NEW YEAR NOTHING DOING

I haven't written for ages. There is a reason. There is nothing going on that I think anyone really wants to hear about.
The dogs are pretty much trapped inside, altho they do go play in the snow periodically. Cooper goes out with them and sits and watches. A few days ago I took him out and played keep-away. Actually if you want to know the truth, I wasn't playing--he was. It was very cold out and I wanted him in. He goes out and sits on the deck.
I call him in.
He stares at me with this specially designed "stupid Belgian" look which is a total lie-- he is NOT stupid, but he manages to flatten the look in his eyes so that I could swear, did I not know him so well, that his brain has ceased to function altogether and he cannot tell me from a tree.

I tell him
"Come on, Cooper--get a treat!"
"Hunh?"
"Cooper, let's go. Come in. Treats I have treats."
"Hunh?"
Losing patience I step outside. Instantly he goes into a play bow, spins around and is gone, tail wagging furiously, laughter wafting back at me across the empty snow....
Uh Hunh. Ok you stay out then.
And I stomp inside, freezing.

A few minutes later I go to the door and there he sits. Staring at me.
"Cooper come in."
"Hunh?"
I raise my voice to a happy squeak
"Mommy has cookies!"
"Hunh?"
Capitulating then, I go out. Two steps out and there is the play bow, the spin, the flying leap off the deck and he is off, huffing across the yard and I then go after him, yelling "You Bastard! I'm going to get you!"
This is an old old game. And with three legs he can still play well. My chances of actually putting hands on this dog in this mood are now about 50%. A year ago, with four legs, it would have been zip to none.
We do a few rounds around the summer house, one around the sawhorses left out in the snow from putting the fence up, and then we meet and he sits-- his stamina is not what it was by any means. And we laugh. And go in and have treats which we share with the clamoring, jealous Bassets.
And that's my excitement for the day.

WHEN THE CHILDREN LEAVE HOME

This is the first one. Cute as a button. Colic for months. When she got her first cold John came home from work and found us both sitting on the floor wailing because one of us felt lousy and the other felt lousy for the one who really felt lousy. That tiny nose all plugged and red, the raspy cough....

Smart as can be. Vocabulary you wouldn't believe. Afraid of "deadly longlegs" and tornadoes, not that I blame her on the latter.

Wonderful in school. Happy, funny, lovable, hugable, loved kitties, loved school, honest as the day was long. And then came  the next one. "The Germ".

Tons of hair. Tough birth. Colic. Temperamental. But in between, happy happy happy. His sister was not. She did not laugh for about a week after we brought him home. Her Grandparents came to help, and showered her with attention. It didn't matter. She was mad. Then to make it worse, I got sick. My temp soared. The new one wouldn't nurse. He screamed and screamed. I sent the menfolk to buy bottles and Similac. I had been told the baby would never take a bottle once he had taken the breast. Those people were wrong wrong wrong. This kid was so hungry that he would have eaten McDonald's. So these are the two. And I loved them (still do) passionately.

And they grew and prospered. And moved out. One went to college and then the other. By then we had two dogs, a Basset and a Belgian. (We also had cats.)The older the children became, the more interesting were the dogs. The room downstairs that had had the TV and the couch and the stereo and we called the Kid's TV room, now had crates and a grooming table and some brushes and dog beds in it. It had morphed from the Tv room to the Kid room to the Dog room.

One child married and moved.
The other graduated and moved several states away.
We got another dog. By then, I was showing.The dog room sported crates, blankets, a tack box, ribbons, show photos, the grooming table, extra crates for the new car and the shows...folders with vaccination records. The bookcase contained the AKC Book of Standards, Dogs In Motion, DogSteps, The Winning Edge....Winnie The Pooh and the others were upstairs. The clothes in the closet had become blazers and dress pants, skirts and non-skid shoes. Vacations were planned around dog shows, Nationals and new puppies.

Kids came to visit and discovered only Dad and one of the dogs at home-- Mom was two hours away trotting around a ring in the pouring rain.

We moved the good couch upstairs and covered the old couch with blankets, throws and pillows. The floor space was speckled with dog hair and taken up mostly by dog beds. Shortlegs were everywhere, underfoot, in your lap, snuffling ears and even more private places. They stole sandwiches, drooled on your clothes and leaped on you with muddy paws. The Caveat: "Don't wear good clothes" became an accepted litany.

This is the horrifying truth. When I left home, my brother was already long gone, and my Mother took my bedroom. They had no pets. They threw huge parties, catered with bartenders. They had maids come in to clean.

There's not a maid alive that would come past the threshold of our home.

The terrifying truth is that when the children leave, the parents are free (more or less) to play. AND THEY DO. And then, suddenly the children look around and think "My God! They have lives separate from us!!" And altho they also have lives separate from their parents, they are shocked, maybe a little jealous. What they forget is that they came first, once upon a time, and they will continue to hold that spot in our hearts no matter how many dogs there are. It is written in the parental contract: children never really leave home....

BIRFDAY

Dis is Conley and today is my Birday and I am two. Two whole yeers old. I am. Today. December twenny nine. Almoss a new yeer baby not quite.
My Mama is Ch Blackjack's First Class Willow from Canada. So I am haff candyanian. Daddy is a Ch too whatebber dat is. Ch.-- oh my. Ch. First Class Breve Latte of Dusan. I is got two points for whadebber dat worth. MomPerson not showing me much I no like put my tail up for she. She reely like to win an I no care so rite dere we gots dis whatchallit...dispewt. I veery hansome. MomPerson finking dis yeer gone be da YEER OB CONLEY. An we gone show more.

Dis me playin in da snow. I lubs da snow. I borned in Wizzkonsinn so I nose about snow an colt an I dont mind it much till affer I gets inside den I gets colt.

When I come live here dere awreddy two odder Bassets, Nigel an Lewis. Dey brudders. I mean real brudders. Same lidder. Same mom and dad. I sorry I nebber met Ms Zelda. Nigel say she wooda eeten me alive but Ise a liddel puppy an betcha she wooden.

Also living here Mr. Cooper Sir who name reely Ch.Midnight Acres High Noon. He sik now wif sumfine callt cancer. But he git along ok wif juss 3 legs an he teeth. I lernt early on not to mess wif Mr.Cooper, altho he very nice to puppies.


Dis me and anodder pikshure ob me cuz it my birfday so alla day picshures should be of me. I don't fink I getting enyfing speshul. We dont, youshually.

Me nose workin obertime.

Me looking froo da screen door whut I roont by clawin a hole init. It a bran new door, two. Bwaaahahahahahahahaha.

Me been heppy. Dats my bess way of been. I be heppy alla time almoss. I hope you heppy too. Heppy Birfday to ebberybuddy, eben if it not. Everbuddy kin use a extra heppy day.

Love to everbuddy,
Conley now two

CHRISTMAS STUFF

Well......it's all over. My son has gone back to Tennessee. Nigel can relax now. He spent three days under the dining room table, in his crate, or in a corner of my room. He is, for reasons we honestly do not comprehend, terrified of my son.
Llewis was better, Cooper barked a lot. Conley.....oh well Conley....anyone with hands who can give a belly rub or scratch an ear is bound to be a permanent friend. This really confused all the houndage.

Llewis and Nigel could not BELIEVE that Conley was sucking up--  oh well ok, being friendly with-- my son, Christopher. Cooper was not sure why Conley wasn't barking. Conley, for his part, was not sure why everyone was hiding, barking or running away. "This man," he seemed to be saying, "is DANGEROUS??"

I know Christmas is over because I don't want anymore turkey. The Hounds, of course, are more than happy to help get rid of it.

Meanwhile the vicious, not-to-be-trusted son makes an attempt to chew the throat of an obviously terrified Conley.Conley also enjoyed showing everyone on Christmas day how he could walk on his hind legs across the whole living room, all for the the promise of a biscuit.
Fortunately, my son's attempt to Vampire-ize Conley was foiled by Conley attempting to lick my son to death.

Here is Poor Conley, struggling to escape from the unwelcome attentions of Christopher, while the others crouched in the background, waiting with bated breath the outcome of this tussle.

Luckily, Conley prevailed. Offering his belly for rubs seems to have appeased the Terrible One. Giving in to a moment of pre-Christmas Holiday Spirit, Christopher rubbed a belly. He has since been admitted to the Conley Hall of Human Fame and Friendship.

I still have no clue why the others are so nervous when Christopher is here. God knows, WE like him well enough!!

WE WISH YOU

                                    We wish you a very merry

                                    Happy, silly, fun and funny

                                        noisy, full of ahroos

                                           typically basset
(and other breeds-- Christmas and New Year. May the Force be with you.

The Szatons.
Nigel, Llewis, Conley Cooper Mom and Dad

CHRISTMAS EVE DAY

bY cONLEY

Dis a very stressfull time for we here at da Hound Home.
Da MomPerson seem ta fink sumwon comin. Nigel all werked up worryan dat it da twolegger boy wif da deep voice an da hairy face. Nigel reely reeely reeeeely skeered ob he. Not sure why. 2-legger nebber done nuffin to him. But Nigel he runrunrunaway. MomPerson mebbe gonna gib him sumfin to cahhm he nervs.

It bin a busy day heer. MomPerson cleenin and sxcrbbin an cookin an I bin heppin, bin rite dere hepin. An DadPerson he heppin two. We too we bin heppin lots.

We keepin da cleen furnsnitshure cleen dis way sittin on da floor. She usin dat vakhume fing beke behin da tb enyways when we doing dis: DPerson an me we stayin outta da way, see we heppin.

Later she sended we ousside. It were snowin. When she leddus in agin affer she finish da vaxsume, I neerly froze ta deth. She bee sorry tomorraw mornin finding me liddel Cnly all froze ta deth unner da tree. (We got no tree enyways.) DIs whut she done to me:

She fink dis gone meke up for tossin we out inna snow. Yeah waiddel dey sitz downna dinner tomoro, BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

eEnyways I not da onliest won whut hepping. Here Mr. Cooper sir he hepping too:

He asleep case you fink MPerson done dat on porpose.
Well Liddel Cnly all tuckered out from heppin MomPerson geddin reddy for whatebber ohkayshun dis is.
Merry Holidays to ebberbuddy, be warm, be safe, be lovin.

(Dis Livin, it is.)
Love frum Conley an Llewis an Nigel an Cooper.

BIG BIRDS

One of the things I learned when I was working for Doc is that some people are Bird People and some are not.
I am not.
I am frankly terrified of handling all birds.
I am afraid I am going to kill the little ones.  Hold them incorrectly and break a neck, squash a head, break a tiny leg. And those little beaks, those tiny little beaks...they HURT.
One of the Veterinarians, Dr.Frank Wilder, was a Bird Person. He had a Scarlet Macaw named Dodie.
Dodie was big.
Dodie was smart, she was beautiful, and she was cranky. She adored Frank and no one else. Frank clipped her wings and then would set her in the oak trees outside.
Every now and then Dodie would get bored and get down from the tree and take off. She couldn't fly, but she could hike.
If you have never seen a huge red bird stomping down the middle of a 4 lane highway you have missed a real sight. Traffic would pile up behind her, thank God.
Eventually someone would rush in, breathless, and say
"There's a huge red bird walking down the middle of Western Avenue!!!"

(Photo from Google Images)

Now, Frank was our surgeon, so as often as not he was gloved in when word came that Dodie had made a break for it. As senior kennel person, senior Tech, etc etc., and also as the one person who, as afraid as I was of Dodie,  had reached a kind of grudging truce with her, I was usually summoned to go get the Bird out of Harm's Way.

Armed with a broomstick, I would follow the honking and stopped traffic down the highway until I came to Dodie, stumping along on her ineffective legs, waddling toward--the bar? (There was a bar down there.....)

And I would say

"Get on the stick, Dodie: let's go home."

And 9 times out of 10, she would. But. Now came the tricky part: keeping space between Dodie's very formidable beak and my hands.

(Photo borrowed from Google images)

This is the skull of a Scarlet Macaw like Dodie. Please note the outstanding feature of this, aside from the large eyes, is the very large, strong, and pointy beak. These are birds that crack nuts to eat in the Jungle. Dodie would have thought nothing of cracking my thumb and was ornery enough to do it. Maybe. I never let her get close enough.

Dodie also had a perverse sense of humor, something I came to learn many of the big, strong birds share. It may well be that, well aware of my fear, she took full advantage of it just for fun.

Once on the broomstick, the dance began. As I walked back to the clinic, Dodie would inch down the broomstick toward my sweaty hand. When she was about 2/3rds of the way down, toward my hand, I would switch ends.

Now she went the other way, headed once again for my hands. And I would switch.  She was a real character. She had Presence.

*************

One time Doc and I made a housecall for an ailing Cockatoo. Not the little Cockatiels, oh no. This was a huge, white, Sulfur-Crested Cockatoo. The kind "Beretta" had in the TV series if you are 100 years old and remember Robert Blake before he was accused of shooting his wife.

Monty was beautiful. I do not remember why we were there but the Maid was there and she hated Monty because when he was loose he would run along the floor and bite her ankles. Nipped. A real bite would have hamstrung her.

So I got the towel out in which to hold Monty and following Doc's directions to the letter managed to get Monty out of his huge cage. He, of course, made a lunge for my hand and I, of course, let go.

(Photo from Google images)

The Maid, the only smart one of us, ran screaming from the room. Holding the towel (And noting it's total inadequacy as a barrier between that beak and my hand) I chased Monty around the room. Monty then chased me. Doc chased Monty. Monty chased Doc. You get the idea.

Eventually, Doc cornered him and working pretty much on his own got the injection into Monty who seemed pretty damn healthy to me.

******

Thus endeth my personal experience with large birds. After that, I politely bowed out when the Big Birds came in.

I have always kind of wanted an African Grey Parrot, however. Too late: it would outlive me by many years.

(Photo borrowed from Google Images)