WALKING THE CAT

Regrettably, no photos of these attempts exist. (Or perhaps it is just as well.)

We have had, since our marriage began, three cats. Ambulance, Arsenal and Beemr. Ambulance was an indoor/outdoor cat and lived to be 17, a beautiful long-haired black and white kitty with a perfectly feline self-image, a twisted sense of humor and a Supreme Court Justice's sense of fairness. (The photo shows him at an advanced age.)
At the time we had him we lived across the street from a school and, most importantly for Ambulance, the Forest Preserve. For many years he hunted there and sometimes brought home "treats" for me.
And then a neighbor complained. A neighbor who we had had trouble with before.
He said my cat and another cat (Gandalf-- a big Russian Blue who lived next door) were hiding under a bush near his house at night and scaring the bejesus out of his tiny white poodle, Chippy. Thus, late at night, last thing, Chippy would go out before bed but be too terrified by the huge lions in the bush hissing at him, to do his "business". I thought this was hilarious. Trying not to laugh,
I told him I would discuss it with Ambulance and explain that this was not appropriate, then quickly shut the door, turned off the light and sprinted for the stairs before he had a chance to realise what I had just said.

Anyway in our town, cats are SUPPOSED to be on leashes.
So I thought well, ok.
And I bought a cat harness. One of the figure8 ones that they cannot pull out of. Little dog harnesses do not work.

I put the harness on Ambulance who instantly flattened himself into the grass. I clipped on the "leash" and took a step. Hissssssssssssss.
I gently tugged the leash. Repeat Hisssssssss.

Now Ambulance was not a pissy cat. Hit him with a book when he was sleeping and he'd slit your eyelid open, as my 3 yr old son learned. Fair is fair.
This, he felt, was not fair. I tugged again and suddenly he came to life, leaping, screaming,  turning somersaults in the air and finally, attaching himself tooth and nail to my upper rear thigh, chewing on me as if I were some little rodent. Screaming, I managed to detach my body from his but he wasn't done and wrapped his legs around my arm and began tearing at me again. I scruffed him off and threw him on the ground where he instantly flattened out-- ears and all, and regarded me with loathing, his eyes huge and dilated, panting. He knew he had won round 1. There was no round 2. The entire debacle lasted about 20 seconds.
I quickly removed the leash and harness as I simultaneously attempted not to drip blood on everything. He remained flat in the grass, glaring, in case I was stupid enough to try again. In case I had not gotten the message:
"Put a tether on me and I become SCHIZOPHRENIC CAT."
I never tried that again.

Arsenal was a short-haired grey Tabby that I brought home from the Veterinary Hospital where I worked. He was my son's cat, really. He was an indoor cat and as soon as he shredded the shower curtains and began working on the new stereo speakers I had his front declawed. (For the record, I did this again with Beemr because neither cats were allowed outside without supervision, but I would not do it now.)

I started Ars with a harness very young and so he was ok with it, altho he wouldn't "walk" with you. I put a very long very lightweight line on the harness and would sit outside with him while he managed to tangle himself around every plant, bush and tree in the yard, usually ending up under something with deadly long thorns and near a wasp nest. Once he cornered a shrew and was about to start playing "kitty tag" (which consists of taking some harmless little creature and slapping it with a paw: BAM!"You're it--I dare you to move...") but the shrew had other ideas and standing up on it's little back legs it SCREAMED at Arsenal-- if I had not been right there I would never have believed him-- and poor Arsenal paused, stared, and then basically showed the shrew the way into the neighbor's yard.

Beemr came along some time after Ambulance had died and she was also from the Hospital. A tiny, malnourished long-haired tabby, she grew up into a beautiful, ill-tempered little bitch. She hated the harness. She would wear it but she hated it. I do not think she had been outside before because when she did go out she was afraid of grass.

 She was afraid of flowers, trees, grass and generally, anything outside the window.
Altho she acted as if she longed to be outside, take her out and she would bunny hop to the nearest sidewalk and wail to be let back in.

About twice a year she would somehow manage to get out the door with the dogs and then, finding herself in GRASS,  panic.  I was always afraid she would lunge under the fence in her terror, and run away, but I was always able to get to her before she had a chance.
For Beemr, the harness was a tool of torture.
Beemr bit people. She rarely bit me because I learned quickly to read the "Beemr's had enough, thank you" signs. She would snuggle down next to you in a chair or couch and then, if you moved....

They were wonderful cats. But it will be a long time before I try "walking" one again.

WIND THINGIE

John, my husband of thousands of years, has a very expensive weather station and one of it's components is a wind thingie. That is not the technical term. Anemometer. A thingie used to measure wind speed.
Years ago Roger helped John put this up so it was above the apex of the roof. We have a Cape Cod with an addition where the garage used to be. We moved in here in 1985 and there were 3 layers of shingles on at that time and there are still three except that they leak terribly over the freezer, washer and dryer in the utility room.

So we decided it was time to re-roof, and it happened that I knew someone (well) whose husband does this for a living. So tomorrow the roofers are due to appear.

John decided the wind thingie, the anemometer, needed to come down.

So he climbed the ladder up onto the roof and began to disassemble the wind thingie.

(In the foreground is more of the weather station. The anemometer is visible on top of the corner of the roof, happily spinning away in the summer wind.)

John gets up on the roof. I can climb ladders, or I can stand on a roof but I cannot climb a ladder and step OFF of it onto the roof. The act of stepping off the ladder fills me with a dread that I am helpess to put words to. I'm not sure it is a fear of falling. But it might be. Clearly, John doesn't share that sense of impending doom.

Anyway once up there he discovered that the brackets were frozen. He used WD-40 (which rolled off the roof) and worked on it for a long time and then determined that the bottom of the pole would have to be cut off in order to get it out of the brackets.

He was up there a long time working on it. I kept thinking the roofers could work around it, (it has wires that crossed the roof and apparently John felt it wasn't safe.)

I guess Nigel agreed.

Eventually he got it down. So now the roofers can roof the roof. Tomorrow morning. Should be really interesting with three Bassets to help them......

WRITER'S BLOCK

I can't think of anything to write so I am going to simply put up photos.

Everyone knows what

a Red-Winged Blackbird looks like.

The bird on the right is a heron that was on a shed where we went to rent an airboat in Florida. He hung around all the time and had a name but I cannot remember what it was. Stan, maybe.

My daughter and me kyacking (Bwaaahahahahahaha) outside my brother's house in Oahu many yrs ago. He no longer lives in Hawaii. Once in the lagoon by myself I accidentally ran over a sea turtle which were abundant in that little inlet.

This is the lovely little cabin that my daughter and my son's ex stayed in at Sanibel Island, Florida. It was a wonderful trip and we could sit on the porch in the evening and see the Gulf of Mexico and drink our wine and Margaritas and watch the sunset.

Montesano, Washington. Stellar's Jay sitting atop one of many bird feeders in Mary's garden. Far at the foot of the garden you can see the huge pines that are owned by Weyerhauser paper. Many of them are gone now, compliments of a very bad windstorm a year or two ago. This was taken in 2002. Mary is a Master Gardener and her garden is just drop-dead gorgeous.

Also it has a very treacherous CLIFF-- well it's a hill, actually, that leads down to those trees which it is possible to fall down during a garden tour, remembering, as one tumbles, to set one's glass of scotch carefully down so as not to spill as one rolls screaming into the abysss.

When Susie and I went to Wyoming we got caught in the middle of a cattle drive: the old fashioned kind with horses and cowboys(and cowgirls) moving the herd a few miles a day to another pasture closer to the barns, in preparation for winter. They had two Border collies working: this one was resting in the back of the truck (they had a trailer for the horses, too)  Originally he was watching-- with ill-disguised envy-- his partner working, but when we pulled up he could see  Cooper in the back of the car and that is what he is staring at in this photo.

This is the other BC, working with the head Honcho and moving the cattle.

This is a little pier at Sarnia, Canada. I don't know the Province, I cannot remember. Susan the Belgian Sheepdog lady and I went up here for a dog show. I am not even sure which dog I had at the time, probably Cooper since Quiller really was not showable. This was right across the road from the motel we stayed in. It was a beautiful area, and a lovely show, and Susan did quite well altho I think I bombed.

Washington State

THE DOG WHO THINKS TOO MUCH

My blogs lately seem to all be about Cooper. I am not sure whether this is because he takes up a lot of my mental space or whether I am just paying more attention to him, since I know our time is limited, even if he doesn't.

It is 3:45 as I write. I have been up for about a half an hour. At about 3 this morning, Cooper came to talk to me.

He says "Good morning." and I reluctantly open my eyeballs. I ask if he needs to go out. He doesn't leap up and run for the door. He says "Good morning. There is something wrong."
I hate it when he does this.
I ask if he is sick. He says "Good morning. Look around."
So I do. It is dark. Of course it is dark it is 3 in the morning.
"No," he says, "listen". And I Listen, and it is silent. Wait. SILENT?
"Yes," he says, "listen to the silence."
And slowly, very slowly, I realise nothing is running. There is no refrigerator noise, no clock noise, no lights on the computer, no lights on the weather station. Hmmm. I sit up and look across the street to where their bathroom light is always on. It isn't.
Awwwwwwwwpooooie. No electricity.
"Right" he says. "The magic stuff is off. All I can hear is you breathing and the rain."

I get up. Now the dogs are up and want out so I let them outside. I fumble around for the $100 totally dependable heavy-duty police-issue flashlight which almost instantly quits working. Luckily there are two: the other heavy enough to cause back strain. I see a couple of lights working on the cable thingie so I try to use the phone but the cable actually is out so the phone is too and I have to use my cell phone to call CWEdison and get the automated response which says, basically:
YOUR POWER IS OUT. SOMEDAY IF YOU ARE VERY VERY GOOD WE WILL RESTORE IT. MAYBE.
The dogs are back in and Cooper will not leave my side. I get the portable police scanner. The batteries are dead. I get out all the batteries in the house and start putting them in the scanner but nothing works. Cooper is watching intently.

"Why don't you use the battery tester?" he asks. I glare. I get out the battery tester which tests every battery I try as dead.
While I am doing this, concentrating in the sharp light of the flashlight, Cooper is bumping me with his nose. I tell him to stop. He keeps it up.
Finally he says:
"Hey! Look around!"

Oh. The electricity is on.
He wanders off to his chair in the living room. I pile all the batteries on the freezer.

Sometimes it is really not fun to have a dog that is smarter than you are.

A BAD WEEK SO FAR

I got some new stuff to try on Cooper for storms. I am not sure what is in it but it smells suspiciously as if it has VitB in it. When I bought it I read the directions and it said give a teaspoon etc. Now having lived through trying to give a dog a teaspoon of anything I knew right away this wouldn't work but I figured I have an eyedropper marked with mls and could figure it out. Yeah right.
The eyedropper contains 1 ml. He gets 7 to 10.
This stuff STINKS.
Cooper's opinion of the taste was similar and altho I had him trapped there was a lot of head-slinging and spitting going on and I ended up wearing a couple of mls of if plus I had it all over my hands and it is sticky. And did I mention: IT STINKS.

This was last night. Of course the storm went north of us. We got nothing. I found Cooper staring out the front door but I don't think the stuff did much else.

I went to bed early and every time I got my hands near my face I could smell this stuff, even tho I had washed my hands over and over and put on lotion. I finally used some of that sanitizer with about a half a bottle of alcohol in it.

This morning, I can still smell it on my hands. Gaaaah. Clearly when I turned down the Tech's offer of a syringe I made a terrible mistake, one I plan on rectifying asap.

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

Meanwhile a friend's Basset, one who I really like (I like most Bassets but some are more likeable than others) has been desperately ill. He is very young, and for awhile it looked as if he had some kind of major tumor. She (owner) has lost two other dogs in the past 6 months or so and now it appeared that she very well might be losing another.
Yesterday he went for an MRI and yesterday morning I got an email from another friend saying her Elkhound mix has bladder cancer.
Needless to say it was very depressing. While I waited for word on the MRI and waited for my other friend to write and tell me what they were thinking of doing for the Elkhound, I decided to go paint, just to get out of the house and away from my ever-darkening thoughts: got to the Gallery and learned that a 20 yr old Shih Tzu belonging to one of the artists had died that morning.

GOOD LORD ALMIGHTY!!!

Well ok the Basset does not have cancer but has a whopping infection of some kind, generated by an unknown factor, possibly a foreign body but they could not visualize it on the MRI. So $6000 lighter, my friend (That was not just for the MRI but other diagnostics) has him home and on antibitoics while they wait for the results of the culture to see which antibiotic will be the best. And he is feeling better but still swollen up she says, "like a mutant Shar-Pei".
The dog with bladder cancer may have surgery or not-- they are still trying to work through that decision. He is twelve years old and currently very happy, with no inkling that he is desperately ill.

I have not called the artist yet to express my condolences altho that is on my list of things to do today.

And then there is this smell on my hands......

                                               Some weeks are just like that.

PET PET PEEVES

I have some of the best Vets around. I am sure other people would debate that and I am sure that there are other Veterinarians out there who are better or smarter so on and so forth. I am just saying that for my dogs, my cats (in the past) and me, I have the ones I am happiest with.

There are a bunch of them. Unfortunately, as I no longer work there, I don't know who the new ones are. And I can promise you, there are some real clunkers out there. Consequently I tend to stick close to the ones I have worked with. Doc, Ms Doc and KatDoc.

Doc is the Bossman. As a diagnostician he is excellent. As a dedicated Vet he is unsurpassed. As a businessman he is sharp and aggressive. Which means sometimes he has other things on his mind and this is my biggest pet peeve about Veterinarians is when I feel I do not have their FULL ATTENTION. I think this happens to me perhaps more than others because having worked there I am expected to understand that sometimes things are crazy. But when I come to Doc with a dog question, I expect his undivided attention.

When I don't get it, I get annoyed.
I will call a Vet on this. I will tell them that I am getting impression they are thinking about something else but could they please listen to what I am saying. I may go to one of the other Vets and explain that Vet#1 is apparently too busy to concentrate. I know the message will be passed along. Techs are less likely to pass such messages.

"I expect his undivided attention"

Techs who are scattered and frantic are another peeve. I am not awed by Techs having been one. I know there are good days and insane days when they are expected to be doing 10 things at once. And then here I come, needing a bandage on a bleeding nail. But if a Tech seems to be paying attention to something else, I will even say "Hey, can we do this, first, ok?" And if I have to intercede a second time I will simply stop them, and ask for a tech who is not as busy. Usually this brings them back to earth.
On the other hand, a good Tech is worth her weight in gold and it is nice to be nice. I have, already a reputation for being a real bitch, but I am NEVER a bitch to those who do their jobs well.

With Bassets a pet peeve is rolling them over by their legs. I always yell and holler about that. You have to know that I go in the back with my dogs for xrays and other treatments. Rarely do I allow them to be taken into the back without me.

For example: if you give my Bassets a shot in their shoulders, they develop huge lumps every time. I want to be there to remind the techs-- no no! in the hips, please!

"I want to be sure they are looking at that file"

My Belgian cannot have certain drugs. It is in his file. I want to be there to be sure they are LOOKING AT THAT FILE. I know it is terrible, but sometimes even the best Vet misses what is writ in red in the front of the file: ALLERGIC TO PENICILLIN is a prime example.

Most of all I want a Vet who is going to tell it like it is. I do not need to have my Vet pretend he knows more than he does. If he needs help with something, I expect him to tell me this is beyond his expertise and I need a referral. If I ask for a second opinion, I do not expect snotty behavior. I expect my Veterinarians to understand and agree and not sulk and be hurt. This is MY dog, and I am going to be sure he gets every possible advantage available to him.
By the same token I want to know what my dog's actual outlook is. If he is not going to make it, I expect to be told. I want to know his chances, the timeline, and what to expect. I want it right out front so I understand. I don't want a lot of equivocation. Some people do.

                                       I don't expect Attitude if I ask for a second opinion

And finally I expect a courteous and pleasant experience. I try to understand that at 6pm on Saturday when they have been working non-stop since 7 in the morning that they may be tired and worn out and at the end of their ropes, and so I try to go in at a reasonable time. I try not to wait. Nothing is as annoying as the client who calls 5 minutes before closing and announces that their dog has been vomiting blood for three days should they come in? However, once there, they deserve pleasant and alert service. I try hard to be understanding, having walked in those shoes myself. Sometimes, it is simply more than you can expect.

                      Sometimes, alertness is a little more than you can seriously expect

So when you go to the Vet, know what the symptoms are. Know whether you need to call ahead (if your dog is bloating, hit by a car, choking, collapsed-- give them a heads-up while you are on the way so they can be ready.)
Above all remember that you and your Veterinarian should ideally be a TEAM. If you are feeling constantly antagonized or as if your Vet has missed something, time to find a new Vet. Really, you owe it to your dog.                                                            

ABOVE ALL ELSE. YOU ARE YOUR DOG'S ADVOCATE. YOU AND YOUR VETERINARIAN SHOULD BE A TEAM ON YOUR DOG'S BEHALF.

ADVENTURES IN DOG TRAINING

The Basset in the foreground is Warf. He is the first Basset we ever had. He is older in this photo but he had some problems, notably using his teeth to get his way with everyone. It was very effective.
When he was about a year old I took him to a Park District training class with a friend who had a Golden Retriever puppy. Warf had had some training by then but he also required two muzzles, two strong people to restrain him and a Vet to trim his nails.
In class we got past "sit" and began the "down." The instructor noticed that he was still sitting. She came over and knelt down to show me that he would lay down if I pulled his front feet forward and very quickly I said "I would NOT do that."
Very slowly she withdrew her hands and stood up, regarded Warf for a moment and said "Oh well: he's almost down as it is."
End of "down" training.


The black dog in the photo is Quiller as a youngster. My first Belgian. I used a very poor trainer to start with and really screwed this dog up, but he was very compliant and willing. It was just that he was so anxious to do it right that it overwhelmed him, and he got nutty. One day I was at a "fun"match with my friend and his breeder, Susan, and I was complaining that on the "watch me" command, Quiller didn't. She suggested I hang a long piece of string cheese out of my mouth where he could see it and give the command. So I did. I hung this piece of cheese out of my mouth, turned to Quiller and said "Wat------------" and instantly had my lip split in half as he hit it with his teeth grabbing the cheese. I was laughing so hard it was difficult to stop the bleeding. I guess he knew the command after all.

(The Keeshond in the photo is Kailey, my daughter's absolutely wonderful, loving and mischievous dog who lived a happy 17 years and who we all miss on a daily basis.)

This, by the way, is what Warf looked like as a baby. That really is me holding him. Those days are over!!

This is Walker. He was with us only for a very short time. He had the longest ears of any Basset we had had or have had since. At training class (for show, not obedience) he could not get around the ring without tripping on his ears.

Walker also taught me that teaching the "stand" to a young Basset is a lot like working with a slinky: you get one end up and the other is already down. You fix the back end and the front is laying in a puddle on the floor. Keeping one hand under the rear you lift the front. There is absolutely not one bit of help can you expect from the hot little bundle in your hands. The tail wags. Other than that, you are on your own.

This is Arsenal the cat. (As if you couldn't tell.) Arsenal actually came when he was called except for the one time he got out of the yard when we had had him about two days. We combed the neighborhood to no avail. My son was distraught, I was hysterical. Finally on a whim I got Warf out and had him smell the cat's blanket. We took him around the corner to where Arsenal had run under the fence.
He walked to a bush.
I pulled him back and started over. Neither of us had EVER done tracking of any kind.
He went to a bush.
I pulled him back and started over.
He walked about 6 feet down the street did a turnaround and went back to the bush. This time he resisted being pulled back to the fence, so I got down on the ground and peered under the bush and found myself staring into two green kitty eyes. Arsenal. Under the bush. Right where Warf knew he was.
We gave Warf a nice bowl of ice cream for his reward. He loved it.
Two days later he had pancreatitis (from which he recovered) and the Vet was screaming at me YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! SHOULD KNOW BETTER! THAN TO GIVE HIM ICE CREAM!!!!!

Thus did I learn about training.