Star just graduated from her second obedience class. Not formal obedience, mind you--just the basics.
I made sure she started the second one immediately after finishing the first.
And now that this second one is over, I've already gotten her signed up for a new class starting in less than two weeks, which is a prep class for Pet Therapy (you know, dogs in nursing homes and schools and so forth).
She's also enrolled in an Agility Intro class that starts in June (exact starting date TBD).
There'll probably be some overlap of the Pet Therapy and Agility Intro classes. So I'm looking at two classes per week.
Is that excessive?
If she does well in either class, we'll pursue further education along those lines.
In all honesty, if someone in the area offered tracking classes at a reasonable rate, I would sign her up for those, too. Star loves to smell things. Everything. Constantly. Whether that's important for tracking or not, I don't know, but I'd be curious to find out. Unfortunately, the only tracking classes offered in the area are waaaay above what I'm willing to pay ($325 for 6 private lessons?!? I think not). So, that's off the table for now.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
A confession
I've said it before and I'll say it again: I never wanted a pit bull.
At least, not at first. Heck, I never wanted a dog. This all changed when Felanie was somewhat forced on me by circumstances. After she opened new avenues for me, broke down the walls in my mind and heart, and basically changed my entire life for the better, we got Dozer.
We got Dozer because he was a pit bull (even though, it turns out, he wasn't really) and I hoped to have the same experiences with him that I did with Fel. It is certainly the case that Dozer taught me even more about patience, understanding, and individuality, even if he didn't offer any new insights--he just reinforced the things Fel had already shown me.
But that wasn't the confession.
This is: For years, off and on, I've actually looked forward to the day when I would be pit bull-less again. I've repeatedly thought, "When my pit bulls die, I will replace them with something other than pit bulls." I have often wished secretly that my dogs were not pit bulls.
When I get tired of the struggles of pit bull ownership--the stigma, the stereotypes, the nasty comments from total strangers, the innocent-yet-hurtful comments from friends and family, the constant fight against legalized discrimination (BSL), the nonstop educational efforts (when you're a responsible pit bull owner, you know that every public excursion is an educational effort)--sometimes I just wish I had "easier" dogs. Dogs that people would look at and smile at and just accept, like a Lab or a Collie. Dogs that wouldn't make people think I'm a drug dealer, a thug, trailer trash, a mortgage-defaulting liar (no joke), or a gang member.
So when Fel got cancer a little over a year ago, I thought, "When I'm ready for a new dog, it won't be a pit bull. I'll get something else. A dog I don't have to fight for all the time. A dog that I don't have to justify owning. Something easy."
Then Fel died. Nine months later, I finally started looking for a new dog.
I wasn't looking for a pit bull. Not at first, anyway.
Yet, after I had carefully thought about and listed my criteria for my next dog and I knew what I was looking for in my next companion, I found myself drawn to the pit bulls at the shelter. While other people were cooing at the yappy Dachshund puppies or the jumping Jack Russell Terrier or the big goofy Lab, I was baby-talking to the butt-wiggling, grunting, grinning pit bulls.
My attempts to choose a dog other than a pit bull became increasingly feeble. This pit bull had a sweet smile, that pit bull was a good candidate for agility, and that one over there had obviously had a rough time and just wanted a quiet home of its own.
To be fair, I perused all the other types of dogs at the shelter. I did not want another pit bull! But that Dalmatian mix was deaf, the Lab mix shedded like crazy, that terrier was waaaay too hyper, and that really cute whatever-it-was pulled so hard on the leash, I couldn't walk it.
And so we got Star. A "pit bull." (I guess.) Even though I really didn't want another one.
Why? Maybe it's because, subconsciously, I know that the pleasures and positives of pit bull ownership ultimately outweigh the hardships. Or perhaps it's because I don't want to betray Felanie's memory by taking the easy way out, by giving up the fight even when I no longer have a stake in the outcome, by letting the bigots and the haters win. Or maybe it was selfish; Star looks a bit like Felanie, after all. Or maybe I just enjoy the stress and pain of discrimination. I don't know.
But it's clear I'm going to own pit bulls from now on. Even when I don't really want to.
At least, not at first. Heck, I never wanted a dog. This all changed when Felanie was somewhat forced on me by circumstances. After she opened new avenues for me, broke down the walls in my mind and heart, and basically changed my entire life for the better, we got Dozer.
We got Dozer because he was a pit bull (even though, it turns out, he wasn't really) and I hoped to have the same experiences with him that I did with Fel. It is certainly the case that Dozer taught me even more about patience, understanding, and individuality, even if he didn't offer any new insights--he just reinforced the things Fel had already shown me.
But that wasn't the confession.
This is: For years, off and on, I've actually looked forward to the day when I would be pit bull-less again. I've repeatedly thought, "When my pit bulls die, I will replace them with something other than pit bulls." I have often wished secretly that my dogs were not pit bulls.
When I get tired of the struggles of pit bull ownership--the stigma, the stereotypes, the nasty comments from total strangers, the innocent-yet-hurtful comments from friends and family, the constant fight against legalized discrimination (BSL), the nonstop educational efforts (when you're a responsible pit bull owner, you know that every public excursion is an educational effort)--sometimes I just wish I had "easier" dogs. Dogs that people would look at and smile at and just accept, like a Lab or a Collie. Dogs that wouldn't make people think I'm a drug dealer, a thug, trailer trash, a mortgage-defaulting liar (no joke), or a gang member.
So when Fel got cancer a little over a year ago, I thought, "When I'm ready for a new dog, it won't be a pit bull. I'll get something else. A dog I don't have to fight for all the time. A dog that I don't have to justify owning. Something easy."
Then Fel died. Nine months later, I finally started looking for a new dog.
I wasn't looking for a pit bull. Not at first, anyway.
Yet, after I had carefully thought about and listed my criteria for my next dog and I knew what I was looking for in my next companion, I found myself drawn to the pit bulls at the shelter. While other people were cooing at the yappy Dachshund puppies or the jumping Jack Russell Terrier or the big goofy Lab, I was baby-talking to the butt-wiggling, grunting, grinning pit bulls.
My attempts to choose a dog other than a pit bull became increasingly feeble. This pit bull had a sweet smile, that pit bull was a good candidate for agility, and that one over there had obviously had a rough time and just wanted a quiet home of its own.
To be fair, I perused all the other types of dogs at the shelter. I did not want another pit bull! But that Dalmatian mix was deaf, the Lab mix shedded like crazy, that terrier was waaaay too hyper, and that really cute whatever-it-was pulled so hard on the leash, I couldn't walk it.
And so we got Star. A "pit bull." (I guess.) Even though I really didn't want another one.
Why? Maybe it's because, subconsciously, I know that the pleasures and positives of pit bull ownership ultimately outweigh the hardships. Or perhaps it's because I don't want to betray Felanie's memory by taking the easy way out, by giving up the fight even when I no longer have a stake in the outcome, by letting the bigots and the haters win. Or maybe it was selfish; Star looks a bit like Felanie, after all. Or maybe I just enjoy the stress and pain of discrimination. I don't know.
But it's clear I'm going to own pit bulls from now on. Even when I don't really want to.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I survived last week... but...
Okay, I'm still alive and my nerves are (mostly) intact. The last week was... um... what is the word I'm looking for? "Insane" doesn't seem strong enough.
Stage 2, which we started last summer and are just now winding up, was the exterior remodel. This included the front yard (sprinkler system, gardens, landscape), siding, fence repair, and so forth.
Also with Stage 3 comes the total revamp of the A/C system. We are getting a new A/C unit, installing the interior unit in the attic rather than under the stairs, and redoing the vents. The reasons for this are two: one, the A/C unit we installed way back when we moved in was small and cheap, and was only supposed to be a temporary fix to keep us from dying in Texas summers. Nine years later, that temporary fix really, really needs to be swapped for something more efficient. And two, the upstairs loft portion of the house relies on a window unit for A/C at the moment. It's time to get some vents cut so we don't need the window unit anymore.
Stage 4, I believe, will involve the backyard, the back porch, and possibly the garage. We do not have a back porch or garage, but we plan to build one of each. The backyard needs to be leveled, fenced, and landscaped as well.
Unfortunately, it didn't end with last week.
This week heralds the dawn of a new age in our house. It is the age... of STAGE 3!
We have been remodeling our house since the moment we moved in (nine years ago). The house was nearly unlivable when we acquired it. It had no A/C or heat, the strangest floorplan imaginable, two additions that didn't quite attach to the original house (we discovered old asbestos siding buried within two walls), and a mosaic of flooring that appeared to have been chosen based on what was on sale at the hardware store--pink, white, and aqua tile, black linoleum, pink and tan carpet.
Stage 1 involved demolishing and rebuilding the original house while we lived in the two additions. This took years. We ate and breathed sheetrock for longer than is probably healthy.
Stage 2, which we started last summer and are just now winding up, was the exterior remodel. This included the front yard (sprinkler system, gardens, landscape), siding, fence repair, and so forth.Now we are at Stage 3: demolishing the crappiest addition (pier and beam with known rotten walls and floors) and entirely redoing it. The good thing about this project is that the addition has a single access point, a hallway that can be closed off with a door. So the debris should be contained.
Also with Stage 3 comes the total revamp of the A/C system. We are getting a new A/C unit, installing the interior unit in the attic rather than under the stairs, and redoing the vents. The reasons for this are two: one, the A/C unit we installed way back when we moved in was small and cheap, and was only supposed to be a temporary fix to keep us from dying in Texas summers. Nine years later, that temporary fix really, really needs to be swapped for something more efficient. And two, the upstairs loft portion of the house relies on a window unit for A/C at the moment. It's time to get some vents cut so we don't need the window unit anymore.
Stage 4, I believe, will involve the backyard, the back porch, and possibly the garage. We do not have a back porch or garage, but we plan to build one of each. The backyard needs to be leveled, fenced, and landscaped as well.Right. So as of this week, I will be dealing with construction, once again, inside our house. Starting Thursday, we will have guys in here redoing the A/C.
Also this week I have three doctor's appointments; I am getting another book to copyedit; Star has obedience class; and I have standard household chores to deal with, complicated by the construction because the laundry room is... well... it's in the addition that's being torn apart.
Oh yeah, and on Saturday, my family is getting together for Moussefest, an annual event wherein everyone tries to make mousse that's better than my dad's. (So far he has retained the title and the trophy.) Byrd insisted on entering the contest even though neither of us have ever made mousse before!
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Commission Hearing
So yesterday I went to a commission hearing on a proposed vicious dog bill in the Texas House. The hearing started at 2 PM. I figured I would probably be there for a couple hours.
Wow. So totally wrong.
The bill was not even up for discussion until 10:30 PM. I sat there in the hearing room in a tiny chair, taking only one bathroom break, eating and drinking NOTHING, for a full eight and a half hours listening to testimony on bills that I had absolutely no interest in.
Then I sat in the chair and listened to testimony on this bill for another hour.
During the entire time, the committee members (various state representatives) went in and out of the room freely--to eat, to go to another committee, to talk on the phone--chatted with each other, worked on things at their giant desk, and occasionally asked questions of those testifying.
By the time it got to our bill, which they intentionally delayed because of the sheer quantity of people wanting to testify against it (approx. 21--they were hoping to discourage people, and it worked, because a lot of folks had gone home by the time they got to our bill), only three committee members were still in the room.
Then the committee chair stepped out of the room as our bill came up. The bill sponsor was in the room, and the chair substitute permitted actual debate about the bill between the sponsor and testifiers right there in the committee room (this is not the way it's supposed to work--you are supposed to go in and tell the committee why you want them to pass or turn down the bill, and they listen and ask some questions--the bill sponsor is only there to introduce his/her bill and answer the committee's questions, not to debate). The bill sponsor turned this to his advantage, lambasting anyone who spoke against his bill with misleading and confusing statements about what his bill would actually do. Those average citizens who hadn't read the bill thoroughly and could not think or speak like a lawyer were at a loss to respond. They had come with written statements and were not prepared for a courtroom debate about the law.
Now, the person who went with me to this hearing, and was going to testify against the bill, happens to be a lawyer. And when she saw what was going on, she was chomping at the bit for her turn to speak, because she loves debate and she badly wanted to call the bill sponsor on his unethical and disgraceful tactics. But before she was called up, the committee chairman returned to his position, called a halt to the debate, and asked the bill sponsor to leave the room. The chairman then proceeded to treat the next two speakers (which included my companion) very rudely in an attempt to reassert his control over the proceedings. Which was a shame, because my companion made some excellent points that, it seems, fell on deaf ears simply because the chairman was more interested in hurrying things along than in actually listening.
My overall feeling about the hearing? It was appalling. It made such a mockery of the system. By the time we finally got to our bill, it was so late, and everyone was so tired and hungry, and the committee chairman was so pissy, that I think a large part of our message crumbled under the strain, and what little was left fell on deaf ears. Fortunately, some very powerful speakers made their presentations at the end, so I think a good impression was left on the handful of committee members that remained.
I will have to do this again for HB 925. But at least now I know to bring a book, lots of snacks, and a lot of patience.
Wow. So totally wrong.
The bill was not even up for discussion until 10:30 PM. I sat there in the hearing room in a tiny chair, taking only one bathroom break, eating and drinking NOTHING, for a full eight and a half hours listening to testimony on bills that I had absolutely no interest in.
Then I sat in the chair and listened to testimony on this bill for another hour.
During the entire time, the committee members (various state representatives) went in and out of the room freely--to eat, to go to another committee, to talk on the phone--chatted with each other, worked on things at their giant desk, and occasionally asked questions of those testifying.
By the time it got to our bill, which they intentionally delayed because of the sheer quantity of people wanting to testify against it (approx. 21--they were hoping to discourage people, and it worked, because a lot of folks had gone home by the time they got to our bill), only three committee members were still in the room.
Then the committee chair stepped out of the room as our bill came up. The bill sponsor was in the room, and the chair substitute permitted actual debate about the bill between the sponsor and testifiers right there in the committee room (this is not the way it's supposed to work--you are supposed to go in and tell the committee why you want them to pass or turn down the bill, and they listen and ask some questions--the bill sponsor is only there to introduce his/her bill and answer the committee's questions, not to debate). The bill sponsor turned this to his advantage, lambasting anyone who spoke against his bill with misleading and confusing statements about what his bill would actually do. Those average citizens who hadn't read the bill thoroughly and could not think or speak like a lawyer were at a loss to respond. They had come with written statements and were not prepared for a courtroom debate about the law.
Now, the person who went with me to this hearing, and was going to testify against the bill, happens to be a lawyer. And when she saw what was going on, she was chomping at the bit for her turn to speak, because she loves debate and she badly wanted to call the bill sponsor on his unethical and disgraceful tactics. But before she was called up, the committee chairman returned to his position, called a halt to the debate, and asked the bill sponsor to leave the room. The chairman then proceeded to treat the next two speakers (which included my companion) very rudely in an attempt to reassert his control over the proceedings. Which was a shame, because my companion made some excellent points that, it seems, fell on deaf ears simply because the chairman was more interested in hurrying things along than in actually listening.
My overall feeling about the hearing? It was appalling. It made such a mockery of the system. By the time we finally got to our bill, it was so late, and everyone was so tired and hungry, and the committee chairman was so pissy, that I think a large part of our message crumbled under the strain, and what little was left fell on deaf ears. Fortunately, some very powerful speakers made their presentations at the end, so I think a good impression was left on the handful of committee members that remained.
I will have to do this again for HB 925. But at least now I know to bring a book, lots of snacks, and a lot of patience.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
If I pull off this week...
...I will be really amazed.
On Monday I have a legislative commission hearing to sit through, which could last four to six hours or more--unless I can squeeze out early, which is what I'm hoping for.
On Tuesday there's Star's obedience class.
On Wednesday I have a meeting with folks to strategize for another commission hearing.
And I also have a literature textbook to finish copyediting by the end of the week, plus a teacher's edition of the same book to be arriving some time this week (I think) for copyedit.
Then there's grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, cooking, walks for dogs, and vacuuming. All of which badly needs to be done.
I am not too sure how this is all going to work.
This weekend was lovely but incredibly busy. On Saturday Byrd finished building my new desk/work station (AWESOME!!) and we cleaned my office. We were up until midnight. Today I recycled a ton of stuff (from the office cleanup), went to a Canine Good Citizen practice with Star downtown, then caught up with blogs. Mr. S keeps calling me, bugging me to play Warcraft with him, but I just don't have the time.
Now I'm off to knock out some copyediting.
On Monday I have a legislative commission hearing to sit through, which could last four to six hours or more--unless I can squeeze out early, which is what I'm hoping for.
On Tuesday there's Star's obedience class.
On Wednesday I have a meeting with folks to strategize for another commission hearing.
And I also have a literature textbook to finish copyediting by the end of the week, plus a teacher's edition of the same book to be arriving some time this week (I think) for copyedit.
Then there's grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, cooking, walks for dogs, and vacuuming. All of which badly needs to be done.
I am not too sure how this is all going to work.
This weekend was lovely but incredibly busy. On Saturday Byrd finished building my new desk/work station (AWESOME!!) and we cleaned my office. We were up until midnight. Today I recycled a ton of stuff (from the office cleanup), went to a Canine Good Citizen practice with Star downtown, then caught up with blogs. Mr. S keeps calling me, bugging me to play Warcraft with him, but I just don't have the time.
Now I'm off to knock out some copyediting.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Green egg white?
I tossed out the last of our store-bought eggs the other day; we'll be eating our fresh chicken eggs from now on.
I was convinced of the need to avoid store-bought when I cracked open the first of the last of the store-bought eggs, intending to cook it, to discover that the albumen (the white part) was a florescent green color.
I could not believe it at first. I thought I was surely seeing things. I popped open a second egg. This one was a normal clear color. I could compare the two and see the obvious difference in color. It was like someone had poured highlighter ink into the one egg.
I started frying, still thinking I had just completely lost my mind. Maybe the florescent part would go away if I blinked a whole lot?
Frying only made the difference more obvious, as the good egg turned a lovely white with a bright yellow center, while the odd egg's florescence fairly glowed.
All the eggs went in the trash. I don't know why that egg was green inside. But I think I'll take my chances with the backyard hens.
I tried to get a photo, but the color difference just doesn't show well on a camera phone.
I was convinced of the need to avoid store-bought when I cracked open the first of the last of the store-bought eggs, intending to cook it, to discover that the albumen (the white part) was a florescent green color.
I could not believe it at first. I thought I was surely seeing things. I popped open a second egg. This one was a normal clear color. I could compare the two and see the obvious difference in color. It was like someone had poured highlighter ink into the one egg.
I started frying, still thinking I had just completely lost my mind. Maybe the florescent part would go away if I blinked a whole lot?
Frying only made the difference more obvious, as the good egg turned a lovely white with a bright yellow center, while the odd egg's florescence fairly glowed.
All the eggs went in the trash. I don't know why that egg was green inside. But I think I'll take my chances with the backyard hens.
I tried to get a photo, but the color difference just doesn't show well on a camera phone.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Meetup fun
Yesterday Star and I went to a Love-A-Bull meetup downtown.
There were quite a lot of other dogs there, some friendly, some not so much. It was all good, though. One of Star's problems is that she loves to rush up to any dog that she sees. After a few encounters with less-friendly dogs, Star slowed down quite a bit.
As our group took a walk through downtown, Star pulled on the leash like crazy. All loose-leash training had evaporated. This is another thing I'm going to have to work on: loose-leash while walking with others.
This was helpful socialization and a good opportunity to train for the CGC. We're having a mock CGC next weekend and this will help me pinpoint where Star needs the most work.
There were quite a lot of other dogs there, some friendly, some not so much. It was all good, though. One of Star's problems is that she loves to rush up to any dog that she sees. After a few encounters with less-friendly dogs, Star slowed down quite a bit.
As our group took a walk through downtown, Star pulled on the leash like crazy. All loose-leash training had evaporated. This is another thing I'm going to have to work on: loose-leash while walking with others.
This was helpful socialization and a good opportunity to train for the CGC. We're having a mock CGC next weekend and this will help me pinpoint where Star needs the most work.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Getting involved
I'm now the BSL person ("Director of Legislative Affairs") for the Love-A-Bull pit bull group here in Austin. Very cool. I've wanted to do something more local and hands-on for a while, and now I get the chance.
We're facing BSL in the legislature this year in Texas, so I'm getting prepared. Flyers, handouts, and possibly some presentations.
It's amazingly hard to get people to actually do stuff, even simple things like call their reps. But change only happens when you act. You can't just join a group and then brush your hands off. What's the point of that?
People always say "Well, I'm just so busy." So what? I'm busy too. We're all busy. You're telling me you can't take three minutes to dial a phone and say "Please don't support HB 925."? It takes longer to order a pizza, for crying out loud.
A while ago, I posted a notice announcing that I needed help with the daily postings for my BSL site. Seriously, it takes me several hours a day, every day of the week. Sometimes I need a break, sometimes I'm on a trip and I can't post, and sometimes I have a real job to attend to. Is it so much to ask for volunteers to assist with posting?
It wasn't too much to ask, apparently, but it was too much to expect that anyone would hang around. I got dozens of cheerful responses, offers of assistance--lots of people willing to help. But that's as far as they went. When it came down to actually doing the job, only one person lasted longer than a week. I'm on my own again.
Similarly, when I asked for help writing some static pages, which is a limited commitment to a single topic, only one person has ever come through for me. And she's done a bang-up job, but still, out of all the people who said they would happily help, she's the only one who actually did.
Why offer to help if you're not really going to? I can understand why some people might do it--to feel altruistic--but all talk and no action is really just the opposite of altruistic. It's quite selfish and obnoxious.
We're facing BSL in the legislature this year in Texas, so I'm getting prepared. Flyers, handouts, and possibly some presentations.
It's amazingly hard to get people to actually do stuff, even simple things like call their reps. But change only happens when you act. You can't just join a group and then brush your hands off. What's the point of that?
People always say "Well, I'm just so busy." So what? I'm busy too. We're all busy. You're telling me you can't take three minutes to dial a phone and say "Please don't support HB 925."? It takes longer to order a pizza, for crying out loud.
A while ago, I posted a notice announcing that I needed help with the daily postings for my BSL site. Seriously, it takes me several hours a day, every day of the week. Sometimes I need a break, sometimes I'm on a trip and I can't post, and sometimes I have a real job to attend to. Is it so much to ask for volunteers to assist with posting?
It wasn't too much to ask, apparently, but it was too much to expect that anyone would hang around. I got dozens of cheerful responses, offers of assistance--lots of people willing to help. But that's as far as they went. When it came down to actually doing the job, only one person lasted longer than a week. I'm on my own again.
Similarly, when I asked for help writing some static pages, which is a limited commitment to a single topic, only one person has ever come through for me. And she's done a bang-up job, but still, out of all the people who said they would happily help, she's the only one who actually did.
Why offer to help if you're not really going to? I can understand why some people might do it--to feel altruistic--but all talk and no action is really just the opposite of altruistic. It's quite selfish and obnoxious.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I cooked it, ate it, and did not die
Thinking of starting a blog section called "Things I cooked that were not toxic."
Easily half my meals are experiments.
We keep cereal and frozen waffles on hand for those evenings when things don't go as planned.
Tonight's test tube baby: salmon, rice, and peas. No big deal, you say? Well, I threw it ALL in the rice cooker to cook. Yeah, that's right, I put rice, peas, salmon, and water in the rice cooker and turned it on. Makes me nervous, considering it's a RICE cooker, not a "salmon, peas, and rice" cooker.
I'm off to go see what happened. The smoke alarm didn't go off, at least.
Update: It was edible. In fact, Byrd said it was "pretty good." Sweet!
Easily half my meals are experiments.
We keep cereal and frozen waffles on hand for those evenings when things don't go as planned.
Tonight's test tube baby: salmon, rice, and peas. No big deal, you say? Well, I threw it ALL in the rice cooker to cook. Yeah, that's right, I put rice, peas, salmon, and water in the rice cooker and turned it on. Makes me nervous, considering it's a RICE cooker, not a "salmon, peas, and rice" cooker.
I'm off to go see what happened. The smoke alarm didn't go off, at least.
Update: It was edible. In fact, Byrd said it was "pretty good." Sweet!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Healthy competition
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. :)
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. :)
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.
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