The co-exisiting

They're here. We have chicks. I wasn't sure how the dogs, or our cat, would welcome them. I grew up co-existing with many types of animal, mostly harmoniously- but its been a while since I tested the circle of life in my house.

Maxi, our cat, doesn't care anymore. She looked at them with her eyes wide and her tail twitching for a while, but now she doesn't give them a second glance. She passes by them often because the chicks are in the laundry room where she and dogs are fed. (No- not lost on me- slight concern the dogs and cat will want to eat the chicks, put the chicks in the room where there food is kept...good idea?)

The dogs have been funny. Ruby doesn't care at all. She has shown no interest at all. She has a slight air of "here we go again" about her. Tamayo is very excited by the chicks, some cautious tests lead me to believe his insistence is due to the fact that he can't bear to be left out. This is the dog that runs into me when I stop walking, and who is the biggest mother hen there is. He is not to be trusted alone with the chicks of course, but he doesn't want to eat them. I am fairly certain. Or at least he won't while I'm around, which is enough for now. This is not to say he won't play them to death if given the chance.

I am working on us all getting along. I'd like the chicks to be unfazed by the dogs, and be friendly with people. I'd like the dogs to think the chicks are not for eating. (Also not lost on me: the fact that I have bird dogs. Theoretically they will just point at the birds.)

Hopefully we can all just get along. We're off to a pretty good start.

You see that dog, right?

The snow

(I hate that S isn't in any of these snow pictures! She refused to come out and have fun with us- staying inside, cat like, with her Daddy)

Another one bites the dust

Another lunch box casualty. (See this and this for more tales of lunch box demise)
This time, S hung up her backpack and lunch box on the hook by the door, on her own, so I forgot to put the lunch box on top of the refrigerator to safety. We came downstairs this morning to find the above lunch box in shreds, the hook PULLED from the wall, chunks of wall the hook brought with it, and the hook itself bent. All for some peanut butter sandwich crusts.

S is very attached to her lunch box, and was very sad. I am very sad that this seems to be a milestone in my house. I picture the girls out with their friends when they're older. "So how old were you when the dog first got your lunch box? What? that never happened to you?"

This time I had a spare lunch box. Again, I wonder on my way to present the new lunch box to the sobbing S- who has a pinch lunchbox? I do. That's who.

J reattached the hook by the door. It doesn't lie flat anymore, since it was bent off the wall- but we're back up and running for the most part.

Trickle down bossing

Some things S has said to my* dog in the last few days:
1) "Mayo, you NOT watch my TV!"
2) "You NOT go in H room. (door slamming) Ok? Mayo?"
3) "Mayo! you NOT eat my geegies." (raisins.)
4) "No Mayo, that MY mommy!"
5) at McDonalds, where there is no dog in sight, tears and pouting:
"Mayo eat my french fry..."
and the constant "Not YOU Mayo. NeeeOW."

We have 2 dogs, S only yells at Ruby when she's on the couch ("Ruby! You NOT go on foh-fah! OK?")

She will occasionally attempt to boss the cat, but I think shes realized, as all of us must sooner or later, that theres just no bossing a cat. With Maxi its less about bossing and more about controlling. As in direction the cat is walking in, hysterics when its the wrong direction. A cat can have fun with this.

Meanwhile, my littlest tyrant is keeping one of the dogs in line. And that dog is getting a little jumpier and I swear I've notice more white hair on his face.

*I guess I could say our dog, but he's my baby. Which I believe is the main cause of the bossing.

More adventures in forgetfulness

Today I went out to take the girls to get their flu shots- I set out having decided I would not do the H1N1 shot and definitely didn't want any flu mists, but ended up leaving with one girl H1N1 misted and one H1N1 needled- neither one with the flu shot I set out for. The whole thing is nerve wracking.

The doctors office was crazy, lines snaking around all over the place- everyone texting, people negotiating on the phones, babies crying. The girls were great, S who got the last shot there was in the office, didn't cry, or even react, and H, while a bit manic, did really well with all the waiting there was to do. We were all starving, and they were out of the stickers every kid who has ever been to that doctors office has come to expect, so we set off to McDonalds for dinner.

And then my phone rang. It seems my mind has reached an all time low. I left the house with a dog still out in the backyard- I know there are many dogs who spend their lives in a back yard, but mine think they have it rough that they can't sleep on the couch all day anymore. They have to sleep on their beds with blankets. Mayo follows me around all day, I know exactly where he is at all times. Ruby has been sleeping upstairs a lot more now that we're trying to take the couch back. It was one of my neighbors on the phone, who told me that another neighbor had come to her house because Ruby was outside yelping. In the rain, did I mention the rain? I rushed home, promising the girls still McDonalds, just a different McDonalds. I got home and still another neighbor jumped out of their house and wanted to make sure it was just Ruby that was out, and apologizing for not taking her inot his house, but he didn't know how his dog would like that. Anyway- neighbors were thanked, cell phones exchanged, and duplicate keys will be made. Poor Ruby. We brought her a cheeseburger. Meat AND bread- the carb queen just may think the whole ordeal was worth it.

Who ordered all the soup bones?

Last week was such a forgetful week. At the end of the week, all family members, human and animal were accounted for- so I thought I was coming out ahead. I had a cathartic week end that I though would put my forgetting to rest, or at least to pause.

Today started out with a quick trip to the grocery store with out my wallet. Not entirely a forgetting problem, more of a dog problem. I still felt like an idiot at the check out with a cart full of groceries and no wallet.

The dogs are in the habit of going through my bag at the end of the day- when I'm asleep, they have gotten brazen, but they still wouldn't dare attempt this while I'm awake. Anyway, they take everything out, lick the graham cracker crumbs, some times get lucky and find some peanut butter sandwich crusts. They don't rip anything (anymore) , and I don't even mind that much as all the food crumbs get removed from my bag and its one job I don't have to do.

But, now its gone too far. Next they'll be charging things. Holding my wallet ransom for walks.

Dog park and health care

I dropped the girls off at their respective schools this morning, came home fully intending to have 3 hours in the studio. The dogs looked at me, and I received their telepathic massage that it has been ages since we went for a walk together. So I relented.

Once at the park, I ran into a guy I used to see all the time with his German shepard. I wasn't sure it was him at first, he had lost a lot of weight, the shepard had put some on. We got to talking- turns out he's been in the hospital. "I thought I'd be one of the lucky ones and not get sick until I was really old" he said. I wanted to ask, but read his mentioning the generic 'sick' as he didn't want to get specific. And really, it doesn't matter. We talked about our kids, his are older, about to go to high school. We talked about the economy, his company laying off 20%. We talked about his health care bills and how screwed you'd be if you didn't have health care. He said they told him at the hospital not to loose his coverage, because the sick he has is an ongoing condition. "Do you think Obama will get it passed?" He asked me. I told him I hoped so.

The dog park connection is a strange one. In some ways the most honest way to get to know people. You learn a lot about someone from how they treat their dog. We have stood together in the snow, in the rain, in the hot sun with gnats. We've talked about politics, dog food, hockey, kids, cats, TV shows... before you know it you are friends with people that you often have little in common with aside from a willingness to brave the elements for your dog. People who you may have known for a long time only as their dog's name.

The small talk adds up. The kids that come with the dogs get older, the dogs start to get gray, the dog owners get older and you realize that you've been standing in the field with these people and their dogs for years. Watching the time go by.

My very own tomato festival

When they finally ripen, they ripen in droves. These are the tomatoes I brought in yesterday. There are many more out there ripening on the vine. I need your best sauce recipes. Stat.

Is that beautiful or what?

They both wanted to, but neither of the dogs ate the tomatoes I made them pose with. I tried for a ridiculous amount of time to balance a tomato on their heads, and they were very patient with me.

The girls both ate their tomato props. I bet I could have balanced tomatoes on their heads. I don't know why I didn't think of that until now.

My dog baby is seven!

Its one thing for ones children to keep getting older- but now my youngest dog is seven. It certainly does not seem like seven years ago that we brought him home. Finally being deemed worthy of him after a day long interrogation from his breeders- he rode home in my lap- asleep with his nose in the pocket of my sweatshirt. After 2 minutes I had no idea what I had done with out this dog in my life- or how it was possible to feel I'd known him forever when he was only 10 weeks old. He's gotten under the skin of the breeders, too- They had 14 Vizslas, and seen countless puppies come and go- but they couldn't watch as we drove away with Tamayo.

H woke up this morning and jumped on Mayo, who was asleep and yelled HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOY! in his ear. He didn't even grumble for once, just wagged his tail so fast it blurred.

kisses from dogs

In continuing the undoing of all my dog training, H has trained Tamayo to lick her all over her face when she says "I LOVE KISSES FROM DOGS!" H isn't so much a master dog trainer as Tamayo has been holding back kisses for 5 years, that and after all these years, I suspect he does speak English. Yet another thing I would never have guessed that gets screamed from my yard for the amusement of the neighbors: I LOVE KISSES FROM DOOOGS! I can't wait to tell her boyfriends that one.

H and S both try to train each other. "Good girl! good job!" They enthusiastically say to each other many times during the day. Just now in fact, as S put a clothes pin on the highest wire of the drying rack. (Clipping the clothes pin on the drying rack outside, or playing clips as its known around here, is the best game since Lefty told me about water paint- which is when you get a receptacle of water and some paint brushes. Thats it. Actually, water paint is much better, but it is wetter. Playing clips is pretty good.)

I just said another thing I didn't think I'd be saying to my kids: "Don't bark at the neighbors dog! Stop barking! I mean it!"

Meanwhile my dogs know better and are quiet.

Cookies

Today is H's last day of pre-K. She'll be going to school a couple days a week through the summer, I think the part that will really get to me is the last time she goes to the school. She's been going there for 3 years, it was her first school experience and it was a great one. Its her last day with her favorite teacher who moved up with the class last year. I loved H having a teacher who knew her so well. There is a moving up ceremony for her class tonight. I have tissues and won't wear mascara.

The parents in H's pre-K class all chipped in to get each of the three teachers they have a sizable gift card, in an attempt to spare us all from the coffee cups and scented candles. I wanted to do something for the teachers that H could be a part of and was at a loss for what. Finally yesterday I decided to make them each a big cookie. H and I made heart shaped cookies, and I wrote each teachers name on the cookie and 'Love, H'. I was very pleased with myself for getting these done before midnight. I put the cookies on a rack, put the rack inside the microwave. This is something I bring with me from my childhood. Any food of importance that doesn't go in the refrigerator must be stored in the microwave to protect it from dogs. My mother to this day not only stores food in her microwave, but also in her oven. And in her dryer, but I'm not that bad.

J worked late last night- he came home and went to heat up some dinner. He asked if he should put the cookies back in the microwave, or would that make them smell like the dinner he just heated up. "Just leave them on the counter" I said. He worried aloud that the dogs would get them. "Not while I'm right here", I said. The dogs would totally have a keg party and trash the house while we were away, but they are honor roll when we're home. Or at least they were.

Let me interject here to say that my dogs are on a diet, and S shares her food with them all the time. The combination of these things has made two previously well behaved dogs complete scoundrels around food. Ruby in particular had a giant sweet tooth and loves the carbs.

J went to the kitchen to put his plate in the dishwasher- he paused. I felt him stop more than I saw him. Then I heard "Oh Bec. You're going to kill her." Ruby had taken a tiny bite out of one of the teacher's cookies. A nibble, which actually showed great restraint on her part, but I didn't care about that at the time. I haven't been so angry in a long time. I exploded. Through the roof. I channeled my tantruming 2 year old. I hurt my feet from stomping. The dogs slunk upstairs and didn't come down for a while.

J was valiant in his attempts to save the cookie. He suggested I cut bite marks in each one, "that could be our gimmick!" He even cut a bite mark out of the bitten cookie with a steak knife- which made me laugh, and let me tell you- to have made me laugh last night, thats some powerful stuff.

I re made the cookie. And some spares, this time. I was finished about midnight. As per usual.

The storm

Its morning. Its storming. That means I have no personal space. I am a planet of cowering dog and squealing girl. We are not a fan of the thunder in this house. The last few thunderstorms have been at night, and I am grateful at least that this one wasn't. The girls sleep through thunder storms, but Tamayo does not. He alternates between shaking and panting standing on my head to huffing in my face from the floor, to going into the bathroom and rearranging the rug. I get pissed that dogs are keeping me awake- which does nothing for dog neurosis.

I wish I had enough arms to take a picture, and am limited in enough hands to keep typing- I have S in my lap, Ruby trembling at my feet, and arm around H who is trying to climb in my lap, and Tamayo on the other side of me also trying to climb into my lap.

Its sweet, actually, when H yells from the thunder claps, Tamayo tries to reassure her- Tamayo who is the most scared. And who is now trying to stand on the table.

We'll be braving the storm soon to go to school. Why is it I keep the umbrellas in the car?

American Gothic

Birds and bees

An update: This is my new robin friend. The one that came into my kitchen and pooped.


I'm pretty sure that he flew (or landed and then hopped a few times) into my house on his own accord- not that Maxi brought him in, as I had previously thought. After I took him outside, I saw the nest he must have been in just a few feet from my back door. I had the door proped open, to assist me with everyone who is always trapped on the opposite side of the door they want to be on and yelping. Even though I have been pleaded with by J, and given countless 'told you so' looks after we get bees in the house, to keep the damn door shut to keep out the vermin. My defense of keeping the door open "Whats going to come in? You're crazy" is wearing thin, what with now bees and birds flying in. I heard cheeps and tweets and saw some concerned robin parents hopping about. I saw the robin's siblings spread out around the garden on branches looking shell shocked- it must have been the day they were given the boot.

I am a little concerned about this guy as he was all of 5 inches off the ground. I literally held the camera an inch from his little bird face and he was unfazed. I think he needs to be a little fazed for survival here in the land of hungry cats and bird dogs.

Today's excitement

H, S and I were in the backyard eating water ice (what would happen if you put popsicles in a blender for anyone unaware of water ice) H ran inside to go to the bathroom. H came running back outside, seconds later- crying hysterically- so unlike her. I wondered what it could possibly be, fear sliding up my throat while I reassured myself that as horrible as it was, she got away from it. "There's a bird in our house!" She screamed. "A REAL BIRD! IN OUR KITCHEN! AND IT POOPED!" I relaxed considerably, but she was frantic and would go nowhere near the house. And hadn't gone to the bathroom yet. I headed in to assess the situation, hoping the bird was alive. I came in the back door and Maxi went outside, in disgust. A baby robin sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, looked up at me and pooped. Adorable.


H was still frantic, S was now frantic too as I'd left her in the backyard alone (and her water ice was done). The dogs were in the kitchen with me and very interested in the robin, and Maxi sauntered back in. The robin began to get a little nervous, hopped/flew into the pile of rubble I call the laundry room and wedged itself behind the vacuum cleaner.

I convinced H to get inside and go to the bathroom, got S inside to see the birdy, got the dogs and cat outside where they couldn't eat the robin.


I caught the robin, and was admiring it, hoping it wasn't going to die in my hands from shock. I wore garden gloves just in case its robin parents can find him and give him some handouts- I don't know if theres any truth to that baby animal shunned by parents if they smell humans thing. This guy seemed old enough to fly the nest, but only just. I'm assuming this bird was brought in by Maxi, and have no idea where she got it from. I called H down to see the robin, how often do you get to see a robin so close up? She refused. I was yelling about it being JUST LIKE LITTLE BEARS ROBIN, further traumatising the bird, I'm sure. H wouldn't come down.

When I was trying to catch it, every time I held my fingers above its head it would open its mouth to be fed, so once in the box and outside I tried to dig it up some food, which it didn't eat- what with the trauma of being caught by a cat, and a human, salivated on by some dogs, screamed at and around. What do you mean you're not hungry?

H had bravely come down by this point and I asked if she wanted to help get a worm for the robin. "Yes!" She said "Lets get the one that pooped on me. Because I didn't like that." Don't cross her!

Now I'm on robin patrol- I'll have to escort the dogs to the bathroom and keep Maxi, home wrecker, inside for a bit.

Its her party and she'll cry if she wants to

H helping a sister out

Smiling on the inside

Behind the scenes. Mayo really wants a taste.

Ruby, update

Ruby is just fat. I am just relieved. I am also right, its a limpoma. I shouldn't be encouraged to self diagnose (and yes, I consider diagnosing my dog as self diagnosing) Its hard for me to take myself, or mine, to the doctor, or the vet. I swear my vet referred to the area where the fat bulge is as 'the brisket'. I just looked up where one would get brisket. Yes he did. He referred to my dogs brisket.

I love my vet. So much so that I drive far. Via the highway I hate. His office is by the airport, in a less shiny part of town, near a lot of auto part dealers. On the way there, every time, I wonder why I go, tell myself I'm going to find a vet in my own neighborhood. On the way home I know why I continue to trek to see him. He's funny, he knows what he's doing, he doesn't do extra tests, he tells it to you straight. He let me come into the back room and watch him suture up Mayos foot after he gashed it on a piece of glass. He didn't use anesthesia to X-ray Rubys legs because he knew she'd just lie on the x-ray machine if I told her to. He doesn't give me shit for letting my cat outside. He once offered, when the time comes, to bury my dogs on his ranch. He'd help dig, but we'd have to wait until his wife is out of town as the idea of a pet cemetery freaks her out.

I drove not only Ruby, but Tamayo, Maxi to the vet today. S came with me too. Picture me walking 2 dogs, carrying a cat carrier, a bag full of coloring books and alluring snacks, and pushing a stroller. Now picture me trying to open the door to the vet office. Hilarious. But everyone was good. The dogs didn't pull, Maxi didn't even yowl- this is unheard of. S wasn't afraid of the vet. Unheard of. The dogs acted like they spoke English, I love it when they do that. I can say, 'hey, wait your turn' and they do.

Usually, when things have to work out, they do. I get such a rush when everyone does what they're supposed to in a hectic situation. This whole having to work thing is on my mind. If I can apply the this is the way its going to be philosophy to the rest of my life, instead of just the fretting about what doesn't happen- I may actually get somewhere.

Ruby

Anyone who has ever loved a dog knows. They just don't live long enough. I have been worried about Ruby for a few weeks now- and can only begin to address it now. She has a lump. A bump. Some lovely lady humps. I suspect its fat. Limpoma, according to my spotty research. Which is not as big a deal as say the ever prevalent C word that seems to strike every other dog I know these days. There I go exercising my superior veterinary knowledge. I don't know fat from tumor, I am not to diagnose my dog. I do have an appointment with an actual vet on Tuesday. And I am every so slightly dreading it. Even though I suspect she's ok. I can't help it.

I took Ruby and Mayo swimming today- which is one of my favorite things to do. I love watching them. Ruby swims so gracefully, hardly rippling the water- her head looking like the lockness monster. Her tail is a ruder, and she effortlessly swims in circles- just to swim. Mayo can't stand the water. He'll get his feet wet, but then jump back as if he's standing in acid. He wants to participate, but doesn't understand the appeal. Today the dog swimming hole was crowded, the usual labs, I think 4 today, 3 goldens, and a few mutts. Some teenagers drinking beer. Some preschoolers running around. Some guy trying to fish just down the creek.

I watched Ruby, who just turned 9, play bowing to all these young dogs- egging them on, chasing sticks. When it was time to go, I watched her back legs give a little. Mayo still trying to wrestle with her, she was right there with him, but I held her back. 9 is not that old for a dog- but Ruby has been turning white since she was 4- she looks ancient now. She limps. She can't keep up with herself.

The hike back to the car was a little slow. Once we got to the car, she gave it her all but only her front legs made it. I had to do the same heave I've had to do to help her into bed more nights than not lately. Since we've been home she's been sacked out on the couch, only occasionally hobbling around, and shes stiff.

She is such an integral part of this family. It was on the way to J and my wedding that I stopped and visited Ruby when she was just a few weeks old. She wouldn't be able to leave her mom for some more weeks. After the wedding, the honeymoon, close to my birthday, we brought her home.

I have met a lot of friends through Ruby. She is loving. She remembers everyone and makes people feel special. People I never met would to come up to me and ask 'is that Ruby?' I started down the road of helping her be a service dog, able to visit hospitals. I got side tracked by kids, and life and all that I want to get done. But she'd make a great service dog.

She's been biking with us. She's jumped off a 10 foot cliff into water. Shes fallen through ice. She's chewed up a lot of shit. Many shoes. She once brought the contents of my jewelry box down stairs, took out every piece of jewelry and had me do a panicking inventory with my hand on the phone ready to call the emergency vet. There was a time where she'd destroy the last thing I touched before I left the house. A remote control. My sunglasses. The toothpaste. She's had her stomach pumped after eating a whole box of cocoa powder. I came home to find her panting, saucer eyed on the floor, in a pool of chocolate vomit. She's been bit by something that made her nose swell up like a balloon that prompted the student vet to ask if we had snakes. She whines until you put a blanket on her. She still gets into the trash and goes through my bag every night checking for any of the girls snacks for the day had been left in there. Which they usually are. She loves the girls and has helped both of them learn to walk. She watches over them like they were her pups.

Shes a very good girl, and I hope she's just fat and not sick.

The un-clean

I have stepped in a lot of crap in my life, but never the poop from a human in my own house. Evidently, the poop fell out of the diaper on to the floor while I was changing S this morning, and I stepped in it.

I proceeded to walk around thinking I was cleaning the house, while in reality I was just canvassing the whole upstairs with shit.

I kept thinking, wow, that diaper really smelled. That smell sure does carry. Maybe the smell comes through the vents, I thought.

It took Mayo, my urban pointer, to finally alert me to the crap all over my shoe and the house. He was following me around even more than usual and had his nose glued to my shoe. I didn't think this was abnormal, and in itself it really isn't. Then he pointed at my shoe, as if my shoe were a duck. And I finally saw what I had smelled.

Do you see how futile it is? I clean and clean and come right behind myself filthying things up.

Tamayo at bedtime

Tamayo at bedtime. He does a pretty good job of staying as out of the way as a large dog who has to be with you all the time possible could. But at bed time, he is right in the middle of everything. He sits on pajamas. He gets in the way of picking out books to read. He insists on worming his way in during story time. He suffocates teddy and monkey with his body and refuses to get off. He does it all with a very serious, almost noble look on his face. When My friend N was here over the weekend she said it was if Mayo thought it was his job to be there for bedtime. I'm not sure if he thinks he's assisting me, or if he's the one putting the girls to bed, but he's there. Right in the middle of it all. Which means all poking prodding and teeth investigating is fair game.

S checking if Tamayo brushed his teeth