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The Furry Tail

November 18, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

How do we come up with the title of our blogs?  Some of us use our own names, more use a phrase or conglomerate of words that catch the interest of a reader.  Others, like me, use puns…but that is not the only reason this blog is called Grimm’s Furry Tail.

 

 

Obviously, I have a dog named Grimm.  And yes, he has a furry tail (although not nearly as furry as some other tails).  It is because of this tail, however, that I ended up becoming Grimm’s guardian.  You may wonder what his tail has to do with anything.  Well, let me explain:

Before I was his owner, when Grimm was originally brought into the veterinary clinic (my place of employment), he was placed in a cage in my inpatient area of the hospital while waiting for the results of his parvo test.  You really would not have even known he was there.  He was small at the time and the large kennel swallowed his black little self in its embrace.  He didn’t whine or bark and wasn’t unruly. The cage was just a place for him to wait.

I kept hearing loud thunks coming from the kennel he was in.  If you glanced at the pup, he seemed still…except for his tail.  Bang, bang, bang.  It whipped back and forth against the walls of the cage and the sounds would speed up when anyone walked by.  It never stopped moving the entire 10 minutes it took for the test to run.  When I overheard that his current owners at the time were planning on euthanizing him because he ended up testing positive for parvo, I glanced at the pup and his still wiggling tail.  How could they not even try to save him, I thought.  Someone needed to–any pup who could still whip his tail that enthusiastically in the face of a possible death sentence deserved a chance.  I assumed ownership of the black pup and his banging appendage–Grimm and his furry tail–and saved him from death.

The old proverb “For want of a nail, the kingdom was lost” has been used to illustrate the idea that some small item can cause much greater consequences–in this case, because a horse lost the nail on his shoe his rider was thrown. The rider was then unable to convey an important message which was key in winning a battle.  Because the battle was lost, the kingdom fell and all was destroyed.

I propose a new proverb with a much more positive connotation:  “Because of a tail, a dog was saved.”  Grimm’s furry tail heralded his enthusiasm and proclaimed his will to live.  His rear end was the start to our beginning and, to give credit where credit is due, became the title of this blog.

 

This is actually the more dangerous end of my dogs–their thin little tails become weapons of mass destruction when they are happy or excited. Coffee tables lose their decoration, walls and door frames get pounded into submission and lower legs sting when the pit tails are near.

 

To this day, Grimm’s tail continues to proclaim his enthusiasm for life.  As he has gotten bigger (and his tail longer), the beating his furry appendage dishes out really has gotten painful.  His tail whips back and forth and wags the whole rear end assemblage.  He can never stay completely still–as soon as a person makes eye contact, his tail starts moving.  If someone starts to talk to him, the tail moves faster.  If someone touches him, well, the tail moves fast enough to create a rather large current.   He ends up folding himself in half and whacking himself in the head with his own rudder.  Sometimes I think his tail even annoys him–when it gets going too fast, sometimes he’ll grab it in his mouth to keep it from banging into his noggin.

People have commented on the brute strength Grimm’s tail possesses and some have even dared to suggest I have it shortened.  Obviously those people don’t realize the importance of his hindmost part.  Even though it can be deadly at times, his tail was part of his saving grace and is as much a part of Grimm as the rest.  Grimm’s furry tail made Grimm’s fairy tale come true–it granted his wish for life and I mean to make it the best I can.

 

 

A mountain is composed of tiny grains of earth. The ocean is made up of tiny drops of water. Even so, life is but an endless series of little details, actions, speeches, and thoughts. And the consequences–whether good or bad–of even the least of them are far-reaching.
                                                                                      -Sivananda

 

Posted in Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments »

Nosing Around

November 14, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

I think I have the nosiest dogs in existence.  I’m glad that they have enough confidence to stick their snouts in random bags and boxes, but it gets a little embarrassing when they start to investigate other people’s private purses. With the way they want to sniff and explore inside bags and satchels, you would think they worked as detection dogs.  I can guarantee, however, that my canines have never earned a dime moonlighting as sniffer dogs (unless you count the time Grimm almost ate the coin that he found while rooting under the driver’s seat of my car).

Whenever I come back from shopping or if a package arrives, all three of them immediately start sniffing and nosing at the bag or box.  They don’t steal anything from the bag, even if groceries are present; they just seem to want to check out the wares.

 

These three dogs may be some of the biggest busy-bodies you ever did see.

 

Me:  Hey, guys, haven’t you ever heard the saying, “Curiosity killed the cat?” Leave the bags and boxes alone.  Nothing in there is for you.

Zella, Charley & Grimm:  What do you mean, curiosity killed the cat?

Me:  You know–it’s a warning.  Something you might not expect may cause you harm if you poke around in something that is not your business.

Grimm:  Are you saying that someone is trying to kill us?  Well now we’ve really got to sniff and inspect all the packages–maybe there’s something dangerous in there…or even a dead kitty.

Me:  I give up.

 

All my canines act like little kids when I come back from the store.  What’s in the bag?  Whatcha got there?  Is anything for us?  They do, however, seem to know when a certain box of food or treats or a toy is for them.  I don’t know how they figure this out, but they do.  They’ll pay more attention to the canine item in the bag than they would to a human one even if it is something they have never seen (or smelled) before.  How do they know ?  It’s almost spooky at times.

 

Grimm can be a nosy little bugger.

 

A dog’s nose is truly a remarkable organ.  Their sense of smell is said to be more  than 10,000 times more sensitive than ours.  We have utilized this ability from the day the first human partnered up with the first canine.  A dog’s nose has helped our species in so many ways over the centuries.  It allows us to procure food by tracking prey or finding and retrieving game; helps us to avoid danger by sniffing out explosives and contraband; provides us with a way to search for our missing, wounded and dead; and more recently assists us in detecting cancer, mold, termites, bedbugs and other natural dangers.  Dogs have allowed us to make the world safer and more accessible because of their awesome scent detection.

As impressive as a canine’s nose may be, when it is shoved in areas it doesn’t belong it can become a nuisance, like when a pooch pokes his or her sniffer into someones crotch.  My dogs don’t do that (thank goodness) but I have had to apologize when my canine’s cranium has been buried neck deep into some friends purse or backpack.  I have no idea what my dog was looking for, but their busy-body, nosy self just had to take a peek.  Curiosity may have killed the cat, but nosiness seems to have distinguished the dog.  Seems dogs also have a talent for spinning deterrents into assets.

 

 

 

Posted in Canine Training & Behavior, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

The Wonder Years

November 8, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Lately I’ve been hearing from everyone who runs into Grimm, “Wow!  He’s got a big head!”.  Even people who see him on a daily basis comment on how much bigger it seems.  I tell them two things:  he’s a pit bull, so he’s going to have a fat head and he is still only a teenager in dog years and still has some filling out to do.  Sometimes, because of his size, people forget he still really is just a big puppy…although now he’s a big puppy going through the teenage stage.

 

“Did someone say I have a big head?”

 

The teenage years in dogdom can be aggravating.  Think we humans have a monopoly on juvenile delinquents?  Think again.  All of my dogs have gone through a teenage rebellious age–interestingly enough, the girls of the species have always been the worst.  In my case, it isn’t because my dogs are reaching sexual maturity (as all have been spayed or neutered at or before reaching six months of age), but because they are becoming socially mature. They are still learning the ins and outs of the world and, like us humans, tend to get into more trouble as they learn from their mistakes.  They have their own wonder years–the transition from pup to adult–and during this time, they are putting out feelers to see what they can (and can’t) get away with, both with people and other dogs.

Case in point:  Grimm couldn’t seem to be serious today about taking some photos.  All I wanted was a nice portrait to commemorate his growing up.  This is what I got:

 

“You like this look? This is my gangsta’ face. Peace, yo.”

 

See what I mean?  Delinquent, for sure.  I’m pretty sure if he were able, he actually would have thrown some popular hand signal into the mix–peace sign, not the other.  He wouldn’t dare to be vulgar, I hope.

The pictures didn’t get any better as the day went on.  I thought making him pose with Zella would make him take things a little more seriously.  Nope.  See for yourself below:

 

“Is this a pretty face? I’m a boy–why do I have to look pretty?”

 

Because Grimm ruined the picture by sticking out his tongue, I had to take one of Zella by herself so she would at least have a decent portrait.

 

Zella is much happier when she doesn’t have to have her photograph taken with rambunctious Grimm. Like a typical little brother, he always tries to annoy her.

 

After several more failed attempts to take a nice portrait of Grimm, I resorted to bribery.  “If you sit still and smile nicely like the handsome young dog I know you to be, I will play frisbee with you.  Please.  Do this one thing for me.” Finally, he did:

 

See? Was that so hard?

 

Grimm mostly is a good boy.  Sure, he drives me crazy at times like most teenagers do.  All I can say is thank goodness I don’t have to worry about teaching him how to drive or underage drinking or teenage pregnancy.  Now if we can only solidify the fact that flip flops are not in fact food, we’ll be doing okay.

I always thought the reference to the wonder years as a rite of passage had to do more with the youth wondering about how the world works.  Really, now I think it has more to do with wondering if the youth will survive long enough to reach adulthood.  It’s not about the wonders of the world, but the questioning of, “Are they going to make it?”.  Sometimes I wonder about Grimm:  will the crazy decisions he makes and the crazy antics he performs allow him to reach maturity?  Only time will tell.  It’s not that I let him play in the street or run rampant–he just does perplexing things (as I’m sure you’ve read about on this blog).   Between his obsession with eating plastic frisbees (and then vomiting bloody foam and frisbee pieces days later) and not watching where he’s going (he runs into things constantly with his large cranium), well, all I can say is we’ll see.  I wonder how many times my parents thought the same about me.

 

Posted in Art & Photography, Canine Training & Behavior, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments »

Life in the Fast Lane

November 3, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Grimm has been operating in only two modes lately:  dead to the world and go speed racer.  He is either passed out cold or running full blast.  I bet you can guess which rate of motion drives me crazy.  Why can’t he have a happy medium? To make things even more interesting, he somehow enlisted Zella in on the action, so now it is double the anarchy, double the fuss.

Charley tries to help me keep the younger ones in line. He referees their play and corrects them when they get too rowdy. When they are especially bad, Charley bores them to tears with stories of life when he was younger. “Back in my day, we didn’t have them fancy frisbees you young ‘uns love to chase. We had to chase old tin pie pans…or rocks…or if you were really lucky, you got to chase a stick.”

Grimm never just walks anywhere anymore.  He sprints…and makes himself an obstacle course, too.  For example, if he and I are leaving the bedroom to, say, go to the kitchen, he sprints out the bedroom door, jumps completely over the two steps that lead into the living room, jumps onto the couch, runs it’s length two or three times, jumps off the couch and runs a lap or two around it, scoots under the kitchen table, commando crawls under a dining room chair, then speed slides into the kitchen where he comes to an immediate halt and sits pretty, waiting for a possible treat.  Makes me tired just typing it.  At this point, I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if my Evel Knievel canine decided to add a circle of fire to his route.   Why he can’t just walk straight from the bedroom to the kitchen is beyond me.  My room is only about 25 feet from the kitchen–Grimm’s circuitous route has to at least triple the distance.  Seems to me the shorter route would get him to the treat faster.

*Boing*! Gotta keep moving! Come on, Zella, no time to waste!

My wild dog does the same thing outside.  I expect him to run around when he’s out there, but there’s run around and then there is run A round.  Grimm literally runs three full, perfect circles of the yard before he commences exploration of his terrain.  He makes up obstacle courses outside, too–over the bush, through the culvert, backflip off the deck and weave through the bamboo. I get dizzy just watching him.

Now I know what you are going to say:  you must not be exercizing him enough.  Unless I can find an Olympic marathon runner who wants to have a tag-a-long canine training partner, there is not much more I can do.  I run him. I work him.  I let him play with his canine buddies for hours (three hours today). At this point, I feel like I am just helping him increase his stamina and am shooting myself in the foot.  Don’t get me wrong–I tire him out and he sleeps like the dead, but once he’s refreshed, well, life in the fast lane commences–again.

I brought back my frisbee AND Zella at the same time!

Lately, he can’t even seem to just sit still.  He’s constantly shuffling his feet and his butt keeps bopping from side to side.  I frequently find myself telling him, “Calm your body!”  When he’s in a down, he slithers side to side like he needs to itch his back.  Really, he’s just inch-worming his way slowly across the floor. Technically, he’s doing what was asked–he’s still down–he’s just not staying put.  I have to make everything extremely clear with him.  It’s like making a deal with the devil–gotta read the fine print or else he’ll walk on a technicality.

Grimm’s crazy energy seems to correspond with the cooler weather we’ve been having.  If it actually gets really cold, maybe he’ll hibernate and I won’t have to worry about wearing him out.  This life in the fast lane is tiring business.  I’m ready for a slow ride–it’s time to take it easy.

Posted in Art & Photography, Canine Training & Behavior, Humor, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Devil May Care

October 31, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Since Grimm has been extra mischievous and impish lately, full of the devil as they say, I thought it was only fitting for him to become one for a day.  What better time than Halloween for him to live out his devilish fantasies?

I placed the horns on his head and tied his cape and collar around his neck.  I thought for sure he would then proceed to buck and writhe in an elaborate attempt to rid himself of his constricting garments.  Instead, something strange happened.  The little hellion actually just sat there…and watched me…and then proceeded to parade around the house like a proud peacock.

Can a dog get into character?  Because I swear this one did.  If he had been given a pitchfork, I’m fairly sure he would have started poking and prodding Charley and Zella with it.  I had to look closely–was his tail developing a swelling at the end resembling a pointed spade?  Were those horns really part of the costume or part of Grimm?  I think I saw him looking for the matches and I’m pretty sure I heard him asking Zella what brimstone was.

Grimm:  Come, my minions.  We must venture forth and tempt the righteous and collect the wicked.

Me:  Um, Grimm?  Where are you taking Zella and Charley?  You guys aren’t allowed to leave by yourselves.

Grimm:  Begone, foolish human.  I am the Prince of Darkness, el diablo malo.  I am off to bargain for souls and I need my underlings to help keep track of my converts and to bring the hellfire and brimstone.  Zella, you’re in charge of fire. Charley, you get the brimstone.

Me:  Wait…what?  You are taking this devil business a little too far.  You are not really the devil.  Well, sometimes you act like one…but that’s beside the point. You are only wearing a costume–it’s pretend.   As in NOT REAL.  And when did you start speaking Spanish?

Grimm:  Oh.  So I don’t have to really gather souls and live underground with fire?  Whew.  That’s a relief.  Fire kinda scares me.  I do like having horns, though.  Can I keep the horns?  Oh, and my friend Chico the chihuahua has been teaching me a few words in Spanish.  Did you know that caca means…..

Me:  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Lose the cape and horns, Lucifer.  I want my Grimm back.

So things have pretty much returned to normal.  Grimm’s happy-go-lucky, devil-may-care attitude has returned.  He even redeemed himself of his wicked ways yesterday when he very graciously donated half a liter of blood to a very sweet, but very sick golden retriever.  I think I may have even seen the hint of a halo around his head when he ran through the sunlight this afternoon.  Angelic Grimm has made an appearance–we’ll see how long it takes for the devil to return.  In the meantime, have a safe, fun and happy Halloween!

Posted in Art & Photography, Humor, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments »

Dog’s Best Friend

October 26, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Charles Darwin once said, very poetically,  “A man’s friendships are one of the best measures of his worth.”  The quality of these relationships, not the quantity, defines our character.  If someone can offer us love and respect even when we are not at our best, we have found a friend.  A friend is someone who enjoys your company, listens to what you have to say, helps you in times of need and laughs with you (not at you) along the way.  A person with one true friendship is wealthier than the millionaire with none; all it takes is one.  It doesn’t even have to be another human–canines provide excellent friendship.

I like to think I am a good friend to my dogs but I realize that there are some things that I, as a human, can’t provide.  Just as they can’t give me relationship advice, I can’t really “speak” on the ins and outs of being a dog–I can’t comment on the tastiness of a bone, the allure of an especially rancid roadkill or the sheer pleasure of pretending to attack and eat another of my species.  For those occasions, my dogs need another dog.  Sure, I have multiple dogs who like each other, but sometimes they need a buddy “outside the box”.  After all, even dogs get annoyed at times by their house-mates.

 

Grimm and his best friend Vash hang out behind bars. No, this isn’t some prison love story. They were just being kenneled together at work.

Grimm’s best dog buddy outside of the house is a seven-month old red Doberman pinscher named Vash.  They adore each other.  Vash’s owner and I work overlapping but opposite schedules at our 24-hour emergency veterinary clinic.  The boys get about an hour together on days when we are both working and they make the most of it.  As soon as they see each other, the vocalizations begin.  They literally moan and whine until they get to make contact.  Even if they can’t play, just being able to sniff and lick the other makes them happy.  They jump and box at each other, play bow and wrestle, mouth each others ears, neck, legs and feet and then, when they are utterly exhausted, they flop down together and bask in each others company.

Vash has a sister Doberman named Vena that Grimm also loves–when he is allowed to play with both of them at the same time, Grimm delights at the idea of getting to be an honorary Doberman.  Even though Vena and Grimm were friends first, Vash and Grimm had an instant connection.  They have the same energy, they respect each others boundaries and they play really well together. My friend and I laugh and joke about our dog’s “bro-mance”.

Grimm has other doggy friends, but the relationship he has with Vash is definitely something above and beyond.  He loves Vash as much as he loves Zella and Charley–more of a brotherly love, if you will.  Seeing his friendship with Vash blossom over the last few months has been touching.  Sometimes we forget that dogs are social creatures.  Now, I understand that some dogs, like some people, prefer a life of solitude away from others of their kind, and I can respect that.  But for all the other canines (and humans) out there who seek friendship but can’t seem to find it, well, my heart aches for them.  How many of us have thought we found a friend, only to be betrayed or let down by the same in the end?  All I can say is keep trying.  When a true kindred spirit is found, you’ll know.  Human or canine, make a friend.  You’ll be glad you did.

My three dogs like each other enough to join ranks at bedtime. They love to pile in together, sometimes on top of one another. I’m lucky that they
consider each other friends.

 

 

The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. I have no wealth to bestow on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving him, he will want no other reward. Is not friendship divine in this?” 

– Henry David Thoreau

 

Posted in Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments »

Choosing a Costume

October 21, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Halloween is almost here and it is time to answer the all important question–which costumes should the dogs wear this year?  This is more difficult to answer than one might think.  First of all, do I buy off the rack or attempt to put something together?  There are a few (okay, quite a few) problems with me making costumes.  I really can’t sew well–or at all, really–and trying to be creative and come up with something new just isn’t happening.  So, off the rack it will be.

Now, since I have medium to large dogs, finding already made costumes to fit them is rather difficult.  Most of the cute or more original stuff is made for the smallish tykes.  Most times I have to look at children’s costumes to see what is available.  The other option, I guess, is to put girdles on all of them and tell them to suck in.

Zella looked pretty darn cute as a squirrel, although she thought her head piece made a better toy than a hat. She would take it off every 5 minutes and I would find her carrying it around like it was one of her stuffed babies.

Lastly, I have to consider the complexity of the costume.  Charley, my old boy, isn’t fazed by much and I could dress him in the most complex of style without any problems.  Zella is a little fussy about too much head ornamentation so I have to limit her costume to more simple styles.

Charley makes a mighty fine cowboy. Over the years, he has also been dressed as an angel, a convict, a shark, a pig, a devil and a lobster.
I have way too many dog costumes.

Grimm has never dressed up for Halloween before–this will be our first together.  I already know his costume will need to be fairly simple.  Anything around his legs or feet will be eaten in less than two seconds.  I’m pretty sure anything tied around his head will have him rolling around on the ground like a spastic inchworm trying to get it off.  Plus, I have a sinking suspicion he may try to eat the other dogs costumes off of them, too.  Hmmm…I need to incorporate a muzzle into his costume, I think, and all I can think of at the moment that may work is Hannibal Lecter.

Grimm scared Zella senseless when he pretended to be a demon ghost.

Grimm is no help when I ask him what he wants to be for Halloween.  First he wanted to be a frisbee, then he wanted to be a flip-flop.  I explained to him that frisbees and flip-flops aren’t really scary, so he needed to think of something else.

Grimm:  So, I need to dress up as something scary?  Is that the idea?

Me:  Yes, exactly.  The scarier the better.  Think of what is scariest to you to help you decide.

Grimm:  [thinking hard, smoke is coming out of his ears]  Okay, I know what I’m going to be.

Me:  Okay, what?

Grimm:  A vacuum cleaner.

Okay, so maybe I should have clarified a few things for him before we had this conversation.  He is still trying to grasp the trick-or-treat thing.  I can understand his confusion.  For him, it has always been trick-then-treat because I use a lot of food and treats in training.  The possibility of getting a treat without a trick baffles him.  I’m afraid this holiday may turn him into a real monster.  Treats for free from lots of awesome people?  Well, Halloween just may become his favorite holiday.  I may never get this dog out of a costume ever again.

Posted in Humor, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments »

In the Beginning

October 17, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

My very first canine as an adult, or a barely adult as I was only twenty at the time, was a beautiful dog named Roxie.  Being a mix of mostly Labrador and pit bull, with a sprinkling of Catahoula leopard dog for coloration, she was gregarious, stubborn, and smart as a whip.  She showed me how truly extraordinary and forgiving a relationship with a dog can be.  We bumbled along together, learning about life as we went.  She was a singleton for about five months, and then Charley entered the picture, and together we explored the ins and outs of what makes our species so right for each other.  If she were still with me, she would be fifteen today.

My first dog, Roxie, who, along with Charley, started my great love affair with dogs almost fifteen years ago.

Being in college at the time, I probably should have waited a few years before I found a dog. Dogs were expensive, took a lot of time, needed exercise and training.  I knew these things–I wasn’t completely naive–but still, even with a full school load and working two jobs to pay for it all, I felt the joy of having a dog, something sentient that I could call my own and that I would be responsible for, would be reward enough.  Who would have guessed that my twenty year old, inexperienced self would be right?

I found a listing for lab/pit mix pups in the paper–yes, this was before Craigslist and people actually read a paper back then.  They were free to a good home and I thought, what the heck, I’ll call and see if any are still available.  Only one was left–a female–and if I didn’t come by that evening to look at the pup, she would be going to live with one of her litter mates who was on hold for another adopter.

When I got to the address, the lady there took me to her laundry room.  Inside were two black and grey, merle colored pups, tails whipping in unison like a metronome.  She told me the mostly grey pup was already spoken for, so my pup would be the extremely bloated, mostly black with grey.  The lady had taken them to her vet that morning for them to be vaccinated and dewormed.  Momma dog came in to say hello–a very sweet and gentle chocolate lab.  The daddy dog of these pups was the neighbor’s merle colored pit bull, who, in his lust, jumped the fence to father these illegitimate offspring.  Even though he looked all pit bull, his merle coloration spoke of some additional breed and, because here in the south people breed pit bulls with Catahoulas to make more intense hog dogs, he probably had some leopard dog blood.  I really didn’t care what breeds she was–she was a dog, she was cute and friendly, she was free and I wanted her.  I offered to reimburse the lady for her vet expenses, but she just said take good care of her as I was doing her a favor by giving her a home.

One of only a few pictures of Roxie as a pup. If digital cameras had been in mainstream use then, I’m sure I would have had hundreds of pictures of her.

Roxie, I soon found out, liked to chew.  She ate the coaxial cable at the outside cable box, chewed holes in the wooden fence and ate the window frames at my rented house within two weeks of having her.  I soon learned the value of a crate.  She loved her crate and I ended up with happier housemates, less destruction and a house-trained dog.  Like me, she loved food; any kind would do.  She really enjoyed counter surfing and many times ate the bread off the counter when all the house-mates and myself were in the adjoining room.  She could be spooky quiet at times (I swear she held her tags on her collar so they wouldn’t jingle) and carried out her mission impossible re-enactment with never a hitch.  Of course, no one stayed mad at her for long.  Roxie could charm the horns off a goat and never failed to win affection, even from those who didn’t really like dogs.

As she got older, her never-ending chewing stopped but I soon realized just how smart she was.  It became a challenge for me to come up with new behaviors and tricks for her to perform.  After some time (and after Charley joined our family), it was more fun to teach the dogs new tricks than to study for my exams.  There was a definite correlation between my acquisition of dogs and my falling GPA.

I eventually started bringing Roxie (and Charley) to work with me where she made herself the official greeter.  She became such a fixture that clients would ask where she was if she wasn’t up front when they came in.  Once she heard her name, she would grab a toy, usually a rope, run up front, jump up on the gate separating the reception area from the waiting area, and wiggle and sing until she had been thoroughly loved on and the client had played a short game of tug.  Roxie loved people, all people, and was never happier than when children were around.  She would bask in their adoration, even when they were pulling her tail and ears and poking her in the eye.

The only thing Roxie loved more than children were baby kittens.  She ADORED kittens and would come running anytime one came mewling into the clinic.  Many a client has a picture of their new tiny kitten getting thoroughly soaked by Roxie’s tongue.  Roxie was so good with the babies that I decided to foster several litters of homeless kittens over the years.  She mothered them, cleaned them and watched over them like a hawk, earning her the nickname “Mama Roxie”.  She was never really that fond of young pups, curiously enough, but would tolerate them and sigh audibly when they got too annoying.  That was my cue to come to her rescue.  My beautiful, sweet girl had the kindest soul and the biggest heart.  Cruelly, it was her heart that betrayed her in the end.

Roxie liked to lounge on the couch and daydream about baby kittens.

As she got older, she started to develop a heart murmur.  The grade of her heart murmur became higher very quickly, meaning the sound of the murmur was getting louder.  I took her to a veterinary internist for an echocardiogram and soon learned that, besides a leaky mitral valve which caused the murmur, she also had cardiomyopathy–her heart was too big, didn’t pump efficiently, and would eventually kill her.  She was started on several different heart medications to help her heart beat more efficiently, reduce blood volume to keep congestion away and to control her blood pressure.  Her very kind and well-meaning specialist advised me to keep her calm, keep her quiet and to discontinue letting her swim and run.  Roxie loved to swim and chasing rabbits gave her such joy, I had no idea how I was going to implement this plan.  Who was I to take away these very small things which brought her so much happiness?   For me, quality of life greatly outweighed quantity.  I expressed my sentiments to the internist.

“Well,” she said, “I guess there are worse ways to go than chasing bunnies.”

So, with her almost blessing, Roxie continued to swim, run after rabbits, greet people at work and mother orphan kittens.  She would have periods when she would get tired quicker than normal and not eat as well.  Fluid, or ascites, would sometimes fill her abdomen, making her uncomfortable.  At these times, we upped the dosage of diuretics and hoped for the best.  I was lucky her congestion was not in her chest, as that would have made it hard for her to breathe.  Having congestion in your abdomen, though, is bad enough and was causing stress to her liver.  Each time, however, the diuretics did their job and deflated my sweet girl.  I made a promise to her, at the beginning of her disease, that when things got too hard, when life lost it’s luster, I would not let her suffer.

Roxie loved to swim, even up til the end.

One day, Roxie was more quiet than normal and wasn’t greeting clients as enthusiastically as before.  She had been doing this job for well over eleven years and never had a down day in her life.  That same day, she seemed to be bumping into things, so I ran some lab work on her, which was normal for her, and had her veterinarian (my boss) check her heart sounds.  The murmur was about the same and she still had her very regular, irregular heart beat.  Instead of a bu-bump, her heart went bu-bu-bump *swish* bu-bump *swish* and would repeat the same pattern.  I decided to watch her and see how things went.

That evening, she was out with the other pooches and even managed to rustle up a bunny to chase.  She ate well, but after a while, I noticed that she was really tripping and running into things and acting as if she was blind.  Concerned about high blood pressure causing retinal detachment, I rushed her to the emergency vet to have her examined.  Blood and eye pressure were normal, her pupils still responded to light and her EKG was still abnormal as always.  The emergency veterinarian offered to keep her for monitoring, but since I was an experienced technician, she didn’t think she could really offer her anything more there than I could do at home.  If she got worse, I was told, come back.

Later that night, or really it was early the next morning, Roxie seized.  Her poor, weak, worn-out heart was not able to adequately oxygenate her brain–her heart was finally giving out.  Because her heart wasn’t able to move blood efficiently, clots were forming and causing her to have strokes.  She was totally blind by this point and unable to open her eyes.  I could not let her suffer any more than she already had.  I had made her a promise long ago and now I had to honor her by keeping that promise.

Since my boss and her primary veterinarian [oh, how Roxie adored him!] would be in the office soon, I bundled all the dogs into the SUV with Roxie for her last trip.  They seemed to know something was up and snuggled around her in the back.  I cried the whole way.

By the time I got to the clinic, I was a mess.  I was crying, sobbing actually, and cursing God and other beings of higher power for daring to take her from me.  She was still so young!  How could they be so cruel?  Couldn’t I have just one more day?  Even though my heart was breaking and didn’t want to let her go, my brain knew she couldn’t go on this way.  I owed her peace–and besides, I made a promise.

The decision to let her go was the hardest day of my life.  I get upset even now when I think about it.  How do you kill your best friend?  How do you tell yourself that you are ending their suffering even as you end their life?  I never understood how people could compare their dog to a child–one is a human and the other is, well, a dog.  After Roxie, I knew.  She may not have been human but she had feelings, emotions and loves, too–she had a soul.  Because I loved her, I let her go.  Keeping her alive, even though Roxie would have endured the pain to please me, was selfish.  I whispered to her all the ways she brought me joy and tried to convey to her all the love I had for her, all the love in my being, as she took her last breath and quietly, gently, left this world.

This was one of the last portraits of Roxie taken about a month before she died.

It took a very long time for me to adjust to a life without Roxie.  All the places we had been together, all the trouble we got into together, all the friends I made because of her–everytime I saw or thought of these things, the tears would begin to flow.  Charley had a really hard time without Roxie.  He had known her all his life (there was only a three month age difference between them) and relied on her strength in so many ways.  Zella tried to distract Charley as best she knew how, but even though she had some of Roxie’s mannerisms, she still wasn’t Roxie.  He was so depressed that he was actually on anti-depressants and natural supplements to alleviate anxiety.  One day, about six months later, he finally instigated play with Zella and that was when I knew he was healing.  Roxie was gone, but not forgotten, and we had to continue on without her.

These two were the best of friends.

Looking back through some of my pictures today, I came across the last picture I ever took of her.  It was taken only two days before she died, but in it, she is clearly eating a frisbee.  It made me laugh–how easily that could be Grimm (and Grimm had been wearing her old collar which is shown in the picture until he and his Doberman friend decided it would be more fun to eat it).  How cyclical life can be!  Grimm could never replace Roxie, just as none of my dogs could replace the others, but I was reminded that rough times do get better.  I would never give up my memories, even the hard ones, but knowing that new memories are wanting to be made, well, what are we waiting for?

Even though her poor heart was wearing out, Roxie still enjoyed munching on a good frisbee. Sound like anyone we know?

Here’s Grimm, wearing Roxie’s old collar, following in her footsteps. Nothing like a tasty frisbee.

Grimm reminds me of Roxie in this photograph.

 

Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds

will continue in others.

-Rosa Parks

Posted in Art & Photography, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 18 Comments »

Aspire to Inspire

October 15, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

I was nominated this week by two separate bloggers for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award.  Thank you very much for the nomination, Geeky Book Snob and Tuesday Night Boyfriend.  I share this honor with Grimm and my other pooches, for without them, I wouldn’t have very much to blog about.

When I received the notifications from both of the above mentioned, very talented bloggers, I was pleasantly surprised.  Knowing that others find my stories and exasperations somewhat inspirational definitely lifted my spirits and brightened my day.  When I told Grimm, you would have thought he had won an Academy Award.  He insisted I take his picture with one of my old trophies to commemorate the event.  What with being Freshly Pressed and now receiving two nominations for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award all within the same month, I’m afraid Grimm’s already big head is getting even bigger.

I would like to thank the academy, GBS, TNB and all those on the Grimm’s Furry Tail team–my good friend and supporting actor Zella, my manager and financial adviser Charley and, lastly, my human and her opposable thumbs, whom without none of this could be possible. So thank you for ….wait….don’t cue the music…I’m not done!

This award comes with a few rules to follow:

  •  Link to and thank those who nominated you.  So thanks again, Geeky Book Snob and Tuesday Night Boyfriend.  I am still exploring both your blogs and am enjoying my reads.
  • Post the award on you page.  Here is my (and Grimm’s) unexpected award:

  • Share seven facts about yourself.  Since this award is as much Grimm’s as mine, I will also list seven facts about him:

1)  I am a vegetarian and have been for the past seven years.  Grimm wishes he could be a flip-flopetarian and only eat flip flops.  However, when I explained that his diet would be horribly unbalanced (and would anger flip-flop rights activists), he agreed to only eat them on special occasions, like when I’m not looking.

2)  I enjoy reading tremendously and read one to three novels a week.  Grimm enjoys eating novels and tries to devour one to three novels a week.

3)  My house is a never ending home improvement project.  Grimm enjoys helping in these projects, but only if performing demolition work (that’s his specialty).

4)  Autumn is my favorite time of year.  Grimm likes all seasons, but especially the rainy part of spring (when we have rain) because he can make mud angels.

5)  Halloween and Thanksgiving are my favorite holidays (which also take place during my favorite time of year).  Grimm’s favorite holiday is Pit Bull Awareness Day, which also occurs in the fall (October 27th, to be exact).

6)  I really like listening to live music and being that I live in Austin, the live music capital of the world, I never lack venues to visit.  Grimm’s favorite band is Journey (he can belt out Don’t Stop Believing like no one’s business).

7)  I blog to entertain myself and share my little piece of the world with others. Grimm lets me air all his deep, dark secrets because, well, he is an attention whore.  He would tell you, however, that he has lessons to teach and you, dear reader, are one of his beloved pupils.  Did I mention Grimm is also very charming?

  • Lastly, but most importantly, nominate other inspiring bloggers and post a comment on their blog informing them they have been nominated.  I picked 7 blogs to go with my seven facts, but others have nominated up to 15.  So, in no particular order, here are some of the blogs I find inspiring and also deserving of this award:

1)  http://conorcullen.com/:  I enjoy perusing his very beautiful pictures and reading his musings.

2)  http://confessionsofapitbulladdict.wordpress.com/:  A terrific read told from both the dog’s and owner’s point of view regarding dogs, rescue and pit bulls in general.

3)   http://godblessimerica.com/:  The adventures of Kitty DrunkDrunk (KDD to her fans) never cease to make me laugh.  Don’t let your cats read about her, though;  she may inspire them to do naughty things.

4)  http://ranchrunamuck.wordpress.com/:  Stories of rescue and life with dogs by another crazy dog lady.

5)  http://breezyk.wordpress.com/:  Funny stuff that never fails to make me laugh–and if you are a female who wants to become a stalker, well, maybe you can relate.

6)  http://themuddykitchen.com/:  Cooking, gardening, country life…what more could you ask for?

7)  http://tryingtopray.wordpress.com/:  This is an inspirational blog that reminds me to be thankful for each day.  You don’t have to be religious to appreciate her message and the grace she conveys.

All of the above blogs inspire me to live life to the fullest, give thanks when able, take care of those who need a little help and laugh along the way.  Grimm and I will do our best to stay deserving of this honor–here’s to inspiration!

Posted in Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments »

Bungled Shots

October 12, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Photographing dogs can be aggravating, as I’ve mentioned before on this blog. They don’t like to sit still, don’t take direction very well and frequently like to eat the props.  Out of every hundred or so photos I take of them (yes, I take lots of pictures of my dogs–thank goodness for digital), only about ten make it to the keeper pile.  Even with the help of image editing programs, there is only so much cropping, sharpening and enhancing you can do to salvage a shot. You have to at least have a decent enough composition to work with.  You can adjust contrast and saturation, cut out distracting background objects, whiten teeth and fill in or delete spots, but you can’t turn an awkward capture into a work of art–some things just aren’t fixable.

I thought I’d post some of my more humorous, bungled pictures of the dogs, along with my original intentions, here for your enjoyment.  If the dogs knew I was posting these less than stellar captures of them here, well, I might never get to photograph them ever again–they’re a little sensitive about some things.

 

THE INAPPROPRIATE YAWN

I’m soooo tired of having to stand here and look pretty.

 

Grimm was clearly getting bored with having to stand still for me to take his picture.   I was actually trying to get a candid shot of him standing and looking into the distance.  In the blink of an eye (or press of a button), he went from having his head turned three-quarters to facing me directly, yawning the biggest yawn ever.  I’m pretty sure that if his head had been lifted slightly higher, we would have been able to see his tonsils, adenoids and epiglottis.  So much for my vision.

 

CENTERING A SUBJECT–EPIC FAIL

Ran too fast for you, didn’t I?

 

I’m surprised I even captured this much of Zella in this frame.  She runs extremely fast and I wanted to catch her zooming through the field. Unfortunately, my zoom and framing were way off (not to mention my slow trigger finger), so the moment was missed.  Although, I must say, this picture still makes me laugh–sort of unexpected to see plain green grass and brush and then–BOOM!–a crazy smiling pit bull jumps out at you in the lower corner.

 

AWKWARD EATING MOMENTS

Nom nom nom. This watermelon is sooo good.

 

Yeah, there’s just so much wrong with this picture.  I don’t know what that plastic thing is under Charley’s cheek.  Furthermore, Charley’s not even completely in the picture, the flash (which I thought had been turned off) fired and made his eye look a bit crazy and his nose shiny and, well, nobody looks pretty with a mouth full of food.  ‘Nuff said.

 

HEADLESS CAPTURES

Look ma! No head!

 

I’m pretty sure cutting off your subject’s head in a picture is a sure sign of ineptitude.  I sure wasn’t trying to capture the elegance of his neck and collar, fine though they be.  Again, when your subject has the attention span of a fly and can move just as quick, you end up with a picture like this–blurry, with key components missing.  Grimm had been lying still, head turned slightly (again with the three-quarters pose) to his left.  By the time I depressed the capture button, everything had changed.  Grimm defies physics–he moves faster than the speed of light (and the speed of shutters everywhere).

So there they are for you all to see–some of my (better) photographic disappointments.  Oh, well, what can I say?  Even though these pictures did not live up to my expectations, these sub par shots remind me to love the imperfections life brings.  After all, life itself is full of surprises.

Posted in Art & Photography, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Hair of the Dog

October 7, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Normally in the mornings on my days off, I get up, let the dogs out to do their business, and make myself a giant cup of coffee.  I love coffee–strong, with just enough cream to cut the bitterness, no sweetener of any kind.  Occasionally I’ll sprinkle a little cinnamon on top or, if I have any, maybe some dark chocolate shavings.  No other seasonings, additives or spices are needed, especially not the kind of seasoning I found in my coffee after I left it sitting on the table by itself for a minute:

**Gasp!**  Is that…a hair…in my coffee?  Ewwww, gross, dog hair!  This reeked of Grimm tampering.  I leave my coffee unattended for three minutes with only him nearby, come back to find a black hair floating lazily on my mocha concoction, and what else am I supposed to think?

Me:  Grimm, is that one of your hairs in my coffee?  Why would you put one of your hairs in my drink?

Grimm:  Well, I was only trying to help.  I don’t want to be rude, but you seem a little out of sorts this morning and, well, I saw you rubbing your temples.  I know you were out drinking last night, so I came to the conclusion that you have a hangover and my hair is your remedy.  You’re welcome, by the way.

Me:  Seriously?  Have you ever thought that maybe I was rubbing my temples because you perplex me at times?  AND, my friend, I only had two glasses of wine and half a flute of champagne–I do not have a hangover!  AND hair of the dog doesn’t literally mean I need to consume a hair of the dog!

Grimm:  Are you sure?  Maybe you’re still drunk.  You should drink your coffee to sober up.

Me:  I AM NOT DRUNK!  And I would have if some dog hadn’t put his hair in it.

Sadly, I poured out my contaminated coffee and re-brewed another cup.  For all I knew, several other hairs were lurking beneath the surface, just waiting to surreptitiously enter my body.  Grimm is sneaky…only reasonable to deduct his hairs are, too.

You don’t like how I make your coffee? Fine, I’ll drink it myself.  I get no appreciation around here.

I must admit, this is not the first time I have found dog hair in my drink.  Alas, I have also found a few stray pieces on my dinner plate.  Now, lest you think I am some slovenly housekeeper, understand that I vacuum, sweep, dust and mop constantly.  I lint roll my clothing frequently and brush and bathe the dogs regularly.  I am not completely obsessive compulsive but I would say I wage a fairly aggressive war against dog hair in my home.  No matter how hard I slave, however, some rogue strand still manages to spice my recipe.

Most of my friends also have pets and we frequently commiserate together about the inability to keep pet hair out of our diet and off of our plates.  We have threatened to relegate the furry ones to the outdoors, shave them bald or trade them in for hairless varieties.  We never follow through, though.  For all of us, the companionship these critters bring outweighs the unwelcome seasonings they sometimes provide.  And really, that is the true spice of life.

Posted in Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 31 Comments »

Moving Sticks and Giving Thanks

October 3, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

What a gorgeous day we had today in Austin!  Perfect temperature, perfect blue sky, perfect pure sunlight pouring down.  My yard, however, was not looking so perfect…straggly, even.  Time to put on the gardening gloves.

First order of business was to pull up all the dead sunflower stalks from earlier in the summer.  Grimm decided he was going to help by bringing me pieces to add to the pile.  Because the dried stalks still have a few dried sunflower heads attached, seeds are still present, too.  To keep the birds happy and to provide a place for the smaller critters to hide, I add the stalks to several brush piles I have strategically placed around the yard.  These piles are nestled in the mini-bamboo forests I have cultivated around the perimeter of my property.  The bamboo makes a perfect natural fence and with the brush hidden inside, my neighbors can’t complain about unsightly brush piles.

Step 1: Bring the stick to the stick pile. Step 2: Drop the stick on the pile. Step 3: Tap the stick into place with your foot. Step 4: Watch the stick carefully to make sure it stays in place.

Grimm was so excited to be able to help today.  I think, ladies and gentlemen, I have found Grimm’s niche:  gardening.  Granted, it took about 10 minutes for him to bring one little stick over (first he had to munch on it to make it the appropriate size, I guess), but he did add, well, five stalks to the pile.  Once he gets his stick fetching skills honed, we’ll have to start on digging next.  Maybe by next month he’ll be talented enough to work the mower.  One can hope, right?

Grimm takes his time finding the perfect spot to place his dried sunflower stalk.

While Grimm worked at collecting sticks, Zella chased a few bunnies.  I was a little surprised that Grimm stayed with me and not with her, but, as a lot of you now know, Grimm is a velcro dog–even the excitement of a rabbit chase can’t get him to truly leave my side.  He watched Zella, though, as she sprung through the tall grass.  Finally, she flushed one his way and he joined in the hunt.  Not to worry, though, they never came close to catching any of those agile rabbits.

Grimm watches Zella chase bunnies in the field next to my house.

 

Getting outside on such a glorious day really lifted my spirits!  The last few weeks have been a little rough and I didn’t realize how much I missed just being able to putter around outside (with the dogs, of course).  Plus, if you’ve been following or reading this blog, you’ll know that I was Freshly Pressed this week. All of your stories about your own critters and kind words of encouragement really heartened my spirits.  I would never have thought that one little story, on one little blog,  about one little (well, okay, big) dog could create such an overwhelming response!

So, thank you.  Thank you for embracing my stories and empathizing with my frustration.  I now know more about all of your toilet habits, too, which is not something many people can say.

Grimm thanks you, too.  He was elated to learn that there are other dogs out there who didn’t read their Rules and Regulations in Regards to Living in the Human World handbook, either.  He feels a little better knowing he’s not the only one with a paper fetish and a strong desire to hang out with his person by the commode.

For now, it’s back to stick clearing duty.  This garden isn’t going to prune itself. I’ll leave that chore to Grimm.  He likes to eat paper, and isn’t paper just pulverized sticks?

Maybe I’ll just munch on this stick for a while. Tastes like chicken.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Life & Musings, Nature & Wildlife, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Thy Will Be Done Til Boredom Comes

September 29, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

There’s an equation that most dog owners are familiar with:

Boredom + Dog = Destruction

If a dog gets bored, he or she will look for something to do or eat to pass the time.  Older, more mature dogs may just sleep or find an appropriate chew toy to help relieve the monotony, but younger dogs with an excess of energy tend to create their own excitement.  Any rules you may have regarding appropriate chew items go right out the window.

For instance, in my house, Rule #5, subsection C, states:

“Paper products, which include but are not limited to:  toilet paper, tissues, paper towels, magazines, books and mail, shall remain in the area the human places them and under no circumstances should ever enter a canine’s mouth.  The only caveat to this rule is if your human expressly asks you to bring him or her the paper, unmarred by tooth.”

Now, before you begin to think I’m some sort of severe dictator, you should know that, for one, my dogs have more toys, chew bones, comfy sleeping areas and treats than should be allowed and, two, each dog gets his or her own copy of Rules and Regulations in Regards to Living in the Human World when he or she moves in and therefore should know what is and what is not allowed.  No excuses–after all, they get free room and board, free meals, free entertainment, live-in friends, exercise privileges, internet access, unlimited television, etc.

Therefore, you can understand my confusion when I found Grimm today, in the bathroom, eating a roll of toilet paper.

Oh, hey, didn’t see you standing there.

Me:  “Ahem…don’t mean to interrupt, but WHY ARE YOU EATING THAT?  Drop the tp, step away from the toilet, and come with me.  You have blatantly violated Rule #5, subsection C, from  Rules and Regulations in Regards to Living in the Human World.”

Grimm:  “What?  I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What rules and regulations?”

Me:  “Don’t tell me you never read the handbook I gave you when you moved in.  It was the only thing I asked of you–respect the boundaries outlined in this book.”

Grimm:  “Oh, yeah….that book.  Um, I never got to Rule #5.”

Me:  “Well, go get your handbook right now and I’ll go over it with you.  We’re going to make this  a-s  c-l-e-a-r  a-s  p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e.”

Grimm:  “Um, I can’t.  I ate that.  Months ago.”

I was just lying here, minding my own business, when this roll of toilet paper jumped out of the cabinet. It started to attack me! I was only defending myself.

Rainy days like today make me ever vigilant in regard to what Grimm is doing. We can’t get outside to drain his energy and Zella can only play tug and wrestle for so long.  There is another equation I use to determine the amount of mischief Grimm is in:

If Noise = Zero, Then Grimm = Big Trouble

The quieter he gets, the more chaos is brewing.  I don’t know how a dog his size can make such a big mess at times and be so silent about it.  Apparently, he creates his own sound vacuum.  I guess it’s time to get him a new copy of Rules and Regulations in Regards to Living in the Human World.  We’ll start at the beginning:

Rule #1:  A dog may not injure a human or, through inaction, allow a human to come to harm.

Rule #2:  A dog must obey the orders given to it by humans, except where such orders would conflict with the First Rule.

Rule #3:  A dog must protect his or her own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Rules.

Oh, wait.  My bad.  Those are the Three Laws of Robotics and a dog is not a robot.  Like us, dogs are not perfect.  They have wants, needs, desires, same as us.  What they desire, however, and why they want it, may drive us crazy at times, but really, if dogs were perfect, then we’d be bored.  And then we’d be the ones eating toilet paper.

Posted in Art & Photography, Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments »

Too Close

September 27, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

There’s a term people use for dogs that stay constantly by their owners:  velcro dogs.  These canines are akin to the famous fabric hook-and-loop fastener in that they cling strongly to their person and it can be difficult to separate them. Some velcro dogs will also display separation anxiety and become destructive to property or themselves when unable to be with their favorite human.  I should also point out that some people have separation anxiety from their dogs and actually seek out or encourage velcro behavior.

I, for one, like being able to go to the bathroom without being dogged or hounded by four-legged critters.   Even the terms “to dog” and “hounding” came about from the fact that canines can be hard to get away from.  That being said, I do have a velcro dog.  Yep, that’s right, Grimm is as sticky as glue–Gorilla glue, not the puny Elmer’s variety.  And, alas, if I forget to close the bathroom door completely, private time becomes doggy social hour.  Nothing is more annoying than having a live dog rug underfoot when you are trying to urinate or move your bowels.  No amount of threats or shoving mean anything to a dog when your pants are down around your ankles.  They know a compromising situation when they see it.

Wait…are you going to the bathroom? I’ll come with you. Oh, you’re just throwing away a piece of trash? I better follow you, just in case. I know it’s only twelve feet away from where we are now, but you may need my help. You just never know.

Now don’t get me wrong–I like having a loyal dog.  Loyal as in, “I will warn you of possible intruders” or “I won’t run away with the first person to offer me a tasty treat” or “I will protect you from bodily harm.”  Not loyal as in “I will help you flush the toilet” or “I will trip you when you are cooking hot things because I lay behind you when you are at the stove.”  I like to think Grimm would perform well in all of the first scenarios and I know for a fact  that he can do all of the second ones.  This dog is never more than ten feet from me at all times unless we are outside.  Even then, he will keep me in his sight.

Charley, in his old age, has developed some velcro dog tendencies, but only when indoors.   Really, he is only attached to me when I am sitting down, like when I’m writing or watching something on television.  At times like those, he likes to lay at my feet.  I can deal with that sort of attachment.

Are you fixin’ [Charley is a Texas dog through and through] to sit down? If so, I’m gonna lay on your feet. Hope ya don’t mind, but if you do, too bad. I’m gonna do it anyway.

Zella, on the other hand, is more independent.  She likes to sleep on the couch, away from me and the other dogs, when we are relaxing inside.  She’ll watch me to see what’s up, but won’t follow me room to room like Grimm does.  When outside, she doesn’t run away or try to escape and comes when called, but she doesn’t have to keep me in her sight.

If you need me, let me know. I’ll just be over here lounging on the couch.

George Eliot (who was actually Mary Anne Evans– but I digress) once said:

We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults.  Heaven has accorded this to us in the uncritical canine attachment.

While I agree that we, as humans, seek affection from those who would love us despite our short-comings, attachment and affection are not the same thing. Attachment can become co-dependence, co-dependence can become obsession and obsession can become neuroses.  A neurotic dog is not something I want to encourage.  I don’t want to find Grimm turning into the canine version of Single White Female.

For now, Grimm is working on his stays and learning some independence.  To teach independence, I start by increasing his confidence.  To do this, I work him in scenarios that he is not entirely sure of (like walking through ladders, climbing on unstable (but not dangerous) objects, jumping over obstacles, etc.) so that he learns he can do things by himself.  When I leave rooms, I make him stay on his dog bed and reward him with low-key praise when I return (as long as he stays on his bed and doesn’t come to me–I go to him).  So far, he’s doing well.  He shows great aptitude in learning new behaviors.

I owe it to Grimm to help him foster some independence.  I love the relationship we as humans can have with our dogs.  I don’t, however, need an entourage wherever I go.  We don’t have to be attached at the hip.  As Alex Clare sings, “I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to breathe.  At the end of it all, you’re still my best friend.”
“He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him
to be worthy of such devotion.”
                                                                                                    — Unknown

Posted in Canine Training & Behavior, Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 178 Comments »

As The Leaves Turn

September 24, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Autumn has officially arrived here in Central Texas.  Acorns are starting to fall from the live oak trees in my yard, goldenrod and ragweed are blooming, and the days and nights are getting cooler.  Squirrels are driving the dogs crazy, my allergies are killing me, and the small town chili festivals are about to commence.

Goldenrods bloom in my yard. These plants are often confused with ragweed, which also blooms this time of year. Ragweed, unlike goldenrod, causes my immune system to go haywire, leaving me (and lots of others) in misery.

Grimm stalks through the ragweed towards the oak trees where the squirrels are taunting him.

Speaking of chili festivals, I came across a funny anecdote that made the email rounds a few years back.  I hadn’t read it in a while, and thought it was time for a resurrection.  Originally, this was said to be an actual account relayed to paramedics at a chili cook-off event.  While I don’t doubt that many people have suffered at the hands of a masochistic chili connoisseur, I cannot verify its authenticity or original author.  However, this story still makes me laugh out loud, especially since I have had similar thoughts when eating some of these ridiculously spicy concoctions.  There’s hot, then there’s HOT.

Recently, a man named Frank was visiting Texas from Springfield, Illinois.  Like most tourists, he thought it would be great fun to experience some of the local flavor.  He decided to attend a local chili cook-off which was taking place that same day.  Unbeknownst to Frank, one of the original three judges of the competition called in at the last minute, regretting that he would not be able to make it to the judging.  The other two judges were at a loss as to what to do.  At that precise moment, Frank found himself at the judge’s table asking for directions on how to get to the Coors Light vendor.  Using their native Texan ingenuity, the judges asked Frank if he would like to fill in.  He was assured by the two judges that the chili wouldn’t be all that spicy and, besides, he would have all the free beer he wanted during the tasting.  Luckily for them, Frank was up for the challenge and became Judge #3.  Unfortunately, Frank found out the hard way that no good deed goes unpunished.  Here are the scorecard notes from the event:

*Chili #1:  Mike’s Maniac Monster Chili

Judge #1:  A little too heavy on the tomato.  Amusing kick.

Judge #2:  Nice, smooth tomato flavor.  Very mild.

Judge #3 (aka Frank):  Holy shit!  What the hell is this stuff?  You could remove dried paint from your driveway with this stuff!  Took me two beers to put the flames out.  I hope that’s the worst one.  These Texans are crazy…

*Chili #2:  Austin’s Afterburner Chili

Judge #1:  Smoky, with a hint of pork.  Slight jalapeno tang.

Judge #2:  Exciting BBQ flavor, but needs more peppers to be taken seriously.

Judge #3:  Keep this out of the reach of children.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to taste besides pain.  I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver.  They had to rush in more beer when they saw the look on my face.

*Chili #3:  Fred’s Famous Burn Down the Barn Chili 

Judge #1:  Excellent firehouse chili.  Great kick.

Judge #2:  A bit salty, but good use of peppers.

Judge #3:  Call the EPA.  I’ve located an uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been snorting Drano.  Everyone knows the routine by now.  Get me more beer before I ignite!  Barmaid pounded me on the back and now my backbone is in the front part of my chest.  I’m getting shit-faced from all the beer!

*Chili #4:  Bubba’s Black Magic

Judge #1:  Black bean chili with almost no spice.  Disappointing.

Judge #2:  Hint of lime in the black beans.  Good side dish for fish or other mild foods;  not much of a chili.

Judge #3:  I felt something scraping across my tongue, but I was unable to taste it.  Is it possible to burn off your taste buds?  Sally, the beer maid, was standing behind me with fresh refills.  This 300 pound woman is starting to look HOT…just like this nuclear waste I’m eating.  Is chili an aphrodisiac?

*Chili #5:  Lisa’s Legal Lip Remover

Judge #1:  Meaty, strong chili.  Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick.  Very impressive!

Judge #2:  Chili using shredded beef.  Could use more tomato.  Must admit, the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.

Judge #3:  My ears are ringing, sweat is pouring off my forehead and I can no longer focus my eyes.  I farted and four people behind me needed paramedics.  The contestant seemed offended when I told her I thought her chili had given me brain damage.  Sally saved my tongue from bleeding by pouring beer on it directly from the pitcher.  I wonder if I’m burning my lips off?  It really pisses me off that the other judges asked me to stop screaming.  Screw them!

*Chili #6:  Vera’s Very Vegetarian Variety

Judge #1:  Thin yet bold vegetarian chili.  Good balance of spices and peppers.

Judge #2:  The best yet.  Aggressive use of peppers, onion and garlic.  Superb!

Judge #3:  My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous, sulfuric flames.  I shit on myself when I farted and I’m worried it will eat through the chair.  No one seems inclined to stand behind me except Sally.  I can’t feel my lips anymore and I need to wipe my ass with a snow cone.

*Chili #7:  Susan’s Screaming Sensation Chili

Judge #1:  A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned peppers.

Judge #2:  Ho hum, tastes like the chef literally threw in a can of chili peppers at the last moment.  I should note that I am somewhat worried about Judge #3.  He appears to be in a bit of distress and is cursing uncontrollably.

Judge #3:  You could put a grenade in my mouth, pull the pin and I wouldn’t feel a thing.  I’ve lost sight in one eye and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water.  My shirt is covered in chili which slid unnoticed out of my mouth.  My pants are full of lava to match my shirt.  At least during the autopsy they’ll know what killed me.  I’ve decided to stop breathing–it’s too painful.  Screw it!  I’m not getting any oxygen anyway.  If I need air, I’ll just suck it through the four inch hole in my stomach.

*Chili #8:  Big Tom’s Toenail Curling Chili

Judge #1:  The perfect ending!  This is a nice blend chili.  Not too bold but spicy enough to declare it’s existence.

Judge #2:  This final entry is a good, balanced chili, neither mild nor hot.  Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 farted, passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself.  Not sure if he’s gonna make it.  Poor fella–wonder how he would have reacted to really hot chili?

Judge #3:  <<no report>>

Giant pots of chili like this are found at local festivals known as “chili cook-offs”.

At any rate, fall happens to be my favorite time of year.  The dogs enjoy it, too, and act friskier than normal.  Of course, chasing the squirrels who are looking for acorns adds to the fun.  Grimm really hadn’t seen too many squirrels until we were outside today.  At one time, when I first bought my current home, there were no squirrels to be seen.  The trees in my neighborhood were too small and puny to adequately support a large squirrel population at the time.  Now that the trees have matured, the squirrel families have as well.

The only downfall (pun intended) to autumn is the ragweed and it’s stupid pollen.  I guess chili cook-offs can be dangerous, too.   As long as I stock up on Zyrtec I’ll be able to survive the ragweed pollen explosion.  And, as long as I take my Prilosec and Zantac, I’ll survive the chili festivals, too.  I can’t guarantee Grimm will survive the fall unscathed–those squirrels can really chunk an acorn.

Zella and Grimm clean off after a long day of chasing squirrels.

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Game of Bones

September 15, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Fall seemed to blast into central Texas today.  It was actually cold (only a high of 75 degrees) and raining off and on.  I dread taking the dogs out on days like today because of the mud factor.  The drought has killed off most of the Augustine grass that used to carpet the front part of my back yard, which means that the sparse native grass doesn’t completely cover the clay that is exposed.  With the rain, the clay has turned into the consistency of thick peanut butter, which is awfully fun to clean from dog paws–and by awfully fun, I mean just awful.  I figured, if we’re gonna get dirty, might as well go all out.  So I let all three of them sniff and explore to their little hearts content in the land surrounding my house.

I live in a neighborhood that was developed over old farm and ranch land, so occasionally I find some interesting things when digging in the dirt or when the rain washes some of it away.  Today, Grimm found himself an awesome old bone sticking out of the dirt–the humerus of a cow.  He pried it loose from the dirt and mud and proceeded to parade it in front of Zella and Charley.  Never mind that the bone was old, brittle and dirty.  Grimm had it and they wanted it.  So, the game of bones began.

Zella tried brute strength–she tackled Grimm and grabbed the end of the bone sticking out of his mouth.  They toiled back and forth, but no matter how hard Zella tried, she could not get a firm enough grip on the condyle portion jutting from Grimm’s mouth.  In frustration, she gave up.  Grimm taunted her some more–come on, come get this from me…if you dare!

Since brute force wasn’t in her favor, she tried a new tactic more in character with her sex–intimacy.   She ran up to Grimm, mounted him and thrust so hard against him that she knocked him down to the ground.  Now, I know in dogs this is more about dominance and, in Zella’s case, frustration.  Her assault, however, caused Grimm to drop his bone.  Grimm jumped up, momentarily forgetting the bone, and proceeded to wrestle with Zella.

While this skirmish was playing out, Charley watched from the fringes.  As soon as the bone fell from Grimm’s mouth, Charley watched for the perfect moment to dart in for the steal.  As soon as Grimm went chasing after Zella, sans bone, Charley skulked in and started gnawing on the bone.  Grimm heard the scrape of tooth on his prize and ran back to liberate his haul.  Grimm ran up and wrenched the bone from Charley’s grasp.  The bounty was his!  The game of bones was won!

Watching them struggle to gain the bone was exactly like the canine version of Game of Thrones.   There was deceit, sexual overtures and dirty, grueling battles.  The only thing missing was a dwarf–maybe next time we’ll invite the neighbor’s chihuahua to the game.  I finally stepped in and took the bone for myself and hosed all the dogs down.  I cleaned off the bone and let Grimm have a few moments of kingly glory.  After all, winter is coming–the bleak days ahead will not be favorable for playing the game of bones.

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Creating a Cad

September 13, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

A cad is defined as a man (or in this case, dog) who acts with deliberate disregard to another’s feeling or rights.  This type of person (or dog) usually knows what is morally acceptable and, most times, acts like a decent enough sort.  However, when presented with temptation or exposed to stress, the ruffian returns.

Lately, this is how Grimm has been behaving.  And really, I think it’s because he has been watching too many episodes of  Breaking Bad.  I overheard him telling Charley that he was going to make him his bitch.  When he takes his daily dose of ivermectin/liquid vitamin supplement via syringe each day [he’s being treated for demodex], he slurps it down, then he rolls his eyes back in his head and exclaims, “That’s some sweet, pure-ass shit, yo!”.  I then tell him to watch his doggy mouth.

Grimm apparently now thinks the life of a methamphetamine cook and dealer “is the bomb”.  I told him that those labs frequently turn into bombs and that although I, too, enjoy watching Breaking Bad, I’m not about to let him turn to a life of crime.   I don’t think he really paid attention to what we discussed because this is how I found him today:

I asked him what the heck he was doing with my old chemistry book.

“Learning to cook meth, yo.  Like Jesse Pinkman and Walter White.”

I don’t think so, my friend.  Now I understood why the kitchen cabinets had been raided and the Sudafed was on the counter. He had all the pyrex dishware out and the latex gloves were thrown on the floor.   He has been up to no good.

Seriously, though, he has been acting like a big jerk lately–eating mail that he steals off the counter, pestering Charley, bolting out the door when I tell him to stay.  He is going through his rebellious stage and has forgotten (temporarily, I hope) all of his good manners.  Don’t get me wrong–he can still turn on the charm when he needs or wants something that he is unable to get himself.  He has just been…more calculating lately.  I told him if he didn’t shape up, I was sending him to boot camp.

For now, he gets no television privileges.  He gets crated (i.e., sent to jail) when he acts out and he has to earn every piece of kibble.  I’ve been trying to drain some of his excess energy by running him ragged.  He’s slowly coming around.  He better, if he knows what’s good for him.  Charley is getting tired of putting up with his juvenile-delinquent antics.  Grimm better watch out–I saw Charley wearing a pork pie hat the other day.   Heisenberg may be coming.

I AM the danger! A guy opens his door and gets shot and you think that of me? No. I am the one who knocks!

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The Toad on the Stone

September 12, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

While outside today, I almost stepped on the toad frog below.  This toad’s nearly perfect camouflage allowed it to blend seamlessly into the background. The irony, however, is that this same adaptive strategy, meant to protect and disguise this frog from predators, worked so well that it almost caused this toad to be squished.  To be fair, this camouflage also makes the toad invisible to prey–if only I were a juicy grub or beetle.

Nature has perfected the art of camouflage.

At the last second, right before my foot fell, the toad leaped up and hopped away.  Needless to say, I gave a little yelp (okay, I sorta squealed like a girl, but that’s okay because I am a girl).  Grimm, who was walking with me, also jumped and he did scream like a little girl (he pretends to be tough, but he’s my cowardly lion, er, pit bull).  He then proceeded to try to sniff the toad, but the toad continued his strategy of just hopping away.  Finally, when the toad could go no further, he just hunkered down as low as he could go.  At this point, I knew that the frog’s secondary defense mechanism would be used if Grimm kept his pursuit.

Pictured above is the Texas toad (and this happens to be the official state amphibian). The swellings behind the eyes are the parotoid glands.

The Texas toad (Bufo speciosis), like other toads, has two glands on top of it’s head just behind the eyes called the parotoid glands.  These glands secrete bufotoxin, a neurotoxin that can cause irritation to the mucous membranes, nausea, and other symptoms depending on the exact chemicals in the excreted substance.  If you have ever seen your dog shake his head, paw at his mouth, drool or salivate excessively after licking or eating a toad, this is the chemical responsible.  This species of toad usually doesn’t pack enough punch to be truly dangerous to a dog, but other species can cause problems, especially if you have a small dog squaring off with a more venomous toad frog.

Grimm seriously wanted to lick (or eat) this old toad.  I didn’t want to deal with strings of dog drool and I wanted to keep the frog around for insect control, so I scooted the bumpy amphibian under the house, away from doggy lips.  Grimm was disappointed to see his frog prince escape.

What is that bumpy, jumping thing?

A whole knot of toad frogs lives around my house (and yes, a group of toads is called a knot).  Because these amphibians are mostly nocturnal, I don’t usually see my bumpy friends during the day.  When I water the front flower beds in the evenings, these bulldog looking frogs come lumbering out from under all the rocks and stones piled around the porch.  Because of our constant drought here in the Austin area, they need the water.  Not only do I water the plants, but I water the frogs, too.  They repay me by eating the bugs that are drawn to the front porch lights–my own little ecosystem in action.

Grimm’s still a little disappointed that I didn’t let him kiss a frog.  He’s under the impression that the toad would have turned into something grand.  I told him he’s been reading too many fairy tales.  Besides, I have a suspicion that the frog in the tales stayed a frog.  Too much bufotoxin can cause some amazing hallucinations–maybe even causing a lowly amphibian to look like a handsome prince.  Mother nature is an awesome chemist.

Toad, come back!

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The First of Many

September 2, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Yesterday was Grimm’s first birthday.  I haven’t had him for a whole year, though, only about nine months.  The picture above was taken the first day I took him home.  He was a fat, wiggly pup of about eleven weeks when I first laid eyes on him.  You would not have known that he was sick.  He was placed in a kennel in the in-patient ward, my area of seniority in the veterinary hospital, waiting on his fate.  A parvovirus test was running–if it was positive, his owners were going to euthanize him.  If it was negative, well, maybe they would treat him.

Unfortunately, I see a lot of parvo pups.  Parvo is a horribly nasty virus; it destroys rapidly growing cells, especially those in the blood marrow and the gastrointestinal tract.  This leads to vomiting and bloody, mucous-filled diarrhea. The electrolyte imbalance and fluid loss from this disease also contribute to a dog’s rapid decline.   Because of the insult to the gut, normal enteric bacteria can easily cause sepsis and death.  Most parvo cases need IV fluids, antiemetics, antibiotics to combat secondary infection and other parenteral support.  This can be costly, and even the best managed cases don’t always have a favorable prognosis.

Grimm’s test came back positive (although at the time, he was called Capulin).  I was busy triaging other patients, so I wasn’t really paying attention to his results.  After all, he hadn’t technically been turned over to my care, and I had other priorities.  However, I did hear the technician who was in charge of his case say, “Put an IV catheter in him–they’re going to euthanize.”  That got my attention.  The conversation between the technician and her supervisor continued:

“The black pit bull puppy?”

“Yeah, they don’t want to treat him.”

“They don’t even want to try minimal outpatient care?  Is it a money issue?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  They just want to euthanize.”

This was when I piped up.  “I’ll take him.”  At first they didn’t hear me because of all the chaos in the treatment area.  So, louder, I said again, “I’ll take him.” Everybody sort of got quiet and looked at me like I’d grown two heads.

“I’ll take him.  See if they will sign over ownership;  if they do, I’ll treat him.”

My manager asked, “What are you going to do if he makes it?”

“Keep him, of course.”  No one but me would want him, I thought to myself.  He was a pit bull and most people don’t want or aren’t prepared to handle that particular breed of dog.  He was going to be big and he was black.  Even in this day and age a stigma exists against big, black dogs.  They may not be considered hellhounds anymore, but they still get overlooked by most adopters because no one wants a plain, black dog.  I have a crazy belief that all dogs are beautiful (can you tell I’m a dog person?) but I tend to really like the big black dogs with big, fat heads.

They say you should be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.  I had been looking for another male pup to add to my household.  Charley was getting older and I wanted to bring another pup in while he was still around.  Older dogs can be amazing teachers to the youngsters and a confident, gregarious dog like Charley would be invaluable in teaching a pup good dog manners and social skills.  Plus, Zella needed a younger friend to play with.

I perused all the online listings of the local shelters and rescue groups.  Just when I thought I had found the perfect candidate, I would discover that the pup had either already been spoken for or already adopted.  I was starting to get discouraged, but then I saw a listing on Petfinder showcasing  a Catahoula/American bulldog mix litter of pups.  They had several boys available and they were all merle colored, like Charley.  I was going to look at them the next day.  I never did.  Grimm came along instead.

Life has a way of working out.  I needed a dog and Grimm needed a person. Zella needed a buddy and Charley needed an apprentice.  All of us needed each other.  I’ll never forget the look on Zella’s face when I brought Grimm home two days later.  Her eyes got wide and she started to wiggle around and dance in a circle.  She looked at me with a grin on her face, looked at Grimm, and looked at me again.  Is this for me?, she seemed to ask.  He’s for all of us, my friend.  And we’re all for him.

Happy Birthday, you big black dog.

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Cock and (Pit) Bull Story

August 27, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Dogs can be deceptive.  For instance, if you believed the picture above, you would think Grimm had killed and eaten a chicken and was feeling quite smug about the whole ordeal.  He would like you to believe that.  After all, he’s a big tough pit bull, meanest dog ever.

If Grimm were telling this story, he would tell you that the biggest, gamest cock came over and was strutting around in his yard, flinging dirt and gravel far and wide in an obvious challenge for territory.  This same rooster would have razor blade talons, a beak sharp as a boning knife and eyes like the devil himself. Grimm would go on to say that after a long and arduous battle, the cocky fowl finally met death and was thoroughly vanquished.  Grimm would continue his tale of triumph and describe how he devoured his foe, as any true great warrior would, leaving naught but a few feathers behind.  The spirit of the combatant bird would fortify him and all would fear the great and powerful cock slayer, the pit bull named Grimm.

Lies.  All lies.  As Chuck Palahniuk once said, “Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken”; furthermore, spreading feathers around yourself while looking devious does not make you a chicken killer.  It’s not that he slayed a chicken, more like he is a chicken.

In truth, a fowl did enter our yard and did fling dirt and gravel.  However, this was no cock, only a puny hen.  She was walking about, minding her own chicken business, when Grimm heard her soft clucks.  He tried to act brave and was even polite, and he went over to say hello.   What Grimm didn’t know was that this chicken was a momma hen, and momma hens don’t take kindly to goofy dogs running up on them, especially when her babies were hiding nearby in the grass.

If Grimm had asked Zella or Charley about chickens before he went to investigate, they would have enlightened him to the true nature of evil hens, as both are quite scared of these fowl.  My neighbors, to whom this chicken belongs, raise game birds and these chickens are mean.  They have chased Zella all around the yard and she now hides behind me when she sees one. Another time one jumped out from beneath my giant cactus when Charley walked by, wings beating the wind chaotically like a hurricane in the gulf, and proceeded to jump up and down on Charley’s head.  The whole time the hen pummeled Charley with her wings and Charley ducked and ran and looked like the birds of hell were chasing him.  Well, at least one bird was.

When Grimm went to investigate the momma hen, she immediately started throwing chicken gang signs at him.  She flapped her wings at him, which is a chicken’s way of giving the bird, then she scraped the dirt viciously with her claws.  She then bobbed her head up and down, all the while making guttural clucks, which is chickenese for “Bring it, mother****er!!”.  Grimm doesn’t speak chicken, but I do, and I told him to back off and leave her alone.  He didn’t listen.

Like a feathered velociraptor ninja, this hen flew straight at Grimm’s face, aiming to peck out his eyes.  I swear Grimm said, “Yipes!” and took off running.  He ran all over the yard, the hen hot on his heels.  No matter where he went, she was right behind him, screaming chicken curses.  Finally Grimm ran to the front door and was cornered.  Not knowing what else to do, he laid down and cringed. The chicken ran up to him and beat her wings about his head, cursing Grimm and all his kind.  I think the chicken became confused after a bit, because this big black dog just cowered there and let her beat him.  She finally stopped her onslaught of terror and left Grimm alone, leaving a few of her feathers behind.

The picture below tells the truth of the ordeal.  Grimm seems to be suffering from a bit of post traumatic stress.  Now, when he goes outside, he stops and listens for any clucking noises;  any hint of a chicken and he’s back inside.  Oh, my sweet, giant black pit bull dog–I always knew he was a big chicken.  Although, after seeing the antics of the warrior hen, he should be proud to be called “chicken”. That hen was one tough bird.

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Powered by Pit Bull

August 22, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

The weather here in Austin finally cooperated.  It was a chilly 77 degrees this morning (I know, all things are relative; but if you live in central Texas, you have to be part reptile, and anything between 65 and 90 degrees is “chilly”.)  Perfect weather for EXTREME SPORTS—dog scootering.

Okay, I’ll admit, dog scootering doesn’t sound that extreme, more mediocre at best. And no, it’s not watching a dog scoot around on it’s butt.  Dog scootering is akin to dog mushing, but instead of a sled, you use a scooter of some type while the dog/dogs pull you.  Some people call it scooter-joring or dryland mushing, but those terms sound no better.

I use a measly Razor scooter because:  I already had one handy (yes, I am 35 going on 12);  I’m not dedicated enough to the sport to buy a $300 plus scooter; it’s small, light and easily portable;  and I find the tiny four inch wheels and low carriage greatly increase the risk of a rock or crack in the asphalt causing a major crash and road rash.  I know, extremely stupid, but that’s what makes it an EXTREME SPORT.

I apparently want to make it even more extreme.  Only one of my dogs is even remotely trained in formal pulling.  Grimm doesn’t know “Gee” from “Whiz” and to him “Whoa” means keep running as fast as you can.  He also has a bad habit of looking around and not focusing on the job at hand.  Zella has a fairly good grasp of “Gee”, “Haw”, “Go Steady” and “Yip Yip” (I use this as the command for speed up).  Grimm does like to mimic his smaller, older “sister”, so he does fairly well for a beginner.

Two extremely fast and agile pit bulls pulling like crazy make for one exciting ride. Zooming along at 15-20 mph (I know, doesn’t seem that fast, but 4 inch wheels/looming death, remember?) can be quite exhilarating.  I definitely get lots of comments and strange looks from people.  Most people think a scooter powered by pit bulls definitely helps to keep Austin weird.  Honestly, though, it’s a great workout for them and me, both mentally and physically.  You wouldn’t believe how much you use your core muscles for stability.  They sleep like babies the rest of the day.

You will probably never see dog scootering enter the EXTREME SPORTS arena, but trust me when I say it can be extreme–extremely stupid if you’re not careful.  Do as I say, not as I do and all that.  My dogs and I are just doing our part to reduce our use of fossil fuels.  Pit bull power could be another source of green energy, if you’re up for the challenge!

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The Barking Dead

August 19, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Grimm has been acting a little weird lately.  He constantly scans the perimeter when we’re outside, he refuses to sleep by himself, and he wants to know where we keep the shotgun.  Today, I found out why:

Grimm prepares for the zombie apocalypse.

Turns out, he has been reading about zombies…and worrying about zombies…and secretly preparing for the zombie apocalypse.  He reluctantly showed me his secret horde of things he cannot live without in the midst of a zombie pandemic (and yes, one of the items was one of my flip flops).  Silly dog.  I told him he had more realistic things to worry about, like rabies.

Grimm is not alone in his fear of zombie hordes taking over the world.  Even the Center for Disease Control (CDC)  advises, “Be prepared!”.  With all the hype this year about the end of the world, I guess it never hurts to have a backup plan.

Realistically, though, rabies is still a very valid concern (and this virus does have some similarities to the zombie causing agent…whatever that may be).  Rabies attacks the central nervous system of mammals, causing disease in the brain and eventually, death.  Early symptoms include fever, headache, general malaise and discomfort.  As the disease progresses, hallucinations begin, along with partial paralysis, insomnia, confusion, hypersalivation and hydrophobia.

This sure sounds an awful lot like zombie symptoms–shuffling walk (partial paralysis), constant vigilance (insomnia), drooling (hypersalivation), eating your own family (confusion)–and I have never seen anyone portray a swimming zombie, or, for that matter, one even drinking water (hydrophobia).

Charley laughs at Grimm’s phobia of invading zombie hordes. Charley fears nothing…he is the Chuck Norris of the dog world (even if he is
almost 15 years old–this old dog has skills).

In Texas, and specifically Travis county, rabies continues to be found in both domestic and wild animals.  In 2011 (2012 stats were not yet available), Travis county had 68 confirmed rabid animals and neighboring Williamson county had 136 cases.  Most of these are bats and skunks, but even dogs, cats, horses and cattle test positive in Texas.  Rabies is found in every state except for Hawaii, and people in the U.S. still get rabies.  Vaccinating domestic animals and staying away from ill-acting wildlife remains the best preventative.

Zombie hordes, rabid pets…we humans will have no chance when the apocalypse comes.  Grimm, however, will be prepared.  He’s read Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Zombies by Matt Mogk and The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks;  he practices stealthily moving from place to place;  and he’s been honing his paw-eye coordination with the role playing games on the PlayStation.  Plus, he’s been vaccinated against rabies.  Don’t say you haven’t been warned–what you don’t know CAN eat you.

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The Twilight Zone Saga

August 17, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Today Zella and Grimm wanted to act out a scene from their favorite movie franchise, The Twilight Saga.  I know…dogs these days.  No taste.  Used to be, dogs were watching Lassie and Old Yeller and cheering on Rin Tin Tin. Nowadays, all they want to do is eat shoes and lounge on the couch and watch horrible vampire/werewolf/zombie movies.  They could at least read the books.

Apparently, they really like the sexual tension between Bella and Edward.  Oh, and the werewolves.  They really like the werewolves in the movie.  Every time I let them watch any of the movies, they make Charley play the part of a vampire and then they start to run around the house like crazy.  Out of nowhere…fling!!…there goes their collars and all of a sudden, they aren’t dogs anymore, but werewolves.  Who said dogs don’t have imaginations?  Clearly those people haven’t almost lost an eye to a speeding, flung rabies tag.

Anyway, they hope you enjoy their effort.  I did advise them to not quit their day jobs.  Oh, wait…they don’t have any.  Freeloaders.

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All Work and No Play Makes Grimm a Dull Boy

August 13, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Today was supposed to be yard work day.  Instead, it turned into take pictures of the pooches day.  In my defense, it was almost a hundred degrees today…and I ran out of gas for the mower…and there were bunches of yellow jacket wasps eyeing me hungrily when I got close to their nests.  It became much easier to just roll out the camera and drag in the mower.

Taking pictures of the dogs  is, at times, like herding cats, especially when I want all three to be in a picture.  They all promptly forget any of the schooling they ever had and become easily distracted.  They are like kids with ADHD who ate an entire bag of Skittles, drank four cups of coffee and then smoked methamphetamines.  Here is how getting all three of mine into a frame goes:

Me:  Here, everybody!  Sit, stay, watch me!

The Dogs:  [Grimm lays down and starts to eat grass, Zella tries to catch a fly that is buzzing around her backside, and Charley starts to lick his penis.]

Me:  Hey!  Stop eating grass…stop licking your penis, Charley!  No, don’t lick Grimm’s penis, either!  Zella!  Pay attention!

The Dogs:  [All sit back up and are looking at me again.]

Me:  Gooooooooooood.  Staaaaaaaay.  [I press the button on the camera to take the picture, but the “battery low” light blinks and the camera shuts off.]

Me:  &%!$#*&$^!!! [I go inside, find new batteries and start over.]

Me:  Ok, let’s try again.  Everyone….staaaaaay.

The Dogs:  [Zella sprints off to chase a bunny, Grimm races after her, and Charley starts to lick his penis…again.]

Me:  I quit!

I have started to just take individual portraits of the pooches in order to make my life easier and to save face with my neighbors.  Yes, they really have heard me yelling at my dog for licking his penis.  They grabbed their children, covered their ears, and scurried inside.  They already think I’m the crazy dog lady; why exacerbate matters?

Grimm worked hard today–can’t you tell?

Seriously, though, I’ve either got to mow or make hay.  The pygmy tribes are going to move into my jungle soon.  Maybe I should just invest in a few goats–they’d probably be easier to photograph, too, being as they like to stay in a herd (and they probably don’t lick their penises).

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“Life itself is a quotation.” ~Jorge Luis Borges

August 11, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

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Get In My Belly!

August 10, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

In a few weeks, Grimm will be one year old.  The puppy stage will (hopefully) soon be over.  I know, however, that pit bulls can be slow to mature (and Grimm, bless his little heart, is a little slow in everything).  I fear, though, that his constant destruction mode will never wane.  He is a mouth with legs attached.

I should have known he would be a one-dog-wrecking-crew…even when he was sick with parvo, he still ran amok seeking items to ingest.  Apparently, he never received the memo that parvo pups don’t like to eat.  He was akin to a baleen whale–he just ran around with his mouth open and whatever filtered in was fair game.  Even now, he is finally getting over a bought of gastritis secondary to eating frisbees.  He puked up yellow, green, red, blue and purple pieces for days (I haven’t even had a green frisbee around for months, so who knows how long that piece of plastic was floating around in his stomach).  What didn’t come out the front end came out the back (and 2-3 inch long pieces of plastic scraping through your intestinal tract can NOT feel good).  One ultrasound later, and no obstruction…yet.  It is never good news when your veterinary radiologist tells you, “I’m sure we’ll be scanning him again fairly soon.  He’s the type to get frequent flyer miles.”

This all got me thinking:  how many things HAS Grimm eaten since I rescued him?  Let’s make a list along with cost of damage:

1)  Seatbelt in car [approx. $250 to replace]

2)  Floormats in car [$50]

3)  All of Zella’s stuffed toys are now destuffed and mangled, no longer even resembling their original forms (and most are now long gone to the landfill) [$45, Zella had a LOT of stuffed babies]

4)  Multiple frisbees (see above) [$15]

5)  Two leashes [$20]

6)  Vacuum cleaner cord [old vacuum=$85 + new vacuum=$150 for grand total of $235]

7)  One metal crate, which led to me purchasing the most heavy duty crate available without special ordering [destoyed metal crate=$150 + new heavy duty ProSelect crate=$350 for grand total of $500]

8)  Shoes, shoes and more shoes [at least $225, Brooks running shoes ain’t cheap]

9) One dog bed [$25]

10) Multiple blankets and towels [$50]

11) Door frame [$50]

12) Two books [$15]

Dear God!  Why did I make a list?  This dog now owes me almost $1500 in damages.  This doesn’t even take into consideration the veterinary costs needed to diagnose and treat him, and we’re not even through year one yet.  This dog needs a job–anyone need their car or house turned shabby chic? How about an organic paper shredder?  Demolition job openings, anyone?

**Sigh**  We still have a few weeks to go yet.  Cross your fingers that this list doesn’t get any bigger.  New puppy owners, consider yourselves warned.  I know others of you out there must have similar bad pups–what were your first year damages?

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Dog + Vacuum = Death

July 30, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

If you have ever played Alchemy, you’ll understand when I say I am proposing a new combination of elements.  Seriously.  Dog plus Vacuum really does equal Death, or very nearly death.  Let me explain:

I have an eleven month old pit bull named Grimm.  Grimm likes to chew on things (see The Shoes That Were Eaten To Pieces).  A few months ago, he chewed the vacuum cleaner’s cord in two.  All I can say is he was very lucky the cord wasn’t plugged in, although I will admit a little part of me kinda wished it was.  One big shock may have taught the big jerk a lesson.  After much cursing, and I’ll admit, a few threats to make a trip to the local animal shelter, I decided that I could probably wire it back together.  After all, I’d seen my dad splice wires together and it didn’t look too hard.

To do this, I needed a few things:  a pair of pliers and some electrical tape.  I stripped down the outer cord and it’s insulation until just the copper wire was exposed on both pieces.  I then twisted the two ends of copper together until they were snug and wouldn’t budge when tugged on.  Next, I covered the whole exposed part of the cord with electrical tape and made sure no wires were poking out.  I then crossed my fingers, plugged the cord in, and turned on the vacuum.  Eureka!!  It started fine, no smoke or fire broke out, I didn’t electrocute anybody and I congratulated myself for a job well done and for not having to spend another hundred bucks on a new vacuum cleaner.  Fast forward to today…

So, I was doing some cleaning, and it was time to vacuum the floor.  I have a tile floor, but vacuuming is much easier than sweeping.  Anyways, I started vacuuming and then, nothing.  The vacuum stopped working.  There was some tension on the line and I thought maybe it had come unplugged, but nope. Grimm was standing on the cord and my forward motion, along with his heavy self planted firmly on the cord, caused my beautifully spliced wires to come apart, leaving the tape on the part of the cord that was still plugged in.  Of course, I started cursing–not this again!  And caused by the same dog!  Grrrr…..definitely going to the shelter.

In my anger, I grabbed the part of the cord with the tape on it and angrily pulled the tape off, exposing the copper wires (most of you can see where this is going).  I then inadvertently touched the live wire to my forearm on the way to unplug it.  Wowzer!  I jumped about three feet in the air and dropped the wire and it started making zapping noises and sparks.  With a lovely metallic taste in my mouth, I unplugged the cord.  More cursing ensued.  I looked at Grimm–he was just calmly sitting, watching me as I ranted.  I swear he looked a little disappointed that, say, my hair hadn’t caught on fire or my arm wasn’t blackened.  His beady little eyes looked calculating.  Maybe I should rename him Grim Reaper.

Or maybe I should change my equation to read:

Me + Electricity = Stupid

Needless to say, I’m getting a new vacuum cleaner.

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A True American Superhero

July 27, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

I’m beginning to suspect Zella may be a superhero.  How would I know, you ask?  Well, honestly, I don’t.  But she’s definitely up to something, and a few puzzling bits are starting to make sense.

The Origin Story

All good superheroes have great origin stories–either they were traumatized by witnessing or being struck by violence and are now hell-bent on fixing the world, were given powers by something/someone that they really didn’t want or ask for and are hell-bent on using them for good, or they created something that changed/enhanced them and now are hell-bent on proving their value to mankind.  Zella’s origins fall mostly in the first category, but she could be slightly influenced by the second as well.   As far as I know, she hasn’t created or invented anything that is self-enhancing…yet.  Here’s her story, told through her point of view:

I really don’t remember much of my mother, or my siblings for that matter.  My first memories really are of dirt and cold.  I was taken from my mother when I was only four and a half weeks old.  My other siblings and I were tossed into a cardboard box and driven to the local Wal-Mart where we sat and waited.  Apparently, you really can get anything at Wal-Mart, even a puppy.  A “For Sale” sign was placed on the box and lots of people stopped to look at us, pet us, talk to us, pick us up by our scruff, drop us back in the box.  I remember my stomach grumbled and I felt bloated.

 “What kind of dogs?”, people would ask.  “American Pit Bull Terriers”, was the reply, “the blue nose kind.”  What the hell does my nose have to do with anything?  All I knew was that it was cold–was that why it was blue?

“Aren’t those dogs used for fighting?”

“Some are.  You buy this dog, you can use it for whatever you want.  They come from good lines.”

Whatever that means.  This guy was selling them a line, a line of bullshit.  How would he know?  He just threw a couple of bullish dogs together and nine weeks later got us.  He only used us to line his pockets.

After a while of being poked at and almost dropped by a couple of kids, a young girl came by.  She was unsure, but I wiggled anyways, like we all had been doing.  We were trying anything at that point to get out of the cardboard and into warm arms.  She was totally mesmerized by my blue eyes.  At that age, most puppies have blue eyes anyways, but mine were especially bright and that’s what saved me.

She wasn’t ready, though.  Not for a puppy and especially not a pit bull puppy.  I didn’t know at that time about the stigma associated with my breed.  I didn’t know I was supposed to be a monster, driven by uncontrolled genes to seek and destroy any living thing.  She didn’t believe this, either, but she just wasn’t ready to take on the challenge of a puppy.  She had me all of twenty four hours before she freaked and asked her parents, “What do I do–I’ve made a mistake.”

Lucky for me, her dad was a veterinarian.  He had her drive me up to his clinic so he could look at me and see what to do next.  I arrived in a laundry basket wearing the new purple cat collar she bought me–I was too little for a proper dog one.  I was poked with a sharp needle–“to protect me from diseases”, I heard.  I was washed and probed rectally–more torture for a young dog, but these were done to help, not hurt.  The reason for my bellyaches was determined from that probing–I was a sac of parasites.  A lady fed me some watered down wet food and gave me some horrible yellow liquid and I was left in a kennel overnight.  That night, in the darkness, I howled and cried for my family.  My belly rumbled and I had explosive diarrhea, diarrhea with horrors in it–worms as long as me were dying and there I was, rolling with them in my own diarrhea, wishing I was dying, too.

The next day, the lady who fed me and washed me the day before washed me again.  She looked a little angry, but I could tell it wasn’t at me.  It was at the injustice I had been served in my short life.  She vowed then and there to protect me, to teach me, to turn my life around.  She told the veterinarian that I was now hers, and he secretly was happy I was no longer his problem.  She took me to her house where a new, real family greeted me.  I was home.

I know what I am, where I come from, but I am not destined to go down that line.  I will use my daring, my tenacity, my strong-will that was bred into me by humans to show the world what I can do…I am not a blood thirsty monster.  I am a fighter, but I fight against stereotypes and preconceived notions.  I will change your perspective of me, even if it takes all my life.

Proof of Extraordinary Powers–Flight

The next thing on the superhero list:  superpowers.  Zella has a few, but I know you won’t believe me if I just tell you about them, so I’ll show them to you.  Above is proof that she can fly, but she has other abilities, too.

Zella demonstrates another of her super-abilities: hiding in plain sight.

Zella demonstrates psychometry, the ability to communicate with inanimate objects.

It is also very important for a superhero to have two things:

1) sidekicks and/or good familial support and…

Sidekicks–check!

Her doggy brothers are always there for her.

Family knows how to get rid of your sorrows.

2) …a secret identity.

Squirreldog to the rescue! Ok, well, looks like she’s still working on that. Maybe she could just wear a pair of glasses?

The last thing one needs to be a superhero is an arch nemesis.  This really is the only piece of the puzzle that is missing.  You see, Zella doesn’t even have an ordinary, run-of-the-mill enemy.  Maybe the vacuum cleaner counts…no, not really.  She just sort of looks at it funny.  The lawn mower–that’s her arch enemy.  Whenever I go to start it, she barks at it like crazy until the engine turns over.  Then she looks at me smugly, and I swear she smiles, and her eyes say, “I told it, didn’t I?”.

Zella’s only real enemy is ignorance.  Yes, she’s a pit bull; no, she’s not going to eat your child and wreak havoc on the town.  Even for all her bad starts in life, she has proven to be a remarkable dog.  I have trained and socialized her from day one, and each day is another day for her to hone her skills.  I do not let her roam or place her in any compromising situations.  I know that training can only get you so far and that genetics do play a role.  Too many pit bull owners feel they can love aggression out of their dogs, and that is just not true.  We need to respect both nature and nurture.  Zella may not be a true superhero, but I need to be hers–together we can help to change perceptions.

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Windows to the Soul

July 22, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

“An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language.”

–Martin Buber

Have you ever truly looked at your dog’s eyes?  Gotten lost in all the colors and patterns, the striations and lines?  For that matter, have you really ever looked at your own eye?  They aren’t just brown or amber or green or blue; a symphony of color exists in the iris.  In people, there have been studies that suggest eyes really are the window to the soul–certain patterns in the iris seem to be linked to certain personality traits.  To my knowledge, no one has tested this theory in canines.  There have been, however, studies on cognition and perception in dogs by testing their ability to track our eye movements and read our intent.  Dogs, they have found, are very good at following our gazes, though some breeds and individuals are better at it than others.

Of all my current dogs, Zella makes the best eye contact.  She will watch my face very closely and look where I look, especially when she wants my help in finding a frisbee.  She will follow my gaze and go in that direction, periodically stopping to look back at me to follow my line of sight again until she finds it.  Grimm “looks” for frisbees by snuffling around with his nose or he follows Zella’s lead–he doesn’t watch my eyes the way Zella does.  When Zella is unsure of which toy to bring me to play with, she comes up to me, whines, and watches my eyes closely.  When I look at the toy I want her to bring to me, she will return with the correct one.  Pointing at the toy doesn’t work as well with her, unless I look at it also.  Charley and Zella will make eye contact with me, look at the back door, then make eye contact again when they want to go outside.  I am still waiting for Grimm to learn some of these behaviors from them.  He pretty much just gallops along wherever they go. Whereas Charley and Zella have seemingly mastered communication using eye contact, Grimm has barely scratched the surface.   All of my dogs know the “Watch Me” command, which is useful for getting their attention and keeping them distracted from trouble, but young Grimm has the attention span of a fly.

It goes both ways–we can learn a lot about a dog by looking at their eyes, too.  A “whale eye” or dilated pupils in a dog can signal fear whereas squinted eyes can relay excitement or appeasement.  Most people at some point have seen the “hard eye” of an aggressive dog or a dog that means business.  For some dogs, making eye contact with a human can be considered a threat.  Some dogs naturally follow a human gaze, others have to be taught.  Learning how to communicate with your canine companion can be challenging–I’m still trying to figure out what works best for me and Grimm.  It’s hard enough at times to communicate with other Homo sapiens; I’m always amazed that we humans do as well as we do with Canis lupus familiaris.

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The Three Jailbirds

July 15, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Occasionally I take all three dogs with me to work, although most days I only bring two out of the three.  The other day, however, I brought all of them.   Charley was happy as a clam, but Grimm and Zella were bored and clearly not amused.

Charley, Grimm and Zella kenneled in a dog run while at work with me.

Somehow, when I took the picture, Charley’s white hairs on his head formed an almost perfect halo.  Zella’s little reddish-pink ears seemed to resemble horns.  Now when I look at the picture, all I can think about is Grimm being pulled in two directions (a canine Doctor Faustus, if you will):  Charley, on his right, imploring him to be righteous and behave;  Zella, on his left, tempting him to join her in impish delights.  What’s a dog to do?

I will say, all three are actually fairly well behaved when at work, although Zella sometimes gets a little antsy and starts making duck/monkey noises.  This day they were lucky as none of them were required to do any work.  In the past, both Zella and Grimm have been called upon to donate blood to less fortunate pooches and Charley has been summoned to help with training in simple procedures.  They are paid handsomely for their efforts, so don’t think I’m taking advantage of them.  It’s only a matter of time, I fear, until they unionize.

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This Dog By Any Other Name Would Be As Sweet

July 6, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail


Charley.  Charles.  Charley-Boy.  Charz.  Charley-Bear.  Char-Char.  Charlito.  ‘Lito.  Buddy Boy.  Boo-Boo.  Munchkin.  Pumpkin-Head.  Monkey Boy.  Knucklehead.  Chuck.  My Good Boy.  My Best Boy.

These are most of the names I have called Charley over the years, and he has always been gracious enough to respond to all of them.  Nowadays, though, with his hearing mostly gone, a piercing whistle has to do.  A little over 14 years ago, he came into my life–at the time, I was in college and didn’t really need another dog, but I couldn’t refuse the emaciated, tick-riddled, partially bald, just run-over pup.  And these were just the problems you could see.  I had just started working as a veterinary technician, and I’ll never forget my boss and mentor sitting down with me and asking, “Are you sure you want this dog?  Because he’s sorta a train wreck.  We can try to fix him up, kiddo, but I make no promises.  He’s going to be a lot of work.”  Well, I was never one to back down from a challenge and I’ve always been a sucker for the underdog.

The good news was that no bones were broken, although he urinated blood for a couple of days due to trauma to his kidneys and bladder.  His fecal material was mostly insects, cricket parts mostly, but a fecal exam revealed he had basically every intestinal parasite possible.  He literally had thousands of ticks on him and was anemic, but he was a tough little trooper.

It broke my heart that this sweet little four month old pup had endured so much in his short life–the lady who brought him in (and also accidentally run him over) found him out in the middle of nowhere when she was looking at property out near Lake Travis.  She saw the pup and tried to catch him, but he hid in the woods.  When she and her real estate agent got out of their vehicle to look at the land, the pup, unbeknownst to her, crawled under the car.  When they got back in their car to leave, she felt a bump as she started forward, and realized she had just run the pup over.

Months later, it was discovered that he had a diaphragmatic hernia, basically a tear in the  muscle separating the abdomen from the thorax.  His intestines were literally in his chest and, on ultrasound, you could actually see intestines around his heart.  Because of this organ movement, his liver had been strangulated and, to compensate, his body had formed multiple external liver shunts.  Unfortunately, these shunts did not provide adequate blood flow to the liver, so his liver was stressed, too.  One whole student loan went to pay the surgical specialist to repair the hernia–the shunts were inoperable, but eventually, once all his organs were back in place, it ended up correcting itself.

Charley became my do-anything-and-everything dog–a certified therapy dog, an enthusiastic disc dog, and an excellent agility dog.  He would go with my boss to area schools when he talked to students about how to become a veterinarian.  He went with me to visit residents at nursing homes until that became too much for me to handle.  He was a demo dog at dog training events and a teaching dog for new technicians to learn how to perform certain procedures.  He tried herding once, and although I had seen him work cattle naturally when out horseback riding, he was not a fan of the goats  they used at the herding dog seminar.  My dog, my highly trained, performance rated, can-do-anything dog, stood in the middle of the round-pen on the long line, looked at the goats, looked at the trainer, looked at the goats again, and then took a giant dump.  So much for herding.

Over the years, Charley has been a constant friend–he teaches the new dogs the ropes and keeps the younger ones in line.  He is like a cat with nine lives–he was paralyzed on his right side for a while after he tripped over a five foot horse fence when he tried to jump it, landing on his head instead of his feet;  ehrlichia has reared its ugly head a few times because of all the ticks he had as a pup; he was bit by a snake when he stayed with my parents for a while.  He currently battles arthritis and doesn’t chase the frisbee anymore, but he still occasionally volunteers to be a demo dog at work, teaching the newbies handling and simple procedures.

Old Charley’s color has faded with age, now he’s more white and his tan points have mostly faded.  He’s gained a few pounds in retirement, he’s mostly deaf, and his vision is not as good.  He’s got lots of lumps (lipomas) and broken off teeth.  But, he’s still my good boy, my best boy.  He’s a first class snuggler and can still get in trouble with the best of them.  What a dog to share my life for the past fourteen years!  I thank the higher powers that be every day for sending that poor, miserable, unloved pup my way all those years ago.  Everyone should be so lucky.

Posted in Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

The Juiciest Bits of Summer

June 28, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

Summer is officially here–already the temperature here in Central Texas is in the triple digits.  The dogs don’t get as much outdoor time when it is this hot.  The risk of heat stroke is too severe when you have dogs who don’t know when to quit.  Instead, we play outside in the early morning or later evening hours and they take “cool off  breaks” by jumping in the water trough (when it is not being hogged by the humans).

Zella waits her turn to jump into the water trough. My father routinely likes to wallow in the water trough, too, when he comes to visit.

The other way we keep cool is by consuming tasty treats, and by tasty treats, I mean cold watermelon.  Nothing beats the heat better than sweet, juicy chunks of perfectly sweet melon.  My dogs love munching on watermelon, even if they only receive mostly the rind portion.

Zella munches on her piece of watermelon.

Charley demonstrating the correct technique used by carnivores to eat a juicy piece of melon. First rule is to scrape out the red, meaty part.

Zella offers her assistance to Grimm in consuming his piece of watermelon.

As long as the air conditioner keeps ticking, we’ll be in good shape.  With a fridge full of watermelon as backup, we’re sure to stay cool and content.

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Ring Around the Sunflowers

June 23, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

“If we don’t chase things,  the things following us can catch up.”

–L.M. Montgomery

My two younger dogs love to play chase.  Up, down, back and forth they race, dancing around each other in a complicated ritual.  And, for the most part, their game is ritualized, with an unspoken set of rules.  For them, the rules are as follows:

Rule #1:   Grimm is always the chaser, Zella (holding a high value toy) is always the quarry.  This is how she likes to play the game, and as she is the boss, this is how it is played.  If Grimm grabs a treasured toy (usually a frisbee) and flaunts it in front of Zella, she totally ignores him.  She will usually go on a hunt for her own frisbee in order to start the game.

Zella starts the game by searching for a frisbee.

Grimm gets ready to start the chase.

Rule #2:  The chaser (Grimm) is never allowed to tackle the quarry.  He tried that tactic once and Zella quickly put a stop to it (she is very good at effectively correcting another dog without actually hurting the other dog in any way).  The chaser may nip at heels, tail or flanks, but he better not actually jump on the quarry.  Now, if Grimm gets going too fast and it looks like a tackle may happen or appears unavoidable, he actually now will speed up and jump completely over Zella, at which point she will turn around and sprint the other way.

The chase is on!

Grimm nips at her flanks, and Zella puts on speed.

Rule #3:  When the chaser finally catches his quarry, the quarry must play tug with the valuable object before the chase can restart (this is Grimm’s rule, and since Zella set the other rules, it is only fair that he has one, too).  This usually lasts for about three to five minutes, then Zella gives him the frisbee.  He carries it around for a little while, then gets bored and drops it.  He saunters over to some greenery in the yard and starts his impression of a goat.  All the while he is munching his greens, he is eyeing the frisbee and pretending not to see Zella sneak around to snatch it up again.  As soon as she has it in her possession, the game renews.

Time to play tug.

Grimm watches to see if Zella is going to restart the game. He dropped the frisbee in the middle of the sunflowers.

Zella gets the frisbee to begin the game all over again.

Watching my dogs play their ritualized game reminded me that all of us play our part in our own ritualized games each day.  At times we are the quarry, at other times the chaser.  I also realized when watching their play that the quarry can have just as much power as the chaser and the chaser is just as much at the mercy of the quarry.  Without one, you cannot have the other.  For me, this was again another reminder of the delicate balance we face each day, but probably don’t stop to realize it.  I would never have guessed that two pit bull’s play could spark an epiphany.   Have I ever mentioned what  terrific teachers dogs are?

Posted in Canine Training & Behavior, Life & Musings, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a Comment »

The Shoes That Were Eaten To Pieces

June 16, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

My dog Grimm has a problem.  He has an entirely unhealthy fascination with footwear.  He cannot help himself.   Maybe you could call it a fetish, but if you are a shoe, you are in danger.  Sneakers, pumps, loafers, flip flops (oh, how he loves flip flops!)–doesn’t matter.  If he sees one, it immediately becomes his favorite chew toy.  I know, I know…puppies eat shoes.  But, he’s almost 10 months old, so I thought he would have outgrown this by now.  Also, I constantly keep the shoes in the house off the floor, mostly behind closed doors,  but he’s like a shoe ninja–he  uses crazy stealth techniques that a 60 pound dog shouldn’t know.  He creeps silently into closets and onto the dresser tops where a shoe may be placed, and sneakily runs off with it.  He will take the coveted shoe into his kennel or with him to his dog bed or to my bed and commence destruction.  If confronted, this is what happens:

Me:  Grimm, is that a shoe?

Grimm:  What?  No, no…  [here he starts to slowly crawl on top of said shoe so that I can no longer see it]  I was just chewing on my feet.

Me:  Then why is there a shoe lace hanging out of your mouth?

Grimm:  Uhhh….hey!  Look how cute I am when I roll on my back with my feet sticking up in the air!  [he proceeds to roll around on his back with his feet in the air]

Me:  Stop eating shoes!!!!!

Shoe? What shoe?

I’m sorry…I couldn’t help it. I think I have a problem…

Nevermind! The flip flop is mine! It is…my precious….

His obsession is getting out of hand, though.  When he meets a new person, the first thing he does is sniff and inspect their shoes.  Occasionally I see him secretly taste their shoe, but the person doesn’t notice–he or she is too distracted by his banging, whipping, waggling butt and tail that they never notice the doggy drool left on their footwear.  I notice, though, and am secretly horrified.   I guess it could be worse–he could be one of those embarrassing crotch sniffing dogs.

One of many taste-tested shoes

Hopefully one day my dog will outgrow this obsession, although right now I think he is secretly dreaming of invading Imelda Marcos’ closet.  Dreams of shoelaces, treads and heels drift through his little brain.  I will continue to try to thwart his actions and hopefully put an end to this irksome (not to mention expensive!) behavior.

Grimm’s hidden cache of favorite things under the deck. Notice the flip flop, sneaker, and frisbee.

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Hey, Diddle Diddle, the Cat and the Pit Bull?

June 12, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

I was looking through some older photos of my pets, some of which are now deceased.  I noticed that my very beloved old cat, Thomas, seemed to show up in a lot of the photos of my dogs.  During his reign, he was lord over Charley, my current 14 year old cowdog cross, and Roxie, my pit-lab cross (who passed a few years ago).  I think, secretly, he always wanted to be a dog, as I frequently found him lounging in the dog kennel.  He would taste-test the food first before allowing them to eat and he oftentimes hogged the dog bed.  Alas, poor old Thomas has been at rest for a few years, but seeing some of these photos reminded me how much joy and laughter Thomas brought.

Posted in Art & Photography, Humor, Life & Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments »

Here Comes Peter Cottontail…

June 5, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

…or, more precisely, the eastern cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus) rabbit.  These cute, fluffy bunnies run rampant in central Texas because they breed like, well, rabbits.  Because of our mild winters, they can reproduce year round–they can have large litters and can reach sexual maturity in a matter of months (3 to be exact).  When you are the popular main course for coyotes, domestic dogs and cats, hawks, owls, snakes, possums, foxes, bobcats and other predators, you learn to grow up fast and hard and to have plenty of youngsters around to spread the genetic code.  Of course, you also have death by man–motor vehicles creating roadkill, wayward lawnmowers running over rabbit nests, and those well-meaning individuals who try to intervene with Mother Nature.

Zella, my 4 year old American Pit Bull Terrier, has many “jobs”–couch warmer, frisbee wrangler, food taster–but her favorite job is being the local rabbit trainer.  Every day, she makes sure those bunnies are running faster, leaping farther, and turning quicker.  She has not yet caught one, but for her I think it’s more about the chase, not the capture.

One day a few weeks ago, while out with the dogs, I noticed Zella was being very still in the empy 1/2 acre overgrown lot next to my house.  The other dogs noticed it too, and we all went to investigate.  Zella got snarky with Grimm (my other pit bull) and Charley (my 14 year old catahoula/heeler cross) when they got too close to her.  I thought, maybe, that she had found a dead critter and was keeping it all for her own.  When I got closer, she started to wiggle her tail slowly and would make deep eye contact with me, then look at the ground between her feet, then back at me again several times.  Usually if she has found something dead and she sees me coming, she either immediately starts consumption of said matter or starts to roll around on top of it, getting greasy, sticky slime all over her shoulders, chest, neck and head.  This time, she did neither.  She wasn’t jumping and lunging at it, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t a reptile of some kind (snake, lizard, turtle).  Instead, it was a nest of baby rabbits.

Zella Searches for Bunnies

Eastern cottontails don’t burrow underground–their nests are usually a few to six inches deep, lined with grasses and the mother rabbit’s fur.  This nest was far below standard–momma bunny just wasn’t trying.  It was maybe 1 inch  deep and had a few twigs around it.  No momma bunny hair in sight.  Zella stood over the little buggers, waiting for me to come.  She had not disturbed the nest or the 4 baby rabbits in any way (only dribbled some slobber on them from her panting–they were also right in the full sun).  These little guys were only about an inch and a half long, with eyes still closed, meaning 4 days old, tops.  I knew that if I left them out there, either 1) Zella would stand guard all day, 2) Charley would eventually get them and slurp them down like cocktail weenies at a free buffet, or 3) they would fry in the hot sun exposed like they were.  So I did exactly what you aren’t supposed to do with Mother Nature–I interfered.

I wrangled Grimm and Charley inside, leaving Zella to stand guard.  I collected all four babies and into the garage we went.  I placed them in a cat carrier and proceeded to learn about raising eastern cottontail babies.  Turns out, this is hard to do (like most wildlife rehabilitation).  The stress usually kills them, but trying to mimic rabbit milk is difficult, too, not to mention having to make sure they are able to establish the normal gut flora to eventually digest the plants in their diet.  To do this, you need to feed them cecotrophes.   Apparently, rabbits pass two types of stool:  the hard, round pellets you normally see, and dark, wet, sticky stool.  Cecotrophes are the second type and it is this fecal matter that contains the appropriate bacteria needed to populate the baby bunnies gut.  Because baby bunnies have an essentially sterile gut at birth, they need a momma rabbit to pass her good bacteria on to them by grooming them and by defecating around the nest where the babies can ingest these cecotrophes.  If a human decides to play momma bunny, you can go around looking for these cecotrophes and collect them and force feed them to the babies to help ensure a successful outcome.  I decided that, for one, there was no way I was ever going to find cecotrophes in my overgrown acre area and, secondly, if I started crawling around in my yard on my hands and knees looking for some, my neighbors would really think I had gone off the deep end.

I studied more on rabbit rearing habits, and learned that momma bunny usually only feeds at night, and not during the day anyway, and is usually not deterred from her babies by the smell of nearby predators.  So, I went to the spot where the nest was originally found, and basically “upgraded” it.  I dug it deeper and collected lots of grasses to line and cover it with.  I waited until dusk, then returned all the babies to the nest.  All babies were in good health when found, so I placed a few twigs over the nest to check the next morning to see if momma bunny had come to visit.

The next day, I peeked at the 4 babies under their new straw covering, and all looked fat and hydrated and content, so I let them be.  For the next 7 days, Zella dutifully went to check on them.  When Charley got close, she chased him away.  When I couldn’t ensure the dogs wouldn’t get to them when we were outside, I brought all the babies inside to the garage to stay in the cat carrier and returned them to the nest at dusk.  When they started to jump and crawl around, Zella would find them and stand over each one until I had picked each one up and returned it to the nest or I brought all of  them inside for the day.  Last I saw of them, they were 5 inches long and on their way to reaching independence.  They were already leaving the nest and eating on their own.  It appears now that they have gone their separate ways (I hope).  Zella occasionally goes to the original nest site and snuffles around, but Charley and Grimm are no longer attracted to the area.  I’m sure in a few weeks time, Zella will become these little guys personal trainer, too, ensuring that they continue to run faster and jump higher and live to pass on these genes to the next generation.

One of Zella’s baby bunnies.

Posted in Life & Musings, Nature & Wildlife, Play & Recreation | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments »

Once Upon A Time…

May 31, 2012 by Grimm's Furry Tail

…there was a poor pup named Capulin.  He was a sad pup indeed because, as it turns out, he had parvo.   No magic beans (magic beans meaning money to pay for treatment) were to be had by his family.  A curse was placed upon him and he was sentenced to death.    Capulin challenged cruel fate to a duel in order to break the curse, his weapon being his lighting- fast wagging tail.  He wiggled and waggled and danced in circles, but alas, no amount of twirling and spinning and tail thumping could thwart the coming of the Reaper.  At the final hour, when all seemed lost, a wandering Fairy Godmother (that would be me) witnessed his amazing act of defiance in the face of death, and uttered the magic spell that would break the curse– “I’ll take him”.   He returned home with her to her small cottage, where he was welcomed by two others of his kind.  After many magical potions, the parvo was cured.  Because he was granted a new life, he was given a new name–“Grimm”, a reminder of the near miss he had with the Grim Reaper, but also a nod to the fact that sometimes, fairy tales do come true, as relayed by the brothers Grimm [not all of their stories end in death and destruction, and besides, I couldn’t name him Disney].

Grimm the parvo survivor

Posted in Parody | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments »

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