Oregon

Half my family lives in Oregon, so I go up there every couple years to visit, usually with my sister and my dad and his crew.

This year I was excited to drive up there with Byrd, sightseeing along the way, but at the last minute, the company he works for decided they really needed him to stay and work. So I flew up there without him, and stayed for a week.

I eagerly anticipated that I'd be getting out of the Texas heat and into some pleasant weather. Come to find out, they're having a heat wave up there. Eugene's temperatures weren't much cooler than the 100s in Texas, but here's the big difference: low humidity and a cool breeze. In Texas, we have high humidity and the sort of breeze that hits your face when you open an oven door.

So even though my grandma didn't have air conditioning, it got cool enough at night to leave windows open, and the house retained that coolness throughout the day. That's unheard of where I live, at least in the summer. I even had to fix the settings on Grandma's A/C in her car, because she never used it.

My sis walking Grandma's dog out in the heat...

We spent the first several days at Grandma's house fixing things. My sis and I tackled some of the dirtier work, including cleaning out the garage/shed and recarpeting the vegetable garden.

Now, there are two things in this world that I really feel that I can do without. One is roaches. And the other is spiders. These two things are the only critters that can send me running and screaming like a two-year-old.

And let me tell you, working at my Grandma's house, I have never seen so many spiders in my life. The climate was really favorable for them this year or something.

Here we are gingerly peeling back the old carpet that was acting as a weed barrier in Grandma's garden...

We piled up the old carpet (notice the strawberry plant that had rooted itself to the carpet) and the spiders were even happier to have this fancy new home full of hidey-holes:

Well the last laugh's on you, spiders! (We took the carpet to the dump, spiders and all.)

And here's the garage, partway done. We got everything out of the smack middle, but there will never be enough room for Grandma's car unless she manages to find someone to buy the approx. 300 boxed-up collectible glass whiskey decanters that line the back of her garage (not pictured here).

We found three boxes of old magazines that Grandma said she just hadn't had the time to read. We tore off the address labels and recycled them. The boxes were full of spiders.

Even when I sought some respite from the dirty jobs of cleaning and organizing, there were spiders. I went to pick blueberries and found out the bushes were fave hangouts for spiders.

By the way, if you are ever in Eugene, there's this great little place there called Off the Waffle. EAT A WAFFLE THERE. You will not regret it. We found it purely by chance on our first day in town, and ate those waffles every single day we were in the city. I came back to Texas, bought a waffle maker, and made waffles (liege waffles to be precise) for the first time in my life because of that place. I would tell you how good these waffles are, but if you cannot go to Eugene and eat one, then my description will only make you horribly, possibly incurably, depressed. So I'll just say they were rockin'.

After three days of spiders, screams, and swearing, a group of us went on a little road trip to Crater Lake.

We took the boat tour of the lake. The boat ride around Crater Lake was educational and entertaining, and gave us great closeups of the lake's features.

Devil's Spine:


Wizard Island (large island to one side of the Lake):

My favorite, Phantom Ship (smaller island):

Just a few tips from me if you ever plan to stay at Crater Lake.

One, either bring your own food, or prepare to PAY for your meals. They have a captive audience there, and they know it. No civilization for hours in any direction.

Two, don't do the boat tour if you can't handle a serious climb afterwards. The path down is sandy, slippery, and steep. It doesn't change coming back up, and you've just spent two hours in a boat, likely developing hunger and thirst along the way. For the same reason, do the morning tour rather than the afternoon ones, especially in the late summer--earlier tour means a cooler temperature when you climb back up.

Three, take advantage of the ranger-led seminars that are usually offered in the evening. We went to one I thought would be really boring, but it turned out quite interesting.

Four, if you have any interest in stars--this is the place to look. We were there at the tail end of the annual Perseid meteor shower and got to see some really nice shooting stars (but it gets cold at night!).

The next day we were at the coast, and caught a Mail Boat speed boat ride on the Rogue River. Fun stuff! We got to see bald eagles, otters, turtles, a mink, fish, blue herons, and a lot of campers, fishers, and park rangers--and our fine captain did donuts in the river, which got quite a few people along the edges of the boat wet (if you want to stay dry(er), sit in the middle toward the back).

First otter I've ever seen in the wild:


Possibly the most fun job ever--biologist park ranger? These guys were catching fish to weigh and measure. Suddenly I'm thinking of a career change.

Bald eagle flying off a nest. There's another one roosting in the tree, if you look close.

After all this entertainment, we headed back to Grandma's. No more spiders for me--we headed north to Portland and the airport shortly after. A great trip and a nice break.

Came home to 179 unopened emails.

Demodectic Mange

Good news! Well, I suppose it's not really "good" to have mange, but let's just say the news is better than the alternative: Dubby has demodectic mange, the non-contagious kind.

Looks like we'll probably have Dubby for at least a couple weeks. He must be neutered before he can go to adoption events, and he has to get a little healthier and grow some fur before he can be neutered.

Learning that Dubby was not contagious (at least, not to healthy dogs that aren't being constantly exposed to his mite-infested body), I decided to let Star and Dubby meet during a potty break.

Star's reaction was completely opposite my expectations, especially since she'd been soooo curious about Dubby at first, during the time when we didn't know if he was contagious and kept them totally separated. She wanted to see and smell and touch, and I just said "no no no no" all the time while body blocking her as we passed on the way to the back yard for pee breaks.

So, at last, she got her chance!! Yes, she wanted to smell!! And then she did, and this look came over her face like "OMG, eww, this thing stinks! What a creepy nasty thing! Nope, changed my mind, I don't want anything to do with it. BYE!!!" and she ran off.

Honestly, he does stink. He smells just like every dog at an animal shelter, like cleaning products, animal byproducts, fear, and death. If you've ever been to a shelter, you know the smell I mean. And if dogs have flashbacks, then I'm sure Star would have been remembering her own frightening experiences at the shelter as she sniffed this pink little critter.

On top of that, there is the odor from the mange and the crusty skin infections.

Needless to say, I'm going to give him a bath tomorrow morning.

Dubby will be up for adoption at some point, so be sure to tell all your friends! ;) He rides great in the car (in his cardboard box), has a calm and quiet demeanor, hasn't had any accidents in the house, and is very attentive and curious.

Dubby napping in the car in his cardboard box.

Thank you for all the nice comments on the last post, btw. I love fostering, and I'd do it all the time if Dozer would let me.

I believe that since I don't hold down a steady job or make a living wage (which makes it hard for me to donate money), I should at least spend my time in ways that benefit the world somehow, even on a small scale. That's why I run my websites, volunteer for shelters/advocacy groups, help out at charity events, and foster when I can.

If anything, I think my husband is the real hero, because he's the one dealing with a crap job so we can have food and a roof over our heads. I couldn't do this stuff without his support. :)

Okay, so the next post will be about Oregon. It will be dull, unless you like hearing about other people's trips. And spiders. There will be spiders.

New foster

I'm back from a week-long trip to Oregon (visit with family) and will have plenty to share about that trip in a bit... but thought I would share this breaking news since it's way more exciting and a lot cuter.

We have a new foster puppy. This nameless little guy is about 11 weeks old and has some sort of mange. I have just started fostering for a local rescue group, Austin Pets Alive, and when they sent out the alert about him, I went and pulled him from the local kill shelter. At this shelter, most unclaimed dogs with medical problems (esp. mange) are euthanized unless pulled by a rescue group, so this little guy's life depended on finding a foster.

Since we don't yet know whether the mange is demodectic (not contagious) or sarcoptic (contagious), he's in isolation in our bathtub until we find out, presumably on Monday when we can take him to the vet.

Our dogs aren't allowed near him; the bathroom's been closed off with a baby gate to add an extra layer of separation. I also wash my hands every time I touch the puppy, and I have one of Byrd's large shirts in the bathroom, worn like a smock when carrying or handling the puppy. I sure hope the mange is demodex... it'll be hard to keep this up for several weeks if it is contagious.

I've decided to name him Dubby if allowed. This is because, a while back, there was another little puppy at APA that could have been this guy's double, mange and all.

I take him out to potty in the extra dog kennel, the one that previously housed Peepers when he was sick, the one that has also been used for doggy "time out" and for temporary containment of stray dogs and injured wild birds. I remind Byrd about this every time he talks about dismantling "that useless kennel."

Dubby is so cute, sweet, smart, and surprisingly quiet. I don't know how long it will last, but I presume he will start acting a bit more rowdy once his mange gets treated and he feels better. So, of course, I'm taking this opportunity to teach him some basic obedience.

Star would love to play with him, I'm sure, but that will have to wait for a while.

Miracle

A bonafide miracle happened today. You won't believe it even if I tell you but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Byrd went to the grocery store. By himself.

This is a man who, despite his intimidating stature, is borderline agoraphobic and has panic attacks at the grocery store, so the last time he went was... hmm... it's been about two years, I think. And I went with him that time. He hasn't been alone in a store in a decade.

He said he wanted to take care of me, seeing as how I'm into a bedridden fifth day of high fever and occasional delerium. Awww, isn't he just sho shweet!! (Actually, I know the real reason he wanted to go--he finished off the last pint of his favorite ice cream the other day.)

I helped him with the grocery list, knowing he wouldn't stick to it--he's a compulsive shopper and will buy pretty much anything that looks edible when there's no one (me) around to restrain him.

And off he went, forgetting the recycling (which is conveniently on the way to the store), forgetting the canvas bags, almost forgetting the list.

After an hour with no word, I got a little worried. Then he called. He couldn't find applesauce, or yogurt, and he had been overwhelmed by brands of bodywash (for him!), and what flavor of cough drops did I want?

He came home looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, evidently having whole new worlds opened up due to his expedition to Planet Grocery. I was then treated to a show-and-tell in the bedroom as he hauled in find after find: here were some instant noodles for me, and look at the TV dinners he'd found, and can you believe they have tiny bottles of Coke with resealable caps!?

I don't think I'm strong enough to go into the kitchen and see what insane things he pulled off the store shelves. At least he covered the list.

And I'm not one to complain about a miracle.

Dogs as smart as 2 year olds

http://www.livescience.com/animals/090808-smart-dogs.html

Dogs as Smart as 2-year-old Kids

LiveScience.com
Jeanna Bryner
Senior Writer
Sat Aug 8, 2:05 pm ET

The canine IQ test results are in: Even the average dog has the mental abilities of a 2-year-old child.

The finding is based on a language development test, revealing average dogs can learn 165 words (similar to a 2-year-old child), including signals and gestures, and dogs in the top 20 percent in intelligence can learn 250 words.

And the smartest?

Border collies, poodles, and German shepherds, in that order, says Stanley Coren, a canine expert and professor emeritus at the University of British Columbia. Those breeds have been created recently compared with other dog breeds and may be smarter in part because we've trained and bred them to be so, Coren said. The dogs at the top of the pack are on par with a 2.5-year-old.

Better at math and socializing

While dogs ranked with the 2-year-olds in language, they would trump a 3- or 4-year-old in basic arithmetic, Coren found. In terms of social smarts, our drooling furballs fare even better.

"The social life of dogs is much more complex, much more like human teenagers at that stage, interested in who is moving up in the pack and who is sleeping with who and that sort of thing," Coren told LiveScience.

Coren, who has written more than a half-dozen books on dogs and dog behavior, will present an overview of various studies on dog smarts at the American Psychological Association's annual meeting in Toronto.

"We all want insight into how our furry companions think, and we want to understand the silly, quirky and apparently irrational behaviors [that] Lassie or Rover demonstrate," Coren said. "Their stunning flashes of brilliance and creativity are reminders that they may not be Einsteins but are sure closer to humans than we thought."

Math test

To get inside the noggin of man's best friend, scientists are modifying tests for dogs that were originally developed to measure skills in children.

Here's one: In an arithmetic test, dogs watch as one treat and then another treat are lowered down behind a screen. When the screen gets lifted, the dogs, if they get arithmetic (1+1=2), will expect to see two treats. (For toddlers, other objects would be used.)

But say the scientist swipes one of the treats, or adds another so the end result is one, or three treats, respectively. "Now we're giving him the wrong equation which is 1+1=1, or 1+1=3," Coren said. Sure enough, studies show the dogs get it. "The dog acts surprised and stares at it for a longer period of time, just like a human kid would," he said.

These studies suggest dogs have a basic understanding of arithmetic, and they can count to four or five.

Basic emotions

Other studies Coren notes have found that dogs show spatial problem-solving skills. For instance, they can locate valued items, such as treats, find better routes in the environment, such as the fastest way to a favorite chair, and figure out how to operate latches and simple machines.

Like human toddlers, dogs also show some basic emotions, such as happiness, anger and disgust. But more complex emotions, such as guilt, are not in a dog's toolbox. (What humans once thought was guilt was found to be doggy fear, Coren noted.)

And while dogs know whether they're being treated fairly, they don't grasp the concept of equity. Coren recalls a study in which dogs get a treat for "giving a paw."

When one dog gets a treat and the other doesn't, the unrewarded dog stops performing the trick and avoids making eye contact with the trainer. But if one dog, say, gets rewarded with a juicy steak while the other snags a measly piece of bread, on average the dogs don't care about the inequality of the treats.

Top dogs

To find out which dogs had the top school smarts, Coren collected data from more than 200 dog obedience judges from the United States and Canada.

He found the top dogs, in order of their doggy IQ are:
Border collies Poodles German shepherds Golden retrievers Dobermans Shetland sheepdogs Labrador retrievers

At the bottom of the intelligence barrel, Coren would include many of the hounds, such as the bassett hound and the Afghan hound, along with the bulldog, beagle and basenji (a hunting dog).

"It's important to note that these breeds which don't do as well tend to be considerably older breeds," he said. "They were developed when the task of a hound was to find something by smell or sight." These dogs might fare better on tests of so-called instinctive intelligence, which measure how well dogs do what they are bred to do.

"The dogs that are the brightest dogs in terms of school learning ability tend to be the dogs that are much more recently developed," Coren said. He added that there's a "high probability that we've been breeding dogs so they're more responsive to human beings and human signals." So the most recently bred dogs would be more human-friendly and rank higher on school smarts.

Many of these smarty-pants are also the most popular pets. "We like dogs that understand us," Coren said.

We also love the beagle, which made it to the top 10 list of most popular dog breeds in 2008 by the American Kennel Club. That's because they are so sweet and socialable, Coren said. "Sometimes people love the dumb blonde," Coren said.

And sometimes the dim-wits make better pets. While a smart dog will figure out everything you want it to know, your super pet will also learn everything it can get away with, Coren warns.

Insensitive mongrels

Being deathly ill (ok, maybe not, but you know how it feels when you're really sick) is bad enough, but having two dogs that could care less... If I had the strength, I would wring their adorable little necks.

Dozer cries and lobs pathetic gazes at me without pause. He wants attention. Star barks and throws toys everywhere. She wants to play.

They don't want to sleep, which means no sleep for me, either.

It apparently hasn't occurred to them that "something is wrong with Mommy, because she's been in bed for five days and didn't even get up to greet the pizza guy." (Which I called for Byrd, since I wasn't in any shape to cook.)

Thank god my mom is coming over here today to feed me and entertain these awful, selfish beasts.

I went to the doctor yesterday--it took four days of worsening symptoms, but I finally developed an actual fever, which is my sign to seek medical help--with sore throat, achiness, swollen lymph nodes, and general malaise. As always when I get these sore throats, the doctor tested for strep (negative, of course), the flu (most painful diagnostic test on the planet), and then declared it some sort of mysterious noncontagious infection, prescribed antibiotics, and sent me home. Thanks, doctor.

This is a pattern. Every four months or so, this happens. They have my medical records, they should see this. And I keep telling them: "Oh, yeah, I can already tell you, it's not strep, mumps, mono, or flu. And ultimately, you're going to shrug, say something vague, and prescribe me amoxicillin. Just like the last six times this happened." WTF? Anyone want to suggest a real answer to this?

I'm recording each instance in my blog so I can track the frequency and record some of the details. I know it's not the most interesting post. Sorry.

Anyway, on to day five, and the fever's going up instead of down (lovely). Sure hope the antibiotics kick in soon. I've got two nutcase dogs and a flock of chickens that are starting to act like they're neglected.

A "pit bull" by any other name...

I've always hated the term "pit bull." The connotations are unavoidable, almost subconscious: vicious, fighting, aggressive. I hate saying it; I know my listeners are struggling with the same connotations in their own heads. I hate thinking it. It's like a dirty word.

The problems with "pit bull" are numerous, beginning with the fact that it is essentially undefinable. There is no agreed-upon definition. What is a "pit bull"?

Is it an American Pit Bull Terrier? An American Staffordshire Terrier? A Staffordshire Bull Terrier?

Is it a Bull Terrier, American Bulldog, English Bulldog, Boston Terrier, French Bulldog, Boxer, or any other dog that is somewhat related to the now-extinct Old English Bulldog that used to fight bulls, bears, and other dogs?

A recent news article headline screamed "Child bit by pit bull" when the body of the same article stated the dog in question was a Rottweiler. Dog bite articles in the past have labeled Dogo Argentinos, Cane Corsos, German Shepherds, Labs, and other unrelated breeds as "pit bulls." Are "pit bulls" any dog that bites?

Lakewood (OH) and Miami-Dade County (FL) are just two municipalities to make recent headlines after their breed bans resulted in confiscation of "pit bulls" that DNA tests subsequently proved were not "pit bulls," nor even "pit bull" mixes. Not that it mattered; these dogs were still prohibited because they retained the appearance of a "pit bull."

To municipalities with breed-specific legislation, it's not really about breed or type at all--it's about a dog's appearance. Any short-haired, mixed-breed dog can be labeled a "pit bull" in these places, depending on who is doing the judging. It is impossible to prove that one's dog is not a "pit bull" because the legal definition of "pit bull" is subjective (based on an individual's assessment of a dog's appearance).

The most recent embarrassment in Lakewood involved Otis, a dog that was obviously a Boxer, a breed that is not banned in Lakewood. The city nevertheless declared Otis a "pit bull" and kicked him out, unmoved by public outcry. While his owner prepares to move out of the city to join his dog, Otis is staying at... guess where... a Boxer rescue!

There's so much fuss and confusion over what it means to be a "pit bull" that the term feels worthless.

Yet, it's unavoidable in conversation. On the other side, people are trying to help these dogs known as "pit bulls." There are low-cost and free spay/neuter and training classes just for "pit bulls." There are advocates and rescue groups for "pit bulls."

How do we talk about saving "pit bulls" if we can't, or don't try to, define that term? So advocates come up with their own definitions for the term. They don't all agree, either.

Because of the negative connotations attached to the term "pit bull," some groups have proposed calling these dogs by another name--something more positive, more removed from violence and death. This has been attempted in the past, as well, with terms like "St. Francis Terrier."

Although I like the idea, I think it cannot work for practical reasons. It's already confusing enough without a whole new term to add to the mix. I don't know how I would reach people who are looking for information on "pit bulls" if I were calling them something totally different. I don't know how we could fight BSL if we weren't combating the public perception of "pit bulls" as naturally aggressive beasts.

Renaming to remove connotations doesn't really solve the fundamental problem. If people still believe that certain breeds or types of dogs are genetically inclined to "snap," eat babies, maul grandmothers, etc., then we still have a problem--total lack of public education regarding dog behavior. All the cutesy labelling in the world won't solve that. It just means people will add the "new breed" to their list of "dangerous" dogs.

Despite my pessimism, I wouldn't fight such an attempt to rename. I'd still like to see a well-thought-out plan implemented--something that would bring a unified, accepted definition of these dogs to the table. The most important part, I think, and the most difficult, is to get everyone on the same page. Whatever the new term may be, it cannot be applied subjectively and inconsistently, as "pit bull" is today.

Now I've heard it all

And I have nothing to say about this. If you need me, I'll be in my bed, under the sheets, avoiding the rest of mankind.

http://www.fox43.com/news/wtic-shelton-bird-fighting-ring-0726,0,602678.story

Police Bust Canary Fighting Ring In Shelton

Nick Caito Fox 61
5:47 PM EDT, July 26, 2009

SHELTON - Multiple state law enforcement agencies busted up a bird fighting ring in the town of Shelton Sunday morning. However the birds involved are known more for their voice than violence.

Police confiscated nearly 150 songbirds- canaries and saffron finches- from a home at 176 Ripton Road. Police say the birds were being prepared to fight. The raid was led by Shelton Police with help from the Department of Agriculture and officers from Bridgeport, Ansonia, Fairfield, and State Police departments.

"They have a cage in the middle that's set up like a ring, where the two will go into one cage and fight." said Shelton Police Sergeant Robert Kozlowsky. "It's looking like animal cruelty and illegal gambling. They [officers] have found a large amount of currency also at this scene."

Animal control officers were seen carrying cages upon cages filled with birds from the residence. According to a relative, the homeowner claimed to be collecting the birds to breed and sell. Neighbors who witnessed the raid were surprised at both the multi-agency response and the unorthodox nature of the bird fighting.

"Am I being punk'd?" asked neighbor John Coniglio, referring to a television show famous for playing pranks on celebrities. "I mean, this is crazy. I've never heard of a canary ring. I can't picture little canaries with razor blades taped to their feet or anything."

The raid christened 19 jailbirds along with $8,000 cash.

I'm not allergic to dogs

Working two jobs over the last week has been pretty awful for me. Using the computer aggravates my constant headaches, and of course, both my jobs require the use of the computer for long periods of time. So I have headaches daily from about noon until I collapse at nine or ten at night.

On the occasional day that I break from work early, I try to get away from the computer--which means I haven't been blogging or writing or doing much of anything else. Last night, even though I was really curious about the term "shoemaker's children" (used by a New Zealander to refer to his coworkers), I couldn't even bring myself to look it up on Wikipedia.

The headaches are just one of a litany of symptoms that have been making day-to-day operations miserable for several years. I have finally begun to suspect allergies as the primary culprit.

But the symptoms that I'm dealing with are all a bit offbeat (headaches, itchy skin, exhaustion, perpetually swollen lymph nodes, recurring sore throats) and don't sync up to any particular season. They aren't the classic respiratory symptoms associated with hay fever (runny nose, sneezing, wheezing, itchy eyes).

So I've been hesitant to tell doctors that I have allergies, and it's apparently never occurred to my doctors that I might actually have them. Instead, I've been sent to one specialist after another: a neurologist for the headaches, an ENT for the recurring sore throats, and a dermatologist for the skin. It's become a tangled mess of diagnoses and medications.

Thus, I decided myself to get an allergy test to see if I have allergies, and if so, to what. Then I could request a single medication to treat allergies, and this would hopefully kick the crap out of all the allergy-related symptoms at once.

I told my plan to Byrd. Apparently Byrd had an allergy test when he was a kid. Kindhearted soul that he is, he described his horrific experience in graphic detail, then glibly added, "But I wasn't scarred for life, so I guess it wasn't that bad."

Consequently, I arrived at the allergy testing site with shaking hands and dry mouth, under the impression--courtesy of Byrd--that I was about to get eighty painful injections of toxic substances that would cause my skin to blister and peel off. (I later learned he was just toying with me, rotten bastard.)

The nurse must have noticed my tightly clenched fist and my grinding teeth. She patted my arm lightly and said, "Oh, honey, don't worry, it only takes fifteen minutes and I'll give you an antihistamine after that, if you react to anything."

Fifteen minutes later (after an easy test that didn't involve a needle or anything painful), it was pretty obvious I had allergies. My arms had itchy red welts all over them. A passing nurse started to ask, "So how did your allergy test go?" but ended up saying, "So how did your aller--oooooh yikes." My doctor called the results "impressive."

I reacted to the standard central Texas allergens: cedar and oak. Also on the list: perennial rye, Bermuda grass, some coastal grasses, various molds, and dust mites.

The biggest surprise was that I didn't react at all to cat or dog allergens. The doctor retested the dog allergen since I live with dogs; I guess he wanted to be very sure that my beloved pets weren't contributing to my troubles.

The re-test really did involve a needle, and this time it hurt a little (but still not as bad as Byrd led me to believe). The allergen is injected right under the skin in the shoulder area, and the reaction measured. Presumably, even a mild allergy would cause some sort of welt. But I still didn't react to the dog allergen.

So the good news is that I get to keep the dogs! (I'm kidding, of course. I would never give the dogs up just because I'm allergic to them.)

The bad news is that I'm allergic to my house and my yard and basically everything else in my environment. :(

What is "too hot" for a walk?

Dogs need to go on walks, right? I hear that from pretty much every dog trainer I interact with. Everyone agrees: dogs need to walk. They need it for exercise, socialization, and training purposes.

So up until this ungodly summer, I was walking Star regularly. And it was going pretty well. Star walks great on a leash, and I've found her to be very reliable in worst-case scenarios (off-leash dogs charging us) as long as I keep my cool, say "leave it," and keep walking.

But now it's in the 100s every day. We have no sidewalks; you either walk on the asphalt or the grass. At these temperatures, asphalt is not an option for dog paws, and the grass isn't really grass, it's sticker burrs, fire ant mounds, broken glass, and automobile fluids.

I've been walking with Star at 10 PM for the last few nights, when the temperature drops into the 90s... but the asphalt still feels hot beneath my feet, and it's so dark that I can't see the broken glass, ant mounds, and all the rest. It's also too dark to see loose dogs and suspicious people; thank goodness the dog we ran into last night was a bit lost and frightened, but not really aggressive (Star and I helped it find its home after I made sure it was friendly). And because we're not walking on a sidewalk, it's not much distance between us and passing cars.

Walking in the morning might be a better option, because it's only in the 80s and the pavement is cooler. But I'm not a morning person...

And then there's Star. She's got no stamina at all. She's good on a walk for about five minutes, then she's just HOT. I swear she acts just like a two-year-old child, dragging her feet and mentally willing me to pick her up and carry her.

My final option is to build an enormous mirror and reflect all the heat back toward the sun, a la Futurama.

RAGE

Byrd and I planned to go up to Oregon to visit family. We would have had to drive, since Byrd doesn't fly, so the whole trip was going to take two weeks. We were going to see things like Yellowstone, Mt. Ranier, Devil's Tower, and so much more along the way. Stuff I've never seen before.

We were going to go in early August.

So in May--yes, MAY--Byrd submitted his vacation request for the two weeks in August we'd picked for the trip.

I planned the itinerary, reserved hotels, mapped our driving route, went to AAA and got a bunch of maps and travel books, and got totally riled up about seeing Prairie Dog Town. Byrd was excited about the prospect of a vacation unaffected by hurricanes.

Then today, a mere three weeks from our departure date, Byrd's higher ups suddenly said he can't have the time off after all!

WTF. Is that even legal??!?

Now I'm sitting here cancelling hotel reservations that I made months ago--some of them nonrefundable--watching our happy vacation crumble while simultaneously wondering just how bad it could be to be in jail. Cause I am this close to a destructive rampage in the corporate offices.

Hey Mom, good news: You won't have to babysit the dogs for two weeks. :'(

Just kidding... Back to work NOW

Job #1 is still scheduled to start next week.

Then an old client of mine called me up yesterday and asked for help on a project.

I totally accepted. Hey, I like money.

But that makes Job #2.

I'm desperately trying to get Job #2 done this weekend, but it doesn't look likely. Which means I'll be working two jobs next week.

Still, I feel a little selfish.

Am I a bad person for taking on two jobs when so many other copyeditors are desperate for work?

Back to work

My new contract job starts next week. It will last for a year, if all goes as planned.

Yay! I'm actually glad. And not just because I love copyediting.

I didn't think I'd get tired of sitting around all day doing my own projects. But when you don't have a "real job," suddenly you don't have an excuse to avoid all those things you've been procrastinating about.

I didn't want to file six months' worth of papers. I didn't want to update Byrd's Quicken (four months out of date and hand-entry required for three of the four months). I didn't want to weed the driveway. I didn't want to clean out all the kitchen cabinets. I didn't want to organize the closet.

But I did. Because they were on The List I Created (Of Things I Really Wished Someone Else Would Do) and I couldn't think of a reason not to do them.

Starting next week, I can go back to procrastinating. Cause I'll have a "real job" again.

Whew.

In other news, Star got her CGC certificate in the mail.


She is really not very photogenic. She always looks really pissed or freaked out or bored in photos, and unlike Dozer, she doesn't react to words, so I can't get her excited just by saying "treat."

Dozer responds to about a dozen different voice commands and he knows the names of all of his various toys (he will bring the correct toy when given its name). He's one of those dogs I have to spell around, to keep him from getting excited about r-i-d-e-s in the c-a-r. He's also really good at observing the interplay of tone of voice, body language, speech patterns, and more, so even when he doesn't understand the words, he knows what's going on.

Star, on the other hand, just sort of stares, no matter what I say. She's learned to respond to voice commands, but doesn't seem to know the difference between them unless I use hand signals as well. This is starting to be a problem in agility, where, if I don't get my body language precise, she's just as apt to take the tunnel than to go over the A-frame, even if I'm shouting "A! A!"

The only words she clearly knows are "Star," "No!," "Leave It!" and "Yes!" She seems to understand positive versus negative tone of voice, too.

I'm a bit confounded by this apparent language barrier. It requires a whole new set of communication skills on my part. I'm used to having dogs that speak English. :)

With luck, agility classes will help. I'm hoping it will eventually click with her that the sounds coming out of my mouth actually mean something.

Trip to Japan 1999

June 1999 -- I went to Japan for two weeks as part of a high school student exchange program--with a twist.

I had just finished my sophomore year in college, but I got to go with a group of American high school students, in part because my younger sister was signed up for the trip.

The upshot was that I was the only person in the group to have two years of college-level Japanese under my belt. Which came in handy for the few times that we did not have a Japanese chaperon--especially in the hectic train stations!

Obviously, I have a lot of pictures and awesome memories, but I'll spare you every little detail. Here are the highlights.

We spent the first few days of our trip exploring Kyoto.

One significant thing about Japan: there are temples and shrines everywhere. You might be walking down a busy market street, turn a corner, and BAM! There's a gorgeous temple nestled in lush greenery and tall trees.

Here is one of the more famous ones, the Golden Pavilion Temple (Kinkaku-ji). Our group posed in front of it; that's a twenty-year-old me kneeling on the left.

Notice the second guy from left, with the afro. His hair made him the most popular guy of our group. Even little old ladies on the bus wanted to touch his 'fro.

Here's another temple. This one is part of a large complex of temple buildings on top of a hill in Kyoto, and the views are amazing. I'm very sorry to say that I cannot remember the name of it. It might have been part of Kyomizu-dera.

Here's a dragon water fountain at the entrance to the temple. With the ladle, you are supposed to wash your hands to purify yourself.

I spotted this sign while we were walking the city streets. So cute! I think it had something to do with cleaning up your garbage, but I don't know enough Japanese to translate anything other than the word "yamereon," which means "chameleon." Obviously.

This was a lovely statue in one of the Buddhist temples we visited.

We also went to Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park, an incredibly sobering experience.

This is Ground Zero, the A-Bomb Dome (once the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall). I stood right here, took this picture, breathed the air... it was incredibly quiet here.

This is one of the many monuments at the park, the Statue of the A-Bomb Children or the Children's Peace Monument. You probably have heard the story of Sadako Sasaki, who believed she would be cured of radiation sickness if she folded 1,000 paper cranes. There are chains of colorful paper cranes surrounding this monument, sent from around the world.

Here is another temple. I believe this one is in Oita, where we finally met up with our host families and began attending high school.

This is a women's toilet in Japan! Fortunately for us, there were usually "western style" toilets available, though sometimes it was only in one stall and we had to take turns using it. None of us were brave enough to try using this Japanese style toilet.

We were like local rock stars; we met the mayor of Oita (who gave us t-shirts that said "I love Oita"!), the high school had a HUGE welcoming ceremony for us, and we even got into the local newspaper. This is very different from the way we Americans treat our exchange students! I've never seen a news article about exchange students visiting here.

Then it was time to start school. We went to a high school in Oita for over a week. Ever wonder why the students in Japan don't have issues with being overweight? Here's one reason: they bike or walk EVERYWHERE.

I rode a bike to school for the first time in my life. Not just a couple miles, either. It was a hardcore up-and-downhill ride, about an hour long, every morning and every night. No matter what the weather.

The school was at the top of an incredibly steep hill. It felt more like a mountain when you were walking up it. We had to leave the bikes at the bike rack, which was at the bottom of the hill.

Up and up and up... The Japanese kids took it in stride, but I thought I was going to die.

OMG where does this hill end???

In Japan, you don't wear outdoor shoes in homes or schools. Once at school, we changed from our regular outdoor shoes to some clog-type shoes that were for indoors only. That's my sis on the right, me on the left.

Here's the view from one of the school balconies (aka hallways). The view was amazing. If only you didn't have to climb up that hill!

Students clean the school during a regular cleaning time each day. There are no janitors. This ensures that students don't litter or mess up the school, because they're the ones who will have to pick it up.

These are the high school "punks." They were fooling around during a break. That kid in the purplish shirt was really daring for violating school dress code! (He put his white shirt back on after the break was over.)

One of the field trips we Americans went on while our Japanese counterparts were stuck in school--we went to a local park! It was really for little kids, but we had a lot of fun. Look at this funny old man sitting on this animal... he let me be in a photo with him. I don't know who he was, but he looks sort of like a baseball coach.

Here was one of the rides--some sort of trolley that you sit on and ride down. I have never seen one of these in the U.S. (at least, not at a public park without any supervision)... maybe because they practically scream "lawsuit" over here.

It had recently rained. My sis bravely rode the thing back over a massive mud puddle.

And here are the monkeys! I can't remember the name of this place, but I think it was something like "Monkey Mountain." There were monkeys everywhere in the park.


The monkeys could go anywhere they wanted and do anything they pleased. Ain't nobody gonna stop them.

Here's a momma monkey and her tiny baby:

There were signs everywhere that said (according to our Japanese hosts) "Don't touch the monkeys," and "Don't feed the monkeys." Apparently, the monkeys could be extremely nasty if they felt like it, up to and including killing us.

But there were some very pretty places in this park, so we ventured bravely in among the monkeys and took some pictures of us in front of big flowery bushes. Here is my sis trying to hold very still and not enrage the monkey in front of her, while still looking happy and relaxed for the camera. Not an easy task.

At the end of our stay, the Japanese school kids held yet another party for us. They drew pictures of us on the board.

There's my sis next to her likeness. And my likeness next to hers. And a big blue bunny saying "Oh--!!"

The trip to Japan was officially my Best. Trip. Ever.

Stupid the bearded dragon

One of my most beloved early pets was a very special bearded dragon.

He was part of a clutch of eggs that were being incubated by the pet store where Byrd worked, until a power failure knocked out the incubator for several hours. Over time, one by one, the eggs buckled and darkened, which meant the baby lizard inside had died. Only three eggs survived, resulting in three lizards.

Byrd took the three lizards home to grow, because they couldn't be sold at the pet store until they were older.



But right away, I noticed something was obviously wrong with one of the lizards. He flapped and flopped around crazily, and his head lolled like a bobblehead doll when he was trying to watch something. He couldn't catch crickets by himself and had to be hand-fed.

So Byrd gave this physically challenged bearded dragon to me to take care of. The vet said the baby lizard would probably die in a few days.

I named the lizard "Stupid," fondly. He had spirit and determination to survive despite the odds against him. At first, I had to force-feed him by jamming baby crickets and soggy lizard pellets into his tiny mouth.

But after a precarious first two weeks, Stupid gained enough strength to start taking the food from my fingers (he had to try over and over to get the food, apparently because he had no coordination, or poor vision, or brain damage).



After seven months, Stupid somehow managed to develop just enough motor function and coordination to catch tiny crickets by himself, as long as he was sitting in a bucket full of them (so even if he missed his mark, there was another cricket underneath). I often took him down to the pet store and let him loose in the baby cricket container so he could get a workout. But I always hand-fed him several times a day to be sure he got the nutrition he needed.

I knew Stupid wouldn't live very long, because he never grew any bigger than a month-old beardy. While his siblings grew to cover the palm of my hand, Stupid still perched on my index finger.

Toward the end of his first year, Stupid started backsliding. He lost the little bit of coordination he had had, and after a while he had trouble with hand-feeding as well. At the very end, I had to force-feed him again. Eventually, his tiny body gave out, and almost exactly a year after he was hatched, Stupid passed away.

To this day, he remains very close to my heart.

Pepper and Little Byrd

Ten years ago, Byrd and I lived in a little condo community. One of our neighbors was a single woman who worked all day, and while she was away at work, she let her little dog run loose.

This was both annoying for all the residents and dangerous for the little dog, because it liked to chase cars in the parking lot, bark, and poo everywhere. The woman probably thought her cute little dog slept all day on her front porch, because that's where the dog was when she left, and that's where it was when she came home (it could hear her car coming and would race to her front door to wait for her).

So since I was a college kid at the time, I "adopted" the dog during the day. It got to hang out with me inside while I was home. The first thing I did was give it a bath and brush it, because it smelled terrible and had fleas.

We soon learned that the dog's name was Pepper, because when the woman got home in the evening and discovered her dog was not waiting on the front porch, she started screaming "PEPPER!!! PEPPER!!!" I let Pepper out the back door and he ran around the unit to the front to greet his mom, and they went inside.

This was a routine until Pepper's mom finally figured out where her dog was spending time. Then she would come over and knock on our door each evening and retrieve Pepper from us. It seemed she sort of appreciated the free petsitting.

During this time we also ended up with a baby chicken that was dumped at the pet store where Byrd worked (sound familiar? See Fred's story). We named the chick Little Byrd.

Little Byrd and Pepper became friends. Pepper watched out for LB when he was having some free time in the yard.

LB turned out to be a huge black rooster (sound familiar? See Peepers's story).

Now, the difference between LB and Peepers is that LB could and would fly. He often flew over the condo's backyard fence and into neighboring back yards. Another problem was that we were not really allowed to have fowl in the condos. And LB crowed, too!

So Byrd managed to find a farm that would take not-so-Little Byrd. He *claims* it was a rooster heaven where Little Byrd had lots of hens to call his own. But I'm a bit suspicious, since he makes this farm sound more and more wonderful each time he reassures me that he did not send LB to be made into someone's dinner.