I suppose I'm just a bit slow on the uptake, but I finally figured out what motivates Star. It's not food, it's not toys... it's dogs--and specifically, it's DOZER.
Dozer is her number one best bud (he would totally disagree--he still holds her in disdain).
So, okay, it's training session time at our house. For ten minutes I am supposed to spend time teaching Star the latest commands... I'm trying my best to get Star to pay attention, and she's watching Dozer while he plays with a toy, wanders into the bedroom, gets a drink, falls asleep... She's so infatuated with him that even my beefy smushy stinky treats and highest-pitched happy voice have no effect. If I put Dozer in some other room, Star tries to find him. Screw the treats, screw me and my stupid commands.
Finally I ask Dozer over. She wants to watch him? Fine. She might as well watch him do tricks. Dozer happily does "sit," "down," "bang bang," and "shake." Treat, treat, treat, treat.
By the time we get to "shake," Star's eyes are as round as an owl's, and... could she be...? Yes, she's turning green with envy. NOW I've got her full attention. WTF, Lady, where are MY treats??? When I tell Dozer to "shake," Star's paw comes up just as fast.
Bingo.
Why didn't I think of this before?
So I spend fifteen minutes running an impromptu competition between the dogs. Star is watching Dozer just as much as she's watching me. The speed of her response to commands skyrockets. He wants the treats? Well so do I!! He's going to sit? Well so am I!!
As an added incentive, if Star screws up, no treats for her--and Dozer gets TWO treats just for being there. Now that really sets her off. You can almost see her jaw set in determination as soon as she realizes what's happening when she messes up. (Dozer, meanwhile, has question marks flying out of his head--what are all these treats for??)
After the training is over and the treats are eaten, Star is still so excited that she expends her remaining energy doing zoomies around the house.
This is a FAR cry from just a few days ago, when she spent the training session hunched over, staring into space, and generally acting like a school kid waiting for the last bell to ring. She would glance at me with despair, as if to ask "Why are you doing this to me? It's stupid and weird."
It seems that Star has moved from a reluctant trainee to a tough competitor. She's a bit sloppy, but she's enthusiastic, and that's fine with me. I'll refine the tricks later--right now I'm just happy that she's actually enjoying the training. I'm also really hoping that by seeing Dozer enjoying the tricks and treats, Star will discover that training is not some form of bizarre torture reserved just for her--it's a fun and normal thing that dogs and people do together.
Yesterday she learned "catch it" (catch the treat) and I refined the "sit" and "watch me" commands. Today I taught her "sit pretty" and "sit up" (sitting up from a down position).
Dozer actually did terribly by comparison, because his favorite trick is "bang bang," so he would collapse on his side in a death pose regardless of what I was asking. I think he realized he was just being used. :)
Friday, March 13, 2009
Sunday, March 08, 2009
The trainer came...
...and she was quite helpful.
Mostly, it was nice to have an authority figure there who could talk to Byrd about what it would take to try to reduce Dozer's anxiety and ball obsession. I had already told Byrd countless times that he needed to start taking responsibility and step up to the plate, especially when it came to walks. The trainer gently reinforced that idea. :D
She also suggested making the walk less like a walk and more like a fun game of fetch. This involved a special squeaky tennis ball that Dozer latched on to instantly (of course). We walked a few steps, played fetch and administered treats, and then walked a few more steps. Dozer did very well on his walk once the squeaky tennis ball appeared. A bit nervous, but not enough for him to shut down. The ball obsession worked for us in this case.
I'm not sure he enjoyed the walk per se--he probably would have had a ton more fun if he had been playing fetch in the backyard--but at least we managed to go a short distance without a bunch of slinking and whining. If he did it out of love for the ball, okay, I'll take that. Maybe some day he will decide that the walk's not so bad by itself without the ball.
The other topic we covered was Dozer's whining and obnoxious behavior toward guests at the house. He thinks every visitor is a ball-throwing machine, and will whine and pressure people to play with him. We've been very unsuccessful getting him to stop, in part because most guests readily give in to his cute face and shrill whine (he is like a siren luring guests to their doom) and in part because we've been notoriously inconsistent in terms of getting him to stop.
So, we are going to train Dozer to "Go to your bed," so we can ask him to do this when guests come over. Ideally, this will remove Dozer from the immediate scene so he can't hypnotize people into serving him. If Dozer fails to stay in his bed, he is to be put in "time out" for five minutes or until he is quiet, whichever is longer. Then he is to go back to his bed (with ample rewards when he is in bed and quiet).
This is actually something I tried to implement several years ago, but I was never successful because Byrd was not on board with me. I would get caught up being hostess for guests and I was simply not able to attend to guests and dogs all at the same time. Meanwhile, Byrd would completely ignore whatever the dogs were doing; if they got out of their beds when I wasn't looking, he wouldn't bother putting them back. I eventually gave up the idea. Now, hearing a similar strategy from an experienced, expensive trainer rather than his nagging know-it-all wife, he seems eager to make it work.
Fine with me. I really hope he sticks with this, and does all the things he agreed to today.
On an interesting side note, I finally managed to partially pin down one of the reasons Byrd has so much trouble with communication. He has a tendency to volunteer information without any context whatsoever, thus leading his listener to wonder what they are supposed to do with that information. It's rather confusing and frustrating for both parties--obviously so for the listener, who is not sure how to respond, but for Byrd, too, because he doesn't get the response he's seeking.
So today, the trainer was telling us about getting Dozer to go to his bed. Byrd suddenly interjected that Dozer has two beds--one in the dining room and one in the bedroom. There was a moment of silence as both the trainer and I simultaneously wondered why Byrd was providing this information. Was Byrd worried that the trainer might think we were too poor to afford more than one bed? Or was he just correcting the trainer's grammar (she should be saying beds, not bed)? Or was he going to ask some sort of question, like are the beds in the right rooms?
I finally asked Byrd, "What point are you trying to make by saying that?" Because it was not at all clear, and the trainer was struggling to find the right response. Byrd then explained that he wanted to know which bed we should teach Dozer to go to.
Byrd asked me later, "Do I say weird things or something? It seems like people have trouble understanding me."
When he has asked me this in the past, I've been able to say, yes, you are hard to follow. But I wasn't really able to figure out why.
This time I thought carefully about what had happened, and I realized that much of what Byrd says seems random because he doesn't give enough context. If I were him in the same situation as earlier, I would have asked the question first and foremost: "Which bed should I send the dog to?" and then supply any additional information as necessary: "He has two beds" (probably not necessary because this is implied by the question).
In Byrd's case, he supplies the additional information and leaves the question unspoken, expecting us to essentially read his mind and see his point / answer his question.
It leads to some very interesting and bizarre conversations, especially when Byrd draws some sort of parallel but forgets to draw the same parallel for his audience--it seems as if he's gone completely off-topic. It doesn't help that he's usually two or three sentences too late when he brings it up.
Example:
Byrd also says he feels left out of conversations, and now I realize it's because when he's volunteering information, people are saying "that's nice" or "that's interesting" and moving on without realizing that he's really asking a question or making an important point somewhere in his mind.
Knowing this, I am going to make more of an effort to ask Byrd to explain his purpose whenever he issues one of his random observations.
So I guess today's conversation with the dog trainer was helpful with more than just the dog.
Mostly, it was nice to have an authority figure there who could talk to Byrd about what it would take to try to reduce Dozer's anxiety and ball obsession. I had already told Byrd countless times that he needed to start taking responsibility and step up to the plate, especially when it came to walks. The trainer gently reinforced that idea. :D
She also suggested making the walk less like a walk and more like a fun game of fetch. This involved a special squeaky tennis ball that Dozer latched on to instantly (of course). We walked a few steps, played fetch and administered treats, and then walked a few more steps. Dozer did very well on his walk once the squeaky tennis ball appeared. A bit nervous, but not enough for him to shut down. The ball obsession worked for us in this case.
I'm not sure he enjoyed the walk per se--he probably would have had a ton more fun if he had been playing fetch in the backyard--but at least we managed to go a short distance without a bunch of slinking and whining. If he did it out of love for the ball, okay, I'll take that. Maybe some day he will decide that the walk's not so bad by itself without the ball.
The other topic we covered was Dozer's whining and obnoxious behavior toward guests at the house. He thinks every visitor is a ball-throwing machine, and will whine and pressure people to play with him. We've been very unsuccessful getting him to stop, in part because most guests readily give in to his cute face and shrill whine (he is like a siren luring guests to their doom) and in part because we've been notoriously inconsistent in terms of getting him to stop.
So, we are going to train Dozer to "Go to your bed," so we can ask him to do this when guests come over. Ideally, this will remove Dozer from the immediate scene so he can't hypnotize people into serving him. If Dozer fails to stay in his bed, he is to be put in "time out" for five minutes or until he is quiet, whichever is longer. Then he is to go back to his bed (with ample rewards when he is in bed and quiet).
This is actually something I tried to implement several years ago, but I was never successful because Byrd was not on board with me. I would get caught up being hostess for guests and I was simply not able to attend to guests and dogs all at the same time. Meanwhile, Byrd would completely ignore whatever the dogs were doing; if they got out of their beds when I wasn't looking, he wouldn't bother putting them back. I eventually gave up the idea. Now, hearing a similar strategy from an experienced, expensive trainer rather than his nagging know-it-all wife, he seems eager to make it work.
Fine with me. I really hope he sticks with this, and does all the things he agreed to today.
On an interesting side note, I finally managed to partially pin down one of the reasons Byrd has so much trouble with communication. He has a tendency to volunteer information without any context whatsoever, thus leading his listener to wonder what they are supposed to do with that information. It's rather confusing and frustrating for both parties--obviously so for the listener, who is not sure how to respond, but for Byrd, too, because he doesn't get the response he's seeking.
So today, the trainer was telling us about getting Dozer to go to his bed. Byrd suddenly interjected that Dozer has two beds--one in the dining room and one in the bedroom. There was a moment of silence as both the trainer and I simultaneously wondered why Byrd was providing this information. Was Byrd worried that the trainer might think we were too poor to afford more than one bed? Or was he just correcting the trainer's grammar (she should be saying beds, not bed)? Or was he going to ask some sort of question, like are the beds in the right rooms?
I finally asked Byrd, "What point are you trying to make by saying that?" Because it was not at all clear, and the trainer was struggling to find the right response. Byrd then explained that he wanted to know which bed we should teach Dozer to go to.
Byrd asked me later, "Do I say weird things or something? It seems like people have trouble understanding me."
When he has asked me this in the past, I've been able to say, yes, you are hard to follow. But I wasn't really able to figure out why.
This time I thought carefully about what had happened, and I realized that much of what Byrd says seems random because he doesn't give enough context. If I were him in the same situation as earlier, I would have asked the question first and foremost: "Which bed should I send the dog to?" and then supply any additional information as necessary: "He has two beds" (probably not necessary because this is implied by the question).
In Byrd's case, he supplies the additional information and leaves the question unspoken, expecting us to essentially read his mind and see his point / answer his question.
It leads to some very interesting and bizarre conversations, especially when Byrd draws some sort of parallel but forgets to draw the same parallel for his audience--it seems as if he's gone completely off-topic. It doesn't help that he's usually two or three sentences too late when he brings it up.
Example:
- I ask, "Can you reach that bowl on the top shelf? I'm going to make pancakes. Do you want some?"
- "We got a coupon for Home Depot in the mail," says Byrd as he pulls down the bowl.
- "Er... okay," I say (no idea why he's telling me this). Byrd wanders off, and I make pancakes.
- Later in the day, he asks me why I haven't gone to Home Depot and used the coupon to buy a kitchen stool, as he suggested this morning.
- I have no idea what he's talking about because he never verbalized the jump from out-of-reach bowl to Home Depot kitchen stool.
Byrd also says he feels left out of conversations, and now I realize it's because when he's volunteering information, people are saying "that's nice" or "that's interesting" and moving on without realizing that he's really asking a question or making an important point somewhere in his mind.
Knowing this, I am going to make more of an effort to ask Byrd to explain his purpose whenever he issues one of his random observations.
So I guess today's conversation with the dog trainer was helpful with more than just the dog.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Can we "fix" him?
Dozer was born nuts.
Not the scary serial killer nuts a la Silence of the Lambs, but the harmless goofy nuts a la Benny and Joon.
Dozer is obsessive-compulsive and anxious. He loves his toy (usually a ball, sometimes a disc). He loves his house. When he has these things, he is the happiest dog alive.
But when he loses either of those things, he starts whining and pacing, and his brain basically shuts off. He is essentially nonresponsive to the environment. His response to training commands slows to a trickle.
It's not that he becomes out of control, because there's really nothing about him that needs controlling. He turns on a very whiny autopilot. He'll go on a walk, but he won't notice the squirrels dancing a jig in front of him or the stray cat peeing on his leg. He won't "sit" without a sharp push on the behind. He just sort of goes into a trance where I guess he might be imagining himself back at home.
This is one of the reasons why loose leash training has never been successful for him. He simply isn't "there." I use a no-pull harness to make walking easier. (I should add that I can definitely walk him on his regular collar if need be. He is so sad that even the pulling is rather wimpy.)
This has been the way of things with Dozer since his early years. He had all the advantages his "sister" Felanie did, including puppy socialization class, obedience classes, and agility classes. Both dogs lived under the same house rules and expectations. Felanie turned into a fine dog without any social anxiety or obsessive behavior.
At first, Dozer did fine, too, though there were some hints that Dozer was not quite normal, even during early years.
During his puppy socialization class, Dozer ignored the other dogs, favoring a tennis ball above all else. When the other puppies started to play-fight, Dozer stood between them (he was the biggest puppy there), chewing on his ball and whining. The instructor called Dozer "The Peacemaker" because it bothered Dozer so much to see other dogs fight, even in play; he would always try to stand in the middle in order to break it up.
When we took Dozer to a very reputable professional trainer because he was so obsessed about his toy ball, the trainer suggested that we put him in a room and dump dozens of tennis balls in there. The idea was to make the balls so common that Dozer would have no reason to worry about where they all were. We tried this idea. Let's just say that that was the happiest day of Dozer's life--and he's still obsessed with toy balls.
The older Dozer got, the less he enjoyed leaving the house. He still likes car rides--as long as they're short, and he can hang his head out the window (which means only in the immediate neighborhood, since I don't allow dog heads out the window over 35 mph).
My husband has panic attacks when he goes out in public. This has only recently been controlled with medication. Byrd feels a bit guilty about Dozer as a result. "I gave him this," he says, as if social anxiety is some sort of contagious disease.
So here's where I get stuck in my thoughts. Some people, like my husband, think that Dozer needs "help." We have a trainer coming over to meet Dozer this weekend, to see what can be done. But can training really "fix" an issue that seems, to me, to be the result of faulty wiring? I'm all for training when it can alter behavior. But I also realize there are some cases where genetics has had the last laugh (this is where responsible management, rather than training, comes in).
I wonder if Dozer's problems haven't been a bit too humanized at this point. Why, exactly, does Dozer really need to learn to enjoy being out in public? People have to overcome social anxiety in order to function and live normal lives. They must be able to go to work, to the grocery store, and so forth.
Dozer is a dog. He can stay home all day and play in the yard with his ball whenever he wants. And if he's perfectly happy doing that, why do people think that he needs "help," or that his anxiety is a "problem"?
I can understand why Byrd keeps pushing for us to "help" Dozer--because he feels guilty and partially responsible for Dozer being this way, and because he can really empathize with the anxiety Dozer feels in public. He sees Dozer as a furry version of himself, and because Byrd sought help and feels better as a result, he wants Dozer to get help as well.
But I don't see it the same. I see Dozer as a senior dog who just wants to enjoy life from the comfort of his home. As long as we don't force him to go anywhere (and it's not like we really need to), he's quite happy, loving, and healthy. And no, he's not overprotective of our house. He actually loves visitors to our house, no matter who they are, especially if they play fetch with him.
So can Dozer be "helped"? Or more to the point, does he really need to be "helped"? I am tempted to choose the negative response to both questions.
Not the scary serial killer nuts a la Silence of the Lambs, but the harmless goofy nuts a la Benny and Joon.
Dozer is obsessive-compulsive and anxious. He loves his toy (usually a ball, sometimes a disc). He loves his house. When he has these things, he is the happiest dog alive.
But when he loses either of those things, he starts whining and pacing, and his brain basically shuts off. He is essentially nonresponsive to the environment. His response to training commands slows to a trickle.
It's not that he becomes out of control, because there's really nothing about him that needs controlling. He turns on a very whiny autopilot. He'll go on a walk, but he won't notice the squirrels dancing a jig in front of him or the stray cat peeing on his leg. He won't "sit" without a sharp push on the behind. He just sort of goes into a trance where I guess he might be imagining himself back at home.
This is one of the reasons why loose leash training has never been successful for him. He simply isn't "there." I use a no-pull harness to make walking easier. (I should add that I can definitely walk him on his regular collar if need be. He is so sad that even the pulling is rather wimpy.)
This has been the way of things with Dozer since his early years. He had all the advantages his "sister" Felanie did, including puppy socialization class, obedience classes, and agility classes. Both dogs lived under the same house rules and expectations. Felanie turned into a fine dog without any social anxiety or obsessive behavior.
At first, Dozer did fine, too, though there were some hints that Dozer was not quite normal, even during early years.
During his puppy socialization class, Dozer ignored the other dogs, favoring a tennis ball above all else. When the other puppies started to play-fight, Dozer stood between them (he was the biggest puppy there), chewing on his ball and whining. The instructor called Dozer "The Peacemaker" because it bothered Dozer so much to see other dogs fight, even in play; he would always try to stand in the middle in order to break it up.
When we took Dozer to a very reputable professional trainer because he was so obsessed about his toy ball, the trainer suggested that we put him in a room and dump dozens of tennis balls in there. The idea was to make the balls so common that Dozer would have no reason to worry about where they all were. We tried this idea. Let's just say that that was the happiest day of Dozer's life--and he's still obsessed with toy balls.
The older Dozer got, the less he enjoyed leaving the house. He still likes car rides--as long as they're short, and he can hang his head out the window (which means only in the immediate neighborhood, since I don't allow dog heads out the window over 35 mph).
My husband has panic attacks when he goes out in public. This has only recently been controlled with medication. Byrd feels a bit guilty about Dozer as a result. "I gave him this," he says, as if social anxiety is some sort of contagious disease.
So here's where I get stuck in my thoughts. Some people, like my husband, think that Dozer needs "help." We have a trainer coming over to meet Dozer this weekend, to see what can be done. But can training really "fix" an issue that seems, to me, to be the result of faulty wiring? I'm all for training when it can alter behavior. But I also realize there are some cases where genetics has had the last laugh (this is where responsible management, rather than training, comes in).
I wonder if Dozer's problems haven't been a bit too humanized at this point. Why, exactly, does Dozer really need to learn to enjoy being out in public? People have to overcome social anxiety in order to function and live normal lives. They must be able to go to work, to the grocery store, and so forth.
Dozer is a dog. He can stay home all day and play in the yard with his ball whenever he wants. And if he's perfectly happy doing that, why do people think that he needs "help," or that his anxiety is a "problem"?
I can understand why Byrd keeps pushing for us to "help" Dozer--because he feels guilty and partially responsible for Dozer being this way, and because he can really empathize with the anxiety Dozer feels in public. He sees Dozer as a furry version of himself, and because Byrd sought help and feels better as a result, he wants Dozer to get help as well.
But I don't see it the same. I see Dozer as a senior dog who just wants to enjoy life from the comfort of his home. As long as we don't force him to go anywhere (and it's not like we really need to), he's quite happy, loving, and healthy. And no, he's not overprotective of our house. He actually loves visitors to our house, no matter who they are, especially if they play fetch with him.
So can Dozer be "helped"? Or more to the point, does he really need to be "helped"? I am tempted to choose the negative response to both questions.
Monday, March 02, 2009
Dogs dogs dogs
All the dog-related stuff swimming in my brain:
BSL everywhere. New Mexico drops their proposed pit bull ban. An Oregon senator promptly proposes a pit bull ban. Florida, Texas, and Hawaii are all still dealing with possible statewide BSL. I went away for the weekend on a relaxing trip and came back to find my inbox overflowing with necessary updates for the StopBSL website. I hate BSL. It ruins my free time and keeps me up at night, but I can't let it go, because I just can't tolerate such a massive injustice.
Star and Dozer did surprisingly well on our trip. Dozer hated it, needless to say, but he didn't destroy anything. Neither dog required crating. I actually used Star a couple of times to help catch one of the other resort visitors' little dog--it liked to run away from people but not from other dogs.
On Tuesday I'm going to go to a seminar on canine search and rescue, to find out whether Star might be at all suitable for SAR training. She loves to smell every little thing on our walks.
I just missed Intro to Agility classes at the Travis Agility Group. I will enroll Star in the next Intro class, whenever that starts up.
I got the city to agree to put up a bulletin board at the city dog park. I think it will be a good place for dog owners to share information. I especially want to put up info about free training classes, events, and legislation. I think it will be a bit easier than telling people or handing out flyers at the park, which is what I've been doing lately.
Both dogs are itching something awful. It doesn't seem to be fleas. Star has some dandruff; she might have dry skin. I have pretty dry skin too due to the dry winter, but unlike Star, I can slather lotion all over myself. I'll give Star a hydrocortisone shampoo and see if that helps her. Dozer has known seasonal allergies. Dozer will get his cortisone shot at his annual vet visit at the end of March. That should help him a lot. I would get him a shot earlier, but he isn't supposed to get the shot very frequently, and the worst time for him is usually late spring/early summer.
BSL everywhere. New Mexico drops their proposed pit bull ban. An Oregon senator promptly proposes a pit bull ban. Florida, Texas, and Hawaii are all still dealing with possible statewide BSL. I went away for the weekend on a relaxing trip and came back to find my inbox overflowing with necessary updates for the StopBSL website. I hate BSL. It ruins my free time and keeps me up at night, but I can't let it go, because I just can't tolerate such a massive injustice.
Star and Dozer did surprisingly well on our trip. Dozer hated it, needless to say, but he didn't destroy anything. Neither dog required crating. I actually used Star a couple of times to help catch one of the other resort visitors' little dog--it liked to run away from people but not from other dogs.
On Tuesday I'm going to go to a seminar on canine search and rescue, to find out whether Star might be at all suitable for SAR training. She loves to smell every little thing on our walks.
I just missed Intro to Agility classes at the Travis Agility Group. I will enroll Star in the next Intro class, whenever that starts up.
I got the city to agree to put up a bulletin board at the city dog park. I think it will be a good place for dog owners to share information. I especially want to put up info about free training classes, events, and legislation. I think it will be a bit easier than telling people or handing out flyers at the park, which is what I've been doing lately.
Both dogs are itching something awful. It doesn't seem to be fleas. Star has some dandruff; she might have dry skin. I have pretty dry skin too due to the dry winter, but unlike Star, I can slather lotion all over myself. I'll give Star a hydrocortisone shampoo and see if that helps her. Dozer has known seasonal allergies. Dozer will get his cortisone shot at his annual vet visit at the end of March. That should help him a lot. I would get him a shot earlier, but he isn't supposed to get the shot very frequently, and the worst time for him is usually late spring/early summer.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Eat This, Not That
Byrd is overweight and trying to shed pounds. I'm underweight and trying to gain.
I don't have high blood pressure or high cholesterol (yet), so I really don't watch what I eat. But Byrd does have high everything, and Byrd does have to watch his intake.
We're always having these major food issues as a result. Byrd designated me his "food police" to help him eat healthier. But he doesn't appreciate watching me practice the opposite of what I'm preaching. I stuff my face with whatever I feel like (even at my worst, I usually don't eat more than 1000 calories a day), while telling Byrd he can't have any.
Yet even after guiding Byrd toward healthier foods, packing his lunches, and cooking dinner five or six nights a week, neither one of us was having any success reaching our weight goals. I was burning all my calories preparing his meals (ha ha), and he was sneaking fast food during work because he was still hungry even after eating the lunches I made him (as I discovered when he got food poisoning last week, vomiting pickle slices, which raised my eyebrows since we do not have pickles in our house).
So I bought the book Eat This, Not That. And by reading it, I realized where I was going wrong. I recommend the book if you are a frustrated grocery shopper like me.
For instance, I keep buying the wrong wheat bread. I didn't realize that mistake until I read what the book described as a proper nutritious bread: high fiber, no sugar, serious grains. I buy a wheat bread that has barely any fiber in it and a lot of sugar. Mistake!
Similarly, in purchasing what I thought were healthy snack foods--granola bars, puffed rice cakes, Ritz crackers, and even yogurt--I was really buying foods with lots of sugar, trans fat, and/or saturated fat. I didn't bother to read the ingredients list or compare nutrition labels (I don't want to spend hours in the store, I want to grab and go). Dummy.
The nice thing about the book is that it has lots and lots of pictures. Pictures of things I should be buying, and pictures of things I shouldn't be buying. It makes for a quick and easy reference.
Byrd, who is close to illiterate and rarely touches books, really enjoyed looking at the pictures. This was great for me because I thought, hey, he will learn something from a neutral source rather than from his nagging know-it-all wife.
Well, okay, it was great... until he started recognizing things that I often buy. "Oh, look, that's our margarine spread under 'Eat This'," he commented, "but that spreadable butter you bought that one time is a 'Not That.' It is banished from this house!" (Insert dramatic arm wave here.)
I had to yank the book away from him before he saw which column my beloved Oreos fell into. He'll be banishing those delicious cookies over my dead body.
I don't have high blood pressure or high cholesterol (yet), so I really don't watch what I eat. But Byrd does have high everything, and Byrd does have to watch his intake.
We're always having these major food issues as a result. Byrd designated me his "food police" to help him eat healthier. But he doesn't appreciate watching me practice the opposite of what I'm preaching. I stuff my face with whatever I feel like (even at my worst, I usually don't eat more than 1000 calories a day), while telling Byrd he can't have any.
Yet even after guiding Byrd toward healthier foods, packing his lunches, and cooking dinner five or six nights a week, neither one of us was having any success reaching our weight goals. I was burning all my calories preparing his meals (ha ha), and he was sneaking fast food during work because he was still hungry even after eating the lunches I made him (as I discovered when he got food poisoning last week, vomiting pickle slices, which raised my eyebrows since we do not have pickles in our house).
So I bought the book Eat This, Not That. And by reading it, I realized where I was going wrong. I recommend the book if you are a frustrated grocery shopper like me.
For instance, I keep buying the wrong wheat bread. I didn't realize that mistake until I read what the book described as a proper nutritious bread: high fiber, no sugar, serious grains. I buy a wheat bread that has barely any fiber in it and a lot of sugar. Mistake!
Similarly, in purchasing what I thought were healthy snack foods--granola bars, puffed rice cakes, Ritz crackers, and even yogurt--I was really buying foods with lots of sugar, trans fat, and/or saturated fat. I didn't bother to read the ingredients list or compare nutrition labels (I don't want to spend hours in the store, I want to grab and go). Dummy.
The nice thing about the book is that it has lots and lots of pictures. Pictures of things I should be buying, and pictures of things I shouldn't be buying. It makes for a quick and easy reference.
Byrd, who is close to illiterate and rarely touches books, really enjoyed looking at the pictures. This was great for me because I thought, hey, he will learn something from a neutral source rather than from his nagging know-it-all wife.
Well, okay, it was great... until he started recognizing things that I often buy. "Oh, look, that's our margarine spread under 'Eat This'," he commented, "but that spreadable butter you bought that one time is a 'Not That.' It is banished from this house!" (Insert dramatic arm wave here.)
I had to yank the book away from him before he saw which column my beloved Oreos fell into. He'll be banishing those delicious cookies over my dead body.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Peanut butter
This is how we tell the difference between the "dog peanut butter" and the "human peanut butter" in our house.
God forbid the lids get swapped somehow.
God forbid the lids get swapped somehow.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
I don't get politicians
So Hawaii Senator Colleen Hanabusa, who wrote SB 79, which would ban "pit bulls" from Hawaii if it passes, is now quoted in EVERY recent news article saying she doesn't actually agree with the legislation she wrote. No, she wrote up this legislation "at the request of a consistuent."
Which basically leaves me thinking: wtf??
Seriously, if one of her constituents walked into her office and asked her to write up legislation banning Labrador Retrievers... would she do it? (Hey District 21 residents, I dare ya to try it and see what she says.)
I'm calling shenanigans on Senator Hanabusa. You better believe she thought it was a good idea, or she wouldn't have introduced it. But methinks the outcry has her wondering whether she'll survive re-election, so she's publicly backing off.
Which basically leaves me thinking: wtf??
Seriously, if one of her constituents walked into her office and asked her to write up legislation banning Labrador Retrievers... would she do it? (Hey District 21 residents, I dare ya to try it and see what she says.)
I'm calling shenanigans on Senator Hanabusa. You better believe she thought it was a good idea, or she wouldn't have introduced it. But methinks the outcry has her wondering whether she'll survive re-election, so she's publicly backing off.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
The Unicorn Story
Ever since I told my mom I was dabbling in fiction writing, she keeps saying "Oh, good! I always wanted you to finish that unicorn story!"
Huh wha?
Until I was maybe twelve, I was pretty sure I had an invisible pet unicorn hanging out with me. I was also the proud owner of the largest collection of unicorn figurines ever to grace the planet. I lived, ate, breathed, dreamed unicorns. My Christmas presents were all unicorn-themed. I had unicorn stationary, unicorn sheets, unicorn light switches, unicorn posters, unicorn books... I was so into unicorns that my poor sister, who preferred cats, nevertheless received various unicorn-related gifts from relatives who were blinded by my obsession.
But back to the unicorn story. I wasn't a big writer when I was a kid because I considered writing to be something you had to do as homework, not something you did for fun. Almost everything I wrote was for school, and was therefore technically accurate but not emotionally engaging.
So hearing Mom talk about this unicorn story was a big surprise. I don't remember writing it, I don't know what it was about, and I'm sure I must have been, like, six years old when I wrote it. I don't think there are any surviving copies.
I guess Mom still thinks of me as a little kid. :) I thought she was going to faint when I told her I'm going to be 30 this year.
Huh wha?
Until I was maybe twelve, I was pretty sure I had an invisible pet unicorn hanging out with me. I was also the proud owner of the largest collection of unicorn figurines ever to grace the planet. I lived, ate, breathed, dreamed unicorns. My Christmas presents were all unicorn-themed. I had unicorn stationary, unicorn sheets, unicorn light switches, unicorn posters, unicorn books... I was so into unicorns that my poor sister, who preferred cats, nevertheless received various unicorn-related gifts from relatives who were blinded by my obsession.
But back to the unicorn story. I wasn't a big writer when I was a kid because I considered writing to be something you had to do as homework, not something you did for fun. Almost everything I wrote was for school, and was therefore technically accurate but not emotionally engaging.
So hearing Mom talk about this unicorn story was a big surprise. I don't remember writing it, I don't know what it was about, and I'm sure I must have been, like, six years old when I wrote it. I don't think there are any surviving copies.
I guess Mom still thinks of me as a little kid. :) I thought she was going to faint when I told her I'm going to be 30 this year.
Monday, January 26, 2009
He said WHAT?
Byrd asked me today, "Do you want to have a baby?"
I was putting up things after dinner and this caught me totally off guard. This, from a man who insists he hates kids. I thought he was joking around.
I didn't answer. I asked him back, "Do you?" Still thinking he was joking. His usual response to my teasing suggestions about procreation is "HELL no."
This time he said, "Yeah, maybe."
I nearly choked.
Could it be that he's softening up a little, maybe feeling his age? Or is it the fact that I'm staying home, taking care of things, that makes him feel more comfortable with the image of a traditional family?
Not to worry, though. I won't be ready for kids for another five years, at least. I still have a lot I want to do before taking on that sort of responsibility. And then there are the dogs.
I was putting up things after dinner and this caught me totally off guard. This, from a man who insists he hates kids. I thought he was joking around.
I didn't answer. I asked him back, "Do you?" Still thinking he was joking. His usual response to my teasing suggestions about procreation is "HELL no."
This time he said, "Yeah, maybe."
I nearly choked.
Could it be that he's softening up a little, maybe feeling his age? Or is it the fact that I'm staying home, taking care of things, that makes him feel more comfortable with the image of a traditional family?
Not to worry, though. I won't be ready for kids for another five years, at least. I still have a lot I want to do before taking on that sort of responsibility. And then there are the dogs.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Morning Fun With Water Heater
You know it's going to be a weird morning when you let the dogs outside and hear this odd rushing sound in the wall by the kitchen sink while you're standing there waiting for the dogs to relieve themselves.
I knew it was water. It just didn't sound like the usual running water through the pipes to cater to the toilet that is constantly refilling itself in the master bathroom. No, this was much more... free and unrestrained.
The dogs got very excited when I started to run. I didn't know where I was running, but I knew this was a situation that required running. I grabbed the phone on my way past, because I felt I was going to need it. I ran outside in my nightrobe and looked under the addition (I was thinking exposed pipes plus freezing weather). Dry. I went back inside and peeked under the kitchen sink. Dry. I then ran up and down the hall trying to pinpoint the location of the noise.
Yes, it was a glorious romp for the dogs. I nearly killed myself tripping over Star, who has not yet learned the art of moving the hell out of the way.
Then I flung open the closet under the stairs, where we access the water heater. This was a mysterious and uncharted land for Star. She crammed herself into the closet with me. There was water pooling on the floor, and it was spraying on the walls like crazy from somewhere around the water heater.
Phone call to Byrd. "We have a major problem. I need you home right now. Water everywhere." No more explanation needed. Over the phone, Byrd walked me through the steps to shut off the water to the house while he sped home with the yellow light on top of his work truck flashing as if he were a cop (lol).
I went out to the front curb, still in my nightrobe, and found the shut-off valve by accident when my foot plunged into a two-foot hole concealed by weeds and leaves, like a miniature lion trap. The plastic cover was gone and the hole was mostly filled in with dirt. I had to dig out a foot of dirt before I could access the valve.
Byrd got home and assessed the situation. The culprit? A pinhole leak in one of the ancient copper pipes connected to the water heater. Byrd went to Home Depot, bought some fancy new flexible plasticky hoses, replaced the copper pipes with the new hoses, and headed back to work. I mopped up the water and pointed a portable heater inside the closet to encourage rapid drying.
Byrd said he was glad I was home when this happened. I think that was his way of pointing out that I'm worth a lot to the household even when I'm not actively working on a paying job.
I knew it was water. It just didn't sound like the usual running water through the pipes to cater to the toilet that is constantly refilling itself in the master bathroom. No, this was much more... free and unrestrained.
The dogs got very excited when I started to run. I didn't know where I was running, but I knew this was a situation that required running. I grabbed the phone on my way past, because I felt I was going to need it. I ran outside in my nightrobe and looked under the addition (I was thinking exposed pipes plus freezing weather). Dry. I went back inside and peeked under the kitchen sink. Dry. I then ran up and down the hall trying to pinpoint the location of the noise.
Yes, it was a glorious romp for the dogs. I nearly killed myself tripping over Star, who has not yet learned the art of moving the hell out of the way.
Then I flung open the closet under the stairs, where we access the water heater. This was a mysterious and uncharted land for Star. She crammed herself into the closet with me. There was water pooling on the floor, and it was spraying on the walls like crazy from somewhere around the water heater.
Phone call to Byrd. "We have a major problem. I need you home right now. Water everywhere." No more explanation needed. Over the phone, Byrd walked me through the steps to shut off the water to the house while he sped home with the yellow light on top of his work truck flashing as if he were a cop (lol).
I went out to the front curb, still in my nightrobe, and found the shut-off valve by accident when my foot plunged into a two-foot hole concealed by weeds and leaves, like a miniature lion trap. The plastic cover was gone and the hole was mostly filled in with dirt. I had to dig out a foot of dirt before I could access the valve.
Byrd got home and assessed the situation. The culprit? A pinhole leak in one of the ancient copper pipes connected to the water heater. Byrd went to Home Depot, bought some fancy new flexible plasticky hoses, replaced the copper pipes with the new hoses, and headed back to work. I mopped up the water and pointed a portable heater inside the closet to encourage rapid drying.
Byrd said he was glad I was home when this happened. I think that was his way of pointing out that I'm worth a lot to the household even when I'm not actively working on a paying job.
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Spayed but not as stated
The shelter did not spay Star last Monday, though they claim they did.
There is a scar that appears to be from spaying. But it's a very old scar.
I took Star to the vet because, frankly, I didn't see any sutures and I thought I was going crazy. I wanted the vet to give me some answers. And the vet agrees, so I'm not crazy (about this, anyway)--my dog sure didn't get spayed a week ago.
I'm a little annoyed because the shelter literally went through the entire song-and-dance about spaying. They held my dog for three days in order to "spay" her. And when we picked her up, they showed us that "the sutures aren't inflamed, the incision site is very clean." (I took their word for it at the time; Star was wiggling all over like a crazed worm and I couldn't really see anything at all between her flailing legs.) And they warned us not to give her a bath, and keep her calm for several days.
What's worse, when we filled out the adoption paperwork, we felt sure she was already spayed. The guy helping us with the adoption forms said "Great, you can take her home today. That will free up space for more dogs!" Then he said "Oh, no, she hasn't been spayed, so you have to wait to take her home." The waiting was not a big deal--if they had actually spayed her. But they didn't. And what is implied by the guy's statement is that, because Star had to stay and take up a run for an additional three days, that meant some other dog got euth'd because there wasn't enough space.
Nice. Not that there's anything I can do about it now. I did gratefully give her a bath, though. She seemed happy to be clean and did a bunny hop across our lawn afterwards.
There is a scar that appears to be from spaying. But it's a very old scar.
I took Star to the vet because, frankly, I didn't see any sutures and I thought I was going crazy. I wanted the vet to give me some answers. And the vet agrees, so I'm not crazy (about this, anyway)--my dog sure didn't get spayed a week ago.
I'm a little annoyed because the shelter literally went through the entire song-and-dance about spaying. They held my dog for three days in order to "spay" her. And when we picked her up, they showed us that "the sutures aren't inflamed, the incision site is very clean." (I took their word for it at the time; Star was wiggling all over like a crazed worm and I couldn't really see anything at all between her flailing legs.) And they warned us not to give her a bath, and keep her calm for several days.
What's worse, when we filled out the adoption paperwork, we felt sure she was already spayed. The guy helping us with the adoption forms said "Great, you can take her home today. That will free up space for more dogs!" Then he said "Oh, no, she hasn't been spayed, so you have to wait to take her home." The waiting was not a big deal--if they had actually spayed her. But they didn't. And what is implied by the guy's statement is that, because Star had to stay and take up a run for an additional three days, that meant some other dog got euth'd because there wasn't enough space.
Nice. Not that there's anything I can do about it now. I did gratefully give her a bath, though. She seemed happy to be clean and did a bunny hop across our lawn afterwards.
Loose leash walking
Dozer and Fel were never "loose leash" walkers.
Fel, in fact, was such an incorrigible puller that one of our area's top trainers, confident only minutes before that he could stop her pulling immediately, muttered "She's a tough case, eh" as she yanked him along, oblivious to his various tactics. It was something of an understatement. He gave up on her before too long, and so did I; she wore a Gentle Leader head harness from then on, and that stopped the pulling, for the most part. Once she got old and sick, the walks got a lot easier.
Dozer is not a well-trained loose leash walker. He hates walking, so it's more of a cowed slink; the leash is loose because he doesn't want to go very fast. Show him something interesting, and he darts ahead. He also surges forward when a car passes, as if he's trying to keep up with it, or maybe hitch a ride back home without me.
Star may be the redeeming dog here. We have been relentlessly training loose leash walking since day 2 (I let her do what she wanted on day 1, just to see). For a while, I doubted my ability to train loose leash, considering my poor track record. Sure, I can teach a dog to put toys in a toy box and close cabinet doors, but walking? But Star is learning--fast. This is the serious "heel," too, not the "as long as you're somewhere nearby" type of loose leash. It's kind of neat.
I'm using the "circle" technique to train. Basically, as soon as the dog gets too far ahead, out of the range you specify, you turn around and walk the other way. The dog goes "what the?" and turns and follows, and you reward as soon as the dog reaches the "heel" position. Then you circle back around and continue on with your walk. The first several times, the reward is probably delivered as the dog runs past to pull ahead (at which point you turn around again), but after a while, the dog realizes the reward comes from staying beside the walker's leg. Furthermore, the circling around causes the dog to focus on the walker (to avoid collision at the very least).
Then it's just a matter of constant reward for the "heel" position, slowly delivering the treats at a less-frequent interval as the dog "gets it," and at a more frequent interval if a challenging/distracting situation arises, such as barking dogs or people walking by. There's no punishment involved, unless you consider it punishment to walk in circles (I sure do--I get dizzy after a while!).
Fel, in fact, was such an incorrigible puller that one of our area's top trainers, confident only minutes before that he could stop her pulling immediately, muttered "She's a tough case, eh" as she yanked him along, oblivious to his various tactics. It was something of an understatement. He gave up on her before too long, and so did I; she wore a Gentle Leader head harness from then on, and that stopped the pulling, for the most part. Once she got old and sick, the walks got a lot easier.
Dozer is not a well-trained loose leash walker. He hates walking, so it's more of a cowed slink; the leash is loose because he doesn't want to go very fast. Show him something interesting, and he darts ahead. He also surges forward when a car passes, as if he's trying to keep up with it, or maybe hitch a ride back home without me.
Star may be the redeeming dog here. We have been relentlessly training loose leash walking since day 2 (I let her do what she wanted on day 1, just to see). For a while, I doubted my ability to train loose leash, considering my poor track record. Sure, I can teach a dog to put toys in a toy box and close cabinet doors, but walking? But Star is learning--fast. This is the serious "heel," too, not the "as long as you're somewhere nearby" type of loose leash. It's kind of neat.
I'm using the "circle" technique to train. Basically, as soon as the dog gets too far ahead, out of the range you specify, you turn around and walk the other way. The dog goes "what the?" and turns and follows, and you reward as soon as the dog reaches the "heel" position. Then you circle back around and continue on with your walk. The first several times, the reward is probably delivered as the dog runs past to pull ahead (at which point you turn around again), but after a while, the dog realizes the reward comes from staying beside the walker's leg. Furthermore, the circling around causes the dog to focus on the walker (to avoid collision at the very least).
Then it's just a matter of constant reward for the "heel" position, slowly delivering the treats at a less-frequent interval as the dog "gets it," and at a more frequent interval if a challenging/distracting situation arises, such as barking dogs or people walking by. There's no punishment involved, unless you consider it punishment to walk in circles (I sure do--I get dizzy after a while!).
Monday, December 29, 2008
Adoption
We adopted a dog this weekend. She's approx. three years old, "buff" colored (greyish tan like a nice leather car interior), 40-50 lb. pit bull mix. Sweet, alert, good on a leash, intelligent and interested in learning, and seems friendly toward other dogs. The shelter called her Lula, but I'm going to call her Star.
She's getting spayed today, so she has to stay at the shelter until Tuesday. No pics yet, alas. The only one I have is a terrible photo obviously taken by the shelter immediately upon intake; she is cowering, and her eyes are big glowing yellow balls. Her photo is so bad that I didn't even consider her when I was doing a web search; I went to the shelter to look at a different dog and ended up checking her out as well.
I'm so excited, but also nervous. I have no idea how Dozer will do. The shelter did not require us to do a meet-and-greet, which was a huge relief. Instead, I am going to do the slowest possible intro--two weeks of crate and rotate--before bringing them together. Hopefully by then he will have accepted Star as a roommate (I think 'pal' is probably asking too much).
Now I've got to do some reading up. I haven't trained a green dog for years. Our comfy routine and our house rules are about to get all shaken up. The chaos will be similar to that created by a foster dog--but we're keeping this one, so I have to get my training cap on.
She's getting spayed today, so she has to stay at the shelter until Tuesday. No pics yet, alas. The only one I have is a terrible photo obviously taken by the shelter immediately upon intake; she is cowering, and her eyes are big glowing yellow balls. Her photo is so bad that I didn't even consider her when I was doing a web search; I went to the shelter to look at a different dog and ended up checking her out as well.
I'm so excited, but also nervous. I have no idea how Dozer will do. The shelter did not require us to do a meet-and-greet, which was a huge relief. Instead, I am going to do the slowest possible intro--two weeks of crate and rotate--before bringing them together. Hopefully by then he will have accepted Star as a roommate (I think 'pal' is probably asking too much).
Now I've got to do some reading up. I haven't trained a green dog for years. Our comfy routine and our house rules are about to get all shaken up. The chaos will be similar to that created by a foster dog--but we're keeping this one, so I have to get my training cap on.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Sure, make this adoption a little more difficult
We've been trying to find a suitable dog to fill the hole left by Felanie. I have been taking my time, and I've had very high expectations: small adult female pit bull-type that is social and dog-friendly. That in itself narrows my options considerably.
And yet, no one seems particularly eager to rehome their adoptable dogs. To date, not a single local rescue group has bothered to respond to my general inquiries about adoption. I can't even seem to get in touch with them when I want to meet a dog they have posted on Petfinder. So I guess rescue groups are out.
That leaves shelters. And out of the six shelters in our area, two require meet-and-greets, which are guaranteed to go badly because of Dozer. No exceptions—I asked. So those are out. Three others do not require meet-and-greets, but refuse to do home visits (which might actually work for Dozer). If I adopt from any of these three, then, I'm going to have to make an on-the-spot decision.
Only one shelter does home visits. Not only that, but they allow overnights / trial runs! Perfect, right? Sure, if they had a dog there that met my criteria... but they don't.
Meanwhile, my visit to one shelter (one that recommends but does not require a meet-and-greet) netted a very promising dog that seemed to fit my criteria fairly well. I asked about the adoption process. When I explained my situation (meet-and-greet will not be a good idea) the lady helping me proceeded to advise me to look elsewhere for a shelter that would do a home visit! Yes, she was encouraging me to go away.
I ventured to suggest a trial period. The lady stared at me as if I had just fallen out of the ceiling. Then she said, "No. Once you adopt, the dog is yours permanently. You really should do a meet-and-greet. Just today we had several animals returned because they aren't getting along with the other critters in the house."
Okay, I just explained why a meet-and-greet won't work. But wait a sec. You won't do a trial period or an overnight. But it's okay for people to return the animals they adopt. Isn't that sort of the same thing? And wouldn't a trial prevent those much-lamented returns? At the very least, a trial run means one dog not sitting in a kennel going nuts, one dog not "taking up space," one dog weasling its way into a prospective adopter's heart.
I am utterly stumped. As much as I hate making a psuedo-commitment, the shelter system here has put me against a wall. How the heck am I supposed to adopt a suitable dog when nobody shows the least bit of interest in working with me (the exception being the lone shelter that allows overnights, but has no dogs that show potential)?
While our shelters refuse to help potential adopters (or treat them like loonies, which is something I keep running into whenever I ask a real question), and cling to their either-or philosophy ("either you take it home for keeps or you don't take it home at all"), all these dogs are being put to sleep.
I don't know why this is so difficult. Grr.
And yet, no one seems particularly eager to rehome their adoptable dogs. To date, not a single local rescue group has bothered to respond to my general inquiries about adoption. I can't even seem to get in touch with them when I want to meet a dog they have posted on Petfinder. So I guess rescue groups are out.
That leaves shelters. And out of the six shelters in our area, two require meet-and-greets, which are guaranteed to go badly because of Dozer. No exceptions—I asked. So those are out. Three others do not require meet-and-greets, but refuse to do home visits (which might actually work for Dozer). If I adopt from any of these three, then, I'm going to have to make an on-the-spot decision.
Only one shelter does home visits. Not only that, but they allow overnights / trial runs! Perfect, right? Sure, if they had a dog there that met my criteria... but they don't.
Meanwhile, my visit to one shelter (one that recommends but does not require a meet-and-greet) netted a very promising dog that seemed to fit my criteria fairly well. I asked about the adoption process. When I explained my situation (meet-and-greet will not be a good idea) the lady helping me proceeded to advise me to look elsewhere for a shelter that would do a home visit! Yes, she was encouraging me to go away.
I ventured to suggest a trial period. The lady stared at me as if I had just fallen out of the ceiling. Then she said, "No. Once you adopt, the dog is yours permanently. You really should do a meet-and-greet. Just today we had several animals returned because they aren't getting along with the other critters in the house."
Okay, I just explained why a meet-and-greet won't work. But wait a sec. You won't do a trial period or an overnight. But it's okay for people to return the animals they adopt. Isn't that sort of the same thing? And wouldn't a trial prevent those much-lamented returns? At the very least, a trial run means one dog not sitting in a kennel going nuts, one dog not "taking up space," one dog weasling its way into a prospective adopter's heart.
I am utterly stumped. As much as I hate making a psuedo-commitment, the shelter system here has put me against a wall. How the heck am I supposed to adopt a suitable dog when nobody shows the least bit of interest in working with me (the exception being the lone shelter that allows overnights, but has no dogs that show potential)?
While our shelters refuse to help potential adopters (or treat them like loonies, which is something I keep running into whenever I ask a real question), and cling to their either-or philosophy ("either you take it home for keeps or you don't take it home at all"), all these dogs are being put to sleep.
I don't know why this is so difficult. Grr.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
A great Christmas gift
Sports Illustrated is finally making up for their 1987 sensational, stereotypical, fearmongering cover and article about pit bulls:
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/magazine/12/22/vick.dogs/
1987 SI cover: The article inside was similarly ridiculous.
2008 SI cover: The article inside is thoughtful and much less sensational.
The 2008 article even references the ghastly 1987 SI issue. The reference is both apologetic ("oops, we might have contributed to a problem") and exculpatory ("but the article inside was not so bad"). Yes, SI, back in 1987 you did contribute to a serious problem--and yes, the article inside was that bad.
But thank you for this positive coverage. I hope it undoes some of the damage you did to the pit bull's image twenty years ago.
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2008/magazine/12/22/vick.dogs/
1987 SI cover: The article inside was similarly ridiculous.
2008 SI cover: The article inside is thoughtful and much less sensational.The 2008 article even references the ghastly 1987 SI issue. The reference is both apologetic ("oops, we might have contributed to a problem") and exculpatory ("but the article inside was not so bad"). Yes, SI, back in 1987 you did contribute to a serious problem--and yes, the article inside was that bad.
But thank you for this positive coverage. I hope it undoes some of the damage you did to the pit bull's image twenty years ago.
Almost... there...
Come on, Christmas. I'm ready. The house is clean (kinda). The gifts are wrapped (well, halfway). The menu is done (the cooking is not). The tree is decorated (only took a week to get around to it).
Yes. I'm ready.
Dozer seems more ready than me. He is deeply disturbed by the presence of the tree. It's a bit larger than usual, true, and it does loom ominously as a result. Bigger is not always better. Next year I'm going to pick something a tad more suitable. (But it didn't look nearly as large on the lot, I swear!)
Dozer also participates in the bizarre gift-wrapping ritual that my husband and I go through every year. I say it's bizarre because we always pile the unwrapped gifts under the tree, then wrap them at the last minute. Because we have family members at our house constantly, the unwrapped gifts are a source of stress--what if Mom comes over and sees her amazing gift sitting there? The surprise is ruined! Quick, throw a sheet over it in a way that doesn't look totally suspicious. I don't know why we don't wrap as we buy. It would make life a lot less ridiculous.
Anyway, that's beside the point. Dozer, for some weird reason, likes to "help" with the gift-wrapping, which takes place on our living room floor. I bring down the paper, scissors, and tape from my office, settle onto the floor, and almost immediately find myself the target of a huge, excited white dog. He sits on me. He puts his head on my leg. His lips caress each gift--each mysterious box, each paper or plastic bag, each price tag I yank off. I pick up the scissors, and Dozer shoves his wet nose between the blades--sniff sniff sniff. I have to reach over his bulk to spread out the wrapping paper.
What on earth is this dog's problem? He's always directly between me and the gift. And if I dare to look at him or talk to him ("Dozer, move your fat head"), he starts licking my face uncontrollably.
I suppose he thinks some or all of these gifts are for him. Or perhaps it's my mistake for letting him "help" by tearing apart some of the unnecessary cardboard boxes. It actually was helpful (we must flatten for recycling), but now I have to rein in his new desire to rip apart ALL the boxes and packages.
To Dozer's credit, he has been very good about it all. This is his first year being left unsupervised and uncrated around the Christmas decorations and gifts. I expected at least one chewed candy cane or one torn gift, but the only thing he's done so far is discover his own Christmas gift. That was my mistake, as I left it on the floor in a Petco bag. Amazingly, he pulled his gift out of the bag but did not touch the cat toys or the dog toys that I had bought for friend and family pets. I guess we really know Dozer well, since he self-selected the gift intended for him.
Unfortunately, I hadn't taken the packaging off the toy yet. Fortunately, Dozer apparently realized it was not in a condition to be played with; he abandoned it on the dining room floor and we found it easily when we got home--it was still in perfect condition. Byrd stuck it in Dozer's stocking.
Oh yes. The stocking. It's a little depressing: it says "DOGS." Depressing for me, I guess. Dozer could care less. There's no way he remembers Fel after all this time.
Yes. I'm ready.
Dozer seems more ready than me. He is deeply disturbed by the presence of the tree. It's a bit larger than usual, true, and it does loom ominously as a result. Bigger is not always better. Next year I'm going to pick something a tad more suitable. (But it didn't look nearly as large on the lot, I swear!)
Dozer also participates in the bizarre gift-wrapping ritual that my husband and I go through every year. I say it's bizarre because we always pile the unwrapped gifts under the tree, then wrap them at the last minute. Because we have family members at our house constantly, the unwrapped gifts are a source of stress--what if Mom comes over and sees her amazing gift sitting there? The surprise is ruined! Quick, throw a sheet over it in a way that doesn't look totally suspicious. I don't know why we don't wrap as we buy. It would make life a lot less ridiculous.
Anyway, that's beside the point. Dozer, for some weird reason, likes to "help" with the gift-wrapping, which takes place on our living room floor. I bring down the paper, scissors, and tape from my office, settle onto the floor, and almost immediately find myself the target of a huge, excited white dog. He sits on me. He puts his head on my leg. His lips caress each gift--each mysterious box, each paper or plastic bag, each price tag I yank off. I pick up the scissors, and Dozer shoves his wet nose between the blades--sniff sniff sniff. I have to reach over his bulk to spread out the wrapping paper.
What on earth is this dog's problem? He's always directly between me and the gift. And if I dare to look at him or talk to him ("Dozer, move your fat head"), he starts licking my face uncontrollably.
I suppose he thinks some or all of these gifts are for him. Or perhaps it's my mistake for letting him "help" by tearing apart some of the unnecessary cardboard boxes. It actually was helpful (we must flatten for recycling), but now I have to rein in his new desire to rip apart ALL the boxes and packages.
To Dozer's credit, he has been very good about it all. This is his first year being left unsupervised and uncrated around the Christmas decorations and gifts. I expected at least one chewed candy cane or one torn gift, but the only thing he's done so far is discover his own Christmas gift. That was my mistake, as I left it on the floor in a Petco bag. Amazingly, he pulled his gift out of the bag but did not touch the cat toys or the dog toys that I had bought for friend and family pets. I guess we really know Dozer well, since he self-selected the gift intended for him.
Unfortunately, I hadn't taken the packaging off the toy yet. Fortunately, Dozer apparently realized it was not in a condition to be played with; he abandoned it on the dining room floor and we found it easily when we got home--it was still in perfect condition. Byrd stuck it in Dozer's stocking.
Oh yes. The stocking. It's a little depressing: it says "DOGS." Depressing for me, I guess. Dozer could care less. There's no way he remembers Fel after all this time.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
And the "meet and greet"...
...bombed. I was hoping it wouldn't, but I had doubts... doubts that proved to be right.
Dozer made his growly "I don't like you" display and the other dog said "You want some? Here's some!"
I have no problem with Dozer's behavior and I'm sure Dozer would have been quite good if this had been a home visit (shelter wouldn't do a home visit). On the other hand, this did give me an opportunity to assess the other dog's level of dog friendliness, and unfortunately she didn't meet my rather high (too high?) standards. She would still be a great dog for someone who just wanted a cuddlebug.
I think the shelter was annoyed with me for being the catalyst that resulted in a "best as only dog in household" note on the dog's file.
Back to the drawing board.
I have no idea how to choose a dog. They usually just show up at my house.
Dozer made his growly "I don't like you" display and the other dog said "You want some? Here's some!"
I have no problem with Dozer's behavior and I'm sure Dozer would have been quite good if this had been a home visit (shelter wouldn't do a home visit). On the other hand, this did give me an opportunity to assess the other dog's level of dog friendliness, and unfortunately she didn't meet my rather high (too high?) standards. She would still be a great dog for someone who just wanted a cuddlebug.
I think the shelter was annoyed with me for being the catalyst that resulted in a "best as only dog in household" note on the dog's file.
Back to the drawing board.
I have no idea how to choose a dog. They usually just show up at my house.
Well, the house LOOKS clean, anyway...
Sitting here eating cheese, crackers, and apples--my favorite lunch--and willing my sore throat to go away. No, I refuse to get sick over the holidays! I've been hit by at least three mysterious sore throats (plus assorted random symptoms that manifest into a knockout illness) over the last year. The doctor has no idea what the problem is. I think he's tested for everything. I'm starting to wonder if it's allergies. (Welcome to Austin, allergy capitol of the world.)
I hired a maid service to clean my house today. Could I have done the cleaning myself? Yes. Do I have time? No. Let's put it this way. It took two experienced cleaning women almost two hours to clean my house. And that's not including laundry, dishes, and picking up, which I have been doing sporadically over the past three days. It also excludes my darling husband's office, which he refused to pick up at all (probably because he knows it is beyond hope). Now the maids are gone, my house looks sparkly (sans hubby's office), and I still have four or five loads of laundry to cycle. And Christmas decorations to put up. And so much more that I am not even going to mention.
Dozer was quite polite while the maids were here. He stuck with me, per my request (read: command), and we stayed out of the way. Unfortunately, he is incredibly farty today, so our house smells a lot less clean than it should. In fact, for a short while I had him closed in the bedroom, and when I went in there to let him out, I had to turn on the ceiling fan. It was terrible! I don't even want to know what the maids thought... how embarrassing.
Today I'm taking Dozer to the animal shelter to meet a potential housemate. He's going to hate it. And it will be worse since his stomach is apparently upset--he will be awful, I know it. But at least I will find out how the other dog feels when confronted by a sick, anxious, grumpy, anti-social selfish jerk dog.
I hired a maid service to clean my house today. Could I have done the cleaning myself? Yes. Do I have time? No. Let's put it this way. It took two experienced cleaning women almost two hours to clean my house. And that's not including laundry, dishes, and picking up, which I have been doing sporadically over the past three days. It also excludes my darling husband's office, which he refused to pick up at all (probably because he knows it is beyond hope). Now the maids are gone, my house looks sparkly (sans hubby's office), and I still have four or five loads of laundry to cycle. And Christmas decorations to put up. And so much more that I am not even going to mention.
Dozer was quite polite while the maids were here. He stuck with me, per my request (read: command), and we stayed out of the way. Unfortunately, he is incredibly farty today, so our house smells a lot less clean than it should. In fact, for a short while I had him closed in the bedroom, and when I went in there to let him out, I had to turn on the ceiling fan. It was terrible! I don't even want to know what the maids thought... how embarrassing.
Today I'm taking Dozer to the animal shelter to meet a potential housemate. He's going to hate it. And it will be worse since his stomach is apparently upset--he will be awful, I know it. But at least I will find out how the other dog feels when confronted by a sick, anxious, grumpy, anti-social selfish jerk dog.
Friday, December 05, 2008
So I thought the end of November would bring me a little downtime. Instead I got an unexpected call from an old boss, and to make a long story short, I am now working on two rush copyediting jobs at once. Which is great, because I love copyediting, and more than that, I love getting paid tons of money to copyedit.
But it means no downtime. Except weekends, which I am going to fight to keep free. Not that I'll be doing any relaxing on the weekends, since I've got Christmas shopping and cards and housework and all that jazz to deal with.
Dozer has become both frisky and pesky over the last few days. I'm sure part of it is boredom, and part is the colder weather blowing in. The other night when I was copyediting past 3 am, he began to get increasingly impatient with me. He acts as my "bodyguard" around the house, following me everywhere--it's what he considers his "job"--and I guess he figured it was very late, and he was tired, and he wanted to clock out and get some sleep, and I was being unreasonable by staying up so ridiculously late.
So he started whining: a quiet, yet shrill, continuous gasping sound. I tried to silence him by letting him outside to potty. I gave him a treat. I stared him down. I told him "no," whereupon we had a conversation that went like this:
"no"
whine
"no"
whine
"no!"
whiiine
"NO!"
whiiiiiiiiiine
"ARGH! SHUT UP!"
silence....
silence....
whine
Byrd got home from his job at about 3:30 am, and at my request (Dozer was now whining with every breath out), he took Dozer to bed with him. Dozer did not go willingly, but I think he finally realized I was not ready for bed, and there was nothing he could do about it.
But it means no downtime. Except weekends, which I am going to fight to keep free. Not that I'll be doing any relaxing on the weekends, since I've got Christmas shopping and cards and housework and all that jazz to deal with.
Dozer has become both frisky and pesky over the last few days. I'm sure part of it is boredom, and part is the colder weather blowing in. The other night when I was copyediting past 3 am, he began to get increasingly impatient with me. He acts as my "bodyguard" around the house, following me everywhere--it's what he considers his "job"--and I guess he figured it was very late, and he was tired, and he wanted to clock out and get some sleep, and I was being unreasonable by staying up so ridiculously late.
So he started whining: a quiet, yet shrill, continuous gasping sound. I tried to silence him by letting him outside to potty. I gave him a treat. I stared him down. I told him "no," whereupon we had a conversation that went like this:
"no"
whine
"no"
whine
"no!"
whiiine
"NO!"
whiiiiiiiiiine
"ARGH! SHUT UP!"
silence....
silence....
whine
Byrd got home from his job at about 3:30 am, and at my request (Dozer was now whining with every breath out), he took Dozer to bed with him. Dozer did not go willingly, but I think he finally realized I was not ready for bed, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Monday, December 01, 2008
Back to normal, whatever that is
Titan got adopted today, and we're hoping it will stick. I think it will; the family has an extensive dog-owning history and experience with cattle dogs as well.
So with Titan's departure, I'm looking forward to cleanup. I can un-puppy-proof the house: pull down the dog toy box and the giant tiger toy (the giant lion toy succumbed to its injuries shortly after Titan discovered the stuffing inside), put away the dog crate and the extra metal bowls, wash the dog blankets and beds, vacuum, and file away Titan's adoption paperwork--or just dump it on the floor in my "to file" pile. Dozer won't care.
The timing is perfect, since it looks like I have a steady job for a while. The textbook company I'm freelancing for has started churning out chapters for me to copyedit. Yay! Work!
I'm toying with the idea of redesigning a website for a local pit bull rescue as my big donation for the holidays. They badly need a new site--their current one is outdated and unpleasant to navigate--I'm just not sure how to tactfully approach them, especially since it looks like someone took a personal interest in creating the current site, investing a lot of themselves into it. What should I say? "Wow, okay, I know you meant well when you designed this, but the purpose of your site isn't very clear. Are you trying to rescue dogs, or induce migraines?" Gah. :/
So with Titan's departure, I'm looking forward to cleanup. I can un-puppy-proof the house: pull down the dog toy box and the giant tiger toy (the giant lion toy succumbed to its injuries shortly after Titan discovered the stuffing inside), put away the dog crate and the extra metal bowls, wash the dog blankets and beds, vacuum, and file away Titan's adoption paperwork--or just dump it on the floor in my "to file" pile. Dozer won't care.
The timing is perfect, since it looks like I have a steady job for a while. The textbook company I'm freelancing for has started churning out chapters for me to copyedit. Yay! Work!
I'm toying with the idea of redesigning a website for a local pit bull rescue as my big donation for the holidays. They badly need a new site--their current one is outdated and unpleasant to navigate--I'm just not sure how to tactfully approach them, especially since it looks like someone took a personal interest in creating the current site, investing a lot of themselves into it. What should I say? "Wow, okay, I know you meant well when you designed this, but the purpose of your site isn't very clear. Are you trying to rescue dogs, or induce migraines?" Gah. :/
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Done and done
I finished. I finished. That's all I can manage right now. I finished.
I'm going to take a little break now, I think. Maybe do a little victory dance, have a little drink. Or five.
Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!
I'm going to take a little break now, I think. Maybe do a little victory dance, have a little drink. Or five.
Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Nanowrimo Week 4 and life is good!
Well. Where to begin? For the first time, I'm ahead of the game, having spent my entire Sunday writing. I'm at 40K words one day ahead of schedule.
And how did I manage this? Especially when the day was rainy and gloomy, preventing me from dumping my rascally foster dog outside in the outdoor kennel?
DOZER BABYSAT.
Yes, folks, my dog-hating grumpy old dog BABYSAT the foster dog.
I kid you not. Dozer played with Titan and kept him entertained for hours. I didn't have to worry about a thing because Dozer kept Titan right by my feet and kept him engaged in real play, not table-chewing and blanket-ripping and carpet-soiling (which is not play even though it's sure fun for the puppy). And after all that play, Titan was so exhausted that he completely passed out! Poor Dozer, who was covered in drool by that time because he'd been letting Titan chew on his face nonstop for twenty minutes, also took a nap.
I was so happy I nearly cried. But no, I had no time to cry. I had to write! So I didn't let my faithful dog down, my poor dog who was enduring horrible torture for my sake--I wrote like crazy.
I really don't know why Dozer played with Titan so solidly, for so long. After I had finished writing for the day, Dozer resumed his I-hate-you-you-bastard attitude toward Titan.
My dog is so weird. But I love him.
And how did I manage this? Especially when the day was rainy and gloomy, preventing me from dumping my rascally foster dog outside in the outdoor kennel?
DOZER BABYSAT.
Yes, folks, my dog-hating grumpy old dog BABYSAT the foster dog.
I kid you not. Dozer played with Titan and kept him entertained for hours. I didn't have to worry about a thing because Dozer kept Titan right by my feet and kept him engaged in real play, not table-chewing and blanket-ripping and carpet-soiling (which is not play even though it's sure fun for the puppy). And after all that play, Titan was so exhausted that he completely passed out! Poor Dozer, who was covered in drool by that time because he'd been letting Titan chew on his face nonstop for twenty minutes, also took a nap.
I was so happy I nearly cried. But no, I had no time to cry. I had to write! So I didn't let my faithful dog down, my poor dog who was enduring horrible torture for my sake--I wrote like crazy.
I really don't know why Dozer played with Titan so solidly, for so long. After I had finished writing for the day, Dozer resumed his I-hate-you-you-bastard attitude toward Titan.
My dog is so weird. But I love him.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
nanowrimo week 3
Middle of week 3 or something like that, who knows, really. Will be at 30K words tonight if all goes well. My head is killing me and even though I know I'm speaking English, it just sounds like gobbledegook to me at this point.
Our foster puppy Titan, the blue heeler puppy from... not hell, but somewhere near it, I'm sure, got neutered yesterday. He was unfazed. By the time I got him home, the anesthetics were worn off and he was bouncing around like a maniac again. He cannot sit still for even a minute. He has had the honor--no, distinction is a better word--of chewing the first hole ever in our sofa. He then tried to sample the dining room table. Right now he is sitting between two Galileo Bones alternately chewing on one, then the other, then back to the first.
I say that the dog is crazy, but it's just because I feel stressed by this unexpected burden, on top of everything else I'm trying to do and everything else that is going on. I just am not in a place where I can handle this constant attention-sink. If I am watching him so he doesn't chew up the table, I can't write or make dinner or even walk off to rotate the laundry. But he's a very good dog that will make someone very happy... as long as they have the energy to keep up with him.
Mostly I am just furious with Byrd for bringing the dog home when I clearly told him "no." And when he brought it home, he swore up and down that he would be primarily responsible for taking care of it and finding it a new home. And after that, he promptly started working 16-hour shifts, night work, leaving him barely enough time to come home and collapse on the bed and get a little sleep before running off to work again. Yeeaah, sure, honey, let me know when you think your responsibility for the dog is going to kick in.
I love my husband, in part because of his soft Jello heart, but sometimes I just want to strangle him.
Our foster puppy Titan, the blue heeler puppy from... not hell, but somewhere near it, I'm sure, got neutered yesterday. He was unfazed. By the time I got him home, the anesthetics were worn off and he was bouncing around like a maniac again. He cannot sit still for even a minute. He has had the honor--no, distinction is a better word--of chewing the first hole ever in our sofa. He then tried to sample the dining room table. Right now he is sitting between two Galileo Bones alternately chewing on one, then the other, then back to the first.
I say that the dog is crazy, but it's just because I feel stressed by this unexpected burden, on top of everything else I'm trying to do and everything else that is going on. I just am not in a place where I can handle this constant attention-sink. If I am watching him so he doesn't chew up the table, I can't write or make dinner or even walk off to rotate the laundry. But he's a very good dog that will make someone very happy... as long as they have the energy to keep up with him.
Mostly I am just furious with Byrd for bringing the dog home when I clearly told him "no." And when he brought it home, he swore up and down that he would be primarily responsible for taking care of it and finding it a new home. And after that, he promptly started working 16-hour shifts, night work, leaving him barely enough time to come home and collapse on the bed and get a little sleep before running off to work again. Yeeaah, sure, honey, let me know when you think your responsibility for the dog is going to kick in.
I love my husband, in part because of his soft Jello heart, but sometimes I just want to strangle him.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Nanowrimo Week 2
The good news is that I will hit 20K words tonight, which is right on schedule.
The bad news is that I have 30K words to go. And I'm sitting here writing this instead. And I spent all day yesterday posting updates to my StopBSL site. And though it's still in its wrapper, I can hear Fable II squeaking "play me," except that it is outshouted by the World of Warcraft WotLK expansion sitting on my dining table. (Yes, I'm a nerd, okay?)
Ok, gotta go get to 20K before dinner... or maybe I'll just write through dinner, cause from the looks of it I should start dinner now. Argh!
Also today I procrastinated by going grocery shopping (Byrd said something about an empty fridge—whatever, loser! Eating's for suckers!), and before walking out the door I set up the Mino to videotape Dozer's sleeping spot while I was gone . My gosh, I thought he would sleep the whole time, but 90% of the time he's not even on the dog bed. And he knew that camera was there... the first thing he did when I drove away was to press his nose against the camera lens. Oy. He's asked me for the video for his blog, not sure why, it's really boring.
Off to write some more...
The bad news is that I have 30K words to go. And I'm sitting here writing this instead. And I spent all day yesterday posting updates to my StopBSL site. And though it's still in its wrapper, I can hear Fable II squeaking "play me," except that it is outshouted by the World of Warcraft WotLK expansion sitting on my dining table. (Yes, I'm a nerd, okay?)
Ok, gotta go get to 20K before dinner... or maybe I'll just write through dinner, cause from the looks of it I should start dinner now. Argh!
Also today I procrastinated by going grocery shopping (Byrd said something about an empty fridge—whatever, loser! Eating's for suckers!), and before walking out the door I set up the Mino to videotape Dozer's sleeping spot while I was gone . My gosh, I thought he would sleep the whole time, but 90% of the time he's not even on the dog bed. And he knew that camera was there... the first thing he did when I drove away was to press his nose against the camera lens. Oy. He's asked me for the video for his blog, not sure why, it's really boring.
Off to write some more...
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
NaNoWriMo!
So it's National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). This year I have no real job, so I'm going to take a stab at writing an entire novel in a month. I can't guarantee I'm going to succeed, but I'll give it a good solid go.
Now if only there weren't so many millions of ways to procrastinate during the day...
Okay, I'm off to write. Really. Seriously. I am.
Oh, did I just hear the dryer buzz?
Now if only there weren't so many millions of ways to procrastinate during the day...
Okay, I'm off to write. Really. Seriously. I am.
Oh, did I just hear the dryer buzz?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Pit Bull Awareness Day 2008
I recently joined a new meetup group, Love-a-Bull (http://www.meetup.com/love-a-bull/), and one of the first things I got to do with them was a Pit Bull Awareness Day event.
Alas, I did not take any pictures (forgot the camera), but I believe there are photos—or will be—on the meetup group site.
It was incredibly hot and our table was in the sun for the full three hours of the event—no shade, no clouds, and barely a whisper of a breeze. But it was very nice to be with a group of people who love pit bulls and support rescue and advocacy; it was also a nice change to have a public, local presence after so many years of impersonal Internet communications.
Even better, I managed to convince my husband to come help out. Despite his anxiety in public, he stuck it out and ended up being very helpful behind the scenes; he also took pride in being the donations box bodyguard.
I think this was the first time Byrd has really volunteered at an event like this, and he was somewhat taken aback by the loose structure and lack of strong, commanding leadership. He's used to being the boss, barking orders, and performing a set task in an organized manner. Of course, it usually doesn't work like that when you're dealing with a group of volunteers, and this particular event was laid back, social, casual, and inviting. Poor Byrd started to pester me for something to do after a while, and I had to reassure him that his mere presence was sufficient!
A lot of people don't realize that just showing up and being seen has a rhetorical meaning of its own. Physical presence means support, and the more visual support a group has, the more important and interesting it becomes. When we had a crowd of people at our table, it attracted even more people. Sometimes the easiest way to help a group and show support is just to be there!
Alas, I did not take any pictures (forgot the camera), but I believe there are photos—or will be—on the meetup group site.
It was incredibly hot and our table was in the sun for the full three hours of the event—no shade, no clouds, and barely a whisper of a breeze. But it was very nice to be with a group of people who love pit bulls and support rescue and advocacy; it was also a nice change to have a public, local presence after so many years of impersonal Internet communications.
Even better, I managed to convince my husband to come help out. Despite his anxiety in public, he stuck it out and ended up being very helpful behind the scenes; he also took pride in being the donations box bodyguard.
I think this was the first time Byrd has really volunteered at an event like this, and he was somewhat taken aback by the loose structure and lack of strong, commanding leadership. He's used to being the boss, barking orders, and performing a set task in an organized manner. Of course, it usually doesn't work like that when you're dealing with a group of volunteers, and this particular event was laid back, social, casual, and inviting. Poor Byrd started to pester me for something to do after a while, and I had to reassure him that his mere presence was sufficient!
A lot of people don't realize that just showing up and being seen has a rhetorical meaning of its own. Physical presence means support, and the more visual support a group has, the more important and interesting it becomes. When we had a crowd of people at our table, it attracted even more people. Sometimes the easiest way to help a group and show support is just to be there!
Friday, October 24, 2008
Hell froze over
Byrd and I rarely agree on anything, and we have never seen eye to eye in terms of political parties. Usually our votes cancel each other out (which is fine with me, because honestly, our state always falls predictably and overwhelmingly into one political party, and my vote wasn't going to tip the scales).
So I was completely blown away when Byrd and I left the early voting place and Byrd admitted that he voted for the same guy I did, against what I would expect, considering his typical political leanings. This has NEVER happened in our ten years of being together.
Naturally, I was filled with joy, not because Byrd had "seen the light" or anything like that (in this election it's really hard to figure out where that light is, anyway), but because we actually agreed on something for once. But I knew I couldn't express that happiness because Byrd would misinterpret it.
In the end, I just patted Byrd on the arm and told him I was glad that we voted early and got it out of the way.
Please go vote. And may I suggest early voting if possible? Because I guarantee Election Day is going to be a nightmare. (P.S. If you are voting for state reps this year, please don't forget to find out your candidates' stances on BSL.)
So I was completely blown away when Byrd and I left the early voting place and Byrd admitted that he voted for the same guy I did, against what I would expect, considering his typical political leanings. This has NEVER happened in our ten years of being together.
Naturally, I was filled with joy, not because Byrd had "seen the light" or anything like that (in this election it's really hard to figure out where that light is, anyway), but because we actually agreed on something for once. But I knew I couldn't express that happiness because Byrd would misinterpret it.
In the end, I just patted Byrd on the arm and told him I was glad that we voted early and got it out of the way.
Please go vote. And may I suggest early voting if possible? Because I guarantee Election Day is going to be a nightmare. (P.S. If you are voting for state reps this year, please don't forget to find out your candidates' stances on BSL.)
Monday, October 13, 2008
Non-discriminatory blessings
A while back, I read an article about a church that was doing a blessing for the animals—sans pit bulls, which were prohibited due to the church's insurance carrier's regulations.
http://www.patriotledger.com/lifestyle/faith/x72908093/All-God-s-creatures-welcome-except-pit-bulls
This irked me because, simply put, such an excuse is basically a cop-out—a "safe" way to get away with discrimination against "undesirables."
But there's non-discriminatory insurance out there—I've found it—and it's not necessarily more expensive. You just have to make some phone calls.
Most places would have stuck with the lame excuse, but this church's decision really surprised me. They did the right thing, albeit a little late for the blessing. The next news article:
http://www.patriotledger.com/lifestyle/faith/x707108484/Weymouth-church-invites-dogs-to-worship
Weymouth church invites dogs to worship
By Stephanie Choate
The Patriot Ledger
Posted Oct 06, 2008 @ 05:49 AM
WEYMOUTH —
Kathleen Dolaher of Quincy takes her dogs everywhereshe goes, but Sunday she took them somewhere they had never been: church.
The Pilgrim Congregational Church in North Weymouth launched its weekly “Woof ’n’ Worship” services Sunday evening.
“I love it. My life revolves around making my dogs happy,” said Dolaher, sitting in a pew with her Labradoodle Rory and miniature Labradoodle Allie. “It makes me happy and it makes them better socialized and better dogs.”
The Rev. Rachel Bickford said the response has been wonderful, and people were excited to be able to take their dogs to church.
“People are really struggling in everyday life, and the animals that we have are something that give us joy every day,” the Rev. Bickford said.
The Rev. Bickford said she came up with the idea for the Woof ’n’ Worship while reading her Bible at home.
“One of (the Psalms) talks about letting all living things praise the Lord. My dogs were at my feet, and I thought this would be a wonderful opportunity for everyone to get together.”
All dogs were welcome, as long as they were leashed, even pit bulls. At first, the church’s insurance policy wouldn’t allow the reputedly aggressive breed, but the church was able to pay a little extra to allow them.
The Rev. Bickford said she wasn’t worried about unruly dogs or excessive chaos, and was glad the church was able to include all breeds.
“One thing I know about dog lovers is we’re all good people, and we know our dogs, so I trust them,” she said.
Sara Diem of Weymouth went to the service so her Bernese mountain dog, Chloe, could be blessed.
“I was excited to bring her here. She’s having a couple little health issues these days, so I just thought she could use the extra help,” she said.
Stephanie Choate may be reached at schoate@ledger.com.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Spoiled by freelancing
Okay, I admit it--freelancing has ruined the way I think about work.
I have a temporary "real job." I'm filling in for one of my old bosses while she's away on vacation. Not even for a full day, but only about 6 hours per day, and not even doing anything except checking email and bidding on the occasional job... yet I'm feeling increasingly antsy and impatient to get back home.
Back to laundry, dishes, vacuuming and dusting. Back to teaching the dog random new tricks. Back to writing, blogging, my websites, my volunteer work. Back to looking at properties with my mom, cooking for my husband, finding random yet amusing Internet sites, running boring errands, shopping for time-saving gadgets that I'll only use once, and plotting new and interesting ways to harass my husband.
I have so much to do, and work just gets in the way!
I have a temporary "real job." I'm filling in for one of my old bosses while she's away on vacation. Not even for a full day, but only about 6 hours per day, and not even doing anything except checking email and bidding on the occasional job... yet I'm feeling increasingly antsy and impatient to get back home.
Back to laundry, dishes, vacuuming and dusting. Back to teaching the dog random new tricks. Back to writing, blogging, my websites, my volunteer work. Back to looking at properties with my mom, cooking for my husband, finding random yet amusing Internet sites, running boring errands, shopping for time-saving gadgets that I'll only use once, and plotting new and interesting ways to harass my husband.
I have so much to do, and work just gets in the way!
Monday, September 29, 2008
The way to a man's heart
Out of love for my husband (and probably guilt, too, due to the fact that I don't work a full 40 and I only pay three small bills), I prepared his lunch this evening.
I've been thinking of buying a large bento box (the Mr. Bento lunchbox, to be specific) for him to take to work. It's basically an insulated lunchbox with smaller boxes piled inside. You heat up or cool down the outer shell in the morning, and it stays that way until lunchtime--so Byrd, who drives his truck to various job sites all day, doesn't have to have a microwave to enjoy warm food in the winter. Each box can be filled to the brim with a different sort of food, such as rice, soup, sandwich, fruits, and so on. Or the boxes can be divvied into courses, like breakfast course, lunch course, and snack course.
And then there's always the food-as-art aspect of bento that has always attracted me. As a slowly reforming finicky eater, I've always loved bento's exciting shapes and colors (click to see some samples of bento). Oh, what's this thing? I don't know, but it's shaped like a bunny, so I'll eat it. And I wonder what this brown octopus-shaped item is? Ha ha, it's sausage. I usually hate sausage but THIS looks like a cute little OCTOPUS!! Yum!
Anyway, I don't have the bento box yet, so this evening I packed my husband's lunch in a variety of small Tupperware-type plastic boxes and crammed them delicately into his ice chest.
One of the items I made was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut... well... it was supposed to be in the shape of a heart, to show him how much I loved him.
I've been thinking of buying a large bento box (the Mr. Bento lunchbox, to be specific) for him to take to work. It's basically an insulated lunchbox with smaller boxes piled inside. You heat up or cool down the outer shell in the morning, and it stays that way until lunchtime--so Byrd, who drives his truck to various job sites all day, doesn't have to have a microwave to enjoy warm food in the winter. Each box can be filled to the brim with a different sort of food, such as rice, soup, sandwich, fruits, and so on. Or the boxes can be divvied into courses, like breakfast course, lunch course, and snack course.
And then there's always the food-as-art aspect of bento that has always attracted me. As a slowly reforming finicky eater, I've always loved bento's exciting shapes and colors (click to see some samples of bento). Oh, what's this thing? I don't know, but it's shaped like a bunny, so I'll eat it. And I wonder what this brown octopus-shaped item is? Ha ha, it's sausage. I usually hate sausage but THIS looks like a cute little OCTOPUS!! Yum!
Anyway, I don't have the bento box yet, so this evening I packed my husband's lunch in a variety of small Tupperware-type plastic boxes and crammed them delicately into his ice chest.
One of the items I made was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut... well... it was supposed to be in the shape of a heart, to show him how much I loved him.
Byrd walked in while I was eating all the leftover crust, stared at the misshapen sandwich, stared at me, then cautiously asked me how I was feeling and whether I would like to lie down for a while.
I suppose sometimes it's easier just to say "I love you honey."
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Got me a new car
I heard back from the insurance company. Though I already sort of assumed it, they confirmed that my poor old CR-V was totalled. No idea yet how much I'll actually get for it. It was old, sure, but it was still in great condition. I don't think I'll get to see it one last time, but I'd sure like to. I'll probably call tomorrow and see if I can find out where it is and whether I can go see it. There are a handful of personal effects I'd really like to collect from its moldy remains if possible.
Days of car shopping later (yuck) and I've finally decided to get another CR-V to replace the one Ike ate. Except this CR-V will be 2008 and will have leather seats and a sunroof. Nice, huh?
Of course, being new and fancy, it's expensive, and the insurance settlement from my old 2001 CR-V will only cover a small portion. So it's back to car payments for us, and poor Byrd's dream of getting his very own brand new Toyota Tacoma is deferred once again.
I decided to pay extra for leather seats because of what I call the Dog Fur Factor. Dozer's fur would NOT come out of the cloth seats in my old CR-V, no matter what we did. The fur embedded itself into the cloth and resisted vacuuming and shampooing. Of course, when one opened the windows, the fur would then come loose and blow around in the car, getting into one's eyes and mouth and open drink cups so on. It was really quite awful. I'm desperately hoping leather will be easier to clean and maintain.
Days of car shopping later (yuck) and I've finally decided to get another CR-V to replace the one Ike ate. Except this CR-V will be 2008 and will have leather seats and a sunroof. Nice, huh?
Of course, being new and fancy, it's expensive, and the insurance settlement from my old 2001 CR-V will only cover a small portion. So it's back to car payments for us, and poor Byrd's dream of getting his very own brand new Toyota Tacoma is deferred once again.
I decided to pay extra for leather seats because of what I call the Dog Fur Factor. Dozer's fur would NOT come out of the cloth seats in my old CR-V, no matter what we did. The fur embedded itself into the cloth and resisted vacuuming and shampooing. Of course, when one opened the windows, the fur would then come loose and blow around in the car, getting into one's eyes and mouth and open drink cups so on. It was really quite awful. I'm desperately hoping leather will be easier to clean and maintain.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Where is my car?
Somewhere in this parking lot near the cruise terminal in Galveston, that's where...
When we left, all the cars were parked in tidy rows. My car was parked in the lower row, toward the left end. It's a green car.
Insert one hurricane.
The car is clearly still there. I'm just not sure whether it is still in any shape to drive. News reports indicate it's probably a goner.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
A week off
Hooray, starting tomorrow Byrd and I are cruise-bound. We'll drive to Galveston, board a cruise ship, and get outta Dodge until next weekend.
This is our first real vacation in a very long time, so I'm pretty excited. Hurricane Ike and whatever all else, I could care less about that. As long as I'm away. With my husband. Having an adventure.
Poor Dozer is a wreck. I thought he was sick this morning. He was droopy, lethargic, and just plain depressed-looking. When we came home from last-minute trip shopping, he didn't even rush to greet us as he usually does. But then I realized how anxiously he's been eyeballing our rapidly filling suitcases. He definitely knows what's going on. I feel bad for him but I know he'll be fine with my mom.
So--back in a week. Au revoir!
This is our first real vacation in a very long time, so I'm pretty excited. Hurricane Ike and whatever all else, I could care less about that. As long as I'm away. With my husband. Having an adventure.
Poor Dozer is a wreck. I thought he was sick this morning. He was droopy, lethargic, and just plain depressed-looking. When we came home from last-minute trip shopping, he didn't even rush to greet us as he usually does. But then I realized how anxiously he's been eyeballing our rapidly filling suitcases. He definitely knows what's going on. I feel bad for him but I know he'll be fine with my mom.
So--back in a week. Au revoir!
Thursday, September 04, 2008
My dog looks old
I never thought I'd say it, but Dozer is finally starting to show his age. Just a little, and really just because I gave him a bath today.
His droopy face and sagging skin, the slight jut of his joints, and even his thinning fur--when he's wet and pouting, it makes these signs even more obvious. Usually, his fluffy white fur and his chipper demeanor covers up the old, but at bathtime, he's neither fluffy nor chipper. For the first time in his life, I told him he looked like a "grumpy old man."
It made me a little sad because it reminded me of how Felanie looked when she was getting advanced in age. Dozer is a big dog like Felanie was, so his lifespan is naturally shorter than that of smaller dogs.
But he has fewer problems--fewer tumors, no real joint problems, not a bit overweight, and a much more energetic style of living--so perhaps it's too soon for me to be getting all depressed about losing another dog.
His droopy face and sagging skin, the slight jut of his joints, and even his thinning fur--when he's wet and pouting, it makes these signs even more obvious. Usually, his fluffy white fur and his chipper demeanor covers up the old, but at bathtime, he's neither fluffy nor chipper. For the first time in his life, I told him he looked like a "grumpy old man."
It made me a little sad because it reminded me of how Felanie looked when she was getting advanced in age. Dozer is a big dog like Felanie was, so his lifespan is naturally shorter than that of smaller dogs.
But he has fewer problems--fewer tumors, no real joint problems, not a bit overweight, and a much more energetic style of living--so perhaps it's too soon for me to be getting all depressed about losing another dog.
Monday, September 01, 2008
The Chicken and the Vacation
Two exciting events are unfolding around here that are (finally) unrelated to dogs in any way...
Chicken
First, we have a new member of the household, a little baby chicken. I've always planned to have chickens someday, but things rarely go as planned around here, especially when we have a reputation in the neighborhood as "the people who rescue strange animals." None of our neighbors have forgotten the beautiful and hilarious Pekin ducks we used to have, and so when this new barnyard fowl somehow ended up in the neighbor's yard (we have two different chicken flocks that roam our neighborhood, which is a strange sight since we're in a well-established neighborhood), they happily handed it over to us, knowing we would know how to care for it.
So after some preparations, the chick is now settled into Dozer's old dog run, and it seems to be doing really well. It's scratched up, maybe from a cat or a car, which would explain why it was alone when it was found, but otherwise happy and healthy and perky. It loves Byrd and it even follows Dozer around; we can't help but remember our lively duck Fred when he was a little bitty baby. I wonder if this is a boy or a girl? We won't know until it starts to crow--or lay eggs!
We're going to get at least one, maybe two, more chickens as soon as is feasible. Those two will be planned and carefully picked; I've found a breeder of the type of chicken that I want, that lays the type of eggs that I want, so there won't be any Mystery surrounding them. Plus, the breeder has some chicks that are the same approximate age as our Mystery Chick, so they aren't like day olds, which require indoor care for quite a while.
I thought a chicken blog would be interesting so I can record pictures and events as the chick grows up... and we find out whether it's a boy or a girl, and what it will look like... so it's at http://achicken.wordpress.com
Vacation
And that brings us to the next thing: our vacation! Yes, a real live vacation. Byrd and I haven't been on a vacation for... well, eight years or so, if you don't count our honeymoon (a two-day excursion to San Antonio, not much of a trip). We're going on a cruise in the Caribbean, which should be entertaining considering all the hurricanes down there right now. But we are leaving on next Sunday and won't be back for a week. I'm really looking forward to it!
Dozer is going to stay here at home, and my mom is going to move in and take care of him and the chicken while we're away. So this next week I've actually got to do a lot of work. Not just packing, but also shopping and cleaning and writing care instructions and labeling cabinets and light switches and so forth, so Mom will know where everything is. The bad thing is that while we are on the cruise, we probably won't have any cell phone reception and we definitely won't have Internet access, so once we're gone, we're really gone for the whole week.
Poor Dozer, this will be the first time we have both left the house for such an extended period of time. I'm so glad Mom will be here with him, but she is not a dog person at all, and Dozer really needs to have a confident leader to tell him what to do or else he just falls to pieces. I sure hope things go okay or else I might not have a dog sitter anymore for future vacations.
Lye Burn
And as a side note, I did a really stupid thing considering I'm about to go on a cruise and I'll be wearing shorts and a swimsuit almost the whole time--I managed to get a nasty lye burn on both my knees! We just laid some concrete (for our fence--pictures and such to come at a later date), and I was helping to "finish" it by scrubbing it with water and a big stone thing. Well, after kneeling on the concrete for nearly an hour, I realized that the pain in my knees wasn't actually from kneeling on a hard surface--it was a burning feeling... and sure enough, when I pulled up my jeans (which were soaking wet and covered with concrete), my knees were red and blistered. Now I can only hope these oozing blisters will heal up in five days. :( Well, I guess the good thing is that it got me out of the rest of the job because I had to go shower straightaway!
Chicken
First, we have a new member of the household, a little baby chicken. I've always planned to have chickens someday, but things rarely go as planned around here, especially when we have a reputation in the neighborhood as "the people who rescue strange animals." None of our neighbors have forgotten the beautiful and hilarious Pekin ducks we used to have, and so when this new barnyard fowl somehow ended up in the neighbor's yard (we have two different chicken flocks that roam our neighborhood, which is a strange sight since we're in a well-established neighborhood), they happily handed it over to us, knowing we would know how to care for it.
So after some preparations, the chick is now settled into Dozer's old dog run, and it seems to be doing really well. It's scratched up, maybe from a cat or a car, which would explain why it was alone when it was found, but otherwise happy and healthy and perky. It loves Byrd and it even follows Dozer around; we can't help but remember our lively duck Fred when he was a little bitty baby. I wonder if this is a boy or a girl? We won't know until it starts to crow--or lay eggs!
We're going to get at least one, maybe two, more chickens as soon as is feasible. Those two will be planned and carefully picked; I've found a breeder of the type of chicken that I want, that lays the type of eggs that I want, so there won't be any Mystery surrounding them. Plus, the breeder has some chicks that are the same approximate age as our Mystery Chick, so they aren't like day olds, which require indoor care for quite a while.
I thought a chicken blog would be interesting so I can record pictures and events as the chick grows up... and we find out whether it's a boy or a girl, and what it will look like... so it's at http://achicken.wordpress.com
Vacation
And that brings us to the next thing: our vacation! Yes, a real live vacation. Byrd and I haven't been on a vacation for... well, eight years or so, if you don't count our honeymoon (a two-day excursion to San Antonio, not much of a trip). We're going on a cruise in the Caribbean, which should be entertaining considering all the hurricanes down there right now. But we are leaving on next Sunday and won't be back for a week. I'm really looking forward to it!
Dozer is going to stay here at home, and my mom is going to move in and take care of him and the chicken while we're away. So this next week I've actually got to do a lot of work. Not just packing, but also shopping and cleaning and writing care instructions and labeling cabinets and light switches and so forth, so Mom will know where everything is. The bad thing is that while we are on the cruise, we probably won't have any cell phone reception and we definitely won't have Internet access, so once we're gone, we're really gone for the whole week.
Poor Dozer, this will be the first time we have both left the house for such an extended period of time. I'm so glad Mom will be here with him, but she is not a dog person at all, and Dozer really needs to have a confident leader to tell him what to do or else he just falls to pieces. I sure hope things go okay or else I might not have a dog sitter anymore for future vacations.
Lye Burn
And as a side note, I did a really stupid thing considering I'm about to go on a cruise and I'll be wearing shorts and a swimsuit almost the whole time--I managed to get a nasty lye burn on both my knees! We just laid some concrete (for our fence--pictures and such to come at a later date), and I was helping to "finish" it by scrubbing it with water and a big stone thing. Well, after kneeling on the concrete for nearly an hour, I realized that the pain in my knees wasn't actually from kneeling on a hard surface--it was a burning feeling... and sure enough, when I pulled up my jeans (which were soaking wet and covered with concrete), my knees were red and blistered. Now I can only hope these oozing blisters will heal up in five days. :( Well, I guess the good thing is that it got me out of the rest of the job because I had to go shower straightaway!
Convenient technology
My fancy new laptop, a brand spanking new Dell Studio and the first brand spanking new computer I've ever had (except for the Apple IIc, about fifteen years ago or so), has a fingerprint reader.
Yes, a fingerprint reader.
As I placed the order online, which involves customizing the computer so that the price is almost always doubled by the time one comes out the other side, I thought, "What the heck am I going to do with that? It's not like I work for the FBI." I briefly considered removing it and saving $50.
Then I decided that I would like, for once, to be the first person in my group to have an interesting new gadget. I mean, my "new" cell phone looks a lot like the first phone I ever got (or rather, my husband forced me to get)--back in 1999. It doesn't take pictures or play songs or any of that stuff. It doesn't even flip open; it's a candybar style. I only just bought an MP3 player this year. Yes, I do have a ten-year-old printer and an eight-year-old scanner. And my digital camera, at seven years old, is just barely younger than Dozer. I often feel like I'm stuck in the early 2000s.
Anyway, back to the fancy new laptop with the fingerprint scanner. As it turns out, the fingerprint scanner not only locks unauthorized users out of my computer, but it also acts as a password vault for any and everything that asks for a login and password.
Oh my oh my.
Needless to say, I have happily set up the fingerprint scanner to log me in to just about everything I sign in to. It's so convenient to just swipe my finger across the scanner and ta da! I'm logged in to my blog, to my credit card account, to my Yahoo! groups...
The horrific side effect is that I now have absolutely no idea how to log in without the fingerprint scanner.
This is a real problem when I go up to my office to work on my desktop. User id and password? I don't remember anymore!
Sometimes I think the convenient solutions offered by technology only lead to new and different inconveniences.
Yes, a fingerprint reader.
As I placed the order online, which involves customizing the computer so that the price is almost always doubled by the time one comes out the other side, I thought, "What the heck am I going to do with that? It's not like I work for the FBI." I briefly considered removing it and saving $50.
Then I decided that I would like, for once, to be the first person in my group to have an interesting new gadget. I mean, my "new" cell phone looks a lot like the first phone I ever got (or rather, my husband forced me to get)--back in 1999. It doesn't take pictures or play songs or any of that stuff. It doesn't even flip open; it's a candybar style. I only just bought an MP3 player this year. Yes, I do have a ten-year-old printer and an eight-year-old scanner. And my digital camera, at seven years old, is just barely younger than Dozer. I often feel like I'm stuck in the early 2000s.
Anyway, back to the fancy new laptop with the fingerprint scanner. As it turns out, the fingerprint scanner not only locks unauthorized users out of my computer, but it also acts as a password vault for any and everything that asks for a login and password.
Oh my oh my.
Needless to say, I have happily set up the fingerprint scanner to log me in to just about everything I sign in to. It's so convenient to just swipe my finger across the scanner and ta da! I'm logged in to my blog, to my credit card account, to my Yahoo! groups...
The horrific side effect is that I now have absolutely no idea how to log in without the fingerprint scanner.
This is a real problem when I go up to my office to work on my desktop. User id and password? I don't remember anymore!
Sometimes I think the convenient solutions offered by technology only lead to new and different inconveniences.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
When Cranes Attack
Yet another crane collapse. I had no idea these things were so dangerous, but it seems like everywhere I look, there's another deadly crane attack in the news.
Ever since that excessive news coverage about the New York crane collapses, I've been noticing more headlines with the word "crane" and I just feel compelled to click on it and read the horrible article. Heck, if you do a search for "crane collapse" in Google you get, like, a zillion results.
My psychologist keeps muttering something about "confirmation bias," but we'll see who has the last laugh when that crane falls down on top of his fancy downtown condo.
Enough is enough! These cranes are killing us. Ban them now!
Ever since that excessive news coverage about the New York crane collapses, I've been noticing more headlines with the word "crane" and I just feel compelled to click on it and read the horrible article. Heck, if you do a search for "crane collapse" in Google you get, like, a zillion results.
My psychologist keeps muttering something about "confirmation bias," but we'll see who has the last laugh when that crane falls down on top of his fancy downtown condo.
Enough is enough! These cranes are killing us. Ban them now!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
An "Aha" Moment
Let me make this clear: I'm a writer, not a coder. Not a designer. Nevertheless, yesterday I eagerly pressed F12 to launch a simulation of the new StopBSL.com website, anticipating a few minor bugs, but nothing major.
The sidebars were too wide. The body, containing the text, was too narrow. I scratched my head.
So I launched the site in Firefox and Netscape. Now it looked great. I scratched my head again.
I combed through the Dreamweaver code. Misplaced tag? Wrong table width somewhere? But it looked fine.
I launched the site in Explorer again. The columns were still all wonky. I stared. (Explorer has a reputation for needing "special treatment" in page code, but since it's the most common browser, no site designer in their right mind would ignore problems that show up in Explorer.)
I fiddled in Dreamweaver, scooting tables and boxes around, inserting spacers. Relaunch. This time, if anything, the columns were even more messed up. I started to curse.
Figuring I had a corrupt chunk of code somewhere screwing the whole thing up, I rebuilt the template from scratch. An hour later, I relaunched.
Now the text was smashed into such a narrow space that it was virtually unreadable, while the rest of the page was a sea of white. I threw a book against the wall before digging into the code yet again.
Four hours later, I had dug myself into a pit so deep that I was in a very dark place indeed. The site design was a wreck.
"Why the hell can't this be as easy as my blogs?" I shrieked.
And that's when I had an "aha" moment.
Blogs: easy to write, easy to update, easy to expand, and no design skills required.
I spent today populating the new blog-site with the text from the ruined site. Want a sneak peek? http://stopbsl.wordpress.com/
No, no, don't change your bookmarks and links. When I'm ready, I'll just redirect the StopBSL.com servers to point to the WordPress site. So when you visit http://www.stopbsl.com/, you'll see the blog-site at that address.
Heck yeah I'm a genius.
/dance
The sidebars were too wide. The body, containing the text, was too narrow. I scratched my head.
So I launched the site in Firefox and Netscape. Now it looked great. I scratched my head again.
I combed through the Dreamweaver code. Misplaced tag? Wrong table width somewhere? But it looked fine.
I launched the site in Explorer again. The columns were still all wonky. I stared. (Explorer has a reputation for needing "special treatment" in page code, but since it's the most common browser, no site designer in their right mind would ignore problems that show up in Explorer.)
I fiddled in Dreamweaver, scooting tables and boxes around, inserting spacers. Relaunch. This time, if anything, the columns were even more messed up. I started to curse.
Figuring I had a corrupt chunk of code somewhere screwing the whole thing up, I rebuilt the template from scratch. An hour later, I relaunched.
Now the text was smashed into such a narrow space that it was virtually unreadable, while the rest of the page was a sea of white. I threw a book against the wall before digging into the code yet again.
Four hours later, I had dug myself into a pit so deep that I was in a very dark place indeed. The site design was a wreck.
"Why the hell can't this be as easy as my blogs?" I shrieked.
And that's when I had an "aha" moment.
Blogs: easy to write, easy to update, easy to expand, and no design skills required.
I spent today populating the new blog-site with the text from the ruined site. Want a sneak peek? http://stopbsl.wordpress.com/
No, no, don't change your bookmarks and links. When I'm ready, I'll just redirect the StopBSL.com servers to point to the WordPress site. So when you visit http://www.stopbsl.com/, you'll see the blog-site at that address.
Heck yeah I'm a genius.
/dance
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Depressing
You know what's depressing? BSL. You know what's more depressing? Writing about BSL for six hours a day, five days in a row. You know what's even more depressing? When your life is so consumed by writing about BSL that you really have to struggle to talk about anything else.
Which is why I've avoided writing in my blog. Cause it's pointless, really. There's nothing to talk about except BSL, and BSL sucks, and it's depressing.
It's depressing to read the ignorant, hateful public comments after every negative news article (and after the positive ones, too, as if there is just no way some people can believe that there's anything good about pit bulls).
It's depressing that our politicians are doing absolutely no research before mouthing off about "ticking time bombs" and "never hearing about Labs attacking people." I don't have a team of people working for me, yet I've heard of Labs attacking people.
It's depressing that everyone ignores all the experts saying BSL doesn't work, all the countless scientific studies indicating BSL doesn't work, all the organizations saying they are against BSL. For some reason, a handful of disgruntled, fearful, selfish individuals' opinions count more than logic, science, and equality.
It's depressing that all these people getting severely bitten by non-pit bulls don't say anything. You know, like "Hey, um, what does this BSL do for me?" In fact I even read a comment by a guy that was attacked by a non-pit bull who was like "Ban pit bulls!" I could not even begin to understand where his hatred of pit bulls was coming from, or why he didn't seem interested in doing anything about, you know, the dog that actually attacked him. WTF?
I'm so ready to be done with this so I can get back to enjoying my life for as long as I can before the depressing reality of January sets in. Because in January the Texas legislative session starts up and you can bet we'll be seeing... BSL.
Ugh.
Which is why I've avoided writing in my blog. Cause it's pointless, really. There's nothing to talk about except BSL, and BSL sucks, and it's depressing.
It's depressing to read the ignorant, hateful public comments after every negative news article (and after the positive ones, too, as if there is just no way some people can believe that there's anything good about pit bulls).
It's depressing that our politicians are doing absolutely no research before mouthing off about "ticking time bombs" and "never hearing about Labs attacking people." I don't have a team of people working for me, yet I've heard of Labs attacking people.
It's depressing that everyone ignores all the experts saying BSL doesn't work, all the countless scientific studies indicating BSL doesn't work, all the organizations saying they are against BSL. For some reason, a handful of disgruntled, fearful, selfish individuals' opinions count more than logic, science, and equality.
It's depressing that all these people getting severely bitten by non-pit bulls don't say anything. You know, like "Hey, um, what does this BSL do for me?" In fact I even read a comment by a guy that was attacked by a non-pit bull who was like "Ban pit bulls!" I could not even begin to understand where his hatred of pit bulls was coming from, or why he didn't seem interested in doing anything about, you know, the dog that actually attacked him. WTF?
I'm so ready to be done with this so I can get back to enjoying my life for as long as I can before the depressing reality of January sets in. Because in January the Texas legislative session starts up and you can bet we'll be seeing... BSL.
Ugh.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Eight pages down...
So much for one page a day. I've finished about eight pages of the new Stop BSL site since swearing an oath a few weeks ago to get the dang thing done. And while I'm pleased with the way it is coming out, I'm not pleased with how long it is taking me to research and write the new material.
The Internet nowadays is both a blessing and a curse. I can find pretty much any information I want... but the hard part is finding the source. Sites cite sites cite sites, but nobody seems to be able to identify the original source for the material. I've found dozens of sites using a particular statistic that doesn't seem to actually come from anywhere. It just appeared one day, and has been in play ever since.
And that doesn't fly for me. I've done the whole college thing, written my fair share of research papers, and been dealing with dog-related information for just under a decade now. I've seen my fair share of made-up "facts" and twisted statistics; I'm happy to trash anything that doesn't have backup documentation to go with it, even if it seemingly supports my argument.
Not that the Internet is entirely to blame. I've found some astonishingly bad "facts" in books, too, which makes my trips to the public library that much more time-consuming (and pointless, especially since I can find the same bad information if I stay home and get online).
And danged if all that trashing and sifting and weeding and selecting and searching doesn't take an ungodly amount of time. But what can I do? I'm picky about what I publish.
Some days I wish I was dealing with an easier subject. I know a lot about ducks...
The Internet nowadays is both a blessing and a curse. I can find pretty much any information I want... but the hard part is finding the source. Sites cite sites cite sites, but nobody seems to be able to identify the original source for the material. I've found dozens of sites using a particular statistic that doesn't seem to actually come from anywhere. It just appeared one day, and has been in play ever since.
And that doesn't fly for me. I've done the whole college thing, written my fair share of research papers, and been dealing with dog-related information for just under a decade now. I've seen my fair share of made-up "facts" and twisted statistics; I'm happy to trash anything that doesn't have backup documentation to go with it, even if it seemingly supports my argument.
Not that the Internet is entirely to blame. I've found some astonishingly bad "facts" in books, too, which makes my trips to the public library that much more time-consuming (and pointless, especially since I can find the same bad information if I stay home and get online).
And danged if all that trashing and sifting and weeding and selecting and searching doesn't take an ungodly amount of time. But what can I do? I'm picky about what I publish.
Some days I wish I was dealing with an easier subject. I know a lot about ducks...
Friday, August 08, 2008
Dozer's blog
Guess it's all the rage these days for pets to have their own blog... Dozer came up to me with soulful eyes and I couldn't turn him down. I mean, sure, the blog is free, but can he really handle the responsibility? He's only eight years old, after all. He swore he would write in it every day, but I am worried he'll start neglecting it when the novelty wears off. It'll be like the rope toy in his toy box all over again. Next thing you know, I'm the one who has to write in it, maintain it, add links to it... I know some people have responsible pets--younger than Dozer, even--who take good care of their blogs, but we're talking about a dog that thinks his head can fit through a two-inch slot. Well, maybe I'm just being overprotective.
Dozer's blog is at: http://dozersblog.wordpress.com
Dozer's blog is at: http://dozersblog.wordpress.com
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Random dialogue at our house
Me (in lecture mode): "Well, hon, you know what happens when you assume. You make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me.'"
Byrd (rising to the challenge): "Well... know what happens when you make an assumption?"
Me (totally confused): "What?"
Byrd (with a flourish): "You make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'umption.'"
(Byrd struts off, his logic unassailable.)
Byrd (rising to the challenge): "Well... know what happens when you make an assumption?"
Me (totally confused): "What?"
Byrd (with a flourish): "You make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'umption.'"
(Byrd struts off, his logic unassailable.)
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Bruised arm and feelings
I have no night vision. At all. Even the little blue glowing plug-ins strategically placed on various walls and corners don't help.
Byrd grumbles and snarls whenever I turn on the light in the middle of the night in order to make my way to the bathroom, or to take my nightly medication, or even to rearrange the sheets (I hate when they aren't flat and square to the edge of the bed). It is a point of pride for him that he can perform all sorts of tasks with the light off. Bravo.
Things are complicated in my house by Dozer. His beloved toys are usually all over the floor, even minutes after I help him put them away. And he sleeps on the floor on my side of the bed, usually scooting his dog bed and blankets as close to me as possible. When I get out of bed, I find myself standing on his bed. So at night, I need the light on in order to pick my way through these obstacles safely.
The other night I got up at 4 am to go to the bathroom. I didn't turn on the bedside light, but I planned to hit the bathroom switch when I got there. Big mistake.
I slid out of bed carefully, feeling the dog bed under my feet. Dozer wasn't in his dog bed. This should have been my first hint to turn on the light. Keeping one hand on the bed, I moved around the foot, shuffling my feet. I kicked a toy harmlessly out of the way. Dozer was not on the floor at the foot of the bed, either, and this being his second-favorite spot, I should have scrambled for the nearest light switch immediately.
At this point, I figured I was in the clear, since Dozer's third-favorite spot is over by the television. I assumed he was there, since he was nowhere else in the room. I chalk all this idiocy up to the incredibly early hour; I was very groggy. At any rate, I commenced to take my hand off the bed and stride confidently for the bathroom door. It was only four steps at most, and nothing could possibly be in my way.
Except Dozer. He was in the bathroom doorway, which is not a typical sleeping spot at all. It was a great surprise to step directly on what I can only assume was Dozer's head, since he gave a very strangled gurgling sound (probably because I was standing on his head) and commenced to flee. Unfortunately, my foot was now relying entirely on an object that was heading the opposite direction, and my other foot was already in the air as I moved to take another step.
So I fell--directly on top of Dozer's rump, since he hadn't managed to get very far, what with me weighing down his head and all. He yelped with surprise and I shrieked as I plunged headfirst into a half-full laundry basket. My arm hit the edge of the plastic basket very hard--two days later it's become a nice purple bruise.
My poor dog fled the room for several hours, obviously confused and frightened by this sudden and vicious attack by his mommy. When he came back, he made sure to lie down on his dog bed.
Now, whenever I get up at night, Dozer presses back against the wall and makes sure to give me plenty of room to move around. His new uneasiness around scary, unpredictable Mommy makes me feel bad, but how do you explain to a dog that it's not his fault that you have incredibly poor night vision? Thank goodness for his really short-lived memory; hopefully by the time my bruise fades, he'll have forgotten all about this embarrassing incident.
Byrd grumbles and snarls whenever I turn on the light in the middle of the night in order to make my way to the bathroom, or to take my nightly medication, or even to rearrange the sheets (I hate when they aren't flat and square to the edge of the bed). It is a point of pride for him that he can perform all sorts of tasks with the light off. Bravo.
Things are complicated in my house by Dozer. His beloved toys are usually all over the floor, even minutes after I help him put them away. And he sleeps on the floor on my side of the bed, usually scooting his dog bed and blankets as close to me as possible. When I get out of bed, I find myself standing on his bed. So at night, I need the light on in order to pick my way through these obstacles safely.The other night I got up at 4 am to go to the bathroom. I didn't turn on the bedside light, but I planned to hit the bathroom switch when I got there. Big mistake.
I slid out of bed carefully, feeling the dog bed under my feet. Dozer wasn't in his dog bed. This should have been my first hint to turn on the light. Keeping one hand on the bed, I moved around the foot, shuffling my feet. I kicked a toy harmlessly out of the way. Dozer was not on the floor at the foot of the bed, either, and this being his second-favorite spot, I should have scrambled for the nearest light switch immediately.
At this point, I figured I was in the clear, since Dozer's third-favorite spot is over by the television. I assumed he was there, since he was nowhere else in the room. I chalk all this idiocy up to the incredibly early hour; I was very groggy. At any rate, I commenced to take my hand off the bed and stride confidently for the bathroom door. It was only four steps at most, and nothing could possibly be in my way.
Except Dozer. He was in the bathroom doorway, which is not a typical sleeping spot at all. It was a great surprise to step directly on what I can only assume was Dozer's head, since he gave a very strangled gurgling sound (probably because I was standing on his head) and commenced to flee. Unfortunately, my foot was now relying entirely on an object that was heading the opposite direction, and my other foot was already in the air as I moved to take another step.
So I fell--directly on top of Dozer's rump, since he hadn't managed to get very far, what with me weighing down his head and all. He yelped with surprise and I shrieked as I plunged headfirst into a half-full laundry basket. My arm hit the edge of the plastic basket very hard--two days later it's become a nice purple bruise.
My poor dog fled the room for several hours, obviously confused and frightened by this sudden and vicious attack by his mommy. When he came back, he made sure to lie down on his dog bed.
Now, whenever I get up at night, Dozer presses back against the wall and makes sure to give me plenty of room to move around. His new uneasiness around scary, unpredictable Mommy makes me feel bad, but how do you explain to a dog that it's not his fault that you have incredibly poor night vision? Thank goodness for his really short-lived memory; hopefully by the time my bruise fades, he'll have forgotten all about this embarrassing incident.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Oopsie
I love fried foods but I hate actually frying things. The snap-crackle of hot oil strikes terror into my very soul. My husband generally gets assigned to any sort of frying that must be done for dinner.
So when I saw a small deep fryer--with a LID!!--at the grocery store, I bought it. The lid goes over the oil while things are cooking, so the oil can't pop out and hurt me. Consequently, I've become a lot less fearful of frying things, and have made delicious calamari and fried shrimp in it so far. Byrd has also enjoyed the deep fryer because he gets to show off his fryer knowledge; apparently when he was a youngster he spent a little time as a fry cook at a fast food restaurant.
And I didn't know this, but according to the deep fryer manual, the oil can be kept in the fryer and reused over and over. However, the instructions also said that to keep the oil in best condition, I should strain out the food particles.
The deep fryer manual said to use a paper filter to strain the oil, but we'd already been to several stores and turned up nothing paper-like except coffee filters. So Byrd and I went to a local kitchen store and got a metal strainer with teeny tiny holes. I agonized quite a bit over the purchase because I wasn't convinced that the strainer would really clean the oil.
Byrd, who had been the proponent of this particular strainer (I'd been considering a smaller one), was apparently intensely curious to see if it would work--to have his purchase choice vindicated. I think that's why, when I asked if he would help me strain the oil, a potentially messy chore that he would ordinarily turn down, he readily agreed. He wanted to receive praise for his good choice if it worked out.
So we were both excited to make dirty oil into clean oil and see how well the strainer would work. I put the strainer over the sink and Byrd poured, and we were both pleased to see that all the little chunks of fried dough from the shrimp and calamari got caught by the strainer.
"Wow, that strainer works great! The oil is so clean!" I exclaimed as we watched the oil slide through the strainer.
Then Byrd and I both realized simultaneously that we'd forgotten to put a container under the strainer to catch the cleaned oil. The clean oil we were admiring snaked across the bottom of our sink and oozed down the drain--leaving us with a strainer full of greasy fried crumbles.
I don't think we've laughed that hard in quite a while.
So when I saw a small deep fryer--with a LID!!--at the grocery store, I bought it. The lid goes over the oil while things are cooking, so the oil can't pop out and hurt me. Consequently, I've become a lot less fearful of frying things, and have made delicious calamari and fried shrimp in it so far. Byrd has also enjoyed the deep fryer because he gets to show off his fryer knowledge; apparently when he was a youngster he spent a little time as a fry cook at a fast food restaurant.
And I didn't know this, but according to the deep fryer manual, the oil can be kept in the fryer and reused over and over. However, the instructions also said that to keep the oil in best condition, I should strain out the food particles.
The deep fryer manual said to use a paper filter to strain the oil, but we'd already been to several stores and turned up nothing paper-like except coffee filters. So Byrd and I went to a local kitchen store and got a metal strainer with teeny tiny holes. I agonized quite a bit over the purchase because I wasn't convinced that the strainer would really clean the oil.
Byrd, who had been the proponent of this particular strainer (I'd been considering a smaller one), was apparently intensely curious to see if it would work--to have his purchase choice vindicated. I think that's why, when I asked if he would help me strain the oil, a potentially messy chore that he would ordinarily turn down, he readily agreed. He wanted to receive praise for his good choice if it worked out.
So we were both excited to make dirty oil into clean oil and see how well the strainer would work. I put the strainer over the sink and Byrd poured, and we were both pleased to see that all the little chunks of fried dough from the shrimp and calamari got caught by the strainer.
"Wow, that strainer works great! The oil is so clean!" I exclaimed as we watched the oil slide through the strainer.
Then Byrd and I both realized simultaneously that we'd forgotten to put a container under the strainer to catch the cleaned oil. The clean oil we were admiring snaked across the bottom of our sink and oozed down the drain--leaving us with a strainer full of greasy fried crumbles.
I don't think we've laughed that hard in quite a while.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Time flies when you're procrastinating
Attention, Public:
I am going to sit down and write one webpage per day until the entire Stop BSL site rework is complete.
This is a project I have been picking at for months without making headway, so I'm just going to make this public commitment right here and now, in hopes that fear of public humiliation will keep me on track.
The site has needed a facelift for a long time. Today I was checking links, and half of them didn't work. Oh, the shame! Anyway, I've never liked the design and I know how to do better now, not to mention all the new resources I need to add in.
On top of that, recently my sad site has gotten some extra attention (you know who you are, and I thank you for your kindness, and apologize for the state of the site). And I just noticed today that the AVMA links to my site! Holy cow, the AVMA! I'm so embarrassed!
Yes, it's time. I'm doing it. ETA end of August.
Sincerely yours,
Jennifer
Friday, July 18, 2008
Memories of early days
Yesterday while housecleaning I found old home movies on VHS tapes, so I popped them in to see what they were about.
Lo and behold, there was a very young, fit, agile Felanie prancing on the TV. For a minute, it hurt, but then I laughed because she was being chased around and bitten by our rescued duck, Fred, another family member that has since left us.
Fred was a tiny yellow duckling that got dumped at a pet store some time after Easter; the pet store gave him to me, and until he was full-grown, he lived in our house--we had just moved in and we were remodeling it while living there, another event fully covered by the home movies--and he hung out with two pit bulls, two prairie dogs, and a rabbit. While he was little, he swam in our bathtub.
After he became full-sized, we transferred Fred to the backyard and provided him with a baby pool for his swimming pleasure. Fred also matured in other ways; he became a large, intimidating fellow that, frankly, everyone preferred to admire from afar--because if he was able to get close enough, he would bite and nip anything that moved. We never had stray cats in our yard with Fred guarding it. He also honked very loudly if he saw an unfamiliar person or animal in the yard--a great watchduck. I often considered replacing the "Beware of Dog" sign on the fence with "Beware of Duck."
His love of biting is fully evident on the tape, and it's quite funny now that the painful memories have been muted by time. He bites Taz (my ex-roommate's pit bull, also no longer with us) and Felanie, and attacks my toes with dozens of sharp pecks. I pry his beak off my toes with my hands, or kick at him to knock him loose. The dogs are much nicer to him. Even when he clamps onto the loose skin on Felanie's throat and twists hard, she just stands there and waits for him to get bored. It obviously hurts, but Fel accepts it. Taz play-bows and dances around Fred, then runs in terror when he launches an assault on her paws. A few times, he chases the dogs as they play with a stick, and even attacks Felanie, apparently for control of the stick; Felanie drops the stick and flees without qualms, though she later steals it back while Fred is preening himself.
My precious Felanie looks good on the tape. This is very soon after she became my dog. She's young, and all her fur is a beautiful tan/red color that matches her nose. No gray hair, no scars from surgeries--and her natural long tail. She looks naked; the color and detail in the video is off just enough that her fur looks like skin.
There's a long segment where the dogs are playing in the hose. Felanie jumps and leaps and races around, chasing the water stream, and now I remember what inspired me to start us in agility classes. She was really lithe and athletic until she started having hip problems some years later. At some other point she races around a pile of debris in the yard (from the remodeling project) and in her enthusiasm, she crashes into a particularly sharp-looking piece of something; now I reflect on the events leading up to her tail crop some years later.
At one point I'm on film--the camera is on a tripod--and I'm having Taz and Felanie do tricks on the living room floor (oh, the horrors of pre-remodel salmon pink carpet!). After the tricks are done, I kneel down on the floor, Felanie comes to sit in front of me, and I embrace her entire body against my chest in a bear hug. She's almost as big as I am.
Watching the video, I can almost feel my old dog in my arms again, like a phantom limb. At this moment I am painfully jealous of my on-screen counterpart. She doesn't know how lucky she is. To the TV, I whisper: "Don't let her go."
Lo and behold, there was a very young, fit, agile Felanie prancing on the TV. For a minute, it hurt, but then I laughed because she was being chased around and bitten by our rescued duck, Fred, another family member that has since left us.
Fred was a tiny yellow duckling that got dumped at a pet store some time after Easter; the pet store gave him to me, and until he was full-grown, he lived in our house--we had just moved in and we were remodeling it while living there, another event fully covered by the home movies--and he hung out with two pit bulls, two prairie dogs, and a rabbit. While he was little, he swam in our bathtub.
After he became full-sized, we transferred Fred to the backyard and provided him with a baby pool for his swimming pleasure. Fred also matured in other ways; he became a large, intimidating fellow that, frankly, everyone preferred to admire from afar--because if he was able to get close enough, he would bite and nip anything that moved. We never had stray cats in our yard with Fred guarding it. He also honked very loudly if he saw an unfamiliar person or animal in the yard--a great watchduck. I often considered replacing the "Beware of Dog" sign on the fence with "Beware of Duck."
His love of biting is fully evident on the tape, and it's quite funny now that the painful memories have been muted by time. He bites Taz (my ex-roommate's pit bull, also no longer with us) and Felanie, and attacks my toes with dozens of sharp pecks. I pry his beak off my toes with my hands, or kick at him to knock him loose. The dogs are much nicer to him. Even when he clamps onto the loose skin on Felanie's throat and twists hard, she just stands there and waits for him to get bored. It obviously hurts, but Fel accepts it. Taz play-bows and dances around Fred, then runs in terror when he launches an assault on her paws. A few times, he chases the dogs as they play with a stick, and even attacks Felanie, apparently for control of the stick; Felanie drops the stick and flees without qualms, though she later steals it back while Fred is preening himself.
My precious Felanie looks good on the tape. This is very soon after she became my dog. She's young, and all her fur is a beautiful tan/red color that matches her nose. No gray hair, no scars from surgeries--and her natural long tail. She looks naked; the color and detail in the video is off just enough that her fur looks like skin.
There's a long segment where the dogs are playing in the hose. Felanie jumps and leaps and races around, chasing the water stream, and now I remember what inspired me to start us in agility classes. She was really lithe and athletic until she started having hip problems some years later. At some other point she races around a pile of debris in the yard (from the remodeling project) and in her enthusiasm, she crashes into a particularly sharp-looking piece of something; now I reflect on the events leading up to her tail crop some years later.
At one point I'm on film--the camera is on a tripod--and I'm having Taz and Felanie do tricks on the living room floor (oh, the horrors of pre-remodel salmon pink carpet!). After the tricks are done, I kneel down on the floor, Felanie comes to sit in front of me, and I embrace her entire body against my chest in a bear hug. She's almost as big as I am.
Watching the video, I can almost feel my old dog in my arms again, like a phantom limb. At this moment I am painfully jealous of my on-screen counterpart. She doesn't know how lucky she is. To the TV, I whisper: "Don't let her go."
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Randomness
I have a daily tear-away calendar on my desk called "Pooped Puppies" that shows one picture of a pooped puppy per day. Aside from my disappointment with these sorts of all-breed calendars because pit bulls are rarely featured--they mostly show Golden Retrievers and fluffy dogs of various sorts--I'm particularly disappointed by this one because, based on the title of the calendar, one would expect to see lots of tired, sleepy, adorable widdle puppies.
Yet every few weeks, I see a picture like the one for today--what appears to be a tired, sleepy, not-so-adorable adult black Lab mix. Or the one a few weeks ago which was a tired, sleepy, adult Bloodhound (besides, don't most Bloodhounds look sleepy even when they're not?). Or one which featured a cute little puppy that was decidedly not pooped. And then of course there are photos of toy dogs. Sure, they're small, but that doesn't make them puppies.
Oh well, the calendar was a gift anyway. All the calendars I've bought for myself are pit bull rescue calendars. That way, I get my fill of cute pit bulls, and my money supports a worthy cause.
Other recent events:
One of Dozer's innocuous skin tumors bled everywhere, prompting a rushed trip to the vet for a giant bandage (he's okay and the tiny hole healed up on its own, no worries, but my carpet is stained, sigh).
I got something the doctor thinks is tracheitis--an infection of the trachea--which involves difficulty breathing, fever, swollen throat, and all that fun stuff. So I'm on antibiotics, steroids, and some sort of throat-numbing lozenge. And I actually feel great. In your face, germ or virus!
We discovered that Byrd has a serious fear of flying. When we attempted to take a short flight (45 minutes) to Houston this weekend, he couldn't even get on the plane. We were planning to go to New Zealand/Australia in September, but that has been called off because of this new development. It's a 17 hour flight and the trip itself is about $5K per person, and I don't want to risk that much money if Byrd can't even make it past the gate. We'll probably substitute with a different sort of vacation that won't require flying. That's not to say we won't go to NZ/Aus in the future, but first Byrd will need to overcome his anxiety issues and take some short flights.
BSL is stirring in Texas. Several cities are trying to (or have) passed BSL in spite of Texas state law, which prohibits BSL. And several more cities plan to ask the legislature to remove that particular state law so they can pass BSL legally. Cities in the Dallas area seem to be pushing the hardest. Makes me sick to think about the consequences if the anti-BSL clause gets dropped out of state law. It'll be like Ohio or Iowa before we know it.
Yet every few weeks, I see a picture like the one for today--what appears to be a tired, sleepy, not-so-adorable adult black Lab mix. Or the one a few weeks ago which was a tired, sleepy, adult Bloodhound (besides, don't most Bloodhounds look sleepy even when they're not?). Or one which featured a cute little puppy that was decidedly not pooped. And then of course there are photos of toy dogs. Sure, they're small, but that doesn't make them puppies.
Oh well, the calendar was a gift anyway. All the calendars I've bought for myself are pit bull rescue calendars. That way, I get my fill of cute pit bulls, and my money supports a worthy cause.
Other recent events:
One of Dozer's innocuous skin tumors bled everywhere, prompting a rushed trip to the vet for a giant bandage (he's okay and the tiny hole healed up on its own, no worries, but my carpet is stained, sigh).
I got something the doctor thinks is tracheitis--an infection of the trachea--which involves difficulty breathing, fever, swollen throat, and all that fun stuff. So I'm on antibiotics, steroids, and some sort of throat-numbing lozenge. And I actually feel great. In your face, germ or virus!
We discovered that Byrd has a serious fear of flying. When we attempted to take a short flight (45 minutes) to Houston this weekend, he couldn't even get on the plane. We were planning to go to New Zealand/Australia in September, but that has been called off because of this new development. It's a 17 hour flight and the trip itself is about $5K per person, and I don't want to risk that much money if Byrd can't even make it past the gate. We'll probably substitute with a different sort of vacation that won't require flying. That's not to say we won't go to NZ/Aus in the future, but first Byrd will need to overcome his anxiety issues and take some short flights.
BSL is stirring in Texas. Several cities are trying to (or have) passed BSL in spite of Texas state law, which prohibits BSL. And several more cities plan to ask the legislature to remove that particular state law so they can pass BSL legally. Cities in the Dallas area seem to be pushing the hardest. Makes me sick to think about the consequences if the anti-BSL clause gets dropped out of state law. It'll be like Ohio or Iowa before we know it.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Dozer on YouTube
Happy Pit Bull has its own YouTube channel now, which means... videos of Dozer!
No, don't groan loudly and roll your eyes! (At least, not until you've seen the video...)
http://www.youtube.com/user/happypitbulldotcom
Now I just need to recruit some friends or family members to help me get some more footage. Stay tuned for planned episodes like "Dozer Makes a Mess," "Dozer Helps Put Away Groceries," and "Dozer Plays Until He Drops."
Happy 4th!
No, don't groan loudly and roll your eyes! (At least, not until you've seen the video...)
http://www.youtube.com/user/happypitbulldotcom
Now I just need to recruit some friends or family members to help me get some more footage. Stay tuned for planned episodes like "Dozer Makes a Mess," "Dozer Helps Put Away Groceries," and "Dozer Plays Until He Drops."
Happy 4th!
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Evidence of insanity
My dog is looney-tunes. The proof is irrefutable and I have pictures to prove it.
The heat here is unbearable; well over twenty days above 100 degrees, only just this week dropping to a slightly-less-unbearable mid-90s. Our backyard grass passed away quietly some time ago (since the front yard grass was just planted, we are actually watering that every other day, causing our water bill to be upwards of $100 this month). The resulting savannah in the back swirls with the occasional hot dust storm. It feels like being inside a clothes dryer, minus the tossing part. I would not be shocked to see flying birds burst into flames at any moment.
Sensible humans (and animals) spend the day indoors, and failing the ability to be indoors, any shady spot will do. All the neighborhood outdoor dogs have common sense and stay in the shade.
My poor dumb dog demands to go outside every day at noon. He wants it, he loves it, he expects it. I get up to make a sandwich and he dashes for the back door. I let him out and he strolls out, like a white tiger surveying his domain, and sinks down regally into the crackling yellow grass in the sunniest possible spot, basking like a giant Sphinx. Sometimes he even sits on the porch, which I find utterly insane, because during the day, the porch is so hot I can't touch it barefoot without screaming in agony. Dozer might as well have a relaxing nap on hot coals.There he sits, gazing into space, or I should say squinting into space because the sun is blinding, until I force him to come back in (about ten minutes later) before he gets overheated or sunburned. I mean, the dog's white as can be. I've seen him sunburned; he looks rather like a moldy tomato, with his bright red skin glowing through the white fur.
But I suppose the daily baking incinerates any fleas that are foolish enough to hang on him...
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