Pitfalls of prey drive

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

Sibling Rivalry

Text message exchange

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

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

Oh, the irony

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

The fact is, I hated him from the start.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quilting, and a mural

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why quilting specifically, when there are other options?

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

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

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

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

Bonus section: Jungle mural, 1997

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

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

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

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

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

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

BSL Blues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get it?

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

Good news, bad news, and news

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway...

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

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

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

Merry Christmas!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Season of Joy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Dozer's Christmas present

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ICL Surgery Update: I have glasses

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Absolutely.

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

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

Always on the job

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

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

Me: Yeah, it's probably your keys.

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

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

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

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

Me: . . . !

Byrd: Ah, much better.

Adopted!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My brain exploded.

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

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

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

How to Organize Photos?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dad's a frikkin genius

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, my Dad totally rocks.

Catching Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Noon: Make lunch, start copyediting

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

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

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

Aw, he's so cute!!

That's what they all say.

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

We spent two hours at a pet fair today; Dubby wore a big "Adopt Me" vest that draped over his back and made him look like a tiny horse.

He was in fine form, performed some tricks, and generally ran and tumbled like a cute little puppy. He got nice and muddy, chewed some other dogs' faces, got trampled by a few big dogs (and loved it), and on the 3K benefit walk he swerved and veered and entangled everyone's legs with his leash without a care in the world, just happy with his newfound freedom (this was only his second major excursion on a leash, since he just finished his vaccinations yesterday).

By the end of the event, Dubby was so tired that he actually conked out in the grass while I was doing a short interview for our pit bull Meetup group. He looked so precious, snoozing there in the sun on top of my muddy blue canvas bag while people strolled past.

Then he came home and crashed on our bed.

We love him. Whoever adopts him will love him. It's impossible not to love him. Everyone here is quite attached to him, especially Byrd, who literally goes into Dubby Withdrawal if Dubby is not around.

This is one more reason why he needs to go home with someone quickly. It will make the foster bond a little easier to break. The longer he stays, the stronger the bond.

Some people wonder why we don't keep Dubby, if we love him so much. The answer is simple: Dozer won't let us. Dozer tolerates puppies, but he won't put up with another adult male dog on his turf. And Dubby will be an adult male dog some day.

Besides, we love every dog that we foster. If we kept them all, we'd have way too many dogs and not enough time to spend with each of them. Two dogs is my limit, and I'm sticking to it for the benefit of all.

But I know someone out there has space for a dog. Someone's looking. Here's hoping they'll fall head over heels for Dubby some day soon.

The Freelance Copyediting Process

Hi there! Pit bull owner here. Unfortunately, I'm not a drug dealer, gang member, or antisocial thug... unfortunately for you, anyway, because otherwise this description of my job might be a little more interesting!

No, the cold, hard truth is that I heart love grammar.

My experience is with textbooks, specifically middle school and high school literature textbooks. But I've also been on a copyediting team for a technology RFP (a work proposal for the state), and I've done a bit of history, social studies, and psychology textbook copyediting as well.

Sometimes I work on hard copy (paper) and sometimes I work on PDFs or Word documents. It just depends on the job.

This stack of paper below is a grade 9 test handbook; it is what teachers use to give tests at the end of each unit in the textbook. It also has an answer key and a skills chart (that the teacher can review to see what state skills the students are learning).

I usually work on my dining table, or on the living room couch. Byrd built me a huge desk where I can spread the papers out, but then he took over half of it!

Here are the supplies I use to copyedit: a mechanical pencil (or a colored pen), an eraser, a ton of small sticky notes, some "sticky finger" wax, and page flags. The page flags are cut from the small sticky notes.

Here's the copyediting in high gear. I've split up the pages so I can check cross references--that is, references to other pages in the book. I also have to check the answer key and the skills chart for each question.

I'm checking for grammatical errors, typos, incorrect answers, style inconsistencies, and pretty much anything that doesn't work or make sense. I mark and correct most of the little issues directly on the page. I put queries--questions for the editors, usually about issues I can't resolve because they are too big for a quick fix--on sticky notes on the page.

Any page with any sort of mark or query must have a page flag, so the editor knows the page has been "touched."

This particular document was supposed to be "mostly clean"--that is, it wasn't supposed to have a whole lot of problems. But you can see from the page flags that "clean" is a subjective term!
Here are some other important supplies: a big bag of pecans and a tray of cinnamon rolls. Other staples include Coke, Oreos, chips or popcorn, apples, cheese and crackers, and anything else I can stuff in my mouth with one hand while writing and turning pages with the other.
Of course, it's important to have a laptop or computer on hand. Not only do I use an online dictionary/thesaurus, the online Chicago Manual of Style, and research sources for fact checking, I also listen to J-pop (Japanese pop music) on Web radio while I work.

Why J-pop, you ask? Aside from the fact that I like it ("NERD!"), it's also very difficult for me to sing along. When you're trying to read and edit a document in English, the last thing you want to do is listen to music in English. Pretty soon, you're so busy rocking out to the lyrics that you've lost concentration (and probably missed a bunch of grammatical errors). With J-pop, I get a nice tune that keeps me awake without confounding my language skills.

And yes, I've tried classical music, which has no lyrics at all. It puts me to sleep!

So, there you have it. After I'm done with the entire document, I turn it all in and wait for the next job.

If you're thinking this is sort of an unusual occupation for a pit bull owner, let me break it to you gently. You should know that most of us actually do have normal, boring jobs as teachers, writers, technology experts, doctors, and so on.

Sorry to disappoint.

Here comes the rain!

A sight we haven't seen here in Austin for an eternity...

The rain showed up a few days ago. Not a cute little sprinkle, oh no. No, you know what they say... everything's bigger in Texas. Our weather is always ridiculously dramatic.


We went from roasting in one of the worst droughts, at some of the hottest temperatures I can remember, to downright flooded in a matter of hours.

Yesterday and today I had the misfortune to be on the highway during the afternoon downpours. Of course, I was NOT taking pictures with my cell phone then--I was trying to see the road! The rain came down so hard, all I could see was gray, and the occasional red light of someone braking ahead of me.

But I did take some shots while Byrd was driving, a few days before. This drive was 13 minutes long. We started on dry road... then about three minutes into it--here's what started:

Five minutes later Byrd had the wipers going full speed and we still couldn't see.

And three minutes up the road, it was dry as a bone again.

That's Texas weather for ya!

Most of our area got a mega-downpour today, not the spotty drenchings of the past few days. We needed the rain, but the downside is that the dirt that was our backyard (our grass being dead and all) is now MUD.

So we're all trapped inside the house--still! Over the summer, the heat kept us in. Now, we're trying to avoid the rain and the mud.

I think Star is going to go bonkers. I haven't taken her on a walk in weeks; agility class keeps getting canceled due to weather; and no trips to the pet store, as I try to save some money. She has developed this weird habit of chasing shadows.

Here's what I mean. I swear to you--THERE WAS NOTHING THERE.



She does this every night, too. It's a little creepy to see her standing there staring at the wall, or stomping on some invisible insect, or wedging herself into a corner to poke at the carpet. Although I will admit she found--and smashed--a little house gecko this way once. :(

Take me on a walk... pleeeease... I'm SO BORED!

Adoption Daze

Update 9/11/09: I found out from the adoption coordinator that what happened was that Dubby got beat up by another puppy. His bare skin is too sensitive to sharp puppy teeth! So the coordinators have issued special instructions to the on-site counselors--and I reiterate these instrux every morning at dropoff--that Dubby cannot play with rough puppies. And he MUST have sunscreen reapplied every day!

Dubby came home from the adoption site today with a bunch of scrapes on his face and a gash on his leg. My sister picked him up like this, but failed to get the scoop.

He's also sunburned. I drop him off every morning covered in sunscreen, and every day he comes back a little more red. I can tell the staff isn't applying sunscreen, even though I make that request every morning. I even left a tube of sunscreen there earlier in the week, to make it easy for them.

I feel so bad for Dubby. He shrieks something awful when I drop him off every morning. And he passes out from exhaustion every day on the ride home. And now this.

He's not having a fun time or a good experience, sitting there in his pen. I wish someone would adopt him already!

I'm not having much fun either; the adoption site is a 40 min drive away. I have to drive there twice a day--once to drop off (11 am), once to pick up (7 pm). I'm exhausted from all the driving. I don't know how people deal with such a commute on a regular basis; I've been known to turn down temp jobs if they take longer than 20 minutes for me to get to.

Blogging is taking a back seat this week as I struggle with two freelance jobs, an assortment of extracurricular commitments, the foster puppy, and of course, daily life. I shouldn't even be writing this post right now!