Squirrelfest

Just dropping in to say "Hi!". I took this photo last week when Stella and I went over to  play with her friend Chuy. She actually had on her happy face for a change so I couldn't resist.

Probably the most exciting thing that happened recently was that she finally caught that squirrel she's been chasing for the last five years. It was ugly but not as bad as you might expect. It was mortally wounded in the initial blow of course but without any input from me whatsoever,  she appeared to feel sorry. I expected a complete bone-munching feast but studying it, still breathing, she backed off and sat down with this totally guilty look on her face, at which point I calmly said: "I guess you need to go sit up on the deck and think about what you did." And to my great surprise, she did.

Power nap

Sunbath

We went straight out the door yesterday morning and found a double cheeseburger on the ground. Stella found it incomprehensible that I didn't hand the entire thing over to her.

Alternative uses for the catch pole

This is a photo of Stella and her "other" boyfriend Pee Wee. Both of them like to sit out in my backyard and study squirrels.

I have a quick (ha) story about a trip I made over to Animal Control last week. As a prelude, I'd like to say that no dogs died in the story. Well, none of the dogs that are actually in the story anyway.

A Russian immigrant neighbor, has two Siberian Huskies. Their names are Baikal and Zima (they used to drive Stella mad). These two recently discovered that if they jump onto the air conditioning unit in their back yard, it's one more short jump to freedom and so of course, they did; two days in a row. After a long run in the neighborhood on the second day, someone called their owner, my neighbor (who is a school teacher) to report the dogs were in her custody. Since she couldn't leave school in the middle of the day so she asked the caller to return them to her yard and secure the fence. The woman agreed but when she got to the house the dogs wouldn't get out of her car. She then drove both dogs to Animal Control and asked them to "remove" the two dogs from the car. Since Animal Control closes before the teacher got off work (at 4pm), the pair of dogs spent the night there (ka-ching). The next afternoon, I came upon the woman in her driveway at her wits end. She had just returned home with the (smaller) female and was now on her way back for the male. Both were uncontrollable, she said and had to be brought home separately. It might be worth mentioning that the dogs spend time in their backyard but they never go for walks or receive any sort of outside stimulation. I was walking Diesel at the time I met her and she asked if I would take him home and accompany her to the dog pound. I agreed.

When we arrived there was a short wait while they retrieved the ninety pound Baikal (named after Lake Baikal) from whatever pen he was in behind the heavy, almost soundproofed door. We sat down on a couch in the reception area whereupon my neighbor said: "This is where you should bring that dog you have - Diesel - up here." I thought she was kidding at first so I followed up politely with a simple, "I don't think so." This woman though, doesn't tolerate "polite" very well choosing rather to shove you all the way to the wall on things, so rather suddenly, it became a challenge. Louder now, she said:

"You can't take care of that dog and feed it and pay the bills, why not? They have to take him if you bring him here."

In much softer tone, I said that I wouldn't dream of bringing him here and that was why I had him in the first place (so that he didn't end up here).

"Why?", she demanded to know. "They could find him a home," she argued.

I was starting to feel nauseated at this point but I really didn't want to offend the people who were working there so I had to think carefully about how to answer. Finally, I told her that if you surrendered your own pet to Animal Control, they almost always euthanize the pet. Believing I was totally misinformed, my neighbor then stood up then, walked to the desk and announced:

"She has this dog that isn't hers and she doesn't want him and can't take care of him. Tell her that if she brings him up here can you keep him until he finds a home."

Another woman standing in the lobby (waiting for the Husky) immediately turned and asked me what kind of dog he was while my neighbor grilled the woman behind the desk. He's a Lab mix I said, I'm not sure what he's mixed with but bringing him here isn't an option. He's my foster dog." I said. "I'm not even sure why we're having this conversation."

The lady behind the desk piped up then: "Metro won't let us keep pit bulls but we try to adopt out as many of the other dogs as we can."

"And, how long are they up for adoption before they're euthanized?" I asked her.

"Three days" she said without hesitating, "but by law, we have to euthanize all pit bulls or any dog that looks like one because you never know when they're going to rip someone's face off."

I came up out of the chair then hoping to catch a bus home and let my neighbor deal with her dog however she could. Before I could exit this fine facility however, the door opened and someone handed the big dog off to the woman in the lobby. What happened next was not what I expected. She (the dog's owner) flew across the room howling and wildly squealing the dog's name at the top of her lungs, over and over and over again like a crazy person. If she had stood on the coffee table and done the Chicken Dance it wouldn't have been any more ridiculous. This sent her already stressed dog - right off the deep end, lunging and barking without restraint. She turned to me then and said "See, he's so crazy and excited I can't even get him to the car."

It was no surprise that poor Baikal rode all the way home with his head wedged between my head and the passenger side window. I was just thrilled to find him still alive. He was tired and dirty and had the sweetest breath of any dog I've ever met.

So after all of that, I'm left wondering how it is so many people came to use the expression "rip someone's face off" when they're talking about dogs of the bully persuasion? I've heard those exact words used countless times and it had to come from somewhere. Some reactionary news outlet perhaps.. talk about misinformation.

Snoozefest

He sleeps on his back. Front paws pulled up tight against his chest, back legs splayed open, a proud display of his man parts, what's left of them. The tail wags when you look at him even if his eyes are closed. That cracks me up. It would be sweet even if you never heard the soft snore that goes with it all. Occasionally when he's dreaming he snorts and whimpers loud enough to garner the attention of his current girlfriend. She rouses from her own slumber and walks over to him, sleepy-eyed and swaying. Careful to pick out a spot just under his rib cage she punches him in the gut with her nose until he stops. Then she goes back to her own bed and lies down. He hasn't suggested anybody make him a sandwich yet but I'm sure it's coming.

Stella and I are headed to the fairgrounds this week if only for a quick peek at this year's incarnation. Ordinarily, we would've gone today but it hasn't stopped raining here for the last thirty hours.

We did get to dog sit this weekend for Banjo and Ginger so we managed a few laps in their pool on Saturday before the rain showed up. Diesel loves the water. I can't wait to take him to a lake.

Snowman Patrol

It's been exactly a week ago that four inches of snow fell on Nashville. We don't generally see a lot of snow and when we do it isn't usually enough to make a snowman although that doesn't discourage anyone from trying. Stella never saw one until last Saturday. By then the snow had frozen but on Friday night around ten p.m. she and I went out walking under the full moon. The full 'Wolf' moon no less. I tried to get her to howl but she wouldn't do it. It was wonderful fun. There was no threat of traffic; it was totally quiet. We ran up and down the backyard and slid down the street. We broke a weld on the buckle of her harness and didn't even notice it for two days.

When the surface froze on Saturday walking was more of a chore but that didn't stop Stella's efforts to run all those rogue snowmen out of town.

Fetch

Sometimes we sneak into the ball park. She's a maniac with a strip of undershirt. I'm not sure why but there's always a strip of undershirt there somewhere. I hope the Parks guys don't ever spot us. We know it's wrong but this animal needs to run every day, if possible. If it counts for anything, as penance we pick up all manner of litter on the ball field every time we go. I try to keep Stella off the infield too but occasionally she takes off and runs the bases which is secretly hysterical. Also fascinating, is the fact that I never taught Stella to run the bases. I like to think God did it.

If the Parks guys catch us, that's gonna' be my story anyway.



This is a photo of a woman who's about to get mud all over her blue jeans. Sometimes I bring Stella home and it looks like we've been wrestling alligators.

Speaking of alligators, here are six sentences I posted recently at the 6S Social Network. Some of you regular readers may even recognize the character in that story.

Stick Hunter (the underwater edition)

So..I guess her eyes are open right? This isn't an illusion created by the camera either. She stayed under the water searching for something like six or eight seconds (it was all I could do not to call out her name). She finally came up with a stick and ran like hell in every directions before she finally slung it out of reach and went back in for something else.

Today we took neighbor Judy to a doctor's appointment at local hospital where people were using Stella to soothe a crying baby from a third floor window. Eventually the baby and her grandparents came outside to meet us in person and Stella (after some random craziness) licked the baby pretty much from head to toe. Shame I didn't get a picture of that. We also passed some time with a mom whose son was getting his second round of chemotherapy. She actually gave me an idea about getting Stella a job as a sort of indirect therapy dog - because moms and other family members need some support occasionally too. I wonder if you have to be certified for that. I guess it wouldn't hurt to just go back up there and ask.

Crash and Splash

Not having had a great deal of experience with dogs, I had no idea they could (or would for that matter) run at full speed through standing water, biting it continuously the whole way through. I tried to capture this sport on film but was unsuccessful in my attempts. Something to do with her running and my laughing. Oh, and four-foot rooster tails of rain water splashing all over me and the camera. While those variable affected my performance, they only served to enhance hers.

Now that we've been using a thirty-foot leash for training purposes, this field is one of Stella's favorite places to walk when when it's been raining. It's like a giant Slip n'Slide. Sometimes, instead of attack mode, she'll get running and throw herself into the ground chest first, skidding through the puddles all the way to the end. Turns out that leash has some entertainment value as well. She was pretty much wet the entire month of September.

The great stick hunter

Stella gave us a big scare last week, developing a pretty mean limp in one of her rebuilt knees. Turned out it was nothing. She just tweaked it running like a maniac at the fairgrounds. We celebrated by going on a stick hunt at the creek.

Over the weekend, we took a drive to friend Beverly's house for a couple of days of rest and relaxation. Stella got to spend some time at the farm with a couple of senior dogs she met last year. The two of them thankfully, managed to put up with her nonsense all weekend, without incident. One (Smiley) temporarily commandeered her bed, which was pretty funny, but she'd already fallen in love with him by then and didn't even care.



This week the state fair gets busy setting up. It opens on Friday. Stella and I have been over there for the last two days poking around and pretending to direct traffic. Posting here will be spotty for the next few days while they get everything situated, then with some luck, there'll be a whole new crop of road dogs to visit with on this page. Anyone who's a fan of the carnival itself is welcome to check in over at Cliffhanger. That's where I post most of the shots that are non-dog related.

Some Pig

Friday morning, I woke up to the sound of pouring rain. The industrious plans I'd made for the day were immediately forfeited for a more practical version of house work. Rain or no rain, the plan was to walk the dog, clean the house, run a couple of errands and walk the dog a second time. Some would have called it a day off although pushing a thirty-pound vacuum and walking a sixty-pound dog two or three miles does occasionally, resemble work. Just to make it officially a day off, I tried to think of some way to make it extra fun for Stella.

We've been building her muscles (and mine) back up from our extended hiatus and doing some amount of physical and mental training each day. At fourteen months old, she is most definitely a teenager and there are fleeting moments when she hates my guts and I return the favor.

That afternoon however, after a few weeks of sporadic research, I decided to stop at one of the Hispanic grocery stores near my house to peruse their meat counter. I was looking for a meaty bone that wouldn't be too rich or too small for Stella to enjoy. In the glass case there was every sort of body part you might imagine, including an entire hog head surrounded by a collection of pigs feet arranged around it like fireworks. I cruised the counter twice and decided to ask the butcher for one. He asked if I wanted him to cut it. I declined politely and to my own credit, added nothing further.

He handed me the single foot in a plastic bag. It weighed nearly a pound, a mere $0.98. All I could think of walking back to the car was that one bully stick costs about six dollars.

When I got home I tossed the pig foot into the refrigerator and with feigned contempt, I made an announcement to Stella:

"Stella," I said, "you don't love me now but later on today...? You're going to. I guarantee it."

We walked for an hour and a half that night and when we got back I put her on the long lead (30 ft.) out in the back yard. I got myself a beer out of the refrigerator because quite honestly, I have seen a lot of things in my life but I have never seen a dog eat a piece of raw meat before, let alone one that looked like it just ran out of the barnyard, nor had she. We started off our little training routine. Knowing now that something was up, Stella hit every note of it perfectly, without so much as a distracted glance down the driveway. People walked their dogs past us, I was amazed at her sudden ability to focus.

When we finished, I took big swig of the beer, removed poor little Wilbur's foot from of the bag and dropped it in the grass between her paws.

She eyed it suspiciously.

She sat up and punched it with her paw, then the nose, again the paw. She studied for a few seconds then laid down and sat back up the second time, temporarily confused. Almost too quiet for her to hear, I said, "Pick it up girlfriend."

In what seemed like slow motion it dawned on her that this was not only something she could eat but it was something that I planned to let her eat.

She decided to throw herself a party right then. First, she killed it several times over and danced around the yard like she was starring in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. She then chewed its toes off (sorry so graphic), and threw it over her shoulder a few times for luck. The only thing missing was music. In the eleven months we've spent together I've never seen her sparkle and dance like she did that thirty minutes. It was joyous and unbridled. It made the beer taste really good.

Sandy Ann

This is Sandy Ann Johnson & her mom Norma. Sandy Ann is a tennis ball advocate.



(Note: Thanks to everyone for allowing me to feature your pet on this page. You all make it more fun than Stella and I ever could alone.)

Mosquito hunting 101

Once back in the driver's seat, she looked at me in the rear-view mirror like maybe I was the one who was out of control.

Mosquitoes and flies make her completely crazy. Like crazy enough to slam her own head into a piece of furniture or the wall. There was one in the car with us two days ago and I thought she would flip us over. Me and her and a Chevy Malibu - murals of dog slobber painted on both back windows.

Officer:"Ms. Adcock, what made you run over the fireplug anyway? How many fingers do you see now?"

Finally I pulled into a parking lot and calmly, climbed in the backseat with her to kill the mosquito. I think my exact words were:

"Now, sit your ass down or I'm gonna' beat it with that flip-flop right there until it swells up like a beach ball."

It's hard to believe sometimes that I was raised in Ohio.