WHEN THE EARTH WAS GREEN

Many years ago I belonged, kind of by default, to the Iowa Ranch Horse Association.
I got more outstanding horsie photos from that year or two of visiting Iowa Ranch horse shows than in my whole life.
The first year I went out with Susie and a friend of hers had just had a crop of foals. What could be more appealing? Kittens, maybe. Some puppies. But foals--- all knobby knees and ears and little, ineffective whisk-broom tails...With their mama's-- all eyes and flattened ears and nerves. Who are YOU? What are you doing near my baby? You think so, do you?

(Mares with foals are not something you mess with unless you know them or they are well socialized.)

(There is a photo that makes the rounds now and again, that I think is supposed to be funny and maybe it is unless you have seen with your own eyes what is about to happen: It is a dog, running full tilt with a horse close behind, ears flattened tight against the skull and neck snaked out low to the ground, mouth agape, hooves pounding.

 As I said, I believe it is supposed to be funny unless you know how fast a dog-hating horse can move and what they do if they catch up. I knew a mare who went through a fence, down the street and up onto a porch in an effort to kill a dog that had passed through the pasture. Feral dogs had killed her foal the season before. She never forgot. Periodically, we would find trampled dogs in the pasture....Cindy always caught them.) I find the photo scary as hell.

I digress.
So last night going through some old photos I found the baby horse pictures, one in particular appealed to me: a foal investigating a tin of oats. And I decided to paint. It isn't great. Maybe not even good. I am, however happy with a painting that took a couple of hours and used one of my favorite subject matters. No lonesome houses, no leafless trees, no snow: just a baby horse...

                            I had fun, even if it isn't very good.

I AM NOT A BASSET

This is Cooper. There are some Cooper's on the Drool that are Bassets. I want to make it clear that I am not a Basset. I am a Belgian Sheepdog. I do not look like a Basset, nor would I ever be mistaken for a Basset, a beagle, a cocker spaniel....no.

This is a Basset hound.
Note the long, swingy ears.
The short hair.
The long, swingy ears.
The goofy expression.
The long, swingy ears.
Note the short legs.

The large feet.

Note the colors. Brown, white, black....

I am a Belgian sheepdog. Note the longish coat, the black color and the upright ears. Also the alert expression. Most Belgians have four long legs. I happen to be the sporty model with only three due to illness. But the legs are LONG, and have SMALL PAWS.  Notice the white "frosting" on my elegant muzzle: it is a hallmark of the breed. We begin developing that at about two years of age. It is not because I am old. I am only ten.

Please observe than I am standing, three-legged on a table. This is the picanic table and I can still jump up there and down again, altho down is a little scarey.

LIVING IN WATERWORLD

It is raining today. It rained yesterday. I believe we had one day without rain but my brain is so soggy I am not sure.
Everything is wet.
The yard, the dogs, clothing, carpeting....is there still a sun? I'm not sure anymore.
Last night it was supposed to thunderstorm but by the grace of Madam Nature it did not, which meant we all slept, including Cooper. The dogs are bored.
The grass is long and getting longer by the second, fed by -- rain. The poop piles are harder and harder to locate and softer and softer to pick up.
The dogs go out and come in stinking and muddy and wet.

Conley considers his options. He came around this way because the other way means stepping off the deck:

Which is even less desirable. While the dogs do not like getting soaked, they will eventually slog through this to get to the muddy end of the yard where they wander around yarring at the dogs in back, who no doubt are equally filthy. Why don't I bathe my boys?
Well to begin with they are blowing coat like mad and it would plug up the tub. Even with a drain cover it plugs it up and then we have to have the plumber out. The plumber is about 85 yrs old (no kidding) and while he is a good plumber still, he leaves a trail of debris.
The other reason is this:

Why bother?

The lawn, I must say, where it hasn't drowned, is quite lush. In spots it is about 4 inches to 6 inches high. It's a pity there is no way to mow. We do have a sump pump hooked up to pump the backyard out but at the moment it is a losing battle. This is mostly because we had to cut off the drainage system at the insistence of a neighbor, a system they gave us permission to put in in 1987. Part of it was on the very edge of their property and they wantd it out. So we dug it out. You have heard this story before, but this is the result.

On the other hand, my Lilies are going to be huge and fantastic.

If it quits raining you will hear me cheering. Until then...glub.

OUR HAWK IS BACK

(photo from Google)

This is a Cooper's Hawk. No, it isn't Cooper's hawk, it is called a Cooper's Hawk. The first time I saw one it was in our hedge trying to eat something. This was a number of years ago. Whatever dog we had at the time got too close and flushed it out. It took a number of sightings and a lot of time for me to positively identify it as a Cooper's Hawk and not a Sharp-shined Hawk.

Since then I have seen one or more around the house every year. I do not know if they migrate out in the winter or not. There are always a few Red-tailed Hawks around in the winter and a few smaller ones. The trouble with hawk identification is that so often you (or I, in this case) see them only in silhouette against the sun and not so the markings are readily visible.

From below, all you see anyway is a streaky breast that could belong to any number of hawks. We also have a few Kestrels around but I know they leave and I saw the first one a couple of weeks ago.

But this morning, standing at the sink I saw a bird moving in the yard in back of us and as he approached he landed on our wire and paused. And I saw that it was one of my lovely little Cooper's Hawks. I grabbed my binoculars but just then it started to rain hard again and he took off. He'll be back. We have an overgrowth of squirrels, and while that's a big animal for a Cooper's to tackle maybe it will lure some Red-tails into the area.

I like hawks. Can you tell? I am one of those horrible people who do not mind when a hawk snatches a bird at a feeder. They have to eat, too.

Where I stay in Des Moines, with Susie, they have owls in the huge oaks that surround the backs of the houses. I love waking in the night and hearing the owls talking back and forth. I have not heard one here for years. I miss owls.

Welcome back, Cooper's Hawk, and good hunting.

DUCKS FOR BREAKFAST

As some of you may know we used to have a drainage system in our backyard. All this area was swampland before it became a town. As a result, the yards are frequently under water when it rains. Our back was so bad that we had drainage tile put in, and with permission ran it (underground) along the neighbor's side of our driveway to the sidewalk. Our yard was lovely. No more ducks when it rained (seriously, we had ducks swimming in the yard.)

Recently our neighbor got her undies in a bunch and ordered us to remove the tile that was on "her property". Ok. So John spent a back-breaking couple of weeks digging it up. It was put in with a backhoe, so it wasn't a couple of inches under the soil. He got it out but then had to plug up our end so that it would not puddle up at the corner of "her property". Consequently, when it rains, the yard fills with water. And I mean, it fills. Pond time.

It's really a mess.

This morning I decided to have breakfast. I put some onion, tomato, cilantro and a handful of cheese in a little bowl. I got out the eggs, sliced some pepperjack cheese, sprayed the pan with Olive oil, turned on the burner and looked out the window.

Ducks.

Two of them, a drake and a hen Mallard swimming around, eating. Now there is a lot of fence back there. There is fence around the mosquito trap to keep the dogs out, and fence behind to keep the dogs off the big fence. But there were the ducks. Happy as can be.

This is what the area looked like before we took the drainage tile out:

As you can see, it is dry and there are no ducks. So I grabbed my camera and tried to take pictures from inside but it was hopeless. Ve-ry quiet-ly I tippy toed out the door and began taking photos except that it was very chilly and I was cold and so either I moved or they moved and then I took one step too many and off they went.

Our ducks.
And then, only then....did I remember the pico da gallo in the little dish, and the pepperjack cheese, and the very sharp knife on the counter and I came flying in, to be greeted with an empty dish, no cheese, knife on the floor and, worst of all, the PAN ON THE STOVE, smoking like mad because I had left the burner on!!!! And just then, of course, the smoke alarms went off and Cooper, after a night of thunder was completely undone and while I tried to cool the pan down he fled out the door and now will not come back in the house.

John, who was asleep until the smoke alarm went off, turned it off and I washed the dish and picked up the knife and stared at Conley, who smiled.
What could I do? I left it all right there for the dogs. Right within eyesight, nose-sight and tongue-reach.
The ducks are gone, I'll have breakfast later, and Cooper is barely visible outside in the little spot he has found next to the fence.

(A lot of this will be cleaned up in the next few weeks, but you can see the pond that the ducks were in, to the right --and left-- of the birdbath.)

I guess I should welcome them back. But somehow...............................

HOW TO START THE WEEKEND

This is Conley. Yes I know I used this photo just yesterday.
I want you to note the upright carriage, the confidence, the determination of his stance and gaze. The definite MALE quality
that he happens to exude in this
particular photo.
This mirrors how Conley views himself: forthright, upright, right, tough. Mother Nature's Gift to Dogdom.
This boy has no ego problems.
This is a boy with ambition.

This is Nigel. Notice the sturdy body, the steady gaze, the four-on-floor wide-body build. Note the gonads also, if you will. This is a big boy and he knows it. This is a strong dog, and he knows it. This is a dog with a sense of his place in the world and it is right up top. Or so he thinks, thinks he. This is a dog who is not a pushover, either physically or emotionally, one who stands his ground more or less, as long as it is not MomPerson yelling at him.
*************************************************************
Observe the Chips on the shoulders of both dogs.
*************************************************************
Picture the first dog, Conley, with a biscuit, coming through a gate held open by MomPerson  The others have had theirs cookies already.
Imagine Nigel deciding the biscuit is HIS. See Nigel grabbing the biscuit out of Conley's mouth? What do you think the next step is?
1. Conley thanks Nigel for getting rid of the pesky biscuit
2. Conley politely asks Nigel for the biscuit back
3. All hell breaks loose.

If you guessed 3, then you have dogs.
If you guessed 1 or 2 either you have cats or live with Cesar Milan. (Is it Cesar or Caesar?)

Suddenly there is a massive, kill or be killed fight between Nigel and Conley. They are in a narrow space so MomPerson grabs a gate and tries to jam it in between them. DadPerson charges into the melee, holding his coffee in one hand (it has a lid) and aiming gentle kicks and shoves at the combatants. Llewis is on the edge and Cooper races in to "help". I finally jam the gate between them, Nigel on the far side with DadP: Conley whirls and the first thing he sees is Llewis and he just rips right into him, his adrenalin now really pumping he cannot stop fighting. Seeing Llewis (who did well, by the way) in trouble, three-legged Cooper throws caution and impartiality to the winds and wades in, grabbing Conley about the time I get between everyone and things start ebbing down.
Still growling, Conley is sent to his room and the door shut and locked. Llewis, because he is closest to me is sent next and Nigel, still trapped in the hallway by DadPerson, muttering nasty things to himself, goes last.
Cooper, by the way, got the biscuit.

Things are now back to "normal" but I know, once this happens so early in the day, chances are good it will not be the last. Let the chips fall where they may.

I need a nap.

DOG SHOWS & THE NATIONAL BUDGET

Ummm.
I have before me premium lists for 3 shows, all of which I would like to enter. The first two will cost me a total of $114 to enter which, if you divide by 4 is not terrible on the surface.

However. This does not include parking and simply driving to the shows. They are all far north in Illinois. I live well south of Chicago, about 30 miles, right on the Indiana border. The last time I filled the Van was about 3 weeks ago (I haven't been anywhere except around town but am now almost out of gas) it cost me $60. That was before it went up to over four dollars a gallon in case you live in a cave and drive a cart pulled by a burro. Which is rapidly looking like a pretty damn good mode of transport to me.

So now I have to ask, is it worth it? Well you can't win if you aren't there. If I knew that Conley would put his tail up, I would go in a heartbeat. The idea of spending all that money and gasoline for a dog who stomps around the ring as if I beat him regularly is not appealing.

Why can't he go around the ring like this? Instead of like

                                                   This?

Why doesn't stack this way

                                         Instead of like that?

(Why did Cooper leap on me and begin dancing just as the Judge reached us during the Belgian Nationals? Why did Mitchell refuse to put his tail up at the Basset Nationals? Why did Zelda back down the ramp rather than allow the Judge to touch her the last time I showed her at the IKC?)

What does go on in their little brains when they walk into the show ring? Why do some say OBOY A DOG SHOW! and others (mine) say oh hot damn this crap again. ?

I am told it is me. However, I HAVE finished a couple of dogs but Jackie usually finishes my Bassets. I confess that showing a Belgian is a lot easier than showing a Basset, and it takes knees that don't give out and a lot of confidence to show a Basset.

Maybe more than I have.

SPRING WEATHER

Since mid-day yesterday the weather bureau has been predicting "severe" thunderstorms, hail, wind, possible tornadoes for our area starting late this afternoon.
Cooper is terrified of thunderstorms. Lightning included.
I have a Thundershirt, you guys remember that?

Well, alas, it didn't do much when he had four legs and I doubt it will be any different with three. I will try it, but my experience is that it is close to useless. Unlike a Basset, Cooper has the nervous system somewhat similar to  oh...maybe a Gazelle. Once his adrenalin is up, it stays. His eyes go wide, his mouth gapes, he trembles, and he DROOOOOOLS.
Also, like a jungle animal, he knows hours and hours in advance when a storm is coming. The pacing and restlessness usually start about three hours in advance.
Benadryl makes him drowsy but only for a moment. Then the eyelids snap open and his heart rate accelerates and like the Gazelle, he stands at attention, every sense tuned to the approaching end of the world.

Cooper comforting Dad during a storm

He has, at this moment, in fact, retreated to a crate. He is rarely crated. I have started crating him during storms and throwing a blanket over the crate because I simply cannot deal with him. He goes from me to Dad to me to Dad and that means jumping over a 3 foot high gate with only one front leg that is healthy. A slip, a broken leg, and I have a really critical problem.
I bought some Melatonin today.
I called the Vet to be sure it would be ok to give a dog with cancer. She thinks it is useless for a dog with a nervous system like a Gazelle.
She was supposed to call me back and I suppose she will when she has time, but maybe not.

Cooper has learned to anticipate the next step. Just as obedience dogs do a go-out before they're sent, Cooper understands the sequence of storms.
Wind brings rain. Rain brings lightning. Lightning means Thunder. Thunder means the End Of The World As We Know It, and is aimed directly at him. The older he gets the more he anticipates and the more positive he is that the Thunder is his personal nemesis, out to get him.

I have empathy. As a child I was terrified of lightning.

Sooo. Wish us luck. Not that I wish bad luck on anyone else but I really hope the storms miss us. By a lot. By many many many miles.

                      Mr Cooper wishing everyone a peaceful night.

GRUMPY GRUMPY GRUMPY

Yesterday I spent most of the day reading. Sometimes I do that, but it plays havoc with my eyes and if I read or use the computer long enough I then see double when I look at distance. Two eye drs have said there is basically nothing I can do except not read a lot at one time, which is pretty depressing if you have a good book. So I spent part of the day squinting at everyone: the price I pay.
I went to bed about 10:30 and couldn't sleep. I had let the dogs out the very last thing and so I finally got up and took my pills which I had decided not to take.
Immediately, Cooper needed to go out at a little after midnight, just as I was finally getting relaxed and settled. He goes out and comes in at that hour and when he is alone, so that's no problem

I still did a lot of tossing and turning. I had dreams I didn't like. I am supposed to set up a website for the Gallery and I did in my dream and of course, nothing worked right and everyone hated it. Since this is always a real possibility, the dream was extremely disconcerting.

About 1:30 Llewis came in and buried his nose in my face and said he needed to go out, really really badly. So I got up and let him out. When he came in I gave him half a biscuit and then realised everyone was awake and staring at me from their crates, so everyone got a biscuit. I am nothing if not fair.

                  (One for all and all for one....most of the time anyway.)

Then I went back to sleep kind of. I know I woke up a lot. I kept flipping sides and covering and uncovering and getting up to get a drink and all that stuff.
Probably about 3 Nigel began whining in his crate. I got up and made EVERYONE  go out except Cooper. Then I handed out biscuits, locked the crates and went back to bed which by then looked as if the Bassets had been digging in it.

And at 5:30 Cooper came in to tell me it was time to get up. And here I am. And I have a feeling that it is going to be another dreary grey day and my mood is going to be similar.
Maybe John would like to go hang out at the gun shop today, with his buddies......maybe it would be a really good idea....

WAKING UP WITH COOPER

Cooper is 10.5 and wearing now three legs. He seems to be doing fine altho I am loathe to have tests run to see if things are going on, because there is little I can do if there is.
Tuesday he went with me to the Gallery. He was quite exuberant. We came home early and it is my habit to let him out of the van wearing a leash but not holding it-- he is loose, in other words. He will leap out of the Van and run to the front where my decorative grasses are and pee. By then I am usually on my way to the house where he is waiting.

This time he had an evil glint in his eye and instead of heading for the house he ran full blast down the street a couple of houses. For an instant my heart stopped but then I yelled "HEY!!" and he circled back, still running as fast as he can, past me the other way: tongue out, tail in circles of delight, the glint still in his eyes. "See what I can do? Even on three legs I can run circles around you!" He paused at Roger's tree and then jogged home, clearly pleased with himself.

I do not have a lot of photos of him running, because he is black, hard to photograph, and blurs.

However this is about waking up with Cooper.
Cooper often now needs (or wants) to go outside between 3:30 a.m.and 4:30 a.m. If the Bassets want out they whine. But in all fairness, Conley and Nigel are crated so they cannot reach me, and Llewis cannot jump up so HE cannot reach me.
But Cooper can.
And suddenly I am awakened by a bounce. Cooper's front leg on the bed. GOOD MORNING! He says. There is hot breath in my face and often some drool. ARE YOU ALIVE? I AM.

and I open one eye tenatively, not wanting saliva in it: and there he is, smiling and happy to be here, not the least bit worried about anything. Not yet, anyway.
He nudges me. I WOULD LIKE TO GO OUT. Yes, I gathered that. He bows his head and buries his face in my armpit. This is his signal for me to scratch the back of his neck above his collar. I oblige. You are my Sunshine, I tell him quietly. You are my sweetie boy. Oooo you are SUCH a good dog! You're my lover baby.
His back feet begin to dance and the tail speeds up. This is our morning time. His whole body ripples with pleasure. The licking starts which I try desperately to dodge. I half sit up.
Do you want to go out? I ask. But he has turned sideways to the bed and is pressing his rear towards me. He wants me to scratch the spot where his tail begins and I do. When he was younger he would turn a complete somersault when I did this, but he cannot do that anymore.

This is my ex-business card with one of the only photos I have of Cooper full blast. Note the mischievious grin.

He really does want to go out. As usual he grabs a toy. He sometimes will drag an entire dog bed to the back door, knocking over water bowls and chairs that get in his way, looking like a black panther dragging his prey. I always remove articles at the door. He knows this. Once in a while he gets out with something.

          "Ha HA I got it past you! You will never see it again in this form."

When it is so early like it is today he seems to know not to bark. I kind of watch for him. Llewis often goes out with him, and then Nigel and Conley want out as well. They are very quiet unless there is a skunk or possum. If it is the middle of the night and they bark, we're in trouble. But today they all come back in, get a treat and go back to bed, even Cooper. He is so funny and so sweet, how could I be angry that he gets me up, no matter what the time?

Quiller, the Belgian who preceeded Cooper, used to come into the bedroom at least once a night and just jam his cold nose in some warm spot of my anatomy, to make sure I was still breathing. Then he'd leave again....it's a Belgian thing: checking the flock. Watching out for his assigned sheep. I am so glad Cooper is still feeling good enough to tease me by running off.

He never goes far.

LLEWIS

Llewis is our funny dog. He is silly. He has all these little quirks that the others do not, not even Nigel his littermate brother.

Llewis talks. And once he starts he won't shut up. Walk into a room where he is and you just left and there is a frenzied storm of greeting, always at the top of his lungs, along with rushing to you and nudging you towards the kitchen treat box.

He likes to walk with you, with his head between your legs, which of course makes walking with Llewis a bit tricky.

Physically, he is the smallest and lightest of the dogs but that's good, because of his bum leg and hip we don't want him to weigh much. He works twice as hard to do half as much but never complains and never ---ok, almost never--- loses his cool. But he can. He an Nigel have had some scraps but generally he is the most peace-ful of the four. He doesn't seem to have any hidden agendas and is happy just to be here and get some attention.

It's easy to identify him in the Basset scrum in the backyard: he is always the one with his nose in the air, ahrooing.
He plays very hard, very rough and tumble. This is probably not a good thing but nobody has ever told him he is crippled. As a puppy we took him to a very fine re-hab facility and did all kinds of stuff-- chiropractic, acupuncture--we had a very expensive and high-tech brace made for his back leg, hoping to mold it into the correct position. He took all of this in good spirits and was always glad to see everyone even if they were sticking needles in him. Then the orthopedic surgeon who was also involved said "Take that brace off--the muscles he needs will atrophy. Take him home and let him be a puppy!" and it was the best advice we could have gotten. Now you can barely tell he has a rogue leg unless you are watching carefully.

Here he is with Nigel on the far side, running. You can clearly see the back leg on Llewis is not bent the way it should be, but it doesn't slow him down much.

He has developed some annoying habits over the years. One is not coming in with the other dogs, but waiting until you close the door and then wanting in. He will simply stand there, staring morosely at you as you hold the door and say "Llewis come on. Llewis come on, get a treat. Want a treat? Come in the house." and he doesn't. The second the door is closing, he wants in. Drives me crazy in the winter. I can't really get mad at him. He doesn't bark to come in but simply stands at the door until someone remembers he is out and lets him in. I am ashamed to admit he has spent some long moments outside because of that.

Llewis likes to "help" Cooper eat his treats. Cooper is kind of prissy sometimes. He chews his treats. Consequently, the others, who inhale theirs, are finished while Cooper still has large chunks on the floor. Llewis always makes a beeline for this and for some reason, Cooper never even growls, altho he would take the face off any of the other dogs.

Llewis is not crated at night. In the first place, he cannot stand up to counter cruise or grab things off the table. In the second place, we think his leg begins to hurt when he is stuck in a crate for too long.
Now, when I tell the dogs to get in their crates (for eating, for example) Llewis stands and stares vacantly at me until I finally yell IN YOUR CRATE!!

Oh, is THAT what you wanted? Well, you only told me four times. Besides, you have my dish in your hand: what if I go in my crate and you don't give it to me? Hunh? What about that? (I have never, ever done that.)

                       Llewis getting acquainted with Puppy Conley.

MORNING WITH CONLEY

John's bedroom has always been off-limits to the Bassets. It was Cooper's favorite place, away from the short-legs (there is a gate) and a huge, comfy bed to lounge on.Almost every morning I would go in and have a cuddle-and-scratch session, just with Cooper.

But then he lost that front leg to cancer, and we worried that in jumping off the very high bed, he might do something to the other leg.  So Cooper lost his spot on the bed. I made him a nice place in my room, and almost every morning he comes and gets into my bed for our daily cuddle, while the short-legs are still crated.

Ever mindful of opportunities to upgrade his own social status, this has not gone un-noticed by Conley.
He cannot get over the gate.
But he can whine.

So every morning now, when the dogs realise that John is awake, Conley parks right at the gate and starts to cry. He is very persistent, and he is also very annoying. Sooner or later, he knows, we will cave. And he whips right into the bedroom and waits to be lifted onto the bed, where he cuddles with John for a little bit and then demands MY presence as well.

And so I go into the bedroom for a few minutes of intense belly rubs, ear rubbing, and general lovin'. Then he hops down (he usually jumps before we can grab him, and it's a LONG way down) and gets a treat. (For what I am not sure. But he gets one anyway.)

Who said we were hard to train?

                                       Ok, Treat Time, Now!

This is my adorable son-in-law.
He is having surgery today and so we will be at the peoplespital waiting...and waiting..

I hate this stuff (probably not as much as he), but have lost 4 pounds since all this started.

It means leaving the hounds locked up all day, but that is just the way it goes sometimes. Sorry boys.