The Happy Pit Bull Blog

The grass is always greener...

2012-01-29T11:28:00.000-06:00

... in Texas "winter."

Holy cow, that grass is green.

We plant rye grass every fall, to cut back on mud during our "rainy season." It's cool, soft, and gorgeous. And sort of ironic that I have to mow the lawn every weekend in January. (We don't mow in the summer because the grass is dead.)

"Throw the ball!"

"MY ball!"

"He's kind of a jerk, but I love him."

This was our weekend project. Since we now have a garage, we can tear down this old shed. In three "easy" steps...

One

Two

Three

A little later, we moved into the new garage to do some work. Dozer made himself at home in a large plastic tub that had some old blankets in it.

"If this isn't my dog bed, why do I fit just right??"

He fell asleep in the plastic tub.

OMG ur home!!!1

2012-01-15T23:41:00.000-06:00

When saying "Welcome home" with ONE toy in your mouth just isn't good enough...

"HI!!! These are for you!! To throw. For me."

"More people?? Sweet, I gotta go get more toys."

Holiday Work

2012-01-04T13:44:00.000-06:00

One awesome thing about the holidays is that Byrd gets an entire week off work. We didn't waste it! We finally moved stuff into our new garage, and... organized it! The result was the best Christmas gift ever.

We started by buying and assembling industrial-strength shelving.

Then we started hauling Byrd's tools and whatnot into the garage...

Four circular saws, three drills, two brad nailers, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Can't forget all the stuff in the back office, which is still torn up 3 years after we started remodeling it, in part because we can't put it back together when it's being used as a storage room for construction items.

Oh yeah, and don't forget all the stuff in the garden shed...

The 5-gal buckets on the right were FULL of random items, from screwdrivers to PVC joints to electrical outlets.

As we pulled stuff into the garage, we went with a "Clean Sweep" kind of strategy: one spot for "keep," one spot for "sell," and one spot for "toss."

Then came the hard part... sorting the "keeps." The first day, Byrd reeeallly wanted to keep every little loose screw and nut and washer.

It was hard to even know where to start.

My sister K and my mom helped out a lot!

By the second and third day, Byrd was too tired to care as much. We threw out a lot. The garbage men probably cursed us when they emptied our heavy, overflowing trash cans.

The shelves are full, but everything has a place.

The three multi-drawer boxes (hanging on the wall) turned out to be invaluable for sorting the loose tiny items Byrd wanted to keep. And boy did he have a lot. We used ALL of the small size drawers (total = 90)!

We also got this nice wall-hook system for the opposite wall. Turns out we have 4 extension cords, 2 air hoses, 3 ladders, and 31 long-handled tools (shovels, rakes, etc).

Now, if you don't work in construction, you probably don't know (and don't need to know) that most hardware you buy in construction quantities, such as nails and screws, come in flimsy cardboard boxes. Cardboard is really not a problem normally because you use up the hardware quickly and then go get new boxes. If you are like Byrd, however, you're not organized enough to know where your box of nails is, so you go out and buy a new box of nails for every project. When you attempt to organize, you discover you have six half-empty, rotting, torn cardboard boxes with nails falling out of every rat-chewed corner. In some cases the nails aren't so much "in a box" as they are "in a pile, with some bits of cardboard for company."

So I went and bought about 30 plastic boxes to hold the hardware. And labeled every box, so there won't be anymore "I can't find it so let's just buy a new one." There is no longer any question how much we have, and of what.

I love the end result, which is a garage where both our cars still fit.

Unfortunately, we still have a storage unit to clean out. It's about the size of the garage. (I'm hopeful that we will be able to sell most of the stuff in it.)

Lest you fear that all my dogs got for Christmas was a stupid cardboard box, don't worry! Auntie K came through with a literal feast of squeaky stuffed dog toys.

"Stuffed" turkey, potato, corn, dinner roll, and greens.

Star shows off her own fat little "drumsticks."

(By the way, Star had her annual checkup yesterday, and got a totally clean bill of health. I was like, what, that's it? No medicine, nothing to keep an eye on, nothing to treat?? She's just completely different from Dozer... so easy.)

"The corn-on-the-cob seems overcooked."

Whereas the other stuffed items went to the trash within twenty minutes, Dozer took a strange liking to the dinner roll and has refused to destroy it.

This was our Christmas gift to the outdoor birds: a birdfeeder!

Apparently, this type of birdfeeder is not typical in our neighborhood. If it was, I would expect the birds to start using it easily. But it actually was very difficult for the birds to figure out. On the first day, the birds were just hopping on the ground underneath it and staring up at it. By the second day, they would fly into it and beat at it, trying to knock the seed out. Finally, a few of them tried to sit on the ledges, but they had a lot of trouble coordinating it, and three or four birds would try to get on one ledge at the same time, which always started a big fight.

It took about three days for them to get a system in place so everyone was using the feeder in an organized way. It was very interesting to watch them adapt. I suppose a birdfeeder is a pretty unnatural way for birds to eat, especially when they've never done it before.

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-25T12:54:00.001-06:00

The dogs' Christmas gift was cheap this year, but they loved it anyway. :)

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

"Super-hive" mystery solved

2011-12-12T19:22:00.000-06:00

FINALLY! I know what's causing Dozer's insane hive outbreaks.

Two weeks ago, I took Dozer to the regular vet to treat staph lesions that were popping up here and there. The weekly baths and occasional Zyrtec just weren't cutting it. The vet prescribed a standard round of prednisone (to stop the itch) and cephalexin (to stop the staph).

Today, as soon as I saw the telltale pinpricks of oncoming urticarial vasculitis, ("super hives") I called the dermatology/allergy vet. (Well, first I screamed "NOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo!!!" and then I called the vet.)

What urticarial vasculitis looks like in the first few hours.

After looking back through his files, the derm vet confirmed what we'd already suspected but now seemed pretty conclusive: cephalexin allergy.

Ironically, today, after I reviewed some historical blog posts about Dozer's hives (like this one in 2009, this one in 2010 and this one earlier this year), I saw that he'd been taking cephalexin, an antibiotic, in every case.

Why wasn't the allergy deduced years ago? Because the hives never happened at the beginning of a cephalexin course—only at or near the end. Dozer could go two weeks on cephalexin and completely finish the course without a reaction, only to break out in hives a few days later, while taking no medications at all.

This mystery was also solved today, because the derm vet noted that Dozer usually gets prednisone or a cortisone shot at the same time that he's given the cephalexin. Although the point of the steroid is to cut down the itching from the staph, these steroids stop all allergic reactions. Period. Including the reaction to the cephalexin. After the short steroid course tapers down, there's nothing stopping the hives anymore. Thus the delayed reaction.

Six hours later--not looking too bad this time!

Prednisone and a much larger dose of Zyrtec were the order of the day. I'm loving the Zyrtec (over the Benadryl we used to give) because it knocks Dozer right out. I know the D is loving it, too, because he goes right to sleep. No itching, whining, panting, tummy upset, or any discomfort.

Sleeping soundly... with his face inches from the space heater.

Well, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.

First thing tomorrow morning, I'm calling the regular vet to ask them to flag this allergy in his file. No more cephalexin!!

It's Cold!

2011-12-12T08:28:00.002-06:00

Well, cold for us, anyway. I reckon you northern folks have something to say about real cold.

But still, it's cold. Star recently learned how to cover herself up with the dog blankets...

And we broke out the space heater, much to Dozer's pleasure.

Star has been somewhat unsure of the space heater (it makes noise, moves, and blows—creepy!) but she's learning to love the free heat that comes from it. As long as she doesn't have to look right at it.

Semester finals are over! I have a short, badly-needed break before next semester.

Photo Shoot

2011-12-08T18:26:00.000-06:00

Armed with my trusty tripod and camera, I was determined to get a good family photo for this year's holiday cards.

First was the setup... Getting everyone in place and figuring out where to put the camera.

"Why are we sitting in a corner? Were we bad?"

Looks good. Okay, let's see how it goes...

We appear to be choking the dogs.

Dozer's totally feeling it, but the rest of us...

Oh, man, the dogs were perfect in this picture.

Dozer relocated mid-shot.

"Oops, that wasn't the timer button. Sorry, hang on..."

Aaaand Byrd was officially out of patience!

I did not hear the camera beep.

And then Star couldn't take it anymore:

"I'm..."

"... so ..."

" ... done."

We couldn't get her to stand up again. Dozer totally gets the whole photo shoot thing—he'll look at the camera and smile and everything—but to Star, this was clearly some insane exercise that we had devised to punish her, and she sure as heck wasn't gonna take it anymore.

Nevertheless, with 39 shots to choose from, I managed to find a decent one.

About halfway through the photo shoot, I learned that my camera has a self-timer multi-shot function. Omigosh! It really sped up the whole process. What a life saver!

Happy Birthday and Thanksgiving!

2011-11-22T17:25:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving is approximately Dozer's birthday. This year, he turns 11.

While I was at the pet store this week buying dog food, I decided to get a few new toys in honor of Dozer's birthday and also to replace the toys I've recently thrown out after they reached the end of their useful life.

Tough dog toys are necessary, but expensive, investments for two large dogs. I really hate plopping down $10 on a toy that claims to be tough but falls apart within the first two minutes of use. If I pay more than that, I expect the toy to last for several months. So I tend to buy dog toys rarely, and carefully.

I was really excited to see a lot of new "tough" dog toys on the shelves these days. One in particular caught my eye: Starmark's new Fun Ball. Starmark is also the maker of Dozer's beloved "Blue Toy." They are both made with the same soft, yet tough, rubber-gel. And you can put food or treats in both. But, whereas the Blue Toy is cylindrical, the Fun Ball is round and definitely more Dozer's style.

"I love it for its ball-like qualities, not for the boring old dog food inside."

"Mooom! Llama Pinata is in my waaaay!"

I also bought two stuffed squeaky toys. One was a Yankers snake. You may or may not remember Dozer's old Yankers alligator toy, which withstood quite a lot of abuse and lasted for almost a year. The other toy is a Tuffy's bone. We have had a variety of Tuffy's toys, such as Ring Toy, Octopus, and Tug Toy—some of them lasting longer than others.

I handed out the new toys to Dozer one at a time. He kept coming back to me empty-handed. Finally I asked him, "Where are the toys?" He led me into the living room, where I suddenly realized poor old Dozer was no longer "top dog" in the house:

"Eh? They're not all for me?"

Even one year ago, Dozer wouldn't have stood for this. The toys in the house have always been his. Period. Star was allowed to borrow them on occasion, but Dozer controlled when and where and how she got to touch them.

"I don't get it. Earlier, there was food coming out when I did this."

Times, they are a-changing. Happy birthday, Dozer!

And Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Blind snake

2011-11-12T11:07:00.001-06:00

We had a visitor the other day: a blind snake. He/she was enjoying some spilled water (or dog drool?).

Blind snakes are tiny snakes that look like earthworms. They eat ants and other little insects. We see them outside in our garden mulch most of the time, but once in a while they get in the house. Because they're so tiny, they're really difficult to catch without squishing them. But I got this one outside without incident.

We finally have cold weather, but no real rain to speak of.

Star in coat, under blanket. Space heater not shown.

Dozer's thyroid levels are still low ("for a dog of his size" says the vet), so we are going to raise the dose. But you can see that the thyroid meds have given him a bit of zing back. OMG, he's playing with Star!

I've just signed a contract to work for a "Big Four" firm when I graduate. Byrd and I are both pretty excited that I'm finally going to be a financial asset. Sadly, it looks like I'll have to stop fostering and volunteering for a few years, because I'm never home anymore, and it only gets worse at Big Four.

I'm also going to need to find some help for the daily updates and duties over at StopBSL. Giving it up is out of the question. But I've been late to class a few times while slamming out alerts, and I really should be focusing on studying, not worrying about updates. What a dilemma.

Hypothyroidism

2011-10-08T12:10:00.000-05:00

Guess whose thyroid is broken?

"Let's play with this half-eaten tennis ball!!!"

Routine bloodwork revealed this new ailment, which we can add to Dozer's ever-growing pile of health issues. The symptoms of hypothyroidism aren't particularly obvious: generally acting "under the weather," easily tired, weight gain, hair loss and skin infections. Dozer's old age and allergies produce the same symptoms, so we weren't thinking about the thyroid.

"OMG THROW IT!"

The solution is a simple one—one tiny pill every twelve hours for the rest of D's life—but it's amazing how difficult this seemingly simple task is. Mostly, we've had trouble being home at pill time. Right now we're administering pills at 6 AM and 6 PM, but because I've been at class and job-recruiting events on many days, and Byrd works until late, the 6 PM target isn't always hit.

"I believe I can fly!"

The treatment has made a difference. Dozer seems to have regained some of his goofy spirit, he's more interested in getting attention and pats, and he's even playing a bit with Star. All his joints still creak when he moves around, but he seems less "old."

"Here it comes again!"

Ironically, Dozer isn't the first family member with hypothyroidism. Byrd couldn't help but be a tiny bit pleased that Big D was taking after his daddy. "Now we both have to take pills forever!" he says.

"Ugh, now it has her drool all over it."

Doesn't our backyard look depressing? It's 100% dirt. We were responsible citizens during this severe drought and we didn't water our backyard grass at all... so it died. Nevertheless, we've just heard that our local water plant has broken, so the city has issued a formal emergency: no outdoor watering, period.

Roast Dog Recipe

2011-09-22T15:06:00.001-05:00

Ingredients:
2 lazy indoor dogs
1 yard of dirt
1 bowl water
1 sun

Set outdoor temperature to 100+ degrees. Use full sun for even roast.

Steps:
1. Place dogs and water in dirt. Dogs may run at first. Lazier dogs will settle faster.

2. When dogs have settled, set timer for 15 minutes. Check on dogs every 2 minutes, or leave door partly open.

3. Dogs will turn themselves over and will apply water as needed.

4. If dog begins to whine or bark, check for doneness. Older dogs may be done sooner. How to test for doneness. Your roast dog is done if: voluntarily comes to back door; has a sweaty animal odor; is hot to touch; tongue hangs out.

5. Remove roast dog from yard after 15 minutes or when done. DO NOT OVERCOOK.

6. Allow roast dog to rest until cool.

Fires in Texas

2011-09-12T15:58:00.000-05:00

Tropical Storm Lee, which came around on Labor Day weekend, knocked down our daily highs and lows by ten degrees. We enjoyed several days with highs in the low 90s. (Ahhh! Lovely!!)

Star sunbathes in the most grotesque poses. I'm always a little worried that my neighbors will freak out and call animal control about a mutilated dog corpse they saw in my backyard.

If I see a neighbor come outside, I make a big show of getting Star on her feet. ("Star! Come over here, you happy, healthy, totally alive dog!")

Sunbathing in the shade... in a really weird way.

But the weather was quite enjoyable. And then the wildfires started breaking out.

Mind you, we're no stranger to grass fires and brush fires. I've occasionally joined the community in impromptu fire-stomping on the side of the highway while waiting for fire trucks.

But it's pretty rare for fires to burn out of control in our area. We've had an unlucky combination of high winds (from Lee) and extreme drought.

One of many amazing photos from KXAN

We've been very fortunate that few human lives have been lost to these fires. The situation for many pets and livestock has not been good. Bastrop is a rural area, and folks tend to keep a lot of animals. Not just cats and dogs, but also horses, donkeys, pigs, chickens, and rabbits. As they evacuated, people took their pets with them whenever possible, but many animals still didn't make it out.

Some people were not home when the fires started and were left with anguished knowledge that they couldn't go back to their homes for their trapped pets. This event served as a strong reminder for me, that not everyone will be home during an evacuation to save their pets, so it's up to neighbors to help save those pets, if they have the time and ability. It's a good idea to become familiar with neighbors' pets (how many, what kind, and where they're kept) before there's a disaster, in case there's an opportunity to help those pets.

Luckily, the animal community around here is strong, organized, and willing. They've done an amazing job with rescue efforts and communication. Several hundred pets have been rescued, and I hope they will continue to find animal survivors now that residents are being allowed back into these burned areas.

Star's Poem

2011-08-30T22:42:00.000-05:00

Haiku to My New Pink Best Friend

by Star

My new pink friend plays

chase with me but when I win

he is a bad sport.

The loser, being a bad sport (aka dead)

We've broken some temperature records here in the Austin area this summer (74+ days in triple digits, including a temp of 112 a few days ago, which tied the all-time highest temp ever recorded in our area).

The heat is taking a toll not only on us poor humans but also on the local wildlife. Some of the smaller critters, like the Mediterranean House Gecko (pictured above), have managed to slip inside to cool off. And Star is waiting for them.

Today's flattened gecko corpse is Number 6 in a pretty steady stream of summertime gecko corpses that I have found in the middle of the bedroom floor.

Star has been busy making friends with them.

"Um... My new best friend isn't moving anymore. Can you please fix it?"

Star is friendly to a fault with her gecko friends. She play-bows to the gecko, flops over and wiggles on her side, licks it, and taps it with her paw. Unfortunately, due to the fact that Star is 60 lbs and the gecko is less than an ounce, Star's playful moves make quick work of the gecko.

After a while, the excitement wears off, and Star lies down beside her mangled friend and nudges it mournfully with her nose. Then she walks off to look for a new friend—preferably one that isn't taking a sudden nap.

Number Six is in the minority, however. Most of the geckos make it out of the house alive; I do a "gecko sweep" before bed every night and carry outside any live geckos that I find. Often I will ask Star to observe while I carefully scoop up the live lizard and place it outside in a potted plant. I hope that through our modeling of appropriate behaviors, eventually she will realize that geckos do not want to play with her and need to be set free outdoors.

"Being older and wiser, I already have learned to just say no to geckos."

Food shortage woes

2011-08-11T11:42:00.000-05:00

We ran out of Dozer's special rabbit-based, grain-free dog food. So did every single local pet store. So did all the online outlets (except a few who still have the tiny bags for jacked-up prices).

Dozer couldn't be more pleased.

"That rabbit stuff was gross."

The problem is, apparently, a shortage of rabbits.

I know what you're thinking, and I thought it too. "How hard can it be to produce rabbits? They practically produce themselves, don't they?"

We've substituted with another grain-free dog food, but it's not rabbit-based. It only took a few hours for us to regret the substitution.

"Whoo. Who cut the cheese?"

Dozer had an upset stomach all night, leading to 8 full hours of no sleep for anyone. Dozer is very good about expressing his feelings to you, whether you want to hear about it or not.

"Man, I'm beat. Eight hours of nonstop whining and farting really takes it out of a guy."

"Have fun in class. I've gotta catch some zzzs so I can keep you awake tonight too!"

Neglected

2011-07-30T00:40:00.002-05:00

So, yeah, I got accepted to the Masters in Professional Accounting program at the University of Texas. One of the top accounting programs in the U.S. I'm pretty much guaranteed a job upon graduation, as long as I keep my GPA above 3.5.

It's a really short master's program—I'll be done in about a year. The brevity translates into a brutal pace. This summer's classes are a mere five weeks, crash courses in tax and financial accounting. The grades will be based solely on three major exams in each class.
Five weeks. Six exams. I'm not very good at math, but these numbers spell disaster.

"Soooooo bored."

Needless to say, I've been cramming all day, every day.
If I survive these next few weeks, there's only one day of break between summer and fall semesters. No joke, my calendar goes: Saturday–final; Sunday–break; Monday–final; Tuesday–fall class. (Yes, I have a final on a Saturday.)

I rather feel as if I've just leapt onto the back of a bucking bronco.

Please forgive me for being rather absent these last few weeks. I'm desperately trying to stay on this horse. I'm neglecting all my friends and family... and even the dogs. It sucks.

"Too busy to cut my nails? How tragic."

Masters of their universe

2011-07-11T15:41:00.001-05:00

I'm back in school as of today, going for that accounting master's and CPA.

Summer classes are month-long crash courses on subjects I don't know much about. As you can imagine, when I'm not in class, I'm studying like crazy.

The dogs are doing their level best to help me. Fail, that is.

"Lady! Drop that book and let us out! Posthaste!"

OK, fine, we'll go outside for a little while.

"My piercingly shrill whining will continue until you throw my toy."

Go play by yourself. Please. I have to read two textbook chapters a day.

This is why someday Star will be diagnosed with skin cancer.

Okay, dogs! It's like 100 zillion degrees out here, the textbook pages are damp with sweat, and my notepad has spontaneously burst into flames. Can we please go back inside?

"'Scuse me, I have to smell your ugly shirt... while you're wearing it."

I'm begging you guys, please go play in another room. I need quiet, I have to study.

"HAI! I tore up this toy and now I have to PEE!!
Can we go outside?!? BTW, there's toy all over the carpet."

*sob sob sob*

Garage inspector Dozer

2011-06-16T13:03:00.000-05:00

"Violation: no treats or toys on work table."

"Now performing 'ball test' to determine whether workers are properly trained."

"Subject neither picks up nor throws the ball."

"Second violation: Worker ignores Inspector."

"Gah, he's stepping on the ball! Third violation: Unsafe work place!"

"Fourth violation: Multiple workers clearly untrained to perform simple task. Shut it down!!"

Nail trimming time!

2011-06-14T12:49:00.003-05:00

Star needs her nails cut today. The hardest part is finding her.

Do you see her hiding in the living room?

Now do you see her?

She's a bit bigger than the table...

I think Star is part ostrich.

"Argh! I can't fit my big butt under the end table!"

I'll have to trim her nails later. I can't convince her to come out.

On to an unsuspecting victim!

"So... uh... where's that treat you promised?"

The Grey Ghost

2011-06-11T12:44:00.002-05:00

Star and I went to the pet store the other day to buy some dog food.

Star loves the outings, but she'd been cooped up at home for too long, and was on her worst behavior at the store. She couldn't hold a "sit," she dragged me up and down the aisles, she put the brakes on at the rawhide buckets, and she saw something in a pile of dog beds that she felt needed a good barking about.

We finally made it to the cash register with the heavy bag of food. For reasons I don't understand, when people comment about Star, they admire her coat color. And today was no exception. The sales clerk was a very nice lady, very chatty, and she almost immediately started talking about Star's coat color.

"Why, your dog has the most lovely color. That's just amazing! It's so unusual," the clerk exclaimed. "It's such a soft color. And, oh, her eyes are gorgeous. Just stunning, matches perfectly with her coat."

Star knows praise when she hears it, and she popped out of the sit in order to better waggle her behind. She whipped my legs with her tail, then turned to whip the store clerk. I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Thank you. We also think it's a nice color."

"Oh yes," said the clerk, "I don't see many of this breed with this kind of coloring. It's exquisite."

"You don't...?" I puzzled about this for a few seconds. "I thought it was quite common. When we went to adopt her at the shelter, there were several other dogs that looked just like her, color and all." Star started to bark obnoxiously at the shelf of dog beds again.

"Well," says the clerk, "she's quite a catch, I think. You know, this breed, their nickname is... they call it..." A long pause, while Star strained on the lead to sniff a suspicious stain on a lower shelf. "Ah, they call it the 'Grey Ghost.' Because most of them have a sort of grey coat, you know."

The clerk thought Star was a Weimaraner.

I didn't say anything to contradict the clerk, because Star is a mutt we adopted from the shelter, so who knows what she really is. Besides, Star was being quite naughty, and I felt Weimaraners could take the rap this time around.

Addendum: So you understand my surprise more fully, I must say that this store clerk was not your average kid running a register at a national chain pet store. This was a long-time employee at a small local pet store—a pet store that promotes "bully breed" adoption, no less, so it's not like she'd never seen a pit bull type dog before. This nice lady cheerfully went on to tell me some interesting facts about Weimaraners, since the surprise on my face told her that I clearly didn't know what I'd adopted!

Urticarial Vasculitis

2011-06-02T19:19:00.000-05:00

Thank you very much for your well wishes sent to Dozer!

He is doing much better today, and today we have a fancy name for his crazy allergic reaction: urticarial vasculitis.

"Rhymes with treat!"

We went in today and the dermatology vet got her first look at Dozer after his hive attack.

The hives themselves are pretty much gone. Dozer looks totally normal when he's standing around.

Clearly feeling fine today.

The derm vet glanced him over and noticed the smaller bumps on his rear leg and said "Okay, so these are the hives?" Translation: "I don't get it. Why are you here?"

I said, "Those are some leftover hives, but you really should look at his stomach." We got Big D to lie down and stretch out, and I spread his rear legs for the full effect.

Day 3. Now looking rather like poison ivy or ringworm.

The redness is not quite as purple today, but it has spread so that you can see it all the way down his legs, even through his fur.

For the first time ever, I heard a vet say "Jesus Christ!" Followed by a lot of "Oh wow... Wow... Wow... This is so red... wow...."

I said, "This is day three. It looks different every day. I have photos of the last two days on my flash drive."

"I... wow... Oh my gosh..." It went on like this for a while as she and her assistant stared at the train wreck that was my dog.

After she had gotten past the shock and awe, the vet asked if she could take Dozer in the back and show him to the interns. She also took my flash drive and copied the photos, evidently wanting to use them in her lectures.

Which was all fine and good, but I really wanted to know what the heck my dog was suffering from.

Other than goofy-adorable syndrome, of course.

Anyway, after she brought Dozer and my flash drive back, and after consulting with interns and a few other vets, the derm vet said that Dozer had an episode of urticarial vasculitis.

Basically, urticaria is a serious case of hives, and vasculitis is when the blood vessels get inflamed and leak blood and fluid into the skin. In other words: Dozer's hives were so massive that they caused extensive bruising. Vasculitis also explains why the redness expands and turns interesting shades of purple, green, and brown over a period of days--the same way a bruise does.

Why and what to do about it are the harder questions to answer. The derm vet said that it could have been caused by a bug bite, a drug (like the cephalexin), or food allergy. Since D is on the rabbit-based food only, we don't think it's food. It could be a reaction to cephalexin, so we've decided to stop giving that.

But the most likely culprit is a bug sting, of any kind, from tiny fire ant to big red wasp. A bug sting would explain all of the previous hive outbreaks that Dozer has had, because he has always developed the hives after going outside for a potty break.

No matter what caused it, the vet has recommended that we try giving Dozer a daily antihistamine. That should put a damper on his daily allergies, and also stop these hives before they have the chance to go nuclear.

Most dogs would get Benadryl, but we are going to try hydroxyzine. You would not like Dozer on Benadryl. Nobody likes Dozer on Benadryl.

Hives(?) Photos, Day 2

2011-06-01T23:35:00.000-05:00

Today I touched base with Dozer's regular vet over the phone, to update him on Dozer's progress after yesterday's hive outbreak: less itching, but the rash is spreading out and darkening.

Much to my dismay, our seasoned vet admitted that he has really not seen any dog with hives that present quite like this. He told me that he definitely wanted Dozer's dermatology vet to see this particular reaction. Perhaps it really won't impress the dermatology vet, he said, but it definitely left an impression on him.

Not quite what I wanted to hear from a very experienced guy that rarely seems fazed by anything.

The dermatology vet has never seen Big D's hives, or the aftermath. She has always told us to go to the regular vet. And after talking to the regular vet today, I realized the derm vet was probably passing us off because I keep calling this event "hives"—normal, boring, highly treatable, common old hives—which is a little different from "freakish burning red-purple lumpy rash covering his entire body," thus leaving her with the wrong impression about this event.

Anyway, here is day 2 of the "hives" (or whatever this is)—12 hours after Benadryl and cortisone injections. Note the worst areas, where the skin has turned a disturbing green-gray. Do any of you know why it would turn that color? I'm very curious about what is happening under the skin to make it such a sickly color.

Doesn't he look downright contagious? My mom came over and she was scared to touch him because she thought he had a communicable disease.

I'm sure it's an allergic reaction; I'm just not sure why it's so... gross.

"But it's Dozer we're talking about."

2011-05-31T16:27:00.000-05:00

Dozer's allergies had been under control for the last several months. A little staph lesion here and there, but nothing major. High fives all around.

A few weeks ago, the itching started. The staph multiplied a bit. We went to the dermatology vet and got some cephalexin (antibiotic) to treat the staph.

The itching got worse. Dozer licked and scratched at hot spots. The derm vet prescribed prednisone and suggested increasing to three baths per week. Over the long Memorial Day weekend we dutifully administered his meds and bathed him twice. He developed a red "pinprick" rash across his stomach and chest.

And this morning, despite everything, he exploded in hives.

Covered head to toe in dark red wheals. Feet and legs puffy like marshmallows. So itchy he couldn't hold still for more than a minute at a time. He ran around the house with ants in his pants all morning.

We went to the regular vet. The thing about these hives is that they grow quickly and merge together into one massive uber-hive, so when you glance at Dozer, you don't really notice anything at first. It's only after you look at his purple-red stomach and run your hands over his puffy, lumpy sides that you realize it's not a layer of fat: he's actually covered in enormous wheals.

So the office staff, the vet techs, and even the vet didn't really understand why I was there. "You want a cortisone shot for him?" Look of confusion. "He has a little rash or something?"

And then I do the big reveal, pulling his rear leg back for a clear shot of his angry red stomach. The vet's jaw drops and he comes a little closer to get a better look, which is the only way to really see the extent of the problem.

As of today, three vets have now seen him in the midst of a hive attack, and all of them have had the same reaction: "Gosh... These are... so inflamed... Wow... Wow..." Leaves them speechless.

Today I asked if it could possibly be a reaction to medication he's taking, like the cephalexin—since these hives, which started as the rash, seemed to crop up soon after D started cephalexin.

The vet rubbed his chin. "That type of allergy is pretty unusual. But then again, it's Dozer we're talking about."

A shot of cortisone and a Benadryl injection, plus the stress of the vet visit, have knocked Big D out for the afternoon. Should offer some temporary relief while we try to figure out what caused this. What a setback!

Star's weekend adventure included a trip to the newly built garage.

Step 1. Walk up to the garage door and peek in.

Step 2. Walk inside and look. Stay close to doorway for fast exit.

Step 3. Scary as hell! Run back to back door and look pitiful until someone lets you in the house.

She's getting a little bit better—as long as the nail guns aren't popping. When the garage becomes the new destination for car rides and hanging out with Daddy, I think she'll come around.

Building a garage

2011-05-25T09:18:00.000-05:00

Over the last two weeks, we have drawn up plans, obtained a permit, bought and received a semi truck's worth of building materials, and hired roofers.

Last Friday, our garage looked like this:

Over the last weekend, a crew of family and friends helped with our "barn raising." Today the garage looks like this:

You can see in the before/after photo that our photinia got pared down considerably. It is the big tree/bush on the left side of the garage. It was so large that it was in the way of the garage roof. We would have cut it down completely, but there were several birds' nests in it. After some inspection of the nests, we determined that only one was in use, and it was fortunately toward the front of the photinia--so we spared the front part with the nest. The birds are doves.

After the birds move out, we will remove the photinia and replace it with something a bit more appropriate for the space.

Star, as it turns out, is terrified of all the construction. The circular saw, the nail guns, and the air compressor do make a lot of noise, as do the guys when they shout back and forth. To her, I'm sure it seems like a war zone. The few times I lured her outside, she would only sit with her chest pressed against the back door like a weird little gargoyle, practically falling into the house when the door opened.

"Lady, I'm counting on you to defend our home. I will inspect the carpet. With my eyes closed."

We'll have to work on desensitizing her.

Dozer, who grew up around chaotic construction, isn't concerned about the noise. But he was extremely annoyed that no one bothered to throw his frisbee or his tennis ball all weekend.

"How can they reach my toy if I am on the wrong side of the fence??"

For the first time ever, I bathed Dozer on the back porch with the garden hose last weekend. I found it preferable to bathing him in the shower, actually. The sun was hot, the water was cold and refreshing, and I could lather him up and let the soap sit on him while he ambled around in the yard. Dozer's special soap is an antiseptic that sits on him for a minimum of five minutes. Trapped in the shower, Dozer quickly gets anxious and I get bored, so I usually rinse him off after two or three minutes. Doing this on the back porch, I could put the soap on him and let him run around while I did other things. I just had to keep on eye on him to make sure he didn't lick his soapy self. Dozer seemed much happier about the whole process, so I'll probably administer his weekly baths outside during the summer.

Next weekend will be more of the same. Our construction schedule is helped by the terrible drought that Central Texas is currently experiencing. Every day is hot and parched. We had our first real "rain" in months just last night, and the downpour only lasted about 15 minutes. Other nearby areas have seen a bit more rain, but our house seems to be under a dry bubble. The dramatic weather--flooding and tornadoes--across the country has been quite astonishing to see on the news. I hope you are all safe and well.

When a possum and a Star collide

2011-05-10T14:08:00.000-05:00

Star recently started "ghost hunting" in the middle of the night. The last time she hunted ghosts, our house had been invaded by a Texas mouse, and Star was reacting to the tiny mouse noises as it scurried around in places unseen. Now she was back at it: staring into the dark rooms of our back addition, frozen in place, eyes as big and round as dinner plates.

The "ghost" may have returned, but I didn't see any signs of a mouse or other critter inside the house, so we weren't sure what to make of Star's behavior. She was hearing something--but what, and from where?

Do you hear that?? Shh!!

Star literally tripped over the answer last night when I let the dogs out to do their bedtime business. The young possum was in the wrong place at the wrong time--drinking out of the dogs' water bowl on the back porch--when the back door opened and two huge dogs came barreling out.

Star basically ran over the poor thing, but she didn't really notice it until it squealed. When it did, it became "Awesome New Squeaky Toy (TM)," and Star scooped it up into her mouth. In the next instant, it dawned on everyone (myself included) that this was NOT a toy. Poor Star... Her whole face wrinkled up as if she was about to vomit, her jaws went totally limp, her tongue rolled out, and she dropped the furry little ball onto the ground. Then she looked up at me with the same outraged look she gives when she uncovers a pill hidden inside a ball of peanut butter: "How DARE you! This thing isn't fun--it's DISGUSTING. Good DAY, madam, GOOD DAY!" For emphasis, she ran off into the yard to make an undignified wretching sound in Dozer's face.

Thus was I left alone on the porch with what appeared at first glance to be a large dead rat. But it was not a rat; it was a rat-sized possum, playing dead with all its might. After the dogs went back inside, I sat and waited for it to come back to life.

Young possums, by the way, are cute as hell.

Though quite drooled upon, this young possum didn't seem the worse for its time spent in a dog's jaws. Unfortunately, when it started to walk around, it was dragging its back foot. There weren't any significant puncture wounds from teeth, so I think the foot probably got broken when the possum was run over by an oblivious 60 lb dog. (That would also explain why it squealed as it was trampled--it should have quietly rolled up.)

I don't know a lot about possums, but I do know that their tail and back legs are very important for mobility. This possum's leg needed medical attention, so in the morning, I took the poor little guy down to Wildlife Rescue. These guys do a great job with local injured wildlife. I donate to them every time I bring them an animal.

But here is what I ascertained after watching the possum hobble around on our porch: The young critter had found a small hole under the back addition and was apparently living under the house. This evening, I'll check under the house to make sure there aren't any other possums, and then I'll close up the hole.

In theory, this will put a stop to Star's ghost-hunting, too.

I hear something!

Sally's farewell photos

2011-04-25T13:08:00.001-05:00

Foster dog Mustang Sally has been spayed and is now attending adoption sites in search of a new home. I got some funny and great photos of her toward the end of her stay.

(Star's patented Paw-Smak™ technique. Guaranteed to take out an eyeball!)

Dozer is only too happy that this toy-stealing, ball-chomping, rough-romping gal has moved on. I think Star's a bit depressed after losing her playmate. Even mealtime couldn't get her excited enough to stand up.

Not all foster stories end well

2011-04-22T13:19:00.001-05:00

Today I dropped Mustang Sally off for her spay. This is the end of my role as medical foster; she starts looking for a home via the rescue group's adoption program now. I patted her on the head and said "Good luck, kid," and left really quickly, before the tears came.

I was really surprised at how soon it was time to give Sally back. I guess it's because I'm used to the mange puppies, and that single medical issue can take months to resolve. Sally had a small handful of medical issues, but all cleared up in four weeks, and medical foster is no longer necessary.

I'm hopeful that Sally's future will be bright and she will live a long and happy life with a loving family.

That happy ending is not, I learned this week, the case for Titan, a blue heeler that we fostered in 2008.

We were still doing independent foster in 2008, though what that really means is that acquaintances dumped stray and unwanted dogs on me and my husband, and we had to find new homes for said dogs. Thus we ended up with Titan, a seven-month-old purebred Blue Heeler (aka Australian Cattle Dog). He would be one of the last dogs we fostered independent from a rescue group.

Titan was a lovely little guy with a strong working dog temperament. He had high prey drive, tried to herd us around, and bickered with Dozer on more than one occasion. He was also very smart, very trainable, and enjoyed being around people.

In early 2009, we placed Titan with a family who had another cattle dog and a big yard. I urged the new family to get him some obedience training and give him a job or activity that suited his drive.

This week, I got a call from the dad. Divorce. They're all moving to places that don't allow dogs. Will I take Titan back?

Of course, we prefer that our foster dogs come back to us in the event that things don't work out. So I was fine with taking Titan back and re-homing him, even two years later.

Then the other shoe dropped. The dad said that Titan was aggressive toward strangers. And... Titan had bitten a couple of people. Including a child. The bites had occurred over a period of time, and Titan's owners had evidently done nothing, such as calling a trainer or behaviorist, to address the problem.

Well, when a dog develops a bite record, re-homing is no longer an option. Liability and public safety are the major considerations. Rescue groups won't take known biters, and people won't adopt them. There's only one realistic outcome for homeless dogs with bite histories: euthanasia.

Could Titan's aggression be managed? Could Titan be a safe dog? Could Titan live a long and happy life without biting another person? Titan's owners didn't have his behavior assessed by a professional, but I suspect that the answer would be yes, Titan could be a safe dog and could live a long life. Aggression can often be treated, managed, and reduced so that known biters can live out their natural lives without biting again.

But such dogs have homes, and their owners care about them. This family was about to make Titan homeless. Homeless dogs do not have such opportunities.

It saddened me greatly to tell the dad that, because of the bite history, aggravated by the fact that they had not sought professional help and diagnosis, I could not take Titan back... and further, that there were no rescue groups in the area that would accept Titan, and that it would be impossible to rehome Titan as things stood.

I explained that if they are definitely going to get rid of Titan, they cannot rehome Titan without disclosing the bite history, and that will make it very unlikely that anyone will take Titan. It's a lawsuit waiting to happen. From a public safety and legal liability perspective, the only option is the local shelter. The family must disclose Titan's bites when they relinquish him at the shelter, and those bites make him unadoptable. Titan will probably be killed at the shelter.

Although it's hard to say what I could have done differently, I feel that I failed Titan by placing him with a family that apparently didn't care enough about him to keep him safe.

There's no moral to this story, only sadness. I'm sorry, Titan.

Video of Star and Mustang Sally

2011-04-14T15:02:00.000-05:00

Here's a short video of Mustang Sally playing with Star. As it turns out, Sally really loves to be around other dogs--so she should be very adoptable.

She's very physical when she plays, with lots of mouthing, play-bites, and pawing, so I think she would be best placed in a home with another dog of similar size.

I took this video rather late in the day, and you can see that lazy Star is already exhausted from tumbling around. This is probably the most subdued of their playtimes so far. I'm going to try to remember to record them the next time they both get the crazy zoomies.

I have pit bulls. I CAN'T buy your insurance.

2011-04-12T20:08:00.000-05:00

Saleswoman: Mrs. Thomas? I was just calling to let you know that Texas auto policy premiums have increased, but Allstate's premiums have actually decreased. I wanted to offer you--

Me: Oh, Allstate? Yeah, I can't buy your insurance.

Saleswoman: You... can't?

Me: Yeah, see, we want to keep our auto policy and our homeowner's policy together. You know, for the multi-line discount and all that.

Saleswoman (excited): Oh, of course! Well, Allstate does homeowner's too and the rates--

Me: Um, no. I know we had Allstate auto for a while, a really long time ago. But we chose a different company when we bought our house, because ya'll wouldn't cover the house.

Saleswoman: We wouldn't?

Me: No. Allstate told me they won't cover houses with pit bulls.

Saleswoman: What? Pit bulls? I didn't... Allstate won't...?

Me: Yes. We have pit bulls. Allstate actually doesn't cover several different kinds of dogs. Pit bulls are one.

Saleswoman (flabbergasted): I... I've never heard of that. I'd have to look into it. Pit bulls, you say? In the house?

Me: Yes, in the house. They're our pets, you know.

Saleswoman: Yes, of course. Well I... I didn't know about this. I've never heard of it. Thank you for the information. I'll have to look into this.

Me: Sure. Good night.

------------------

In other news, foster dog Mustang Sally and Star have become super play buddies. They love to roughhouse, chase each other, and play tug. I'll have some photos or a video in a while. I needn't have worried about their compatibility.

Even better, my mom recently gave me a pile of my childhood artwork and stories. I figured I'd share a few of the best ones here, from time to time.

So for today, here's an untitled creation that I drew in first grade. I've never seen this work before (except, presumably, when I drew it) so I'm afraid I don't have an interesting background story to tell about it. I will say that I believe the scene is entirely fictional; I don't think this is depicting something I saw.

Mission accomplished: exterior paint!

2011-04-01T11:32:00.000-05:00

Before

After

Before

After

Eleven years since we moved in and began this monstrous remodel project, the house is finally painted.

You've come a long way, house. Such fond memories...

2004

2005

2006

2011

Next major project: a garage! Here's hoping it won't take another eleven years to get there.

Foster Mustang Sally

2011-03-29T11:56:00.000-05:00

So in the midst of the insanity that is my life/house at the moment, I decided it's time to foster another dog. Mustang Sally is a cruelty case owner surrender. I like doing medical fosters, and this one's a doozy.

Mustang Sally is available for adoption through Austin Pets Alive!

From what I gather, Sally's previous owner basically neglected her. She is underweight (38 lbs, should be 50 or 60), undersocialized, and unfortunately tested positive for heartworms. Then, she had a litter of puppies (currently being cared for by another momma dog, or so I was told), and developed mastitis, a painful infection of one of her mammary glands. By the time animal control collected her, the mastitis had basically exploded out the side of one of her nipples and was spreading to another. Somewhere along the way, she also developed a pretty significant upper respiratory infection.

Nevertheless, she's a happy, playful youngster who really enjoys a good cuddle. The animal shelter is calling her a "pit mix" but I see a lot more Boxer than anything. In fact, she reminds me a lot of Lucy, an extraordinarily stupid but loving Boxer that lived with us for several years, first as a foster, then as our (ex-)roommate's dog. Lucy passed away a few years ago, but I see her ghost in Sally, right down to the drool that Sally spreads around after drinking, and the bemused stare she gives me while I futilely attempt to teach her some basic obedience.

As you can see in the photos, Sally is wearing an Easy Walk harness. She's a puller! When I picked her up from the shelter, she practically sawed my hand off, lurching around on the cheap nylon leash they supplied. The harness eliminates all the pulling. It's a temporary fix, but genuine leash training will wait until she's healthier and can focus on what I'm asking her to do.

Unfortunately, her respiratory symptoms are potentially contagious, so we have arranged the house so that the dogs are well-separated. She stays in the "foster wing" (the upstairs bathroom and office), with no less than two baby gates at strategic points to keep the dogs out of sight of each other. When I leave the house, Sally goes into a crate that is in the foster room, so there's absolutely no chance of unsupervised interaction.

The separation isn't much fun for Sally, however necessary it may be. The company of other dogs can sometimes help an undersocialized dog feel more comfortable about new situations. At the same time, I'm not sure she and Star will hit it off—they're very similar in appearance, age, and temperament, and I think Star might feel that her spotlight is being usurped by this newcomer. Once Sally is healthy enough to be with other dogs, we will have to proceed very slowly and carefully with introductions. I'm already prepared for the possibility that Sally and Star will need to stay separated. Dogs don't always get along, especially if their temperaments aren't compatible.

Lovely spring days

2011-03-22T11:56:00.000-05:00

One of the things I will miss when I get a real job (if I ever do, heh heh) is my current ability to plop down in a chair in the backyard and enjoy the flowers, sun, and breeze of Central Texas springtime. Texas spring is a very short-lived and unpredictable month (two months if you're lucky). Most years it's sunny and pleasant, and we all rush out and do our gardening before miserable summer gets here. Occasionally it will even rain.

Bloom, wisteria, bloom! Summer's around the corner!

Yes, that's agility equipment in the yard. Star and I have been practicing, now that the weather is nicer. Star's problem is not so much in the doing, but in which obstacle she should be doing. She happily does them all, in any order she pleases, rather than pay attention to my hand signals, commands, or body orientation. The cheese she receives for doing things in correct order just isn't enough of a motivator; I'm tempted to try a squeaky toy, but I'm worried that that will be a little bit too exciting, and her pea-brain will explode.

Worst of all, Star is no working dog. Although she enjoys agility at first, she quickly gets tired (usually within 15 minutes), and her performance degrades significantly—to the point where she walks around or even through jumps. She knows those bars fall out, so why would she jump them when she can just push them over? So, I have a very short window during which to engage her.

Although Star is not really an agility dog, I think the agility is good physical and mental exercise, so we keep it up.

Too... much... agility... zzzzzzz....

The crib mattress has been very popular—so popular that I bought a second one. Dozer and Star are roomies, but no matter what Star thinks, they are NOT friends. Dozer refused to share the crib mattress with Star. If she picked a spot beside him on the mattress, he immediately moved to the floor. This defeated the whole purpose of the crib mattress, which was to provide a soft sleeping place for Dozer's old bones.

So I got a second mattress, and the dogs each sleep on one. Yes, Dozer is spoiled rotten.

"Mooooom, her mattress is touching mine!!"

The raw feeding experiment has come to a halt. I ran into several difficulties, compounded by the dogs acquiring a stomach bug (not related to the raw food). The major problems were the fire ants and flies that were immediately attracted to the food, mere minutes after the food appeared outside. Fire ants are a particular problem in Texas and Dozer is allergic to any kind of insect sting. The only way to avoid the fire ants is to raw feed indoors, something I have determined is just not sanitary. I also ran into some minor difficulties, including Dozer not wanting to chew bones (he prefers soft foods nowadays) and Star spitting out any and all attempts to balance the nutritional value via eggs, fish oil, veggie mash, or anything else. When the dogs got the stomach bug, that tipped the scales, and I put them back on the expensive allergy-free kibble so that I could get back to a "last known good" configuration. I will probably retry raw feeding in the future, but I need to figure out how to deal with the peculiarities.

"You will throw this. Now. Pleeeeeeeeese."

Dozer had his annual vet checkup the other day, and tests came back with borderline low thyroid. We are going to watch and see if it crosses into hypothyroidism. Byrd has hypothyroidism so we already know a bit about it. Speaking of Byrd...

What is he doing to our back door? Well, because the house isn't painted yet, the unpainted door and doorframe have been exposed to the elements for a zillion years (okay, five). Consequently, both door and frame rotted.

I would just like to state for the record that I WAS RIGHT. I WAS 100% RIGHT.

Last week....
Me: Honey, the doorframe looks icky. I think it should be replaced before the house painters start.
Byrd: Haha, oh sweetie, you're so cute when you try to talk about manly things.
Me: No, really, when I tap on it, it sounds hollow. I think it's rotten.
Byrd: Nonsense, I know everything about houses, and there's no way it could be rotten.
Me: I'm sure you're right, but I'm so dumb, I just don't get it. Can you please demonstrate to me how it is not rotten?
Byrd: Of course, dear. Look how solid this wood is.
(Pokes doorframe with screwdriver, which sinks straight into rotten wood.)
Byrd: Well, it wasn't supposed to do that...
(Pokes doorframe again. Doorframe crumbles.)
Byrd: This doorframe is rotten!
Me: No way! That's impossible!

And so, we replaced the door.

The new door lacks a window, but once the house is painted (in one week!!), I intend to get a screen door. That will make it easier to enjoy pleasant Texas spring weather!

Raw feeding

2011-03-05T23:14:00.000-06:00

Two days ago I launched a grand new experiment: raw feeding. (For the dogs, of course.)

The reason is twofold: to see if Dozer's allergies are lessened by eating fresh foods rather than kibble (incredibly expensive special kibble), and to help Star keep her teeth clean.

It hasn't been an easy transition. On top of the need to provide a nutritionally balanced diet, I'm dealing with two very sheltered dogs. Neither of them have ever had raw meat or real bones before. Yesterday, neither of them had a clue what to do with their first raw meat bones, a couple of turkey necks. Star wasn't even certain she was supposed to be putting it into her mouth. (Her wide-eyed expression said, Is this a JOKE? You want me to eat THIS?? You're sick, lady! Sick!)

I had decided to start the experiment with poultry because the bones were smaller and I thought it would be easier for the dogs to practice eating. Dozer chewed gamely on his turkey necks, but Star abandoned hers after extensive licking and half-hearted nibbling.

Today, I gave them beef bones for the first time. The dogs were much more enthusiastic about the beef. I don't know if this is because beef tastes better than poultry when raw, or if it's because the dogs were hungrier after their failures from yesterday, or if they had just gotten the hang of this new gnawing-for-food thing.

This is ten-year-old Dozer gnawing his first-ever raw beef bone. This was a very big leg bone, more for chewing practice than for food (yes, my dogs are so sheltered, they had to practice eating a real bone). There's a smaller, meatier neck bone in the foreground; Dozer was studying it while he practiced on the big bone.

And Star is doing her best on a beef neck bone—but she's still nibbling and licking instead of chewing.

There we go... Finally, she's moved from nibbling to chewing on it! Aww, she looks like a Real Tough Dog, not a Miss Dainty Prissypants.

Two hours later... Still gnawing... And after they finished, they both went into the bedroom and took a looong nap on their beloved new bed. It was quiet here all day!

The major downside to raw feeding so far has been the constant cleanup (best not to feed raw meat indoors, must remove uneaten leftovers, have to wipe dogs' feet and muzzles before they come back inside), followed by the time-consuming nature of the process (preparing the food, sitting outside with dogs during hours-long gnaw sessions to make sure there are no fights over bones, etc). On the upside, the fresh food is less than half the price of Dozer's special allergy kibble.

It's too soon to say whether this is doing anything for Dozer's allergies. I can already concur that homemade food with raw meat and bones is a lot of mess and hassle, but if it solves Dozer's allergy problems, maybe it's worth it.

We'll see how it goes over the next few weeks.

A unique dog bed solution

2011-02-07T11:01:00.000-06:00

Last weekend, Dozer informed us in no uncertain terms (via an overnight marathon of nonstop whining in our faces) that the floor was no longer an acceptable place of repose. He's old, his joints are creaky, and the floor is TOO HARD, even with a big pile of blankets to nest in.

Now, I don't mind letting the dogs on the bed occasionally. But there are disadvantages to dogs on the bed, including furry sheets, very little personal space, no cuddling with spouse (when allowed on the bed, Dozer always sleeps between us), and what I call "midnight vanishing blanket syndrome."

Our conclusion was that Dozer needed his own comfy mattress to sleep on. We considered various options, including a twin mattress, a thick foam slab from a craft store, and a very big dog bed.

But we ultimately settled on a unique compromise: a crib-sized mattress (this one was from IKEA).

Star practically melted into the new dog bed.

The advantages of a crib mattress, rather than the other options, were quickly made clear. First was the size. A twin mattress wouldn't fit in our bedroom, and would be difficult to move around. A large dog bed would still only fit one dog. A crib mattress was a perfect fit--for two dogs, plus a pillow and a blanket.

Fits neatly in the corner of the bedroom.

The crib mattress also proved most suitable for cleanliness. It's a thick foam piece inside a soft, washable zippered shell. Fitted sheets for crib mattresses are also readily available and very inexpensive. So, once a week, I can wash the fitted sheets, and if it gets really dirty, I can wash the zippered cloth shell.

As a bonus, I can change the look of the new dog bed at any time, by simply buying a fitted sheet with a different color or pattern.

Sound sleep = lots of snoring

Price was another consideration. The total cost for a 3" thick crib mattress, plus two fitted sheets, was right around $60. That was equal to the price of a similarly-sized piece of craft foam--minus fitted sheets or a zippered covering. I might have been able to find a Dozer-sized dog bed for a slightly cheaper price, but I would have had to buy two of them, they have proven difficult to wash, and they aren't really as thick and comfortable as a mattress.

Star was still on the bed at noon the next day.

The dogs give two paws up for this new dog bed. Dozer is sleeping like a rock; he doesn't even wake me up in the middle of the night to let him out to potty. The cessation of Dozer's all-night whine sessions has been a big relief for everybody. I am just a little worried that Star will develop bed sores; she's enjoying the mattress just a bit too much.

IKEA also featured some bed frames that were sized for the crib mattress, and very low to the floor. If I feel like dressing up the dog corner, I have the option of getting a bed frame that would elevate the mattress just slightly and make it look more like a little bed. I'm not sure if it can hold 150 lbs of dog, though--so I might ask Byrd to build me something sturdier.

I'm just a little embarrassed by the thought that by using a crib mattress as a dog bed, I am literally treating my dogs as if they were babies.

Bad dogs!

2011-02-01T14:32:00.000-06:00

We used to close the bedroom door in order to keep the dogs off the bed.

I actually accused Byrd of forgetting to close the door on multiple occasions when we would come home to find the dogs on the bed. He always swore innocence.

Then it happened to me. And I was sure I had closed the bedroom door!

Time for a sting operation!

Professional accounting

2011-01-25T21:53:00.000-06:00

The University of Texas has accepted my application to the Master of Professional Accounting program.

Looks like I'm going back to school for yet another degree that hopefully won't be turned into yet another means to do more volunteer work whispers my husband. Aw, how did he guess my plan?!?

I mean, my Technical Communication degree got me a great freelance position as a copyeditor... and... helped me webmaster for a local animal shelter and create my own websites that I spend ungodly amounts of time working on...

I promise, sweetie, I'll get a job as a tax accountant and help corporations with their taxes and by corporations I mean nonprofits and by job I mean volunteer position.

I mean, we didn't really need that $30K tuition for anything else, right? :)

Don't look at me, all I get are hand-me-down toys.

Buns of Steel

At the time, I thought punching my husband in the buttocks was a very righteous thing to do, especially after he mocked me about something-or-other (my haircut? my ridiculously low Sleep Number? I can't recall anymore).

So I snuck up behind him while he was brushing his teeth, and gave him a solid whack in the behind.

Now, I'm not a total idiot. I knew, for example, that 300 lbs > 100 lbs. And also that I punch like a... girl who can't punch. That was why I fully intended to run for my life after committing the act.

My fist struck what felt like a slab of marble: solid, unyielding, unbreakable. Rather than flee, I doubled over clutching my sprained wrist.

Byrd looked up from the sink, toothbrush jutting from his lips, and appeared to notice me for the first time. "Hmm? Why are you crouched on the floor?"

Solid as a rock + feels nothing = ROBOT HUSBAND.

More Remodeling

This happened over the Christmas break:

Buns-of-Steel Man putting up new siding

You're probably like, "So what?"

Here is what the house looked like pre-holidays, from the back yard.

We have been re-siding the house in phases. The first phase was around 2004 ("lower" house, left side in the photo), and the second phase was in 2007 (two-story section, center). But the back addition (right side) was still undone.

The siding on the back addition was barely hanging in there. This was the original wood siding from, I dunno, 1970. A good portion of the siding had fallen off, or was hanging by a nail. And then there were the ancient single-pane windows with black trim. For years, the addition has looked like a trashy little shack, a nagging reminder of what the whole house used to look like.

Ironically, the re-siding has taken such a long time, the lumber store doesn't carry the white Hardi-Plank anymore. So we had to reside the back addition in a yellow color. I lamented that our addition still doesn't match the rest of the house. Byrd says the yellow kind is "primed" for paint and it will all match and look fine after we paint it.

Road Trip

2011-01-22T09:18:00.001-06:00

I've just returned from a week-long road trip from Portland, Oregon back to my home. It was a hurried, last-minute sort of thing, which I regret, because if I had had the time, I would have liked to sight-see a bit more on the way back.

As it was, I flew up to Portland, met my dad in Eugene, piled his car full of stuff, and accompanied him back to Texas via I-5 and I-10.

Along the way, I got to cross the Golden Gate Bridge (in thick fog) and see downtown San Francisco (but no cable cars, just creepy electric buses), marveled at snow in the mountains (two things that do not exist where I live), and for once, in West Texas I got to drive 80 mph without breaking the speed limit.

I also struggled to update my websites and coordinate my real job when we stopped at hotels.

Golden Gate Bridge in the fog

The first sun we had seen in days, somewhere south of San Francisco in rolling foothills

Holy cow, we're driving in mountains! Real live mountains!!

Power-generating windmills as far as the eye can see. Why do these creep me out so much?

Rest stop in the mountains in New Mexico. One rest stop had free wireless!

Shortly after this we hit the 80 mph zone and I stopped taking pictures because the landscape became typical West Texas: flat, shrubby, brown, and unremarkable.

And that's the end of the road trip.

Decisions, decisions

2011-01-04T11:49:00.000-06:00

Happy New Year!

The holidays gave Byrd the opportunity to re-side the back part of the house. We're finally ready for exterior paint! (OMG OMG OMG)

The only question is, what color? We're partial to the green one.

Dozer was predictably naughty at the vet, for his eyelid surgery. He pulled out the IV when no one was looking. The techs ran a new IV, with a special cuff to hold it on more securely, and he pulled that one out immediately. At that point they decided to wait until he was asleep before running the IV. Anyway, the surgery went great, and Dozer's eyelid is almost healed already. Despite the success, Dozer was a whiny, pathetic baby for three days afterward. He has to get the stitches removed in a few days... I suspect that will be the most difficult part of the whole affair. Sharp implement + eyeball + squirmy dog = disaster.

I couldn't have two more different dogs. Star thought her dental cleaning at the vet was an amazing vacation. I dropped her off in the morning and she ran off with the vet tech, tail wagging wildly and ridiculously huge grin on her face. She didn't even look back at me. In the afternoon, she came out of the back wagging her entire butt despite her groggy stupor; crashed into a wall, the door, and the side of the car (with the same giant grin on her face); and did drunken zoomies in the backyard before collapsing on a dog bed to sleep it off. The dental was well worth it--she no longer has breath that would cause buzzards to circle.

I hope you all had a great holiday season! Here's hoping 2011 is a good year.

Warm Holiday Wishes

2010-12-23T09:09:00.000-06:00

It doesn't feel much like Christmastime here in Texas at the moment. Until yesterday, it was sunny, dry, and in the mid-80s.

If there's dead grass in the photo, I know it's winter. Or possibly summer.

I tried to get the dogs to make a cute Christmas photo in front of the tree. This was a total failure.

"So, what's my motivation in this scene?"

"OOOOHHHH!!!! A chance to be the center of attention!! Move over!"

"Yeah! Front row!! Here I am!"

"Dozer? Where are you going?"

"O hai! What's that little flashy box you're holding?"

Though Dozer has always had an obvious distaste for Star (who schmoozes and fawns on him obliviously), only recently has he been actively avoiding her. In fact, many of us are avoiding her. Her breath reeks. Consequently, she will be going in for a dental cleaning next week. This will be her first time under anesthesia since we got her... and really, her first time at the vet's office for anything more than an annual checkup.

Dozer is also going for surgery next week. He has an odd little skin bump that would be harmless anywhere else, but unfortunately, it's on the underside of his eyelid and is likely irritating his cornea.

As you may recall, Dozer's Christmas gift last year was a second knee surgery. His Christmas gift this year is eyelid surgery. Poor old guy, no wonder he's such a Scrooge. :)

Happy Holidays!

Foster kitteh

2010-11-28T20:51:00.001-06:00

What have I done??

Approx six-week-old kitten

Yeah, I fell for that little face. Well, Byrd fell for it first.

I was out on the town on Black Friday when I got a text message from Byrd: we have kittens. I called him right then and there. Sometimes it's better to convey one's thoughts directly. Mine were: "WTF do you mean, 'we have kittens'?!?" (My sister and mom, two cat lovers who were in the car with me, squealed in unison.)

The truth was that we had one kitten, and it was hiding in the pipe that went under our driveway, and was unwilling to come out without a fight. Rather than leave it there overnight with the first freeze of the year upon us, I put the live trap at one end of the pipe, and slowly shoved a PVC pipe through the other end. Into the live trap it went, hissing and spitting like a tiny evil demon.

She's significantly tamed down after a bit of food and quiet. And now she's my newest foster.

"Chibi," aka "Tiny" for the U.S. crowd

I gave her a bath on the first day. I was not prepared for the fleas. Do you know what a fire ant mound looks like when you step on it? The fleas swarmed similarly as I rinsed the baby kitten with Dawn. The water ran bloody red. I spent several hours picking off fleas, but she still has tons. (Currently working on securing a better flea treatment.)

My tasks this week are getting her vetted and scheduled for spay. These costs are coming out of my pocket for this kitten because we're doing the foster independent from any rescue group.

Although I prefer to foster for rescue groups, because they cover medical costs, this is not an option for Tiny. The local rescue/foster groups pull directly from kill shelters--they don't take animals from the community. So I cannot "surrender" Tiny to a no-kill group and let them rehome her. I would have to drop Tiny off at the local open-intake (kill) shelter, and hope that a rescue group pulled her or someone adopted her before she was euthed. There's always the chance that Tiny might be killed by the shelter in such a scenario.

So I'm doing the foster, the vetting, the spay, and the rehoming legwork myself this time. Merry Christmas, kitteh. Your vet bills are going to eat up a good chunk of the money I was going to spend on Christmas gifts this year. :P

Oh well. It's a good learning experience for Star, whose only previous experience with cats went like this:

Me: What a nice garden center. Look at all these plants, Star!
Star: Oh yes, what nice plants. I shall smell this big one here. Sniff sniff.
Cat leaps from behind plant and claws Star across the face.
Me: Dear God, the plant is trying to kill us!! No... wait...
Star: WTF WTF WTF WTF!?!? GET IT OFF!!!! AAAIIIEEE!!!
Cat: Nyaaah! Stoopid dog! (runs off)
Star: MY FACE!! I will DESTROY YOU!!! ...Where'd it go?
Me: Too late. You got whupped by a cat. (mops up cat-inflicted wounds)

Star hasn't been too keen on cats since the day her face got shredded by one. I don't really blame her. But I've been looking for an opportunity to desensitize her to cats in a controlled environment. This is a baby step.

"It's one of those evil THINGS! In MY HOUSE!"

"Gee, you sure have a lot of toys in there."

"When am I going to get that many toys?"

Actually, the toys are on loan from my sister's cat.

Okay, I promised a foster puppy update. I've gotten pics from a few of the adoptive families, and I got to see King Louie on Friday. The pups are a little over four months old now. If they're anything like Louie, they must all be total dolls. Louie was a class act.

Momma Nancy was a Boston Terrier x Beagle. Daddy was a mystery. Puppy Louie looks a bit like a Saint Bernard, Chow, Cocker Spaniel, or Dachshund. He's got thick fur, but his body is long and his legs are short. He's the most adorable, friendly, playful little furball... and surprisingly quiet, considering he was the leader of the Scream Team when he was born.

King Louie, now King Louis

Bowser, now Maverick

Princess Daisy, now Sister

That's all for now... I'm hoping to get more updates when they are six months old!

What a computer virus taught me about feeds

2010-11-23T14:12:00.000-06:00

So my desktop computer caught a virus last week. I don't know how that happened, considering we have three different virus scanners running on that thing, and they all scream at me every time I try to do anything on that machine. But it happened. And my desktop stopped booting.

I lost neither files nor time. The desktop files were able to be retrieved and saved to an external hard drive.
And I have a very nice laptop where I do most of my real work. So the desktop can go off to the computer repair center to be fixed up.

The only thing I never set up on my laptop was email. I used webmail to check email from the laptop as needed, and I used Outlook on my desktop to download the emails and store them offline.

With the desktop dead, I suddenly lost the email organization once provided by Outlook. I now had to keep up with six different email addresses somehow. So I caved in to peer pressure (my sister), and started using Microsoft Live Mail to check and sort through all the email.

And boy am I glad I did. I won't say it's a perfect system by any means, BUT I immediately noticed an interesting feature up at the top: Unread Feeds.

Here's where the story gets embarrassing.

My old-school Outlook hadn't had this feature. I observed that I had approximately 1300 unread feeds. What feeds were these, anyway? I clicked on the Unread Feeds box and found myself reading new and old posts from several blogs that I enjoyed.

I was, I admit, floored by this technological miracle. Previous to this discovery, in order to read blogs, I'd made it a habit to personally click on the link to each and every blog I wanted to follow. Once there, I had to figure out where I'd left off and whether there were any new posts. Doing this for the 40+ blogs I wanted to read required a minimum 1-hr chunk of quiet time to click and look—and even longer if there were new posts. It became almost unmanageable to find that hour of time, much less to comment.

I felt sure that there was a better way to do it, likely using these mysterious feeds that everyone subscribed to. But figuring it out would have taken some time I just didn't have.

And then the virus made me upgrade my email program, and the new posts started magically appearing in my mailbox. How easy, how relaxing, to see the new posts and comment on them as they arrived, rather than forging through 40 or more in one sitting!

I have one puzzle left, which is--how does my email program know which blogs I want to follow? For some reason, Windows Live Mail has some, but not all, of my favorite blogs in the feed list. How it came up with this list, I can't figure out. How to add the rest of the blogs, I also can't determine.

It might take me a while to get around to fixing the settings.

I can't believe it took a virus to shove me into the 21st century. I feel so out of touch.

Next time: I gots me some foster puppy updated pics!

The Fetch Incident

2010-11-20T08:21:00.000-06:00

What happens when one dog runs face-first into another dog at full speed?

Dozer, post-collision

The story, as I was told it, went like this: Poor Star was just sitting in the yard, minding her own business, when the frisbee toy came sailing down and landed softly beside her. She leaned over to pick it up, and SURPRISE! she got a mouthful of Dozer's face instead.

Dozer lives to fetch. He is a retriever in a pit bull body. Unfortunately, out in the yard, he becomes a mindless fetch zombie, and is well known for his indiscriminate, unstoppable battering-ram fetch style. The fact that he's 90 lbs does not make this a safe exercise for anything in his way. Frisbee throwers are instructed to make sure his path is clear of any object larger than a golf ball.

Over the years, fetch has resulted in broken teeth, ACL tear, bloody paws (carpet burn effect), bloody cuts, missing fur, and a kinked tail.

Considering these effects, I have forbidden the game. My husband, on the other hand, is a sucker. He plays fetch with Dozer when I'm not home to stop him.

Which is why the first question out of my mouth when I came home on this particular day was, "Ohmigod, why does my dog look like he's been in a bar fight?!?"

Star still loves her best buddy Dozer, even though he crashed into her with such force that she did two complete backward somersaults. I appreciate the tolerance that Star has. I'm not sure how a lesser dog would have reacted, but Star apparently brushed the whole incident off as just-another-thing-that-happened-to-me-today.

Pit bull ownership: a felony?

2010-11-16T10:26:00.000-06:00

Texas is about to start the 2011 legislative session. Already, East Texas legislators have been presented with a proposal to ban pit bulls.

The proposal would make a felon out of anyone who is found in possession of a "pit bull" (currently defined in the proposal as APBT, AST, SBT, AB, mixes, and any dog that resembles one).

Probably aware that a ban is a longshot, the group has a fallback proposal: force "pit bull" owners to follow a variety of special restrictions, e.g. muzzles, special containment, special license, liability insurance, etc.

Being a Texan "pit bull" owner myself, I'm deeply concerned not only about the proposal, but about the logic driving it.

East Texas has a dog problem. A large number of abusive, neglectful, irresponsible dog owners reside there--and their unfortunate dogs happen to be "pit bulls" (the most common type of dog, because the definition is so vague and generic). Because much of East Texas is rural and impoverished, many of those areas have pathetic dog laws--not even a leash law in many areas--and they are lacking in animal control officers, dog owner resources (spay/neuter clinics, training classes, etc.), and humane societies.

But while East Texas wants to deal with their dog problems by getting rid of "pit bulls," the rest of the state doesn't seem to need such regulations. In my area, for instance, we have three nearby low-cost spay/neuter clinics; regular vaccination clinics; more humane societies, rescue groups, and shelters than I can count on one hand; training classes galore; a highly responsive animal control department; and decent dog laws that let AC do their job before there's a real problem.

We still have a "pit bull" problem, in that there are tons of "pit bulls" in our local shelters. Again, that's due to the extremely vague definition of the term "pit bull," resulting in almost any medium-sized, short-haired dog being labeled as such. (I suppose what we really have is a shelter glut of short-haired dogs.)

But around here, "pit bull" isn't such a dirty word as in East Texas. We have several active groups in the animal community that stick up for pit bulls, educate about them, and work hard to rescue, train, and rehome them. The normalization of pit bulls--that is, the framing of pit bulls as pets and family dogs--has reduced their desirability with thugs and idiots.

Love-A-Bull, in particular, has been boldly pushing responsible ownership values, and their large group of responsible, upstanding, pit bull-owning supporters has demonstrated to the less-responsible crowd, as well as the general public, that "pit bulls" are not necessarily status symbols or badass dawgs. These dogs can don pink tutus and glittery bunny ears, and parade amongst hundreds of other "pit bulls," and not have a mentionable incident. The theme of spay/neuter was prominent at Love-A-Bull's heavily-attended Pit Bull Awareness event last week--much to the crowd's pleasure.

A pit bull ban would only infect the rest of Texas with the pit bull problems experienced by East Texas. The attitude of the general populace toward a particular breed ultimately becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. When you portray a particular breed as dangerous, scary, evil, or threatening--as they have done in East Texas, and as breed-specific laws do--you will find that that breed becomes used almost exclusively in a negative manner.

Just ask Ohio about the results of their breed-specific state law:

Shawn Webster, a Butler County [Ohio] veterinarian and former state representative . . . believes Ohio’s singling out of the breed has helped foster the vicious stereotype, and led gang members and drug dealers to seek them as status symbols and for protection.

“From that point on, the population of pit bulls exploded,” he said. “I think it’s put a stereotype on this breed that’s been harmful to everyone involved.”

Only through social normalization of the breed, and intolerance for irresponsible human behaviors--as is being worked toward in Austin and other areas--can you reduce the number of thugs and irresponsible jerks who acquire the dogs for inappropriate purposes.

Get with the program, East Texas.

Hives and staph and allergies, oh my!

2010-11-05T18:20:00.000-05:00

Dozer has allergies. (If you follow this blog, this is not new.)

They were once seasonal and a simple cortisone shot could get him through the worst of it, but for the last couple years, the allergies have been year-round.

Dozer's third and most recent bout of staph sent us to a specialist. Who knew there were canine dermatologists? And that there was a good one just around the corner from my house?

So off we went to the dermatologist. Her office was fancy. I think the level of office fanciness is a big clue that you're now in Specialist Land, because Dozer's orthopedic specialist had a similarly swanky pad. We're talking polished concrete floors, vaulted ceilings with cedar beams, a plethora of looming tropical indoor plants, huge windows gazing out into greenbelt. Nothing resembling the cheap white tile and plain white walls of the regular vet.

The new strategy is a food allergy trial, meaning a restricted diet. Dozer eats nothing but a special rabbit-and-potato kibble for the next six weeks or more. He can't eat anything with artificial flavors, meaning he has to have ivermectin instead of the standard beef-flavored heartworm medicine. A few natural vegetables, like carrots and pumpkin, are okay.

Dozer HATES his special food. I think it smells awful, so I sympathize. I mix canned pumpkin into the food and it becomes magically delicious. Go figure.

Dozer also got a four-week course of cephalexin to treat the staph infection. Those pills go into a spoonful of pumpkin twice a day.

Just when I thought, hey, we might get this stuff under control after all... HIVES. The worst case of hives he's ever had.

I have no idea what set him off, but when he came up to me on Monday morning looking unhappy, I noticed the raised red weals all over his stomach. Blotchy, but not horrible. Yet.

Day 1

When they didn't disappear in a few hours, I called the dermatologist. The dermatologist advised giving him four Benadryl every eight hours. Now, I know Benadryl is the popular solution for many histamine reactions like hives, and it does work well for some dogs, but for whatever reason, Dozer has never really responded to Benadryl. But then again, four Benadryl sounded like a mega-dose that nothing could stand up to, so I decided to try it.

Hello? Benadryl? You working?

By the next morning, Dozer was one giant hive. His stomach was red as a tomato (and turning purple and even brown in places), his feet were puffy like marshmallows, and the hives had moved into the areas where the staph was already a problem, so he basically looked horribly diseased. Through another phone consultation, the dermatologist agreed I should take him to our regular vet for some serious intervention.

At the regular vet (who said, without batting an eye, "Wow, his skin is really inflamed"), Dozer got a cortisone shot, and some take-home prednisone pills for the next week.

Day 2

The dark spots aren't freckles--they are uber-hives.
Dozer's stomach is usually uniformly pale.

It took another 24 hours for the swelling to go down. Dozer gets two cephalexin and a prednisone pill twice a day. Here we are four days after the initial event, and he still has blotches and scabby spots.

Sure wish I knew what happened so I could get rid of whatever it is/was.

Anyway, I'm still hopeful we can get a handle on his allergies, despite this ridiculous setback. We may resume allergy shots if the food trial turns up negative for food allergies.

Here is a totally off-topic closing quip for your enjoyment.

Text message exchange between me and my sister:

Me: i wanna put my recycling in your receptacle

Sister: dirty

Some stories

2010-10-15T18:51:00.000-05:00

Lumps and Bumps

With Dozer less than a month away from his 10th birthday, I've become super-paranoid about his health. Most recently, I observed two new lumps under his skin, and went into a panic.

He's prone to fatty lipomas, which are harmless lumps, so I should have realistically determined that these were likely just more of the same. But no, I obsessed. Every day, I poked at them, and made Byrd poke at them, and talked about how large they were getting, and how they could be cancerous.

Several days of this was enough to work Byrd into a panic as well, and he finally told me to take Dozer to the vet and get the lumps checked out.

So I did, and sure enough, they were just a couple of lipomas. And small ones at that; the vet had trouble finding them, and when I ran my hand over the spots and guided him to the lumps, he muttered, "Geeze, you're good at finding these."

Okay, so maybe I sit down with my dog every single night and give him a thorough rubdown for lumps and scrapes and other things. I'm sure that's something every dog owner does, right? Right?? I'm not obsessed. I just care. A lot.

The Mouse in the House, Part V

If you recall some months ago, we had a mouse in the house, that caused a bit of chaos. Well, technically, Byrd caused the chaos by tearing the kitchen apart.

After that mouse, we saw signs of another mouse in the house (mostly in the form of chewed-on fruit in the fruit bowl, and Star barking into the kitchen late at night), so I put the live trap out on the counter. Sure enough, within a few days I had a mouse in my live trap. Then a few weeks later, another. Then another. Each time, I walked out to the far corner of the yard and let the mouse free.

Every one of these have been little Deer mice or Texas mice--cute little field mice with big round eyes and chubby bodies. They aren't the big, slinky, traditional "house" mice. We've never had a mouse problem prior to this year, so I started wondering where on earth all these mice are coming from. And why were we only getting one at a time?

Last night, I investigated a racket coming from the kitchen and discovered that the mouse trap had been tripped yet again. And this was no placid, terrified mouse. This was a lively one. The trap was scooting all over the counter.

I carried the trap out to the front yard, rather than the back yard, and flipped it open. Another Texas mouse. When I dumped him out into the flower bed, he sat there and stared at me. His look said !@#$@# It's cold out here. I went inside, set the trap up on the counter out of habit, and went back to bed.

Four hours later, the trap was alive again. I stood there in the kitchen, at 4 am, in my bathrobe, and watched the trap jiggle across the counter. I'd never caught two mice in one night. Much less two very brazen, noisy ones.

Then I realized that there was a distinct possibility that this was the same mouse. It certainly had the same spirited personality inside the trap. It also knew exactly where to go for delicious peanut butter.

In fact, how probable was it that all of the mice I'd caught thus far were in fact the exact same critter? It would certainly explain how each new mouse seemed increasingly familiar with the nooks and crannies of our house. It would also explain this mouse's lack of timidity around (and inside) the live trap. And it might even be the reason why I caught this mouse in record time--because he already knew the fastest way back inside.

So this time, I left the mouse in the trap until morning. In the morning, Star and I went on a walk.

Star carried the mouse trap, with the mouse, in her backpack. I found it incredibly ironic that the mouse she always tried so hard to corner was now actually a foot from her face.

Totally oblivious to the fact that she's carting around her nemesis.

"Achoo!! What smells like rodent?"

We walked a quarter mile down the street, to the cow fields at the edge of town. From here, there was no way in hell that this mouse was going to find its way back to my place. I put Star in a down-stay and opened the trap at the cattle fence. It was a beautiful day, sunny, with a breeze, and the smell of cow patties and hay wafting across the thick grassy fields. This is where a Texas mouse should live.

But the Texas mouse had other ideas. He refused to come out of the trap. I knocked the trap on the ground until he tumbled out. He whipped around and raced between my legs, then started climbing--up my pants. His fur was matted with peanut butter and he looked desperate and pitiful. I knocked him off my pants into the deep grass, grabbed Star, and ran out of there before the mouse could jump into her backpack for the return trip.

Star either did not notice the whole affair, or did not care. She was in 100% Angel Mode for some reason. I'm lying down, being good... The grass smells like cow... Why are you jumping about? What? Are we leaving already? Make up your mind. Yes, okay, I'm getting up. Ow, hang on, I've got a burr in my paw.

And we walked back home, with me checking the backpack occasionally to make sure we didn't have a rodent hitchhiker.

Class and Work

There's no story here. Two jobs plus two math-based (blargh) college classes plus website duties make Jen a dull girl. The good news is that I'm working from home for both of my jobs (for now), so I don't have to waste time on a commute, and I can juggle priorities easily.

That's also sort of the bad news, because I have a very hard time putting down the work in order to do normal things like eating and sleeping. The work is always there, calling to me, and I have to leave home to get away from it.

And they're gone

2010-09-21T14:57:00.000-05:00

All the foster puppies went to their new homes yesterday.

I cried a little bit.

Typical day in the nursery

When the two girls conspire, you know there's gonna be trouble.

Big boy Bowser and little Yoshi were play buddies.

Yoshi won every puppy battle. Bowser preferred to roll around.

Princess Peach was the rowdiest of the bunch.

Princess Daisy loved to sneak behind me and bite me on the butt while I wasn't looking, then clamber into my lap with a blinding halo over her furry little head.

For a while, I thought Mario would never get adopted. When prospective owners came to visit, he would fall asleep behind the toilet.

King Louie was the biggest goofball. Here I caught him passed out with his head in the crook of the toilet base. It made him snore incredibly loudly.

After a struggle, I regained my senses and ultimately decided not to adopt Luigi. But I admit, I kept hoping his adoptive family would back out so I could keep him.

So long, little guys. Good luck in your new homes...

I realized as I went through all the puppy photos that I didn't get any pictures of the puppies with Dozer or Star. Not that they really hung out at all.

Dozer thought of the puppies the way a person might think of a pillbug--strange little pests, not worth even a sliver of interest. He usually acted as if they weren't even there, though he did a good job of not stepping on them.

Star was... Star. Weird and silly. She developed a habit of strolling over to the nursery and making gutteral grunts and grumbles through the baby gate, as if holding some sort of conversation with the swarm of puppies. You know those YouTube videos of dogs that say "wow wuff wroo" and people in the background say "Awww! I love you too!!"? Star's conversation was a bit like that, a very human-sounding babble.

And so, life resumes its "normal" pace. I'm about to go back to work full-time, on top of the freelance job I'm working. And I'm still taking economics and statistics classes too.

Don't even get me started on the massive list of extracurricular items I want to tackle by year end.

In other news... new mailbox, completed front wall, and functional wall lights! Yeah! One more project crossed off the list.

The folks across the street had their mailbox stoned in at the same time, so we match.

Foster puppies, week six

2010-09-06T22:54:00.000-05:00

WARNING: The puppies in these photos are disturbingly adorable. Be sure to view them in a well-lit room, and stay back from the screen. I do not assume liability for any side effects you may experience from viewing these photos, including an overwhelming urge to squeeze a puppy.

Here are the pups' glamour shots at six weeks old. These are going on the web--the pre-adopt process begins this week. (Tell your Austin-area friends!)

Nancy, the momma dog

King Louie

Mario

Princess Peach

Princess Daisy

Bowser

Yoshi

Luigi

Well, I admit, I haven't submitted Luigi's adoption info or photos yet. I'm struggling with an inner voice that tells me he's my puppy. It tells me to write a really awful bio so that no one would even consider adopting him.

Nancy is officially DONE with these pups. She still has some milk, so they swarm her whenever she comes into their room, but it's not enough to satiate them--and Nancy runs all over the room like she stepped in a fire ant mound, so they don't have much of a chance to latch on.

What this means, for me, is a new cycle of feeding and cleaning up that takes almost all day, every day. I feed them, then I change their newspaper (which, with seven puppies, is completely soiled as soon as they finish eating), then I wipe the floor and change out towels and dishes, then I rotate through them so they each get some solo time in another part of the house or yard. That process takes 2-3 hours. Then I have about an hour to myself while they nap. Then it's feeding time, and the cycle starts anew.

Mega Thanks are owed to:

My cat-loving sister, who helped me do all kinds of things to the puppies today: bathe, dry, trim nails, take photos, wrangle puppies, and socialize them. Amazingly, she even kept cuddling after Peach pooped on her.
Byrd, who, on his birthday no less, helped me take Nancy and the pups to the medical building for their six-week vaccinations. All seven puppies AND Nancy got car sick--the result was something I can't describe in polite company. The worst part was that they got car sick within the first five minutes of a two-hour-long round trip. And in Texas this time of year, it's too hot to drive with the windows rolled down. What a birthday present.
My dad, who has been faithfully providing me with mounds of desperately needed newspaper. I couldn't do it without the newspaper.
All of you, dear readers, who are undoubtedly calling up your Austin-area friends at this very moment, and telling them to go to Austin Pets Alive to adopt the world's cutest puppies!

Puppies, week four

2010-08-25T21:26:00.002-05:00

We're into the middle of week four with the foster puppies, and I finally have some videos. I even added some elevator music. Enjoy!

Here are some highlights from the puppies at three weeks old. At this time, they were living in a large box that a nice person gave to me for free.

Here are the puppies at almost four weeks old. They were being incredibly cute, so I didn't edit the video. Consequently, it's a bit long, but if you really need a puppy fix, here you go.

And here are the puppies recently, at four weeks. They have moved out of the box and now have most of the floor in our guest bathroom for running around.

This is probably my favorite video. The puppies are really in their cutest stage right now. Can you guess which one is my favorite? :)

It's a pretty far cry from a month ago, when they were like this:

To be fair, I didn't invite it in

2010-08-20T14:19:00.000-05:00

Text exchange between me and Byrd

Me: Sad to report we have another mouse in the house. I think bcause no sheetrock in back room. Critters wander in from outside.

Byrd: bs they think its a flop house after seeing u bring in all these animals

Well played, sir.

In other news, the puppies are in the dangerously adorable stage, so no photos right now. Your eyes will bleed and you will vomit. They are just that cute, and I don't want to be responsible for your medical bills. Photos to come, later, when they are less cute.

If you recall, or you may not, I am taking a series of prerequisite undergrad courses as I apply for grad school in pursuit of an MPA. The prereq courses are intro to accounting, microeconomics, macroeconomics, and statistics. Sounds fun, right? (Barf.)

Summer semester is over. The accounting professor said to me "I don't know why you're in this class." Possibly because the students were asking me to tutor them. The microecon professor told me (ironically) that I should be a proofreader, because I kept emailing her with corrections to the quiz questions. Hey, I ignored the minor typos and whatnot. I only sent her the major problems, like answers that were, um, totally wrong. Anyway, I made an A in both classes, hooray.

Fall semester starts next week. I will be in a statistics class and macroeconomics. Both are online courses. The macroeconomics course has already opened for the more ambitious folks, and I was very excited to see that the first 4 of 12 chapters are identical to the first four microeconomics chapters. So I will only have to read 75% of the total material, since I remember 25% of it from last semester. Yay!

I am biding my time waiting for the graduate school application to open up. I can't even start on it until next month, and then I won't know if I'm accepted until January or something, and then I don't even start the degree until Fall 2011. Argh! Impatient!!

Next Tuesday I take the GMAT. I'm ready for it. I think. I hate the math part. But I generally do well on standardized tests, and I never did learn how to study for things like this, so I'm not stressed. I don't know what to be stressed about. Ignorance really is bliss!

Foster puppies, week three

2010-08-11T00:55:00.000-05:00

The puppies are now 18 days old. Here are the updated glamour shots.

King Louie. This guy knows how to play it. He will scream AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS until you pick him up. Then he's all sunshine and rainbows and cuddles and sleepy round adorable baby, and you forget why you have a pounding headache.

Princess Peach. Along with Louie and Bowser, Peach is one of the "scream team," though she's a lot quieter now that her eyes are open and she can avoid getting stuck behind things.

Mario. He's a big, quiet, slow fellow. He doesn't do much except sleep.

Luigi. My personal favorite, the most developmentally advanced of the group, and very easy going. He's almost walking on his own now.

Princess Daisy. She chirps like a prairie dog. She's a really quiet, sweet puppy that gets trompled on by everyone else.

Yoshi. The smallest puppy. He likes to sit and stare with HUGE round eyeballs and a bobbly head. Freakin' adorable. He's so dangerously cute, I have to constantly resist the urge to squeeze him until he pops.

Bowser. The BIG boy. His two talents are screaming, and peeing. Once you get him started peeing, be prepared to wipe for about three minutes.

Poor Nancy can't hold up against the swarm of hungry puppies. I have to supplement with formula occasionally.

So that's the crew.

Nancy avoids the puppies whenever possible. I have to make her lie down or sit down to feed them every few hours--and I have to sit there and make sure she doesn't run off while they're eating. I also have to: pee and poop them, bottle feed them, comfort them when they're crying, medicate them as necessary, clean up after them, etc.

I'm going to be SO glad when they're weaned and pottying on their own! No more 2 am / 6 am potty times...

Star and Dozer have taken this invasion in stride. Since the puppies aren't vaccinated yet, we have to keep their exposure to our dogs at a minimum anyway. So the pups and Nancy stay in our guest bathroom, and our dogs are not allowed in there.

Sometimes I will bring a puppy (usually Louie, who is screaming to be held) out of the bathroom with me. Dozer could care less. Star is very curious, but not so much that she's naughty. She likes to gently smell the puppy, then run off and do zoomies at a safe distance. Dozer gives a few sniffs, but shows very little interest in anything more.

I don't mind the puppies myself, but they are SO much work, I can't do this again any time soon; I don't have the time or energy for it. One puppy is a lot of work, seven puppies is truly a full time job!

Anyway, if you live in the Austin area, tell all your friends: these pups (and Nancy!) will be available for adoption in mid-September, from Austin Pets Alive.

Grocery Shopping

2010-08-07T00:06:00.000-05:00

As it turns out, Nancy is one of the most detached mother dogs there is. I'm doing everything. Right down to stimulating the puppies to pee. I haven't had a full night of sleep in two weeks. I'm exhausted to the core.

I'll have two-week pictures of the puppies in a few days. Yes, they're two weeks old tomorrow, can you believe it? Some of them already have their eyes half-open in a sleepy, drunk look.

Today I went on a typical grocery trip, but I got a kick out of the list this time. We are supposed to add things to the list as we use up supplies, but Byrd always adds a bunch of stuff at the last minute. So I am sometimes surprised by things on the list when I arrive at the store.

Our grocery list

I walked into the store, unfolded the list, and got stuck immediately at this first item Byrd had written down.

What does this say?

All I could tell was that it is a fruit that starts with the letter "p." I eventually guessed peach, but not before running through prune, plum, and grape (in case he'd gotten the letters mixed up).

I was then startled by this "vegetable" request.

Vegetable-hating man says what?

Until about a month ago, Byrd maintained that the soybean was the devil's bean. When I finally tricked him into eating edamame at a Japanese restaurant, he *gasp* liked it. I then revealed that edamame was soybean. He can't spell edamame, so that's why he wrote "soybean" here. Yes, folks, he's asking for soybeans--hell has frozen over.

And finally, there was this mysterious scrawl for me to decipher.

Lots of juices with orange, p, and m?

Turns out this was orange juice, pineapple-orange, and mango-orange. Why he chose to abbreviate in this particularly cryptic way is beyond me.

The list afforded me some entertainment, but as you can see, there isn't a lot of stuff on it. A little under 40 items, right? And yet, the basket looked like this in the end.

Where did all this stuff come from?

Total tally: 63 items, $206.01, and 1.5 hours.

Then I went home to feed and potty seven puppies...

Puppies, puppies, everywhere

2010-07-25T14:20:00.000-05:00

Foster dog Nancy finally decided to have her puppies yesterday evening. We saw the nesting behavior start, and ran out to get a 4' baby pool.

Nancy's digs: our guest bathroom

Byrd and Star napping on the floor outside the bathroom as they wait for the babies. I've been sleeping here at night, on puppy patrol.

Nancy is ready to get those babies out!

Finally, some puppies!

Seven babies in all! That looks like a lot.

Five males, two females.

I wonder what these pups will look like when they're bigger?

Nancy doesn't seem too keen on being a mom to so many puppies. I know she's tired--I've been awake with her all night, so I empathize--but I really hope she stays committed to these little guys.

Postscript: For those of you who guessed Nancy is a Boston/Beagle (aka Boggle) mix, you are most likely correct. Strangely, the shelter labeled her a Pug/Beagle mix, so she's "officially" a Puggle.

A change from mange

2010-07-17T16:39:00.001-05:00

Though we've established a pattern of fostering mange dogs, I decided to have a change of pace and foster a pregnant one instead.

This cute little momma dog was going to be killed by the local pound because of her condition. They don't have the resources or the sanitary conditions to deal with newborn pups. And at this very late stage, pregnant spay is not a good idea.

So my foster group, which only takes dogs from the pound's euth list--a policy that has earned the group my eternal respect and admiration--pulled the dog, "Nancy," (I didn't name her, alas) and put out a plea to their fosters. She got bounced around a bit before I managed to persuade Byrd to let me foster her.

And here we are. I've never done the whole puppy delivery thing before. I have no idea what to expect or what to do. But I figure, if bajillions of backyard breeders can do it every year, then it can't be that hard.

Public service announcement: If you really want to experience the "joy of birth" or "joy of puppies" (or whatever), please, become a foster home for homeless dogs like Nancy.

Your local foster group will have--waiting for foster and salvation--
pregnant dogs
dogs that have just birthed a litter
orphaned litters or lone puppies that need hand raising
slightly older puppies just needing a place to crash until someone adopts them
You can have your fill of puppies and birth and whatnot, AND save their lives at the same time. It's a win-win situation.

The excuse for getting rid of Nancy was quite simple. Her paperwork said: "Can not keep."

I can and have volunteered at several shelters, but I could never deal with intake. I would kill someone.

Fun Game Time!!

What type of dog do you think Nancy is? Any guesses? Or, rather, pretend that you are a member of an adoption agency, and you would like to make sure that when people are searching for Nancy's likely breed, Nancy will show up in the search results.

Here are a bunch of pictures to help you decide what to call Nancy. Nancy weighs 31 pounds pregnant, so she is probably about 25 pounds usually. She's somewhat bigger than a cat.

In a future post, I'll reveal what breeds the pound thought Nancy is.

And I'm going to need some downright adorable, irresistable puppy names. So start thinking about that, too! :)

Out of work, into class. Again.

2010-06-25T20:44:00.000-05:00

I'm still here, just going through a rough spot in terms of free time. But guess what?

1. My full-time employment contract finally ran out, as of today. I'm actually sort of glad because...
2. I'm back in class for a second master's degree. (Accounting.)

This month was basically eat, sleep, work, go to class, study, and take tests. I didn't have time for anything else. The expired work contract means eight hours a day returned to me, so I will finally have time to do some real studying, a bit more blogging, housework, and best of all, time with the dogs.

Well, okay, that's not entirely true. I have a new task at hand that will keep me very busy for a few more weeks... That job is: Nurse.

This is my cue to give a shout out to a certain close family member (not Byrd) who, it turns out, reads my blog (see? not Byrd), and is currently in the hospital recovering from heart surgery. You know who you are, and I love ya. You, on the other hand, will be sick of me after I spend the next few weeks at your place. :)

What do you mean, I have no nursing experience? That's entirely untrue. Here I am being a fantastic nurse to our new kitten, while my sister is the doctor (circa 1985):

I don't remember what the diagnosis was, but it was nothing a fake pitcher of syrup couldn't cure!

Mouse in the House

2010-06-09T00:52:00.001-05:00

We acquired a mouse in the house. It was not a boring old house mouse with little beady eyes and a slinky body. It was an adorable mouse, because it had enormous doe eyes and a soft round body. I think it was a Texas Mouse.

Byrd spotted this cute little creature late one evening as we were getting ready for bed; it scurried under our dishwasher as he entered the kitchen.

One flashlight, two screwdrivers, and several minutes later, we peered under the dishwasher and saw the furry little thing staring at us like a deer in headlights. I love deer, and I love little fuzzy things. The giant eyes on this little mouse seemed to plead "Help me! I shouldn't be here! I want to be outside but I can't find the way out!" Byrd thought the mouse's gaze was much less innocent and adorable, apparently, because he immediately decided to rip the dishwasher out.

I interjected with a bit of reason before Byrd went all out. I proposed to place a cereal box along the baseboard of the cabinet so that if the mouse ran out from under the dishwasher, it would run into the box. Then, a second cereal box (flattened) could be lowered over the opening, trapping the mouse inside. The box could then be stood up and taken outside where the mouse could be released.

I set up my cereal box immediately.

Byrd did not approve. In fact, he made fun of my box idea. It was not action-packed enough, I guess. Furthermore, I was a tree hugger for wanting to save the mouse. But in exchange for nonstop mocking of my box trap, he consented to catch the mouse alive.

Byrd's plan: Rip the dishwasher out of the countertop. Use the vacuum to suck up the mouse. Take the vacuum bag outside and cut it open, allowing a half-suffocated mouse to stagger meekly away.

Needless to say, I saw a lot of flaws with Byrd's plan. Undaunted, Byrd got started.

As our kitchen became more and more unusable, I dryly observed that Byrd was doing more damage and disruption than the mouse was likely to do.

But the dishwasher finally came out. We looked behind it. The mouse had smashed itself into the farthest corner, hiding in terror. In this picture you can see its little butt sticking out from behind a piece of 2x4.

Here is the video of what happens next. Basically, Byrd decides he can shove the mouse into a milk jug. And guess what really happens? (Warning! There's profanity!)

I am sad to report that the camera wasn't angled properly to catch the exciting conclusion, during which the mouse ran into the box for a SECOND time, and Byrd--whose middle name is Impatience--failed to follow my plan as outlined, e.g. by covering the box opening before picking up the box. The mouse therefore leapt from the top of the box as Byrd was moving the box upwards through the air, with the net result that Byrd practically threw the mouse on me. And there was much more screaming.

The newly emancipated mouse quickly found a hidey-hole under the oven. The oven, unlike the dishwasher, could not be torn out of the wall, much to Byrd's disgust and frustration. And that was where the evening's adventure ended.

The next day, I quietly set a mouse-sized live trap up in the kitchen, along the baseboard near the oven. It is a plastic box that tips shut when a mouse goes in; there's peanut butter in the back end as bait.

I am pleased to report that it worked as intended (albeit a few days later), and shortly thereafter I tumped a disoriented, peanut butter-covered, owl-eyed mouse out of the trap into the grass in our backyard. He was gone in a blur.

(The dogs, by the way, were useless throughout the whole event. They slept through most of the kitchen chaos, including the screaming and cursing tirades. Some days later, Star brought the live trap to my side of the bed at 3 am, when the mouse got trapped inside... though her intent was to chew into the trap, not to alert me or anything helpful like that.)

Pitfalls of prey drive

2010-05-27T20:52:00.001-05:00

In a nutshell, prey drive is that little voice inside a dog's head that says "Omigosh! Lookit that thing moving! GET IT!!"

It's not an either-or thing; all dogs have it, on a sort of varying scale. Some dogs have high prey drive, some have low prey drive, and some are in the middle.

Many working dogs need prey drive to do their job. And that's totally understandable. It makes rounding up sheep, chasing, fetching, tracking, and many other canine activities possible. Skilled handlers use prey drive to their full advantage.

But we're not all skilled handlers with working dogs. I'd say a major portion of dog owners just want a buddy. And if your goal is to have a nice couch potato pet dog that hangs out with you and the family, cruises around town with you, and is generally well-behaved in most situations, then prey drive is not your friend. Not that you can do anything about it except manage it properly.

I got lucky with my last two resident dogs. Felanie was food driven. If it wasn't food, she didn't care. Dozer is ball driven. I think some people might say "Well, it takes prey drive to make him chase the ball." But it's a very ball-specific prey drive. You have to work pretty hard to get him excited about anything else, even a squirrel.

Then came Star. Star has prey drive galore. She's the first for me, really (not counting a Blue Heeler foster dog we had temporarily), and it's taken a bit of adjustment here at home to deal with all the new and curious behaviors that she displays.

She chases any moving thing. She lunges and barks at odd objects and animals. She chases and stares at spots of light on the wall--especially if they're moving for some reason. She bursts out the door into the backyard at top speed, ready to chase any bird or squirrel that might be innocently sitting in the grass. She'll even go bonkers over nothing at all; I often see her staring alertly at a wall, or the carpet, or into space as if she's found a ghost.

Once I finally recognized her high prey drive as the driving force behind all these crazy behaviors, we set about changing routines and procedures so that she had less opportunity for an outburst, and more opportunity to learn self control. Finding a great trainer helped a lot.

Star is not allowed to explode out of the back door anymore. I hold her collar and calmly walk her out to the edge of the deck, then tell her "walk" before I let go of her collar. If she runs, I go get her, take her back to the deck, and repeat until she walks off. She's become much calmer about going into the yard, and I think the birds and squirrels appreciate it.

Star may not bark or lunge at things anymore. She is not allowed to pull towards another dog when she is on leash, no matter for what reason. If she acts inappropriately because her prey drive is egging her on, I stand in front of her and tell her to do a "sit-down" combo three times. This not only gives her an immediate task to focus on, which distracts her from the "prey," but also teaches her that inappropriate behavior nets an undesirable result. She's a very lazy dog and doesn't like doing puppy pushups! Additionally, both the "sit" and "down" positions are submissive and relaxed postures, which puts her in a very different mindset, because prey drive is ramped up when a dog is able to take a more dominant and excited posture.

These are just a few of the steps we've taken to work on reducing Star's prey drive. Though it certainly would be easier if she didn't have much prey drive to begin with, we have the biggest effect on Star's behavior through responsible and careful management and handling. A professional trainer who understands prey drive has been a big help for us in determining the best methods to use to modify Star's behavior.

Star has come a long way since we adopted her. But it's still a little freaky to see her staring wide-eyed at the corner of our bedroom when there's nothing there!

Sibling Rivalry

2010-05-27T20:01:00.000-05:00

Text message exchange

Me (from my office): Just had fire drill @ work. We got free ice cream while waiting 4 all clear! Mm!

My sister (from her office): We just had champagne toast. I win.

Oh, the irony

2010-04-26T19:52:00.000-05:00

Today I want to tell the story of how Byrd and I met, twelve years ago. This is the first question we find ourselves answering when meeting a new acquaintance, perhaps because we're such an odd couple.

The fact is, I hated him from the start.

There I was, the straight-laced, straight-A university freshman from a nice upper-middle class family, living in the "nerd" dorm, and working part-time at a pet store.

And there he was, eight years older than me, also working at the pet store--not as an employee, but as contract labor, doing something construction-y to the office door. He towered above me (6' 5"), had shoulder-length hair and plenty of piercings, and looked pretty rough. I didn't know his name, only that he and his companion (his brother, it turned out) had their tools and gear scattered in the hall, and he was personally blocking my path in the narrow hallway that led to the stockroom.

I cleared my throat. He turned and looked, but made no effort to move out of my way. I had to turn sideways and squeeze past him, and he gave me what I thought was a disgusting leer, though today I think maybe he was just surprised that I was tiny enough to slide through a six-inch gap without touching him.

Same interaction, same long look from him as I squeezed past on my return trip from the stockroom. At the counter, I asked my boss who that creepy guy was. "That's Byrd," said my boss. "Doing a little side job for store credit."

I'd heard the name Byrd plenty of times before. Everyone at the pet store said Byrd was the most honest, forthright person they knew. Byrd's word was his bond. And he went miles to help his friends. No one had anything bad to say about Byrd. So, naturally, I had constructed this very romantic vision of Byrd as a dashing, handsome, well-groomed young fellow.

The authentic, dirty, scruffy Byrd finished the job in the back room and made for the counter where I was standing. I pointedly ignored him, but he missed the hint and spewed out the most ridiculous pickup line on the planet: "Will you marry me?"

All these exclamation points and alarm bells exploded inside my head. What?? Who was this guy!? Finally, I managed to sputter, "NO!"

To my dismay, he didn't laugh and walk off--he persisted. "Why not?"

This was a situation I'd never been put in before in my life. I'd never seen such an absurd advance strategy and had no idea how to respond. I knew he was teasing me, but I didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeing me flustered. So I seriously thought about why not, and finally concluded, "We haven't even been on a date!" There, that was surely the end of it.

Or not. He nodded. "Okay, if I take you on a date, then would you marry me?"

So he'd played my game and won. Before I knew it, I had agreed to a date--ONE date, mind you!--with a grungy redneck pervert who just wanted to get into my... well, you get it.

But to my surprise, Byrd arrived dressed up for date night. He was clearly nervous. He was courteous, and respectful, and quiet. He followed all those rules of chivalry that seem old-fashioned nowadays, from opening the car door to paying for the meal. During conversation, he didn't flirt, but spoke earnestly.

But one thing about that first date stands out to this day. Quick flashback to when I was a kid--my mom used to relentlessly inform me that I would never, ever, ever find a boyfriend if I kept picking those freaky purple things (cabbage?) out of my salad. "Are you honestly going to pick at your food in front of a boy you like?" she'd ask.

So there I was, on a date (with an enigma who I thought was a freaky pervert but was turning out to be quite sweet), pawing over the salad, petrified about having to eat the purple things for the first time ever... I glanced over at Byrd, and there he was picking the purple things out of his salad! I couldn't help but laugh.

After that, the ice was broken, and we talked for a long time and discovered that we had a lot of similar likes and dislikes, and similar dreams for the future. One date turned into many dates; I eventually moved in with him, and we lived together for seven years before he repeated his very first words to me. This time, I said "yes."

To this day, I tease Byrd about that corny pickup line: "'Only an idiot would fall for a line like that!" He always teases back, "What does that make you?"

Quilting, and a mural

2010-04-02T11:40:00.000-05:00

So it's been a while. Work's been crazy. Nuff said.

And I've been doing a bit of this, too (not me in the picture):

Our foster, Sweet Pea, is still with us. She's a darling, but she really needs a home of her own. Brindle dogs don't get adopted quickly, so I'm worried about the length of her stay. Plus, I can't take her to adoption sites now that I'm working, so the foster org is trying to advertise her strictly via their website. Oy.

You're gonna laugh at this, but I think I want to learn quilting.

Yeah, I know, with all the stuff I'm involved in already, why add another activity??

But the thing is, I think all my computer work is slowly killing me. I mean that literally. My migraines are worse, my hands are getting shakier and achier, and I constantly feel like I'm in a fog. I'm theorizing that my 14 hours a day on the computer (work and extracurricular activities combined) are probably at the root of it. Just a theory, mind you.

So I want to try out a hobby or something that will pull me away from the computer, yet still satisfy my creative needs without requiring a lot of outdoor time the way my only other hobby does. That other hobby being gardening, which I love, but which is impossible in Texas for eight months out of the year unless you are a fan of heatstroke and fireants.

This year our white wisteria is going all out, by the way.

So why quilting specifically, when there are other options?

I mean, I don't know the first thing about sewing. I signed up for a Sewing 101 class, and the confirmation email said I should bring my sewing machine and an empty bobbin. The sewing machine is no problem--I bought one years ago for some reason--but I had to email the instructor and ask what an empty bobbin was. That's how clueless I am.

But quilting seems like a neat thing to learn. I've always enjoyed geometric designs, and I've been drawing something like mandalas since I was little, since before I even knew what to call them (or that other people draw them too). Traditional quilts play off that geometry.

And from a practical perspective, we use blankets a lot around here, both for us and our bed, and for the dogs.

Anyway, I'll take a few quilting classes and see whether I like it. It means even less time on the computer, but I think for me, that's probably a good thing right now.

Bonus section: Jungle mural, 1997

When I was in high school, me and a group of three other students painted a mural on the art room wall. I was in charge of the birds and a big chunk of the greenery. Here's a Scarlet Macaw.

This is a Quetzal, and the bird below it is a hanging parrot of some type (maybe Blue-Crowned?).

I'll show you some of the rest of the mural, but don't laugh at my outfit, okay? You don't dress up for art class unless you want to ruin your clothes. :)

Me and my art teacher, Mr. Leija, in front of the mural, which covered the art room door and several walls at the entrance to the art room (which was L-shaped):

Zooming out... The mural actually keeps going to the left and up, up, up, but it's all mostly plants.

I wonder if it's still there? The last time I went by my high school, which was many years ago, they'd whitewashed all the other groups' murals, and ours was the only one remaining.

BSL Blues

2010-03-04T23:14:00.000-06:00

This has been a nightmarish week on the breed-specific legislation watch, and next week promises to be similarly rough. I'm mentally exhausted and depressed. Sometimes it seems like politicians let their votes be swayed by primitive emotions like fear and hate, rather than careful consideration of real facts.

No matter how many reasonable, sane, highly educated and experienced individuals and organizations speak out against BSL, provide hard evidence of its failures, and offer reasonable dog laws in exchange, it all boils down to fear, again and again.

Why do people always want to destroy things that they're scared of? I gave up that attitude back when I, you know, grew up. I'm terrified of balloons--and they are, in fact, more deadly than dogs, as well as really bad for the environment--but you don't see me lobbying to ban them (too tired).

All I can hope is that, when election day comes around, these people get the boot. I'll be doing my part here in Texas by running a statewide candidate survey, so people know how their candidates feel about BSL.

Occasionally I see a news article about a great program being offered for "pit bulls" and their owners, like free or low cost spay/neuter, or free training classes. Inevitably, some jerkwad leaves a comment on the article about how "if pit bull owners are all against breed specific laws then they shouldn't support this special program!" (In other words, we shouldn't have our cake and eat it too.)

So here's the fundamental difference. Breed-specific legislation is mandatory. It is a law. Here are some things that make a good law:

It is just or fair to everyone.
Everyone can understand and follow it.
It can be enforced.
It does not take away constitutionally guaranteed rights.
It is reasonable and serves a real purpose.

Breed-specific legislation fails miserably in this respect. But that's beside the point. The point is that a breed-specific law is foisted on us whether we like it or not.

Voluntary breed-specific programs are just the opposite. They are voluntary. They're almost always covered by a private grant and rarely, if ever, use taxpayer money. In fact, even if they did use taxpayer money, it's much cheaper to offer free spay/neuter than it is to kill thousands of dogs at the shelter due to overpopulation. Anyway, if you don't like the program or don't want to support it, then don't. Simple as that.

Furthermore, enforcing BSL results in dead dogs--and sometimes, dead dogs that weren't part of the targeted breeds to begin with. They just had the misfortune to look sort of like one of the targeted breeds, and got swept up in the tide.

On the other hand, with voluntary programs, the result isn't dead dogs. It's spayed or neutered dogs, or microchipped and vaccinated dogs, or trained dogs. Go ahead, misidentify the breed of as many dogs as you want! Dogs and owners benefit from these programs, so it's all bonus.

As an example, one article about free spay/neuter for "pit bulls" offered a quote from a very satisfied owner of a "pit bull/Chihuahua mix." Seriously? How much more likely is it that this person has a small terrier-type dog and simply wanted a free fix?

The people running these programs aren't likely to turn away many dogs because they aren't "pit bull" enough. They're not going to demand a DNA test. They're going to provide the service because, hey, that's one more dog that just got neutered.

And I repeat: these programs are totally voluntary and privately funded.

Let's take it a little further and imagine that a lawmaker has proposed a bill that would pay $100 to every "pit bull" owner so they can spay or neuter their dog. Would I support that bill? Absolutely, positively not. Such a law immediately fails Good Law Rule #1 above.

All my readers know that I'm a huge supporter of spay/neuter and rescue. But I will never support legalized discrimination toward any sort of dog owner based on their dog's appearance--whether that discrimination is beneficial for the dog owner or not.

Remember: discrimination always has two sides. When one side benefits, the other loses out. A just law cannot and should not be a discriminatory one.

Let's turn it back around on the pro-BSL folks. Do you think they would support a breed-specific law that pays certain dog owners $100 to get their dogs spayed or neutered?

Of course not. Because it's not fair to all the other dog owners.

Get it?

Bonus photo of the moon over a big rock (Casa Grande) at Big Bend National Park. I took this photo with my very own camera in 1995.

Good news, bad news, and news

2010-01-22T18:52:00.000-06:00

There's been a lot going down in Jentown these days, hence my prolonged blog absence. (I've noticed, actually, that by viewing the number of posts per month in the archives, you can easily see when I have a full-time job versus freelancing or unemployed.)

The good news, for me anyway, is that I got word today that my contract with my employer has been extended. So whereas the full-time job was to end next week, it now ends in May. Yay! Steady income! <3

In other good news, Dozer went to the ortho surgeon yesterday for his post-op (after surgery for torn meniscus) and got the all-clear to go back to his normal activities, minus the crazy circus act he puts on while playing fetch. So fetch is now more of a ball-rolling thing (soccer?).

Bonus photo of me in 1983 (age 4) about to whack my little sis in the face with a tether ball:

(Yes, I am wearing shorts. That's just a really long shirt.)

In the bad news category, I got sick with the mysterious illness again (swollen throat and fever)--it was a minor case that went away after a few days, but I still went to the ENT to try and get a diagnosis, only to learn that I will probably never get that. The ENT has concluded that 1) it's a virus, but unknown exactly which (the common ones like mono, strep, etc., have been ruled out), 2) it doesn't seem very contagious (no one around me gets it), 3) it's cyclical in nature for reasons he doesn't understand, and 4) all he can do is treat the symptoms.

Number 4 is unfortunate in that only steroids seem to work against it, and the Dr. says I shouldn't take steroids more than about three or four times a year. Since this is something that I get every two or three months, I plan to save the steroid requests for the bad cases like the one last August, where I was dealing with a high fever for almost a week (the dr. that time gave me antibiotics, which did not help at all).

In other news, Byrd is expressing interest in higher education on his own, without any prompting from me. I bought him an SAT prep book last week, with the hope that he would look through it and realize that college isn't out of reach. We sat down for a couple nights in a row to look over the vocab sections, like fill-in-the-blank sentences and item comparisons (hand:glove::foot:___). He was initially very confused ("Hand dot dot glove four dots foot two dots what? I have to know Morse code?") but seems to be doing better with just a little practice.

I hope he will hang in there and move toward community college as a first step. He's getting too old to continue at his current type of job, as labor, even if it's management-level. He and I both think he could be a great transportation engineer--he's often been consulted by engineers for various traffic projects and works closely with them in a number of ways, he knows the basics, is good at mathematical calculations, and he's a quick study--but the obstacles he's facing to get there are pretty significant, including his inability to read or write well, the length of time since he was last in school (and he never finished high school for that matter), his agoraphobia, and his undiagnosed but blatantly obvious dyslexia.

Anyway...

In my next post I am going to discuss something that has been a popular subject of late: breed-specific legislation versus breed-specific voluntary community programs (i.e. free spay/neuter for "pit bulls")--and why it's acceptable (from an ethical standpoint) to single out "pit bulls" (or other types or breeds of dogs) for special treatment in the latter case, but not the former.

Bonus photo of the word that Byrd slapped down to beat the pants off me in Scrabble:

If I recall correctly, this baby managed to hit several double or triple letter/word squares, and scored extra points because Byrd used all his letters. I think it ended up worth over 70 points, and as it was the last word in the game, I couldn't recover. Well played, sir, well played! (Yes, Byrd gets to use the dictionary freely to look up words, to level the playing field a bit. But still, what a perfect storm.)

Merry Christmas!

2009-12-25T10:20:00.000-06:00

We didn't see any snow from the most recent cold front, though areas in Texas north of us did. A "White Christmas" almost never comes to central Texas, and this year is no exception.

We did get ridiculously high winds, some up to 50 mph, and the inevitable happened... Byrd had to work on Christmas Eve. The wind destroyed four of his intersections, so his work phone started ringing just as we were preparing to go to his family's Christmas Eve party. He didn't get home until 3 am today.

It happens every year without fail. Weather or drunk drivers manage to wreck something, and off Byrd goes to fix it, usually right smack in the middle of a family gathering. He's always on call. It sucks.

Dozer had his knee surgery a few days ago and he's doing fine. He got the torn meniscus repaired, and they also removed a plate that was in his leg, left over from the TPLO.

I keep meaning to update Dozer's blog, but I lost my camera. Well, I thought I'd lost it. I looked all over the house with no luck. Then I finally decided to ask Byrd about it, though I was pretty sure he'd have no idea, because he never knows where my stuff is. He rarely knows where his own stuff is.

But he was like "oh yeah, it's on top of the fridge" as if that was the most natural place in the world for it to be. (!!) I suppose for a guy that's 6' 6", the top of the fridge is a reasonable place to put things. So, mystery solved.

We didn't decorate at all for Christmas this year. Not a tree or lights or anything. Just too busy. :( We got some cards from some of Dozer's blog pals--thank you guys so much! Byrd was astonished. He relented just a bit with his "your blogging is a waste of time" attitude. And Dozer was sooo excited to have something to open and sniff.

Merry Christmas to you! I hope you are all warm, safe, healthy, and happy.

Season of Joy

2009-12-19T18:08:00.001-06:00

I thought it might be a good idea to post a bit about the great things happening, since previous posts might have implied that I'm really sad or discouraged. :)

It is crazy around here (Dozer), and stressful (Dozer!), but believe it or not, I'm having the best time of my life. My educational websites are performing satisfactorily, and my volunteer activities (fostering, etc.) are time-consuming but very rewarding. My job is kick-ass awesome; I get told daily how great my work is, and that feels really good. And my home life is certainly not boring.

Daisy's mom is very sweet; she's worried about Dozer's most recent mishap (that I Tweeted about), so I thought I'd update.

Yesterday I got home from work and noticed Dozer itching a lot. So I got a closer look and he was covered in blotches all over his stomach. In an hour this went from blotches to lumps, and in three hours when he started looking like a marshmallow, Byrd and I packed him over to the emergency vet.

At the emergency vet, they gave him three injections (two cortisone and one Benadryl) and sent me home with Prednisone and orders to give him 4 capsules of Benadryl twice a day as well.

We don't have any idea how this reaction happened or what caused it. It's supposed to clear up in a few days. The drugs have made Dozer very sleepy, so it's peaceful around here right now. :)

I've been told that this incident won't interfere with his surgery for the torn meniscus, which is scheduled for December 23.

Sigh. Dear God, I would like the random surprise disasters to stop now, please. Sincerely, Jennifer.

For my rather large extended family, the period between Thanksgiving and New Years' is a time for reflection, thanks-giving, good food and good company, goal-setting, and reminiscing.

Here is my earnest wish for the coming year. It is my hope that everyone will take up a volunteer role of some sort. Even a very small role, or a short-term one. Every volunteer minute is a valuable one, and many organizations are in desperate need. (For those who are already volunteering or donating in some way--thank you so much!)

And of course, I wish the best for you, my readers, and your families and friends in 2010.

Dozer's Christmas present

2009-12-13T09:43:00.000-06:00

Dozer turned nine last month. I promised him a birthday party, but that didn't happen. Not even a little present, unless you count the allergy shots he's getting every three days or so (hey, he gets cheese as a treat for taking his shots so well).

Nine years is decidedly senior for a big dog like him (90 lbs). But he doesn't show his age, except that he's slowly falling apart physically.

Last week he had a major allergy episode, and had a staph breakout. He's on antibiotics.

He's also on a special prescription shampoo. I have to bathe him every 3 days. I gave him the first bath on Friday and he sloughed more fur than I've ever seen him shed before. I had a Chihuahua-sized pile of fur on the shower floor at the end, and Dozer continued to drop huge dust bunnies as I dried him.

Dozer also has an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon--finally--to officially diagnose what appears to be a torn meniscus in his leg (the one that previously had a torn ACL and subsequent surgery).

If it is a torn meniscus, Dozer will probably have surgery the week before Christmas. Yes, another surgery.

So his Christmas present--and ours--will be... surgery! Yay!

I'm still recovering from the bill for his dental surgery to remove his cracked tooth. And it looks like we'll need another surgery in the future because of an odd growth on his front leg.

I'm still working two jobs. Actually, the freelance job is on break for the holidays--but that only helps me in that I don't have to come home from work and do more paid work. I come home from work and do unpaid work instead.

Byrd swore up and down that, if I went back to a regular job, he would absolutely help out with the housework, cooking, and all that jazz. Let me give credit where credit is due: Byrd has done 1 load of laundry (his pants only) and 2 loads of dishes in the last two months. (Note: At our house, I fill a dishwasher in two days, and do about ten loads of laundry a week. So Byrd has assisted with 3% of dishes and 2.5% of laundry in last 2 months.) He also cooked three meals in a row! (7.5% of meals) OK, you get the point. I still love him. I just wish he understood how much time gets sucked out of my evenings and weekends by chores.

I've worked full time before, and it seems like Byrd was a lot more helpful then. Or maybe I had more time for chores, because I wasn't as involved with volunteer work, website maintenance, and the like. Maybe it was a combination of both.

Anyway, the discouraging thing is that all of the money I'm making from my awesome new full-time job is going straight to vet bills. I can only give my most heartfelt thanks--and a sparkly greeting card from Target--to the people who hired me just when I needed the money the most.

Happy Holidays to you all! May you have a surgery-free vacation. :)

ICL Surgery Update: I have glasses

2009-11-27T12:29:00.004-06:00

My post(s) about my ICL surgery back in December 06 (see My ICL Eye Surgery Experience, Part I and My ICL Experience, Part II) have had longevity. (In fact, do a Google search for ICL surgery and my blog is the third result, yikes!) I occasionally get requests for updates about how things are going, usually from people considering the surgery themselves, and since it's been almost three years at this point, I think I should probably oblige.

So if the dog-oriented followers will bear with me...

ICL (implantable contact lens or intracorneal lens), also known as IOL (intraocular lens), is essentially a contact lens that is surgically implanted into one's eyeball in order to correct vision. ICL is an alternative to Lasik when Lasik isn't possible because a person has extreme near- or farsightedness.

Before I had the ICL procedure done, I was -11D in my right eye and -12.5D in my left. If I had gone with Lasik, I would have had to have it done twice to get to 20/20--and unfortunately, my cornea wasn't thick enough to handle Lasik twice.

You can read more about the procedure and my early impressions of the surgery at the links above. I came out of the surgery with 20/20 vision that lasted for about two years. (My left eye was not quite 20/20, but my right eye made up for it.)

Three years later, my vision has shifted somewhat. This wasn't unexpected. First, my vision is eternally creeping further into the negative Ds, especially in my weak left eye. And second, even the slightest shift of the implanted lenses can cause blurriness.

But the change is minor. I don't need glasses for anything except driving. Even then, I'm not legally required to wear the glasses. I just feel a little more comfortable with them on when I'm in a strange place trying to read street name signs, or when I'm driving at night.

It was actually sort of neat to walk into an Eyemasters and buy a pair of basic frames and basic lenses for $50. I've never gotten glasses at that price before. With my old prescription, I used to buy special lightweight lenses, special frames for the lenses, special non-reflective coating, special frosting on the edge to cut down on refraction, and on and on. The cost was always around $400+. And I had to wait 2 weeks turnaround, because everything had to be special ordered. Now, my prescription is so tiny, I can get the cheapest possible option and it works great.

I do still have halos around light sources in many situations. This is a result of a misplaced hole in my left iris during the initial preparation for the ICL (the YAG iridotomy). It's not a big deal for me, though it makes nighttime activities, movies, and laser tag a little challenging.

Would I do the surgery again, even knowing that I'd have to use glasses to drive three years down the road? Even knowing I'd have halos forever?

Yes. Absolutely.

I spent twenty years trapped in glasses and/or contacts. The freedom I gained from the ICL is difficult to describe. Some nights I still reach for my face to put my glasses on the bedside table, only to grasp air.

Not everyone will feel the same way, I'm sure. But I'm pleased with my results--looking back with the benefit of three years' retrospect.

Always on the job

2009-11-02T09:30:00.007-06:00

The scene: Sunday evening. Our living room. Byrd and I are sitting on the couch discussing what to eat for dinner.

Byrd [shifting uncomfortably]: Hmm, something in my front pocket is stabbing me in the thigh.

Me: Yeah, it's probably your keys.

Byrd [digging in his pocket]: I don't think my keys are in my pocket.

Me: Possibly it's the corner of your cell phone, then?

Byrd [stands up, still digging]: Hang on, I found the culprit.

Byrd pulls a wrench, three screwdrivers, and a handful of bolts out of his front pants pocket.

Me: . . . !

Byrd: Ah, much better.

Adopted!

2009-10-31T10:27:00.006-05:00

No sooner do I start stressing about Dubby, then he's gone. Just like that. Poof.

Dubby got adopted yesterday. The organization I am fostering for has a same-day adoption policy, so if everything checks out, the dog goes home with the new family right then and there.

I got the news while I was at the vet with another chicken (Bawk Bawk, who has a yeast overgrowth in her crop, nothing serious). I finished at the vet, raced home and dropped off the chicken, and sped to the adoption site, hoping to get to say goodbye.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Dubby's little tail as he was lifted into a car. The back seat was piled high with a brand new crate and tons of dog toys. I parked and raced over, but the car was already gone.

I felt like someone had just stolen my dog. The adoption counselor reassured me that the people were very nice, had asked excellent questions, and had spent a very long time playing with Dubby. I guess all I can do now is hope that the new family loves him as much as I do. That's the suckiest part of fostering; you have to have faith in the goodness of other people, or else the guilt and worry will tear you apart.

Dubby was wearing the tie Princess sent him, for the first time at an adoption site. I hadn't put it on him previously for site because I didn't want him (or his penmate) to mess it up; but he had finally grown out of all his other outfits and I felt like he needed to wear something to site. I guess it was a lucky tie!

Last night I cried into Dozer's fur for a long time. He really hates when I do that.

Life hurts, but not as much as a needle in the finger

2009-10-28T20:08:00.005-05:00

When I stabbed myself in the finger with a syringe full of ivermectin this evening, it was sort of the last straw. Byrd didn't really understand why I was crying. "You're not going to die from a little poke," he told me. "It didn't really hurt that badly, did it?"

But the last two weeks have been full of ups and downs that have put strain on my heart.

Dozer's limping on his leg--the one that had TPLO surgery. The vet isn't sure why. X-rays are the next step, if the anti-inflammatories don't work (and they're not). Dozer's vet bills for the leg alone have reached almost $4K... And his allergy test results are still out. That dog is determined to drive us to poverty.

Star has been a very rude dog lately, and her prey drive has noticeably increased, so I'm taking her to remedial behavior classes. It was hard to hear the trainer say that I'm letting Star control too many situations. But it's true; I got lazy after having a couple of "easy" dogs who would bend over backward to please me. Even during the first session, I could see just how lazy I'd gotten. I really wasn't in charge, and Star was doing whatever she wanted. No wonder I was only getting compliance from her half of the time. So things are changing for Star, as I dust off the Boss hat.

National Pit Bull Awareness Weekend encompassed more than just a weekend. It started with a visit to city hall for a mayoral proclamation on Thursday--and I was late due to rush hour traffic (we don't have traffic in my outlying part of town, so I miscalculated my drive time).

Then there were two days of events. It was a really successful weekend in my book. I got to meet a lot of people and have some great discussions. And I even met a really nice pit bull owner who is practically a neighbor--she lives two streets over and I didn't even know it!

The aftermath of the weekend has started to crash on me. I have a newsletter to write, and the group has future events to plan. The Love-A-Bull website needs updating; I have a dozen emails asking me to post such-and-so on the site. I also have 300+ names/addresses, gathered over the weekend, to enter into a database.

Unfortunately, no one's adopted Dubby yet. He's had a few lookers, but there's always something in the way. The most promising family was denied by their landlord because Dubby is a "vicious breed." I hate crap like that sooo much. Here's that vicious beast in a purple monkey costume. He was not very pleased with the monkey-head cap but he kept his composure--even though most of the other dogs mistook him for a giant moving stuffy.

Yesterday, I had to euthanize one of my chickens, Squawkers. She had some sort of growth that was compressing her organs, and after several hundred dollars and x-rays, the vet gave me a grim diagnosis: imminent heart failure. I buried her in the backyard next to Penny the prairie dog and Cluckers, another chicken.

Piling on to the stress, I'm working two freelance jobs right now.

Then today, my old boss proposed that I come back to work for them as a contract labor copyeditor, with a possible permanent position coming soon. Of course, I totally said yes to that, because it means: 1) benefits, 2) steady paycheck, 3) Byrd gets off my back about "eating bon bons and watching soap operas all day long" (because to him, it's not work unless you're actually making money at an office).

Then I had to stop and think about how on earth I was going to do two freelance jobs, keep up with my websites and blogs, shuttle Dubby to and from the adoption site every day, volunteer with Love-A-Bull, AND work a full time position. And what about organizing my photos, cleaning my house, gardening, playing video games, reading, writing my never-finished novel, drawing, watching all The Office and Heroes DVDs I borrowed from my sister, doing training with Star, cooking edible meals, and going to the grocery store? Not to mention incidental events like vet visits, doctor appointments, meetups with the Love-A-Bull group...

My brain exploded.

By the end of the day, I had a bad headache. Possibly due to brain explosion, but hey, I'm not a doctor.

Then the syringe stabbed me, as if to say "Hey, you're a clumsy idiot. You have more work than you have time. Your chicken is dead. You're a lousy dog owner. You're a goody-two-shoes volunteer when you should be working, making a living. And you think this new job is a good thing, but it's just going to take you farther away from your family and your dreams." Such harsh words from such a hurtful needle! And I cried.

Let me tell you, it didn't help the headache at all.

How to Organize Photos?

2009-10-19T14:35:00.004-05:00

Here's a question for the folks who have a zillion photos on their computer.

What's the easiest, fastest way to organize them? (I have Windows XP and Vista.)

My now-dead disk drive had a LOT more pictures than I thought. I spent hours last night moving all the photos into my Photo folder on my desktop.

Right now, I have them all parceled out into folders, though the organization is not uniform at all. Some pictures are in folders based on the year ("1987"). Some are in folders based on the topic ("Pets"), then usually separated into subtopics, sub-subtopics, and quite possibly even dates from there. Some are labeled based on where I got them from ("Scans," "From camera," "From phone," etc.). And there's also a giant "Misc" folder that has another kajillion pictures sort of randomly crammed in it.

It's hard to search for a particular photo. Some of the pictures are actually named based on the subject shown. Others are named based on the date the picture was taken. And the most recent pictures still bear their camera-imposed number.

My sister recommends dumping all my pictures into one folder and using Windows Photo Gallery (which comes with Vista) to slap tags on each picture.

Which is fine, but it's going to take a lot of time and effort. So I want to be sure that's the best thing to do, before I do it.

How do you organize your digital photos? Do you use a special program, and if so, which one?

Tell me your secrets, or the puppy gets it!!

My dad's a frikkin genius

2009-10-15T14:39:00.009-05:00

So about three years ago, my computer's hard drive crashed and died fantastically. By some ridiculous coincidence, this happened about a week after my external backup drive also took a turn for the worse, and I hadn't had time to buy a new backup drive.

The end result was that I lost ALL my files. This included about a zillion digital photos of my dogs, including great pics of the late and beloved Felanie, adolescent Dozer, and our old foster dogs. I had taken all these pics with a digital camera, loaded them onto the computer, and kept them there without printing them, so I didn't have a hard copy.

Thus, my actual photo record only goes up to about 2001 (printed photos in photo albums), then there's a gaping hole from January 2001 to December 2005.

This is the oldest photo of Felanie that I have on my computer, from February 2006 (she was almost 8 years old):

Still, even though I swapped out the dead disk drive for a nice shiny new one, I held on to the old one, determined that some day, I would scrape up the money to send my poor drive to a disk-recovery service and beg them to salvage my precious memories. At the time, I think the disk-recovery people were charging anywhere from $1K to $3K to save dead drives; I don't have any idea what it costs nowadays.

I held on to the dead disk for three years. I clutched it in my arms and shrieked when Byrd suggested throwing it out. "Never!!" Some day, I would revive it! Byrd sighed and told me that when I threw out his broken computer equipment, I was applying a double standard. Preposterous! His stuff was broken. My disk was only sleeping.

Last week, my dad started chatting about his new computer setup at his house. He'd gotten some sort of thing called a Drobo that could hold four drives and ghost each other and blah blah blah about something or other. It clicked: "Hey, my dad's a computer scientist. My dad is a doctor of electrical engineering. Maybe he can fix my disk!"

I totally interrupted whatever the hell he was yapping about, ran upstairs, and dug out my dead, I mean sleeping, disk drive. I pressed my precious cargo into his arms and begged him to save it. "You can rebuild it. You can make it faster, better, stronger! Or at the very least, get my pictures off of it! Use your Drawbot or whatever you were just talking about."

"Er... Well, that's not what a Drobo is for..." He studied the naked, dusty disk drive dubiously, but he took it home with him.

That evening, he sent me this photo of my dead hardware, which he dubbed "Frankendrive."

At first I thought he was making some sort of ransom demand ("Pay me now and your precious drive won't get hurt anymore!"), but then he explained that the complicated getup was necessary in order to hook up my old-fashioned drive to a modern computer. Its three-year coma was apparently enough to leave it out of step with current technology.

Dad said he had made a first attempt to access the drive with his Windows machine (my drive had originally been running Windows XP), but it kept crashing and complaining about corrupt command files. Instead, he was downloading files from it without much trouble using his Linux box as the go-between.

And though it took all night, Dad got everything off in good shape.

So guess what that means? I gots me some photos!! (Well, not quite yet; I have to go over to his house and copy them onto a flash drive or something.) I don't even really remember what's on there, but hopefully there will be some good pics to share here.

The first photo that Dad got off my old disk drive:

Hmm, well, okay, this actually isn't from the 2001-2006 time frame at all. This is a scanned photo of the backyard of our house in Pittsburgh, where we lived when I was four and five years old. This is where I was bitten on the hand by a squirrel (I was trying to pet it by luring it with a tasty walnut), which at that age felt just as awful and scary as if the squirrel had bitten my entire hand off, thus instilling a terrible fear of the furry-tailed rodents for the next fifteen years.

I did finally decide to drop the fear when I started as a freshman at UT and realized that there was just not going to be any way to avoid squirrels if I wanted to survive on campus. This point was driven home when a campus squirrel--I kid you not--tried to BEAT ME UP for my peanut butter sandwich one day. I am dead serious--this squirrel punched me in the back, threw acorns at me, jumped on my leg, and hung off my arm until I lobbed half my sandwich at him. When he came back for the Fritos, I crammed as many chips into my mouth as I could and fled into a nearby building, leaving the spoils for the victor. Peering out the window at the little mugger, who was looking quite pleased with himself as he dug into the abandoned Fritos bag, I vowed to never waver in the face of squirrel hostility again.

Anyway, my Dad totally rocks.

Catching Up

2009-10-05T12:46:00.005-05:00

I went the Ballet Austin season opener this weekend with Byrd. It was the first one he's ever seen. And he actually said he enjoyed it! (A huge improvement over his initial reaction when I asked him to come with me, not appropriate for reprint here.)

Oh yes, folks, a couple of pit bull owners went to the ballet (gasp!)! And we dressed up real fancy and refrained from dealing drugs during intermission and we did not bust a cap in the orchestra conductor or... okay, I'm too tired to come up with any more stereotypical imagery but you get the idea.

Star continues to have her ups and downs in agility. One minute she's focused and excited and ready to go, and the next she's totally distracted by cows in a neighboring field or the dog next to her or a bug that landed on her butt.

Dozer's leg has healed up enough that he can run around a bit, and he seems to know it. Allergies are his biggest problem right now.

Dubby is doing much better at the adoption site now that he has fur (no more sunburns), and now that he evidently realizes I'm coming back later. The adoption counselors tell me he sleeps most of the day. He goes to an adoption site that is much closer to my house, now, so my total daily driving time has been cut from almost 2 hrs to about 20 minutes. I drop Dub off at site every day at 11 am and pick him up every day at 7 pm.

I've had yet another bout of sore throat mystery disease, though this one lacked the fever and other symptoms. This time, I raced in to the ENT, who took some samples of the whatever and sent it off to the lab. Hopefully I'll have some answers by mid-week. In the meantime, I'm on steroids, which promptly kicked the mystery disease's ass. Hurray.

And on top of all this, there's the freelance work. After months of waiting around for this particular job, it is suddenly pouring down on me with a fury. I can't keep up!

So every day for me, for several weeks now, has gone:

Morning: Wake up, shower (maybe), check e-mail, do morning chores (chickens, dogs, dishes, laundry), get Dubby to adoption site

Noon: Make lunch, start copyediting

Afternoon: Copyedit, yell at Star to stop ringing the back doorbell over and over because it's too wet outside and she doesn't really want to go out and she knows it

Evening: Copyedit, prepare dinner, evening chores (dishes, laundry, chickens, dogs), pick up Dubby from adoption site

Late evening: Copyedit, do late evening chores (medicate dogs, close up chicken coop), dream about catching up with my favorite blogs

Aw, he's so cute!!

2009-09-26T14:10:00.006-05:00

That's what they all say.

But not a single serious inquiry about adoption to date. :(

We spent two hours at a pet fair today; Dubby wore a big "Adopt Me" vest that draped over his back and made him look like a tiny horse.

He was in fine form, performed some tricks, and generally ran and tumbled like a cute little puppy. He got nice and muddy, chewed some other dogs' faces, got trampled by a few big dogs (and loved it), and on the 3K benefit walk he swerved and veered and entangled everyone's legs with his leash without a care in the world, just happy with his newfound freedom (this was only his second major excursion on a leash, since he just finished his vaccinations yesterday).

By the end of the event, Dubby was so tired that he actually conked out in the grass while I was doing a short interview for our pit bull Meetup group. He looked so precious, snoozing there in the sun on top of my muddy blue canvas bag while people strolled past.

Then he came home and crashed on our bed.

We love him. Whoever adopts him will love him. It's impossible not to love him. Everyone here is quite attached to him, especially Byrd, who literally goes into Dubby Withdrawal if Dubby is not around.

This is one more reason why he needs to go home with someone quickly. It will make the foster bond a little easier to break. The longer he stays, the stronger the bond.

Some people wonder why we don't keep Dubby, if we love him so much. The answer is simple: Dozer won't let us. Dozer tolerates puppies, but he won't put up with another adult male dog on his turf. And Dubby will be an adult male dog some day.

Besides, we love every dog that we foster. If we kept them all, we'd have way too many dogs and not enough time to spend with each of them. Two dogs is my limit, and I'm sticking to it for the benefit of all.

But I know someone out there has space for a dog. Someone's looking. Here's hoping they'll fall head over heels for Dubby some day soon.

The Freelance Copyediting Process

2009-09-11T22:42:00.010-05:00

Hi there! Pit bull owner here. Unfortunately, I'm not a drug dealer, gang member, or antisocial thug... unfortunately for you, anyway, because otherwise this description of my job might be a little more interesting!

No, the cold, hard truth is that I ~~heart~~ love grammar.

My experience is with textbooks, specifically middle school and high school literature textbooks. But I've also been on a copyediting team for a technology RFP (a work proposal for the state), and I've done a bit of history, social studies, and psychology textbook copyediting as well.

Sometimes I work on hard copy (paper) and sometimes I work on PDFs or Word documents. It just depends on the job.

This stack of paper below is a grade 9 test handbook; it is what teachers use to give tests at the end of each unit in the textbook. It also has an answer key and a skills chart (that the teacher can review to see what state skills the students are learning).

I usually work on my dining table, or on the living room couch. Byrd built me a huge desk where I can spread the papers out, but then he took over half of it!

Here are the supplies I use to copyedit: a mechanical pencil (or a colored pen), an eraser, a ton of small sticky notes, some "sticky finger" wax, and page flags. The page flags are cut from the small sticky notes.

Here's the copyediting in high gear. I've split up the pages so I can check cross references--that is, references to other pages in the book. I also have to check the answer key and the skills chart for each question.

I'm checking for grammatical errors, typos, incorrect answers, style inconsistencies, and pretty much anything that doesn't work or make sense. I mark and correct most of the little issues directly on the page. I put queries--questions for the editors, usually about issues I can't resolve because they are too big for a quick fix--on sticky notes on the page.

Any page with any sort of mark or query must have a page flag, so the editor knows the page has been "touched."

This particular document was supposed to be "mostly clean"--that is, it wasn't supposed to have a whole lot of problems. But you can see from the page flags that "clean" is a subjective term!
Here are some other important supplies: a big bag of pecans and a tray of cinnamon rolls. Other staples include Coke, Oreos, chips or popcorn, apples, cheese and crackers, and anything else I can stuff in my mouth with one hand while writing and turning pages with the other.
Of course, it's important to have a laptop or computer on hand. Not only do I use an online dictionary/thesaurus, the online Chicago Manual of Style, and research sources for fact checking, I also listen to J-pop (Japanese pop music) on Web radio while I work.

Why J-pop, you ask? Aside from the fact that I like it ("NERD!"), it's also very difficult for me to sing along. When you're trying to read and edit a document in English, the last thing you want to do is listen to music in English. Pretty soon, you're so busy rocking out to the lyrics that you've lost concentration (and probably missed a bunch of grammatical errors). With J-pop, I get a nice tune that keeps me awake without confounding my language skills.

And yes, I've tried classical music, which has no lyrics at all. It puts me to sleep!

So, there you have it. After I'm done with the entire document, I turn it all in and wait for the next job.

If you're thinking this is sort of an unusual occupation for a pit bull owner, let me break it to you gently. You should know that most of us actually do have normal, boring jobs as teachers, writers, technology experts, doctors, and so on.

Sorry to disappoint.