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!

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.

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!

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

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.

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...

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

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.)

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.

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.

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

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."

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.

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!

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...

Pit bull supermix

For kicks, I spent some hard-earned cash and had the Wisdom Panel MX mixed breed analysis test run on Dozer. Byrd and I keep wondering why our "pit bull" has medium-length fur, a pronounced sagittal crest (a bony bump on the top of the skull, not typical for pit bull type dogs), and an obsessive need to put things in his mouth. Naturally, I figured there was some Lab in him. Perhaps the Wisdom Panel could shed some light on his genetic makeup.

Results came back quickly and explained very little. "Dozer's ancestry contains distant traces of American Staffordshire Terrier, Bull Terrier, Bulldog and Dalmatian. There are also faint signals from other breeds which are not strong enough to identify." All of these breeds were noted as "trace amounts," with little stars next to Bulldog and Dalmatian to indicate "trace amount detected at low confidence."

Anybody with a Bull Terrier breed book can read that Dalmatian was a likely add-in to create the BT. And anyone familiar with the history of both the AmStaff and the BT knows that the old-style Bulldog forms the root of both breeds, and the modern Bulldog is a mutated version of that. So, duh, Bulldog and Dalmatian are gonna be in there if AmStaff and BT are.

But the results didn't say "Your dog is a mix of AmStaff and Bull Terrier." It said there were "distant traces" of those breeds.

For all it mattered, the results might have well said "Look, lady, just face it--your dog's a mutt."

Furthermore, it said (which did not inspire any confidence in me at all as to the accuracy of the results):

"Dozer is one of a kind, unlike any other dog in the world. Our analysis has shown that Dozer is an extremely complex mixed breed dog.... Validation testing has resulted in an average accuracy of 84% in first-generation crossbred dogs of known parentage. The breeds in this validation study represent 45% of AKC registrations."

In other words, if it's not an AKC breed, it doesn't count. This means Dozer could easily be part American Bulldog, or American Pit Bull Terrier, or Dogo Argentino, or any of countless other non-AKC breeds. And it sounds like the accuracy of the test drops significantly in cases where the dog is not first-generation crossbred--which is obviously the case with Dozer. So just how accurate is this test?

And finally, all of the breeds mentioned have very short fur and flat skulls. So I still don't know why my dog's fur is so long, or why he has a sagittal crest. These aren't "faint" characteristics at all--they're major aspects of his appearance--so why don't the results explain them?

I'm left musing the deepest irony of all... that despite the fact that my dog is apparently a total mutt, with only "trace amounts" of AmStaff in his genes, he would still be legally considered a pit bull mix in any of the countless jurisdictions with BSL. Not even "trace amounts" of Dalmatian can save him from the darkness.

Jumping bean

Dozer's allergies are worse than usual this year. I'm not sure why, but it may have to do with the lack of a freeze over the "winter" (if you can call it that), resulting in a lot more biting and bloodsucking creepy-crawlies this summer. I've caught a few fleas on Dozer--probably brought in from outside since he gets a monthly flea pill--but nothing really severe.

Unfortunately, but hilariously, he has become super-sensitive to any sort of itch or tickle or fur movement on his rear end.

The scene: The bedroom. Usually Dozer is laying on the floor quietly, perhaps snoozing. I'm writing or reading or doing something solitary. Byrd is asleep or watching TV. All is quiet and calm.

Suddenly Dozer's eyes snap open as wide as dinner plates, he launches out of his bed, and he flies across the room as if pursued by hornets! Occasionally, this also scares the bejeezus out of me. I then have to convince myself that there's no such thing as ghosts, and that my dog is just a freak.

Then Dozer will stop, look at his rear end with great concern, and glance over at me with a face that would probably be red with embarrassment if it wasn't covered with white fur.

Most of the time, I can only assume that he's reacting to a flea bite or a random tickle, or perhaps a piece of fur being brushed by air.

But once in a while, a few moments after such an incident, everyone in the room suddenly realizes that Dozer has been startled by his own fart as it pops out of his rear. Silent, but deadly.

After one such incident, as we waved away the fumes, my husband mused: "I wonder what it's like to have no concept of what a fart is or why it's coming out of one's butt?"

"Living With Pit Bulls" reality show: possible, or stupid idea?

I've long been convinced that a reality show featuring responsible pit bull owners and their dogs would be a fantastic way to showcase, well, reality; and we all know, when it comes to pit bulls, we are in desperate need of a reality infusion.

If it were properly and sensitively done, I think it would be an interesting and informative show, certainly more so than the reality garbage that's already on TV. I wouldn't even have a problem with sensational advertising for this show ("See real live people eat and sleep next to vicious pit bull beasts! Will these poor people survive?!? Tune in Wednesday night at 9!") if it would draw in the viewers... and maybe make them feel a little stupid for being so bloodthirsty.

But I see one major problem: The show would be incredibly dull. Horribly, painfully, terrifically boring. How does one sustain the popularity of this sort of premise? I'm not sure it can be done, even if the words "pit bull" are in the title of the show, and the show is full of pit bulls.

It just isn't interesting to watch normal people and dogs do normal, boring, average daily activities. And that is, unfortunately, what responsible pit bull owners do. They do the same stuff every other nice respectable citizen does.

I imagine a film crew at my house, taping an episode of "Living With Pit Bulls."

Me: "So, um, here's my dog Dozer. Please don't throw his ball. Don't even touch it with your foot. In fact, don't even look at it. Because if you do, he'll take you for a sucker and try to convince you to play fetch all day."

Cameraman: "No problem. So just act normal, just do what you always do."

Me: "Sure. Okay. Uh... guess I'll just sit here at the computer and type..."

[Dozer spends the next three hours trying to get the cameraman to play fetch.]

Me: "Well, now I'll just eat some lunch. PB&J. Dozer, wanna go out?"

[Dozer runs outside, pees, and falls asleep in the grass.]

Me: "Okay, Dozer, back inside. And I'm going back to the computer."

[Dozer relocates to the office and falls asleep for the next five hours.]

Me: "Well, Byrd should be home soon; I better start dinner."

[Dozer relocates to the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room and falls asleep while I cook.]

Me: "Oh, Dozer, Daddy's home!"

[Dozer jumps up and goes to greet Byrd at the front door, making Chewbacca noises.]

Me: "Honey, go play with Dozer until dinner is ready."

Byrd: "Yeah, yeah."

[Byrd and Dozer go outside and play fetch for 20 minutes or until Dozer stops bringing the ball back, whichever comes first.]

Me: "Time to eat."

[Dozer, now hot and exhausted, gasps and wheezes in front of a fan on the kitchen floor, while we eat.]

Me: "Dozer, you want foodies?"

[Dozer jumps up and drools everywhere, eats dinner.]

Me: "Dozer, go potty."

[Dozer goes outside, does some business, comes back in.]

Me: "Okay, time for bed."

[Dozer lies down on his bed and falls asleep.]

Me: "What happened to the cameraman?"

[I find cameraman's body on the floor in my office; autopsy reveals he was literally bored to death.]

Autopsy technician: "Well, that's a first. I've never thought that could really happen."

Politician: "Can we still count it as a pit bull-related death?"

Well, if you made it all the way through that episode, maybe there's some hope for this series after all. :)

In all seriousness, I think it could be spiced up by finding some more interesting owners (involved in rescue, affected by BSL, etc.) and dogs (involved in canine sports, therapy, police work, etc.).

Again, however, the show has to be carefully crafted to present a correct and appropriate image, and to avoid making statements that are common, but in fact untrue or stereotypical (i.e. "pit bulls have to be trained to be vicious," "pit bulls are stronger than any other type of dog"). My main concern would be that a bunch of Hollywood-types with ratings on the brain, and/or producers who are unfamiliar with pit bull issues (especially social issues like BSL and proper application of rhetoric, or "how to say the right things in the right way at the right time for the right effect") will screw the whole thing up.

Anyway, that's my .02 for now.

Are all politicians alike?

I was reading the news about the crane collapses in New York with curiosity when I came across this article: http://www.wnbc.com/news/16433789/detail.html?dl=mainclick

In particular, the following quotes caught my eye:

"Construction of buildings is out of control in this city," City Councilman
Tony Avella said. "How many people have to die before the mayor decides enough
is enough?"
City Councilwoman Jessica Lappin, who represented the neighborhood affected
by the March collapse, said: "People shouldn't live in fear walking near a
construction site -- and certainly shouldn't feel fear sitting in their living
rooms."

Do politicians work off a template for fear-mongering? This sounds just like the sort of stuff politicians say about "evil" pit bulls. "How many people have to die before we ban pit bulls?" "People shouldn't live in fear of pit bulls."

It's the same regurgitated rhetoric applied to a similar-yet-different circumstance. Terrible mishap? Yes. But is it the crane's fault that the collapse occurred? Is it in the crane's "nature" to crush people? Are they now going to consider banning cranes--or new construction--from New York? Or... could it be that mismanagement and human irresponsibility are the root causes of this deadly event? Alas, our society prefers to destroy the tool rather than pursue the human who abused it--and the politicians pander to society's whims.

As for me, I know where I stand. I'll never vote for a politician that uses any of these phrases: "how many more people have to die?," "people shouldn't have to live in fear of (insert subject here)," or "next time it could be a child." In essence, people who use those phrases are threatening their audience: "Follow me, or else... DOOM!"

Sorry, but I'm an independent, educated, critical, fearless individual. I'm not so gullible as to fall for those ridiculous scare tactics--and it's downright insulting when some politician or media outlet throws this kind of junk at us and expects us to eat it up. And for the people who do buy into the fear-mongering: please, grow a brain... if not for yourself, then for the good of society.

A ride to Rent Equip

We rented a little dump trailer to haul some dirt, and when we went to return it, we brought Dozer along in the crew cab.

Earlier in the day, Dozer had had to endure two visitors (my mom and her husband) who both played fetch with him just enough to get him excited. Then he had to watch out the dining room window as we came and went with loads of dirt and shovels and rocks. Every time I walked in the front door to get some water or keys or other item, he came running madly.

For hours, he anticipated some sort of extended, hardcore entertainment, and for hours, he was let down. The excitement and frustration built in him until I worried his overstimulated heart would explode.

So when my husband brought him along on our brief jaunt, the D was shaking like... like a ninety pound Chihuahua, basically.

He had his nose out the window until we got to about 40 mph; then he pulled it in and I rolled the window up (we don't let him put his head out the window at any speed higher than 40). Then he leaned with his face pressed against the window, looking incredibly pathetic and trembling with anxiety or joy, I'm not sure which.

We let him jump up front, in between the two of us on the bench seat, and he promptly sat sideways with his face in my face, panting and shaking and leaning heavily on my shoulder. At a red light, Dozer stared through the window at some guy standing at the bus stop. At Rent Equip, he stared straight back at the guys unhooking the dump trailer. All the way home, he leaned and trembled and panted.

When we finally got home, poor D collapsed onto his bed and went straight to sleep. Only thirty minutes in the truck, doing nothing but sitting in the A/C and looking out the window--but he was totally spent.

Byrd and I, meanwhile, went back outside in the heat to move a 400 pound rock into its designated position in our landscape. I really envy my dog sometimes.