenience, I like life with dogs. Fiercely loyal, always happy to see you, undemanding, and absolutely non-presumptuous, dogs never pretend to be anything other than what they are. To me that feels like a big part of their charm. Say what you want about dogs, but unlike most of the people you’ll run into, a dog will never disappoint you. Oh they’ll break your heart sure enough, but they’ll never disappoint you.

Now as much as I’m a fan of life with dogs, that doesn’t mean it’s without it’s occasional quirky unpleasantness. Early in their lives, I set the precedent of going out myself whenever they needed to go out. The result, five or six years later, is that even though I no longer need to go outside every hour or two, they’ll sit on the other side of the door and wait for me to come out before heading off the deck. While I’m writing this, they want to be outside but they’re making due by laying in front of the door watching the coming and going of the neighborhood. This, in turn, leads to its own issues.

Winston is mercifully happy just keeping an eye on what passes by. Maggie on the other hand sees it, barks at it, and wants to chase it. It doesn’t matter if its a neighbor, someone riding a bike, a car turning, a bird, a leaf blowing past, the flag catching the breeze, or absolutely nothing at all. She likes her presence to be known even by things that aren’t actually there. It’s well and good. She’s being a dog and I love her for that. Still, it would be nice if we could go more than 45 seconds without her letting out a howl that makes me jump out of my skin.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. SnowSleetRain. The dreaded wintery mix. Snow is easy enough. Shovel it aside and go n about your business. Sleet isn’t as forgiving and a hell of a lot harder to get rid of. Rain just makes the whole thing a soggy mess that weighs 17 tones per scoop. Worst of all, the rain melts off the good stuff that justifies extended time off from work. So, yeah, in the little scenario that has played out today, rain has basically been the unwelcome spoiler, conspiring to ruin what could have otherwise been an extra-long long weekend.

2. Unexpected visitors. If you show up uninvited and unexpected banging on my door, don’t look horrified when you’re met by a large barking dog on my side of the storm door. In fact, you should consider yourself lucky that a barking dog is all you were met by. For purposes of argument, let’s just say when I answered an unexpected knock on the door in Memphis, I was always in the company of something that carried a lot more stopping power than a startled chocolate lab.

3. Lacking “it”. Define “it” any way you want: motivation, interest, focus, enthusiasm. Whatever “it” is, I have none. “It” is a tricky thing, you see. It isn’t linear and it can’t be gained nearly as rapidly as it’s lost. The goodwill and drive, built up over months and years can be lost in days and weeks. Compounded out over a long enough amount of time, and “it” is damned near impossible to ever get back… Which makes it any awfully good thing that I don’t keep all those eggs in once basket. It would be a real crying shame to be one of those people who found their motivation, there reason for being from just one thing. Suckers.

Dogs in the archive…

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Wandering through the archives this Sunday morning, it’s obvious that August 2008 was all about Winston. Looking at him sprawled out in front of the heater this morning, it’s hard to believe that five years ago he was all puppy all the time or that instead of a 55 pound foot warmer he use to be the scourge of kitchen furniture. Bulldog puppies are incredibly cute and, not surprisingly, incredibly stubborn. All things considered, I’m glad to be out of the puppy stage and living with the older, more laid back model. This house is really only big enough for one creature who’s incredibly stubborn and I’m afraid I have that position locked up for the foreseeable future.

There are no rants or raves from the archive this week, but there’s apparently a hell of a lot of dogs in there.

The kids…

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Where I have little to no patience for human beings (regardless of whether they be large or small), I have a decided soft spot for most of the other members of the animal kingdom. I’d rather spend a day with dogs, horses, turtles, or dolphins than I would 99.999999% of the people on the planet. After living with myself for 35 years, I suspect I’m uniquely unsuited for the role of parent by aptitude, attitude, and general level of interest. I don’t have human children and I’m completely at peace with that decision. Kids 2Whatever nurturing instinct other people have for small humans, I seem to have for animals.

Where most people in my age bracket are lavishing time and attention on their kids, for me it’s the dogs. Sir Winston, my medical misfit, will turn six in January. He’s my special needs child if there ever was one. With a host of ointments, salves, and balms for his skin, drops for his ears, a prescription diet, and a bionic leg, like me, he’s alive mostly because of the wonder of modern medicine. He’s well into middle age for a bulldog and seems to be happy enough passing his time sprawled out across the middle of the living room floor. He still has an occasional surge of the old energy that’s really something to see, but more and more he’s simply the grand old man of the house, content to watch the world pass by through the glass of the back door.

Lady Margaret, the only chocolate in a litter of black labs, clearly follows in the footsteps of her older brother. By that I mean she is possibly the most atypical Labrador retriever I’ve ever met in my life. I won’t say that she’s lazy, but she is definitely laid back. Where other people complain that labs are overly excitable bundles of energy, she’s only really bothered when the doorbell rings or someone gets too close to her yard without seeking permission first. Maggie turns five in October, so it’s safe to say she’s well past the point where I need to worry about the rambunctious puppy stages.

The two of them really have been nearly inseparable since the day I accidentally brought Maggie home. Aside from a few random days and the occasional vacation, they’ve both been pretty inseparable from me, too. They’re the closest thing to kids I ever plan on having… and they have the added benefit of never wanting to go to college, or get married, or borrow the car. Now if I could just come up with a way to claim them as dependents, I’ll be all set.

This has been the final edition of “You Ask, I Write” for August. Thanks for playing.

A bump in the night…

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Usually when a bump in the night rouses Maggie, she lets out one shrill bark and settles back down to sleep. This morning was different. At 1:52 AM, she came up growling and snarling in that “I’m going to rip your throat out” kind of way angry dogs have about them. Still groggy, I was awake enough to know that was unusual for her and perhaps a warning sign of bad things to come. I didn’t hear anything unusual myself, but I guess I wouldn’t over the sound of hostile lab making her presence known.

Opting for the almost certain overkill of a pump action 12 gauge, I racked a round into the chamber and set out to investigate. Fortunately for everyone involved, a quick sweep of the house proved that all was secure and no one was skulking about with nefarious intent. It’s for the best. I’m thankful it was a false alarm, but in the event of an actual break in, I like to think the sight of a 300 pound naked man with a shotgun and a snarling dog coming down the steps at you might just be enough to give even the most addle minded, meth-ridden thief pause about continuing their activities.

Of dogs and frogs…

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With Winston limping around in the ranks of the walking wounded, yesterday was about as low key a Sunday as you can get. Given the ridiculous amount of joint medication, arthritis medication, steroids, and pain meds coursing through his 70 pound system, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he seems to be making out much better than I expected. His left, rear ACL is definitely blown, though so now it’s a matter of making some hard decisions about what standard of care makes sense for a slightly overweight, middle aged bulldog. I’m going to schedule a consultation with the local orthopedic vet to get a better read on what my options are at this point. Knowing that he’s a surgeon, I’m well aware that when your primary tool is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail. I’ve done more reading about animal physiology in the last three days than I have in the last 30 years. Let’s just say that the camps are pretty evenly split on what is a “reasonable” course of treatment. I’m struggling to find the fine line between “heroic” and “fiduciarily irresponsible.”

While we’re on the topic of pets, if there’s anyone out there thinking about becoming the proud owner of tree frogs, you should think long and hard about that decision. I’m pet sitting a pair of the little buggers this week and let’s just say that for something about the size of a matchbox car that live in an aquarium, they’re an inordinate amount of work. To be fair, I have to admit, the real issue isn’t the frogs. They’re actually pretty fun to watch as long as you don’t mind laying out a nightly cricket buffet. Dialing in the automatic mister on the other hand has left me puzzled, perplexed, and occasionally saturated when I open the eclosure door at precisely the wrong moment. Even at the lowest settings, the damned thing seems to blow though a gallon of water every few hours… Which doesn’t sound like much until you remember that the tank isn’t very big and there’s nowhere for the water to go once it’s been sprayed. I now own a turkey baster for the first time in my life… Although after sucking up several gallons of frog water, I don’t think this one is destined to live in the drawer with my other kitchen gadgets.

For the record, the baster method of water removal isn’t particularly efficient, I think with a little know how and the right length of plastic tubing, I might be able to rig a siphon to at least get the job done a little faster. Or I can just give in and pick up a spray bottle if I want to go all low tech about it. Come on, tell me that doesn’t sound like an entertaining Monday night.

What annoys Jeff this week?

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And without further adiu, here’s what’s annoying Jeff this week.

1. Waking up on time and then hitting the snooze bar five times, making yourself 45 minutes late. Clearly there has to be a better way to execute a morning routine.

2. Thursday night laundry. Yes, it saves me from eating up an entire weekend afternoon doing laundry, but it still annoys me. Meh.

3. The 24-hour day. You suck. Seriously. A 30-hour day would be much more conducive to balancing the amount of things that need done with the time available to do them.

4. The neighbor who lets his kids run along the fence taunting the dog. At some point she’ll have enough and bite you in the face. I’ll be smiling on the inside.

Eww… Ewwww… EWWWWWW…

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There are some things that you’re never really prepared to handle. It never really occurred to me that dogs eat poo, but based on a quick Google search of the topic, it’s very apparent that they do. I’m sure that’s a behavior that can be adjusted with some serious training. If Maggie were just eating off the ground, it would be bad enough but she has taken to following poor Winston around like he was a warm, furry, four legged soft serve machine. And yes, that’s exactly the mental image I was trying to get across. I’ve been disturbed by it all day so you might as well be too!